by a commission, then were it worse than the taxes of France, and so England would be bond and not free." This was the more just because the cardinal in person acted as commissioner in London, and lent all the weight of his office and position to sanction the oppression. He used all his arts to prevail on the citizens to comply, but neither threats nor blandishments moved them. The resistance was obstinate and universal.
Archbishop Warham, formerly the wise minister of Henry, now full of years and experience, addressed a letter to the haughty cardinal, saying: "I have heard that when the people be commanded to make fires and tokens of rejoicing for the taking of the French king, divers of them have spoken, that they have more cause to weep than to rejoice thereat. And divers, as it hath been shown me secretly, have wished openly that the French king were at his liberty again, so as there was a good peace, and the king should not attempt again to win France, the winning whereof should be more chargeable to England than profitable, and the keeping thereof much more chargeable than the winning."
In London the excitement became excessive: the people placarded the walls with their complaints, and the clergy preached against the arbitrary tax, and declared that for themselves they would pay no money which was not voted in convocation. From London the fire spread through the other towns, the people began to take up arms, the clergy to encourage them, and Henry, who was soon terrified, with all his bluster, took the alarm, and declared that he wanted nothing from his loving subjects but as a benevolence. But the very word benevolence awoke a host of hateful recollections. The tumult was only increased by it; and a lawyer in the city published the passage from the Act of Richard III., by which benevolences were abolished for ever. This seemed to arouse the lion spirit in Henry. The prospect of the crown of France was too fascinating to be lightly surrendered; he therefore called together the judges, and demanded their opinion on his power to tax his subjects without Parliament. The venal judges reminded the king that Richard III. was a usurper, and that his Parliament was a factious Parliament, all the acts of which were illegal and void, and could in no wise bind a legitimate and absolute king, who, like him, held the crown by hereditary right. This bold and base doctrine was loudly echoed by the Privy Council, but vain were such authorities with the people. On hearing this decision, they again flew to arms. In Kent they speedily drove the commissioners and tax-gatherers out of the county; in Suffolk they marched in an armed body of 4,000 or 5,000 men, and even threatened the duke of the county, Brandon, the king's brother-in-law, who was the chief commissioner there, with death. Surrey, who stood high in the estimation of the people, interfered to calm them, and to prevent mischief; and Henry saw that the contest was hopeless, and by proclamation retracted his demand. Wolsey, who had been extremely prominent in endeavouring to enforce the detested tax, now caused a report to be industriously circulated, that he had, in truth, never been favourable to it, but the people only replied when they heard it, "God save the king! we know the cardinal well enough."
But Henry might have spared himself all this tumult and unpopularity. The emperor was never less likely than now to conceed such favours and advantages to him. He was a deep and subtle prince; no man could see more intuitively and instantly the wonderful change in his power and position which the battle of Pavia created. He was at once freed from a potent and ambitious rival. His own plans were no longer thwarted, his own territories were no longer threatened; but, on the contrary, the whole of the Continent lay, as it were, at his feet. He seemed to stand upon it a huge imperial Colossus, almost without the shadow of a rival. Henry was the only man from whom he had anything to fear, and Henry, he saw, was destitute of money, and unsupported in his desires for continental conquest by his people. Charles at once, therefore, assumed a lofty tone, and determined not only to mortify Henry's pride, but to punish him for neglecting to invade Picardy, according to agreement, so as to alleviate the pressure of the French arms in Italy. He therefore received Henry's ambassadors with marvellous coldness. So far from consenting to his propositions, he informed them that, by the advice of his council, he had determined not to invade France at all. He insinuated that the engagements of Henry were not to be relied on, and gave his breach of contract with regard to Picardy as a proof. Ho did not forget to remind them of Henry's recent negotiations with France. So far from being anxious to receive the Princess Mary, the ambassadors discovered that Charles was actually contemplating another marriage, and was in treaty for the Infanta Isabella of Portugal.
Charles had calculated upon Henry for large subsidies during the war, but instead of receiving these he had found Henry as much straitened for money as he was himself. It was now discovered that the emperor had already made a truce for six months with France, and he now coolly advised the ambassadors to seek from their sovereign power, not negotiations for the invasion of France, but the terms on which the French king should be liberated. To crown all, and leave no question of the feeling which Henry's late conduct had produced in Charles's Court, he wrote to Henry, no longer styling himself his loving uncle, and penning the grossest flatteries with his own hand, but he simply and curtly signed himself Charles, to official communications duly and officially prepared.
This was a rebuff not to be received complacently by a man of Henry's vain and volcanic spirit. He read the astounding despatches with an amazement which burst into a tempest of rage. At once a tide of impetuous revulsion flowed over his whole soul. He abandoned in a moment all ideas of conquests, invasions, and the crown of France, and determined to do everything in his power to procure the liberation of Francis, and to unite with him against the perfidious and insulting Spaniard. He had dismissed the French envoys, who were residing privately in London, on the news of the capture of Francis, but he now let it be understood that their presence would be heartily welcome. Louise accepted the hint with all alacrity, and John Brenon, president of the council of Normandy, and her favourite envoy, Giovanni Joacchino, were again dispatched to London. A truce for four mouths was immediately concluded, and Wolsey, who fanned the new flame in Henry's bosom for objects and resentments of his own soon arranged the terms of a
