or beyond his purpose, two instruments, Empson and Dudley, whom the people esteemed as his horse-leeches and shearers, bold men, and careless of fame, and that took toll of their master's grist. Dudley was of a good family, eloquent, and one that could put hateful business into good language. But Empson, that was the son of a sieve-maker, triumphed always upon the deed done, putting off all other respects whatsoever." These men, who, according to the forcible expression of the same great writer, "turned law and justice into wormwood and rapine," were both lawyers. Their modes of proceeding were very simple, but such as could hardly have succeeded, had not the spirit of the aristocracy been annihilated, and the house of commons reduced to a cipher. They charged the owners of estates, which had long been held on a different tenure, with the obsolete burdens of wardships, liveries, premier seisins, and the whole array of feudal obligations, for which they would only give quittances for payments in money: they not only converted nearly every offence into a case of fine and forfeiture, but they also invented new offences, that they might get the fines. To hunt up their game they kept packs of spies and informers in every part of the kingdom; and to strike it down with the legal forms, they kept a rabble to sit on juries. In the end, they did not "observe so much as the half face of justice." Instead of proceeding by indictment, and submitting cases to a trial by jury, they arrested men by precept, and tried them, or squeezed their money out of them, in a court of commission held in their own private houses. "These and many other courses, fitter to be buried than repeated, they had of preying upon the people; both like tame hawks for their master, and like wild hawks for themselves; insomuch as they grew to great riches and substance."*

A.D. 1504.-At the very moment that this system was in full vigour a parliament met (in the month of January), and the commons chose Dudley, the leech, for their speaker, and passed all such bills as the king thought fit to propose. But though parliament had become the obedient tool of the court, there were loud murmurs out of doors; and there was a desperate man, a son of a sister of Edward IV. and Richard III., who appears to have been disposed to take advantage of the prevailing discontent. This was Edmund de la Pole, son of the Duke of Suffolk, and younger brother of the Earl of Lincoln, who came over with Simnel, and was killed at the battle of Stoke. When the Duke of Suffolk died Edmund claimed his titles and estates; but the king, who had a law and a logic of his own, maintained that he did not inherit from his father, but from his brother Lincoln, who had died before the father, and had never had possession; and that, as his said brother Lincoln had been attainted by parliament, he, Edmund, could have no claim to the honours or lands. Strange as was this course of argument, it received the sanction of the obsequious parliament; and

Bacon.

Edmund was obliged to content himself with a fragment of his patrimony, which was given, not as of right, but as an act of kindness and liberality on the part of the king, and with the inferior title of Earl of Suffolk. This harsh usage had a great effect on a temper which seems to have been naturally irritable. The young earl, in a broil, had the misfortune to kill a man. The case, if properly tried, would not probably have gone beyond a modern case of manslaughter; but Henry, glad of the opportunity to reduce one connected with the House of York, had him arraigned as a murderer, and then, instead of permitting the trial to take place, commanded him to plead the royal pardon. Suffolk fled to the continent, and took refuge in the court of his aunt, the Duchess of Burgundy, which, in spite of all that Henry could do, still remained open to the friends of the House of York. Henry, by means with which we are unacquainted, induced him to return to England, where he lived at large for some time without any talk of his offence. At the marriage of Prince Arthur and the Infanta Catherine, he attended with the rest of the nobility, and, being "too gay," sunk himself deep in dent, as did many others on the same occasion. Almost immediately after he was again missing, as was also his youngest brother Richard de la Pole. Henry soon learnt that both the young men were with their aunt of Burgundy, and resorting "to his wonted and tried arts," caused Sir Robert Curson, who was employed at the time at Calais, to quit his post as if he had fled from it in disgust or in fear of the king, and to present himself to the Earl of Suffolk as a discontented man. This knight soon insinuated himself into the secrets of the earl, and found out the names of the persons upon whom "he had either hope or hold." To increase Suffolk's confidence in the spy, Henry at one stage of the business ordered the pope's bull of excommunication and curse against rebels to be read at Paul's Cross against the Earl of Suffolk and Sir Robert Curson. Curson communicated with Henry in great secrecy, and still maintained his own credit and inward trust with the earl. In consequence of the information given by this base agent, Henry arrested William de la Pole, another brother of Suffolk; the Lord Courtenay, who had married the Lady Catherine, one of the sisters of Henry's queen; Sir James Tyırel, Sir William Windham, and some other meaner persons. Abergavenny and Sir Thomas Green were apprehended at the same time, but they were not closely confined, and were liberated soon after. It was not easy, even in Henry's courts of law, to convict William de la Pole and the Lord Courtenay of any other crimes than their relationship to the fugitive and their connexion with the House of York, which was now "rather feared than nocent." Yet Courtenay, Henry's brother-in-law, remained a prisoner in the Tower during the king's life, and de la Pole was also long restrained though not so strictly. But for Sir James Tyrrel, against whom the blood of the innocent princes, Edward V. and his brother,

