Chapter VIII. The Question of the Seal.
About five o’clock Henry VIII. awoke out of an unrefreshing nap, and muttered to himself, “Troublous dreams, troublous dreams! Mine end is now at hand: so say these warnings, and my failing pulses do confirm it.” Presently a wicked light flamed up in his eye, and he muttered, “Yet will not I die till He go before.”
His attendants perceiving that he was awake, one of them asked his pleasure concerning the Lord Chancellor, who was waiting without.
“Admit him, admit him!” exclaimed the King eagerly.
The Lord Chancellor entered, and knelt by the King’s couch, saying—
“I have given order, and, according to the King’s command, the peers of the realm, in their robes, do now stand at the bar of the House, where, having confirmed the Duke of Norfolk’s doom, they humbly wait his majesty’s further pleasure in the matter.”
The King’s face lit up with a fierce joy. Said he—
“Lift me up! In mine own person will I go before my Parliament, and with mine own hand will I seal the warrant that rids me of—”
His voice failed; an ashen pallor swept the flush from his cheeks; and the attendants eased him back upon his pillows, and hurriedly assisted him with restoratives. Presently he said sorrowfully—
“Alack, how have I longed for this sweet hour! and lo, too late it cometh, and I am robbed of this so coveted chance. But speed ye, speed ye! let others do this happy office sith ‘tis denied to me. I put my Great Seal in commission: choose thou the lords that shall compose it, and get ye to your work. Speed ye, man! Before the sun shall rise and set again, bring me his head that I may see it.”
“According to the King’s command, so shall it be. Will’t please your majesty to order that the Seal be now restored to me, so that I may forth upon the business?”
“The Seal? Who keepeth the Seal but thou?”
“Please your majesty, you did take it from me two days since, saying it should no more do its office till your own royal hand should use it upon the Duke of Norfolk’s warrant.”
“Why, so in sooth I did: I do remember. . . . What did I with it? . . . I am very feeble. . . . So oft these days doth my memory play the traitor with me. . . . ‘Tis strange, strange—”
The King dropped into inarticulate mumblings, shaking his grey head weakly from time to time, and gropingly trying to recollect what he had done with the Seal. At last my Lord Hertford ventured to kneel and offer information—
“Sire, if that I may be so bold, here be several that do remember with me how that you gave the Great Seal into the hands of his highness the Prince of Wales to keep against the day that—”
“True, most true!” interrupted the King. "Fetch it! Go: time flieth!”
Lord Hertford flew to Tom, but returned to the King before very long, troubled and empty-handed. He delivered himself to this effect—
“It grieveth me, my lord the King, to bear so heavy and unwelcome tidings; but it is the will of God that the prince’s affliction abideth still, and he cannot recall to mind that he received the Seal. So came I quickly to report, thinking it were waste of precious time, and little worth withal, that any should attempt to search the long array of chambers and saloons that belong unto his royal high—”
A groan from the King interrupted the lord at this point. After a little while his majesty said, with a deep sadness in his tone—
“Trouble him no more, poor child. The hand of God lieth heavy upon him, and my heart goeth out in loving compassion for him, and sorrow that I may not bear his burden on mine old trouble-weighted shoulders, and so bring him peace.”
He closed his eyes, fell to mumbling, and presently was silent. After a time he opened his eyes again, and gazed vacantly around until his glance rested upon the kneeling Lord Chancellor. Instantly his face flushed with wrath—
“What, thou here yet! By the glory of God, an’ thou gettest not about that traitor’s business, thy mitre shall have holiday the morrow for lack of a head to grace withal!”
The trembling Chancellor answered—
“Good your Majesty, I cry you mercy! I but waited for the Seal.”
“Man, hast lost thy wits? The small Seal which aforetime I was wont to take with me abroad lieth in my treasury. And, since the Great Seal hath flown away, shall not it suffice? Hast lost thy wits? Begone! And hark ye—come no more till thou do bring his head.”
The poor Chancellor was not long in removing himself from this dangerous vicinity; nor did the commission waste time in giving the royal assent to the work of the slavish Parliament, and appointing the morrow for the beheading of the premier peer of England, the luckless Duke of Norfolk.
