322 The Bight Bev. The Lord Bishop of London [Feb. 5, 



It is by no means rich in memoirs, and the most stirring times have 

 not called forth the most vivid description of their incidents. There 

 is no brilliant biography of Oliver Cromwell, for instance, by a con- 

 temporary. We have to piece together materials for the characters 

 of Henry VIII., Elizabeth, Mary Queen of Scots, and Charles I. No 

 one at the time attempted to grasp them. The dramatic moments of 

 their careers were only dimly and imperfectly felt. Let me illustrate 

 what I meant when I said that it was impossible for later writers to 

 create deeper impressions than were present in the minds of con- 

 temporaries. Two situations occur to me as surpassing all others in 

 English history in vividness and dramatic effect ; they are the murder 

 of St. Thomas of Canterbury and the death of Wolsey. This is 

 entirely due to the fact that they profoundly moved men's minds at 

 the time, and are recorded in language which is full of the emotion 

 so engendered. Both were regarded as great and significant cata- 

 strophes, important in themselves and in their results. The death of 

 Wolsey is a remarkable instance. In outward circumstance it is 

 inferior to the execution of More or the burning of Cranmer. Yet 

 it remains more picturesque. We feel that More and Cranmer fell 

 in a way like soldiers on the field of battle. They shared the 

 fortunes of their cause, and our interest lies in discovering the exact 

 point on which they took their intellectual stand, and laid down their 

 lives rather than take a step further. But Wolsey is a type of human 

 fortunes, of the inherent limitations of man's endeavours, of the sudden 

 reversal of high hopes, of the restless chafing of an imprisoned spirit, 

 and its final despair. This position arises from the literary skill of 

 his biographer, Cavendish, reflecting doubtless the permanent im- 

 pression of his time, and expressing with deepening melancholy the 

 profound pathos of the wreckage of a life. This intensity of feeling 

 could not have gathered round an ordinary career, but was engendered 

 by the profound conviction that with the fall of Wolsey England had 

 entered upon a new course in its national life — a course the end and 

 goal of which no man could foresee. Wolsey had striven to make 

 England powerful in a changing world. He had created forces which 

 he could not restrain within the limits which his prudence had pre- 

 scribed. There was deeper emotion at the downfall of him who 

 strove to keep the peace than over the sad fate of combatants on either 

 side when once war had been proclaimed. It is only the pen of one 

 who is conscious of living through such a crisis that can be instinct 

 with real feeling and can convey that feeling to after-times. 



It is curious to observe that these two instances of Thomas of 

 Canterbury and Wolsey, are both cases of men who pursued clear 

 and decided objects, and whose characters consequently detached 

 themselves from the general background of contemporary life. The 

 objects which they pursued were not in either case popular, and 

 they had to trust mainly to their own resoluteness and skill for 

 ultimate success. Hence came the attraction of their characters for 

 their biographers. They were men who could bo studied and de- 