2 s

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VOL. II.

did still cry from under the altar, and Sir John Windham and the other meaner ones, they were attainted and executed; the two knights beheaded."* The sentence is another curious specimen of Henry's indirect dealing. Tyrrel and Windham were condemned, not for any conspiracy, but for having assisted the king's enemy, the Earl of Suffolk, in his first escape out of England in 1499, or nearly three years before this trial. If suspicions had rested upon Tyrrel as the murderer of the innocent sons of Edward IV., Henry had not thought it expedient to proceed against him for that horrible and mysterious business; on the contrary, he had employed Tyrrel, and seems even to have honoured this master of the horse of his predecessor. It appears to, have been while Tyrrel was lying in the Tower under sentence of death for having favoured the escape of Suffolk, that he confessed, or at least it was reported by Henry that he confessed, to his having employed Miles Forest and John Dighton to murder the princes, and that they had been murdered in their bed, and buried at the stair foot. From the manner in which this confession was obtained or reported, and from other circumstances, the mystery did not seem cleared up in an entirely satisfactory manner. As the story went, there were but four persons that could speak upon their own knowledge as to the murder,-Sir James Tyrrel, Miles Forest, John Dighton, and the priest of the Tower, who, it was said, had buried the bodies. Sir Robert Brackenbury, who was removed from the custody of the Tower for twenty-four hours, must have known that the two children were either killed or carried off, but Brackenbury had died at Bosworth Field fighting for King Richard; and his servant, one Black Will, who guarded the princes, if alive, was never questioned or mentioned, any more than John Green, who had carried, or was said to have carried, Richard's order to Brackenbury. Of the four witnesses mentioned, Miles Forest and the priest of the Tower were dead, and from this showing there only remained Tyrrel and Dighton to speak to the facts. Dighton was a prisoner as well as Tyrrel; and whatever the master may have done or said, it is quite certain that the servant confessed the murder, and that he repeated the particulars of the story to many men and in many places. But here, again, the course pursued darkened and deepened the shades of doubt in the popular mind. The confessions in the Tower appear to have been taken privately. Tyrrel, as we have seen, was got rid of on another charge; but according to the 'remarkable words of Bacon, "John Dighton, who, it seemeth, spake best for the king, was forthwith set at liberty, and was the principal means of divulging this tradition."t

As for the fugitive Earl of Suffolk, if, in flying the second time, he had arranged a conspiracy, there was certainly no proof of it made public by this inscrutable government. Sir Robert Curson, "when he saw the time, returned into England, and withal into wonted favour with the king, but worse fame with the people." Suffolk, dismayed, retired from the court of his aunt, and became a needy and neglected wanderer through the Netherlands, Germany and France.

