diplomatic cunning. Still more, the vulpine Maximilian, at the very time that he was attempting to wheedle Henry of England out of his money, on pretence of securing the imperial dignity for him, had paved the way for his own grandson, by assiduous exertions and promises amongst the electors, promises which Charles was amply able to fulfil. Accordingly, after a lavish distribution of both French and Spanish gold amongst the elector-princes of Germany, Charles was declared emperor on the 28th of June, 1519. Francis, though he professed to carry off his disappointment with all the gaiety of a Frenchman, was deeply and lastingly chagrined by the event; and though he and Charles must, under any circumstances, have been rivals for the place of supremacy on the continent of Europe, there is no doubt that this circumstance struck much deeper the feeling which led to that gigantic struggle betwixt them, which, during their lives, kept Europe in a constant state of warfare and agitation.
Europe at this juncture presented a peculiar aspect. Three monarchs especially stood forth as the arbiters of its destinies, made strikingly prominent above all others by the strength of their dominions, the vigour of their characters, and the superiority of their talents: those of England, France, and Spain. Francis I. was now the ruler of a great and united kingdom, but Charles of Spain was the master of a still more extended empire; to Spain, Austria, and the Netherlands, being added the dominion of the Two Sicilies and the dignity of the imperial crown of Germany. Francis was of a chivalrous, open, frank, and munificent character; Charles V. was of a more reserved, artful, and diplomatic disposition, calculated to win his way by secret negotiations, and to guard against surprises in war. Francis was the more amiable man; Charles, the greater and more politic king. He was of a close and intriguing turn, and rarely have such qualities been supported by so immense a dominion. Francis was calculated to strike by sudden and brilliant exploits, but at the same time liable to run into imprudences and incur misfortunes; whilst the vast power and contiguous territories of these monarchs were sure to bring them into collision. Henry sat upon his isolated seat with a strength and distinction never enjoyed by a British monarch before, placed, as it were, by Providence to assuage the heats, balance the interests, and curb the ambition of those two great Continental kings. But far from possessing the wisdom and the impartiality requisite for such an arbitration, he was at once one of the vainest, the most gullible, and most passionate of mortals. Hence he was continually drawn this way and that by the flatteries of the interested parties, or by the ambitious arts of his great favourite.
Both Charles and Francis were intensely anxious to secure the preference of Henry, because his weight thrown into either balance must give it a dangerous preponderance. Both, therefore, paid assiduous court to him, and still more, though covertly, to his all-powerful minister Wolsey. Francis, aware of the impulsive temperament of Henry, prayed for an early fulfilment of the visit agreed upon of Henry to France. It was decided that the interview should take place in May. The news of this immediately excited the jealousy of Charles, and his ambassadors in London expressed great dissatisfaction at the proposal. Wolsey found he had a difficult part to play, for he had great expectations from both monarchs, and he took care to make such representations to each prince in private, as to persuade him that the real affection of England lay towards him, the public favour shown to the rival monarch being only a matter of political expedience. When the Spanish ambassadors found they could not put off the intended interview, they proposed a visit of their master to the King of England previously, on his way from Spain to Germany. This was secretly arranged with the cardinal, but was to be made to appear quite an unpremeditated occurrence.
Accordingly, before the king set out for Calais, Charles, according to the secret treaty with Wolsey, sent that minister a grant under his privy seal, from the revenue of the two bishoprics of Badajoz and Placentia, of 7,000 ducats. Henry set forward from London to Canterbury, on his way towards Dover and Calais, attended by his queen and court, with a surprising degree of splendour. Whilst lying there, he was surprised, as it was made to appear, by the news that the emperor had been induced by his regard for the king, to turn aside on his voyage towards his German dominions, and had anchored in the port of Hythe on the 26th of May, 1520. As soon as this news reached Henry, he dispatched Wolsey to receive the emperor and conduct him to the castle of Dover, and Henry himself set out and rode by torchlight to Dover, where he arrived in the middle of the night. It must have been a hospitably inconvenient visit at that hour, for Charles, fatigued by his voyage, had gone to bed, and was awoke from a sound sleep by the noise and bustle of the king's arrival. He arose, however, and met Henry at the top of the stairs, where the two monarchs embraced, and Henry bade his august relative welcome. The next day, being Whitsunday, they went together to Canterbury, the king riding with the emperor on his right hand, the Earl of Derby carrying before them the sword of state. Wolsey had pushed forward, and on their entering Canterbury, appeared at the head of a great procession of the clergy, and led the way to the cathedral. This cathedral, containing the shrine of Thomas à Becket, was by far the richest of any in England, for, independent of its ancient date, and many royal and noble benefactors of the last 800 years, the wealth which the pilgrims to Becket's tomb had brought to it was enormous. The venerable cathedral, and the monastery attached to it, stood in the glory of their noble architecture in a very town of ecclesiastical buildings and offices. "Every place," Erasmus says, "was enlightened with the lustre of most precious stones, and the church throughout abounded with more than royal treasure.' The tomb of Becket itself was one blaze of wealth and splendour. It was actually embossed with jewels and gold, and the gold, it was said, was the meanest thing about it.
At this magnificent shrine—so accordant with Spanish ideas of religion—the emperor and Henry paid their homage, depositing their royal gifts, and spending some time in devotion; but it is supposed that, at the very time Henry was paying this outward worship, he was pondering on the wonderful display of wealth, which made so deep an impression on his mind, that this
