CHAPTER XLII.

ENJOYMENT.

Unalloyed enjoyment is a thing unknown in this world; even for one whole day. Perhaps the sorrows which all experience for half, if not the whole, of that period, may make the few minutes of happiness the sweeter.

Happiness is not, it cannot be, found in any sensual pleasure, in any one pursuit in which the laws of humanity, nature, and of God are violated.

Perfect enjoyment must be divested of all fear; there must be no pang before or after it--that is, the pang, if any, must have passed away, and that which the heart is about to participate in, must not be productive of one single regret.

Wolsey, De Freston, Ellen, and Latimer, had all endured the severity of sorrow in finding themselves placed in that species of opposition upon vital questions, upon dangerous topics, upon then growing dissensions which were stirring in the land.

Wolsey was lord of the house in which his guests were, not trembling, but bold before him. They also, on the other hand, were conscious that he was to be the judge of De Freston; and in the judgment of him was involved the happiness of the others.

These parties had suffered much pain. Honest they all might be; but the man of power and authority had at least this superiority, that he was at once the arbiter and the host. He was in the position of friendship, cordiality, hospitality, generosity, and of judgment; and they, though his guests, were at the same time his prisoners. But who were they, and at what time were they there?

Wolsey was about to be shorn of his fancied nobility, and to lose the eye of favor. He was too much of a politician not to know what he had to expect; and he was really and truly a man of too great a mind to murmur at the fickleness of the King's favor.

Lift up a beggar from the dunghill, set him among princes, and if he is not gifted with that wisdom which knows who exalts and who puts down, he will neither know how to bear elevation or degradation. He is like an actor, who, having enjoyed years of successful flattery, is astonished at his own decline, and knows not how to bear the coolness of disappointment.

Happy the man whom nothing but the world to come can exalt; who preserves humility under all circumstances, and doing his duty nobly, retires into nothingness, conscious that he is nobody.

A great man this, indeed. He is like that great philosopher, who, after a life of calculations, such as laid bare to the world the right movements of the heavenly bodies, declared that to himself he appeared no more than a child playing with a cup and ball, or blowing soap-bubbles with a tobacco pipe.

This is a species of intellectual innocency which very few men attain. Half the world, knowing little, are apt to grow proud of the knowledge of that little, and have such conceit thereof as to imagine the world must think them wonders; but the really wise man is wonderful only to himself in his knowledge of his own marvellous ignorance.

Wolsey was a great man, as all the world proclaimed; but very few who saw him knew anything of the real greatness of his private character. Men in after-ages made him the theme of fallen pride, and descanted upon his origin as if he rose from the butcher's shambles by impudence.

There are some impudent men who do succeed in thrusting themselves into places for which they have no pretensions in the shape of mental qualification whatsoever; and these men are generally the greatest boasters and vaunters of their own selves; but they usually die unnoticed, or are looked upon with contempt by men of their own calibre. What must men of superior intellect think of them?

Wolsey was no such mortal. He gave that day convincing proof of his being not only bred a gentleman, but of his having preserved the spirit of one through all the plenitude of his power, even to the moment of its decay.

Wolsey was the first to propose such terms of peace to his visitors, as nothing but a heartless bigot could refuse. It was no compromise of principle, it was no admission of infidelity, it was no sop, to induce a departure from that which De Freston held dear as his life, neither was it any Jesuitical casuistry or show of lenity to discover the weakness of an adversary that he might attack him when he was asleep.

No. It was Wolsey's greatness, certainly induced by his circumstances, which made him cast down the glove of philanthropy, or the olive branch of peace, instead of that of defiance.

It is said that the honesty of love must conquer even the proudest heart. It will conquer everything but the heart devoured by the love of money; and that heart death alone, and then only by violent constraint, can subdue.

'Let us have one day's friendship,' said Wolsey. 'I give up all points of dispute. Let us have no divisions; let us be friends. To-morrow, ye shall go free; free to return whence ye came, to the banks of the Orwell, to my native place; and if I could but step back thirty years, and forget all the interval, I would kiss again the waters of my childhood, and dive into the waves.

'But come, my dear companions of my youth. Pomp and I must, for a few hours, part company. Forget me as a Cardinal; look not on me as a judge. See me as I am, plain Thomas Wolsey, son of your old friend, nephew to your relative, and cousin to yourselves; but more than all this, your truly humble servant, Archbishop of York.

'If you will not receive me in this light, tell me, only tell me, how you will accept me, and I am yours.'

Had it been bigotry, prejudice, or fanaticism that dwelt in De Freston's soul, he would have looked upon this language as merely a temptation to allure him into a snare, and have at once set his face as a flint, against the offer of hospitality. He would have looked upon it as a contamination. He would have felt all the prejudices of pride against it, and have steeled his soul with rudeness to cut short the proposition of love.

De Freston was no bigot, but a true Christian. He acknowledged the claim which Wolsey had upon his friendship, and at once graciously accepted his offer.

'I came here to be judged, expecting to be condemned by the very man whom I once knew as my friend. But I am neither judged nor condemned. I am neither put upon my trial nor acquitted, but am as though I had come into the house of an acquaintance; and why should I be so inhuman as to think of an enemy?

'I accept your proffered hospitality for us all; and as far as in me lies, I will endeavor to enjoy it with that thankfulness which I am persuaded I ought to feel. Ellen, my daughter, what say you to this turn of the wind in our favor?'

'Say, my dear father! say?--that I am proud of my early friend!'

Never in life, before or after, did Wolsey feel his soul expand as it did at that moment.

It was a moment of love in the soul of a man whose whole career had been devoted to ambition. The big tear started in his full eye, and actually rolled down his cheek and fell upon his scarlet vest.

Oh! that the tear of love could fall upon the scarlet vests of all Cardinals, and that they could see themselves as they are, but men of the same flesh, the same blood, the same bone, the same dust as the poorest Protestant in these realms! Till then, the lust of the eye, the lust of the flesh, and the pride of life will prevail in the dominion of the Papacy.

'Latimer, give me your hand,' said Wolsey. 'I have not behaved to you as I ought, and years of neglect cannot be atoned for in a moment. Your hand, William, reminds me of my youth. I cannot forget my university. Proud days we enjoyed together. Days of anticipated triumph. Ah! Latimer, yours was an unexpected triumph; mine a long-anticipated hope, extinguished by yourself, but now blessed in seeing you happy.'

Great man! Greater infinitely than the world knew! Could Cavendish have revealed this, the world would truly have sympathised with a man who, though raised to an eminence higher than that which any subject ever yet stood upon, was hurled down therefrom at the moment when his whole soul was full of pity and philanthropy.

Ellen could not see the emotion of her early friend at such a time without a look of compassion, in which the generous and honest Latimer most fully shared.

'It is best for us all to retire awhile,' she said, 'that we may be each composed for the harmony of a happy hour.'

'It is well said, my friends: after our unusual excitement, it will do us all good. My chamberlain will conduct you.'