A.D. 1506. In the last years of his reign Henry dispensed with parliament, not caring for their votes, but levying money by the arbitrary and illegal method of benevolences. Dudley and Empson continued their profitable labours all the while. In 1504, when Prince Henry was knighted, the king called a parliament, and demanded, by the feudal customs, a payment for that occasion, and another for the marriage of his eldest daughter. They were instructed to offer 40,000l.; and then the king, to show his moderation, took 30,000l. After this there was no more talk of parliaments. Henry's coffers were brim-full; his wealth in ready money was enormous; yet he still earnestly endeavoured to increase it by marriage, and an accident occurred which seemed to offer him, not only the means of obtaining a wife, but also of getting possession of the person of an enemy whom he dreaded even in his helplessness and beggary. Henry was considered a fortunate prince, and his conscience was not so delicate as to reject any kind of chance which fortune threw in his way. In the month of January a storm drove some foreign vessels to seek shelter in the harbour of Weymouth. Distressed by their sufferings at sea, and being in want of fresh provisions, a small party came on shore. Among them were the Archduke Philip and his wife Joanna, now, by the death of her mother Isabella, Queen of Castile, of which country they were going to take possession when the tempest interrupted their progress. Their departure from Flanders had been watched, and, as if he had foreseen what would happen, or had been alarmed by the passage of a fleet through the Channel, where the vessels beat about for many days, Henry had stationed guards along the coast, and had issued his orders as to the treatment of the royal couple if they should land. They had scarcely set foot on shore when Sir Thomas Trenchard and Sir John Carew went with an armed force into Weymouth, where,

liberated between his said examination and his execution. His own History shows that it was, in fact, ten or eleven years after that Tyrrel was put to death on another charge, and that in the mean time he had been long at large. We have followed the account of More, who speaks of Tyrrel's confession as having been made after his committal on the charge for which he suffered.

"Dighton, indeed, yet walketh on alive, in good possibility to be hanged ere he die."

with much humbleness and humanity, they invited the party to their houses-giving them, however, to understand that they would not be allowed to re-embark without the notice and leave of their king and master. Philip had no confidence in Henry's good faith he knew him to be in close alliance and constant correspondence with his father-in-law, Ferdinand the Catholic, who, at the moment, was endeavouring to keep the kingdom of Castile for himself: he must have bitterly regretted not being guided by his council, who advised him to brave the storm rather than trust himself on any part of Henry's dominions; but, making a virtue of necessity, he put on a cheerful countenance, as if he considered himself a guest, and not a prisoner. Henry presently despatched the Earl of Arundel to tell his loving cousin how glad he was that he had escaped the dangers of the seas,-that he was to consider himself as in his own land, and that he, the king, would make all haste to embrace him. Arundel went to the coast in great magnificence, with a brave troop of three hundred horse; and "for more state" he made his approach by torchlight. When Philip had heard the earl's message,

His

seeing how (the world went, the sooner to get away, he went upon speed to the king at Windsor; and his queen followed by easy journeys." At three o'clock, on the 17th of January, the cunning host and the unwilling guest met upon Elworth Green, two miles from Windsor. Henry was an adept in scenes of display, and on the present occasion he showed himself to the best advantage, assuming a striking superiority in dress and equipment even in the minutest article over the Archduke, or King of Castile, as Philip was now called in right of his wife. He was mounted on a bay horse trapped with needle-work; he wore a gown of purple velvet, a gold chain with a George of diamonds and a hood of purple velvet. attendants were mounted on splendid steeds covered all over with goldsmiths' work, cloths of tissue velvet, roses, and dragons, tassels, gilt bells, rubies, and other precious stones. "The King of Castile rode upon a sorrel hobby, which the king had given him; his apparel was all black; a gown of black velvet, a black hood, a black hat; and his horse was caparisoned in black velvet. His lord chamberlain and all the rest of his retinue, not passing a dozen in number, were clad in sad apparel, with cloaks of sad tawney and black, with very little velvet and sarsenet." The two princes saluted each other with all loving demonstrations. Philip said that he was now punished for not having gone within the walled town of Calais when they last met. Henry replied (did the by-standers keep their countenances?) that walls and seas were nothing where hearts were open! When they went from Elworth Green towards Windsor, Henry rode on the right hand of Philip, and when they reached the castle, the host, instead of being at the stirrup of his royal guest, permitted him to dismount, and to stand some time before he alighted from his own saddle. Within the castle

