her tablet of gold that hung at her side and delivered it to the doctor, "with many gentle and loving words." When Butts arrived with these messages, the cardinal rose up in his bed, received the token with every sign of delight, thanked the doctor heartily, and in a few days was out of danger.
Henry having now seized upon all the cardinal's property, the incomes of his bishoprics, abbeys, and other benefices, his colleges at Ipswich and Oxford, with all their furniture and revenues, his pensions, clothes, and even his very tomb, seemed contented to leave him his life. He, therefore, on the 12th of February, 1530, granted him a full pardon for all his real and pretended crimes. He allowed him, moreover, to retain the revenues of York. He gave him also a pension of 1,000 marks a year out of the bishopric of Winchester, and soon after sent him a present of £3,000 in money; and in plate, furniture, &c., the value of £3,374 3s. 7d., and gave him leave to reside at Richmond.
This new flow of Royal favour wonderfully revived the cardinal's hopes, and as vividly excited the fears of the Boleyn party. To have this formidable man residing so near them as Richmond was too perilous to be thought of. Some fine morning the king might suddenly ride over there, and all be undone. Henry was, therefore, besieged with entreaties to remove him further from the Court, and to such a distance as should prevent the possibility of an interview. They prevailed, and Wolsey received an order through his friend Cromwell to go and reside in his archbishopric of York. To the cardinal, who felt a strong persuasion that if he could but obtain an interview with the king all would be set right, this was next to a death-warrant. He entreated Cromwell to obtain leave for him to reside at Winchester, but this was refused, and the Duke of Norfolk, Anne's uncle, sent Wolsey word that if he did not get away immediately into the North, he would come and tear him in pieces with his teeth. "Then," said Wolsey, "it is time for me to be gone."
Cromwell, faithful to the last, obtained a present of 1,000 marks from the king for him, and a most gracious message; and the great fallen man set out, with something of his old state, towards the scene of his true pastoral duties, but of exile to him as a statesman. He went progressing slowly on his way from stage to stage, riding on his mule in a grave sadness, and followed by 160 attendants, a long train of wagons containing his plate and furniture, and paused first at Peterborough, where ho spent Easter. From the moment that he commenced this journey he seemed a new man—to have left the haughty minister of state behind, and brought only the Christian bishop; and in no part of his life did he appear to so much advantage. He seemed really to have adopted the spirit of the words which Shakespeare puts into his mouth—
"I feel my heart new opened."
Wherever he came, he immediately won the esteem and love of people of all ranks, by his hospitality and pleasant affability. He spent the summer and autumn at his diocesan houses of Scroby and Southwell, and arrived at his castle of Cawood, seven miles from York, only at Michaelmas. Both at Southwall, Scroby, and now at Cawood, he set about at once to put the houses of the diocese into perfect repair. His passion for building was as strong upon him as ever. He had soon 300 labourers and artisans engaged in the restoration of Cawood. As at Scroby, so there, he went to some neighbouring church, every Sunday, where he performed mass, and one of his chaplains preached. After service, he invited the clergy and most respectable parishioners to dinner, and distributed alms to the poor. Everywhere on his journey he had shown the same unassuming regard to the people, who flocked to behold him. On a wild moor near Ferrybridge, on the last day of his journey, he had found upwards of 500 children brought together and assembled round a great stone cross, to seek his blessing and confirmation at his hands. He immediately alighted and confirmed them all, so that it was late that night before he reached Cawood. He treated the clergy of his cathedral in the kindest manner, telling them he was come to live amongst them as a friend and brother.
Delighted with their metropolitan, the clergy waited upon him in a body, and begged that he would allow himself to be installed in his cathedral, according to the custom of his predecessors; and Wolsey, after taking time to consider of it, consented, on condition that it should be done with as little splendour as possible. No sooner, however, was this news divulged, than the noblemen, gentlemen, and clergy of the county sent into York great quantities of provisions, and made preparations for a most magnificent feast. But this was suddenly prevented by a very unexpected event. The accounts of the cardinal's doings, his buildings, his hospitality, and his great popularity, were all carried to London, and greatly exaggerated to the king, with every art to excite his jealousy. Cromwell gave him information of this, and warned him earnestly to keep himself as quiet and as much out of public view as possible, or his untiring enemies would bring mischief out of it for him. It was too late. On the 4th of November, only three days before the grand installation was to come off, the Earl of Northumberland, accompanied by Sir William Walsh and a number of horsemen, arrived at Cawood. Wolsey was sitting at dinner, and he rose, expressing a wish that the earl had come a little earlier; for he had been brought up in his household, and he therefore jumped at the conclusion that he had been selected to bear him good tidings. But this selection had probably been made more by the will of Anne Boleyn than of the king, and for a very different object. The Earl was Anne's old lover, who, as the young Lord Percy, had been torn from her by the hand of Wolsey, though at the dictation of the king; and the proud beauty showed that she had not yet forgotten or forgiven the circumstance. Wolsey, believing in good news, went out to receive the earl with a cheerful countenance; and, observing his numerous retinue, he said, "Ah! my lord, I perceive that you observe the precepts and instructions which I gave you, when you were abiding with me in your youth, to cherish your father's old servants." He then took the earl affectionately by the hand, and led him into a bedchamber. There he no doubt expected to hear some good tidings; but the earl was observed to be much affected, and, with much embarrassment and hesitation, he at length laid his hand on the old man's shoulder, and said, "My lord, I arrest you of