Philip found a splendid apartment prepared for him; there were seven chambers together hung with cloth of arras; wrought with gold as thick as could be; and as for the three beds of state, no king christened could show such three. But the guest soon found that he had to pay a dear price for his entertainment. Henry drew up a new treaty of commerce wholly in his own favour; and while they were discussing this subject, choosing a fitting time, he drew Philip into a private room, and asked from him the immediate surrender of the Earl of Suffolk, who, after long sufferings and wanderings, had retired in penury to Flanders, where he was then enjoying Philip's protection. The King of Castile" herewith was a little confused and in a study:" he said that such a measure would reflect dishonour, not only on himself, but also on the King of England, who would be believed to have treated him as a prisoner if he exacted such a thing from him; but Henry told him to make his mind easy in this respect, for, as for the dishonour, he would take it all upon himself, and so the honour of Philip would be saved. "The King of Castile, who had the king in great estimation, and besides remembered where he was, ,"consented reluctantly to oblige the king, from whom, however, he obtained the most solemn assurances that the life of Suffolk should be respected. Philip, in consequence, adopted such measures as induced the earl to believe that his sovereign pardoned him, and to come over of his own good will. Henry next proceeded to exact a wife. Margaret, Duchess of Savoy, was sister to Philip, and a widow, and very rich. Henry had cast his eyes upon her as a suitable match, and now he forced her brother to agree to the marriage, and to fix her portion at 300,000 crowns. But Philip had a son as well as a sister; and this remorseless driver of hard bargains made him agree that his infant son Charles* (afterwards the Emperor Charles V.) should be married to the Princess Mary of England, his youngest daughter. This match had been proposed before, and Philip had rejected it, but now nothing remained to do except to sign this treaty like the rest.

To draw out the time, Henry gave great feastings and entertainments; he made Philip a knight of the garter; and Philip made him and Prince Harry knights of the golden fleece. At the proper season he conducted Philip and Queen Joanna to London, where they were entertained with the greatest magnificence; but as soon as the Earl of Suffolk had been conveyed to the Tower (which was the serious part of the business) the festivities had an end, and the kings took leave. Philip and Joanna sailed instantly for Spain, having been detained nearly three months in captivity in England. The life of the unfortunate Earl of Suffolk was spared for a few years; but in his last moments Henry left an order for his execution. Before the negotiations could be finished for

Charles, at this time, was just six years old.

the marriage of Margaret, Duchess of Savoy, Philip died in Spain, and thereupon, thinking that his widow would be a better match than his sister, Henry dropped the treaty for the duchess, and proposed for Joanna, the queen. At the very time Joanna was bereft of her reason by the sudden loss of her young and handsome husband Philip-sunk in the most hopeless insanity, from which she never recovered. But the bronze which fifty years of successful craft and assurance had put upon the face of Henry was not to be affected,

and, in reply to her father, King Ferdinand, who had taken upon himself the government of Castile, he asserted that her malady had been brought on by the harsh treatment which she had received from her former husband,-that it was only temporary, and by no means of a nature to prevent her from contracting a proper marriage. Ferdinand, not less from a desire of continuing to rule the whole Spanish monarchy, and to keep so great a master of intrigue from having any part of it, than out of tenderness for his unhappy child,

renewed his representations of Joanna's condition. Upon this, Henry gave his old friend to understand, that if he were not permitted to marry one of his daughters (Joanna), his son Prince Harry should nevery marry his other daughter (Catherine). He had several advantages in this controversy: he knew that his alliance or neutrality in the great game that was playing between the French and Spaniards for supremacy in Italy was indispensable to Ferdinand, he had the Infanta Catherine in his hands, and 100,000 of Ferdinand's dollars in his coffers. But at the same time he also knew the subtlety and power of the Spanish monarch; and even Henry's genius may have been overawed by the sublime craft and state policy of Cardinal Ximenes, who conducted the administration of affairs in Castile for Ferdinand. Three such minds have not often been brought in contact! In the end, seeing that he would never be allowed to marry Joanna, Henry gave up that suit, and concluded a new treaty, in which Ferdinand agreed, on one hand, to remit 100,000 more crowns in completion of his daughter's portion; and Henry agreed, on the other, that his son should complete his marriage with the Infanta as soon as all this money was received, but not before. The money was to be paid in four halfyearly instalments; but Henry only lived to receive two; and this marriage, which was attended by such memorable consequences, was not celebrated during his lifetime.

A.D. 1509. The king's health had long been in a wretched state; he was subject to violent fits of the gout, but an elder enemy was a periodical cough," that wasted his lungs, so that thrice in a year, in a kind of return, and especially in the spring, he had great fits and labours of the phthisic." Henry was a religious prince; his declining strength and sufferings made him think "more seriously of the world to come," and the world to come made him think of the sufferings of his people. In the spring of 1507, two years before his death, he distributed alms among the poor, and discharged all prisoners in London that were confined for fees or debts under forty shillings. The following year, being still worse, he opened his ears to the bitter cries raised against Dudley and Empson and their accomplices. For merly many persons had been set in the pillory and had their ears cut off for uttering these complaints, or defaming the king's council; but now, "partly by devout persons about him, and partly by public sermons (the preachers doing their duty therein)," he was touched with great remorse for the oppressions and exactions he had permitted his two finance ministers to exercise.

He even

ordered justice to be done to all persons who had suffered wrong; but as his bad season passed these good resolutions departed, and his greediness for money returned. For, "nevertheless, Empson and Dudley, though they could not but hear of these scruples in the king's conscience, yet, as if the king's soul and his money were in several offices,

that the one was not to intermeddle with the other, went on with as great rage as ever." Sir William Capel, mayor of London, was a second time prosecuted under some frivolous pretences, and condemned to pay the enormous fine of 2000l. Capel was a man of spirit, and hardened by his former troubles, he refused to pay a mite, upon which he was sent to the Tower, where he lay till the king's death. Nesworth, who had served as lord mayor, and both his sheriffs, were thrown into prison, and there kept till they paid 1400/. Hawes, an alderman of London, was indicted, and put in trouble, and died of vexation, before his mock trial came to an end. Sir Lawrence Aylmer, who had also been mayor of London, and his two sheriffs, were fined 1000l.; and Sir Lawrence, refusing to pay, was committed to prison, where he remained till his persecutor Empson was committed in his place in the first year of the reign of Henry VIII.

A.D. 1509. Thus, in spite of his repentance, did Henry continue to the last to grind his wealthier subjects to add to his immense treasures, which he kept for the most part under his own key at his manor of Richmond. But his last spring had now arrived; his cough was worse than ever; his thoughts were again turned to repentance, and he drew up a will, which strongly shows his remorse and anxiety, enjoining his young successor to do what he had never the heart to perform himself— to repair the injuries he had committed, and make restitution to the victims he had plundered. He died on the night of the 21st of April, 1509, at his new palace of Richmond, and was buried in the magnificent chapel which he had built, and which bears his name, in Westminster Abbey. He was in his fifty-third year, and had reigned twenty-three years and eight months, wanting one day. day. In part through the great difficulties with which he had to contend in establishing himself, in part through natural temperament and the force of habit, he had made his whole reign an uninterrupted series of craft, treachery, stratagems, and intrigues, of which many must always remain inexplicable. "All things were so covertly demeaned one thing pretended and another meant -that there was nothing so plain and openly proved, but that yet, for the common custom of close and covert dealing, men had it ever inwardly suspect, as many well counterfeited jewels make the true mistrusted."*

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Henry, as a sovereign, was a man of the age and his was an age of subtlety, as the preceding ones had been ages of rude force and violence. There was one great struggle in every part of Europe, the objects of which were to overthrow the feudal system, to depress the aristocracy, and to elevate the authority of kings. In other countries this led to the establishment of despotic monarchies, from which England herself had a narrow escape; for, if hardy and ancient seed remained in the ground which craft could not detect, or of which it could not appreciate the importance, and if

Sir Thomas More.