“Quod non pernoctent in locis suspectis. Mulierum colloquia suspecta nullatenus habeant.”—Wilkins, _Concilia_, iii. pp. 717, 722, &c. Footnote 20: “The Archbishop of Canterbury and all the bishops began to frown and grunt.”—Foxe, _Acts_, iv. p. 612. Footnote 21: Foxe, _Acts_, iv. p. 614. Footnote 22: “The great displeasure of spiritual persons.”—Ibid. Footnote 23: Tyndale’s _Works_, i. p. 421. CHAPTER IV. ANNE BOLEYN’S FATHER BEFORE THE EMPEROR AND THE POPE. (WINTER OF 1530.) Before such glorious hopes could be realized, it was necessary to emancipate Great Britain from the yoke of Romish supremacy. This was the end to which all generous monks aspired; but would the king assist them? [Sidenote: Henry’s Motives.] Henry VIII. united strength of body with strength of will; both were marked on his manly form. Lively, active, eager, vehement, impatient, and voluptuous,—whatever he was, he was with his whole soul. He was at first all heart for the Church of Rome; he went barefoot on pilgrimages, wrote against Luther, and flattered the pope. But before long he grew tired of Rome, without desiring the Reformation. Profoundly selfish, he cared for himself alone. If the papal domination offended him, evangelical liberty annoyed him. He meant to remain master in his own house,—the only master, and master of all. Even without the divorce, Henry would possibly have separated from Rome. Rather than endure any contradiction, this singular man put to death friends and enemies, bishops and missionaries, ministers of state, and favorites—even his wives. Such was the prince whom the Reformation found King of England. History would be unjust, however, were it to maintain that passion alone urged him to action. The question of the succession to the throne had for a century filled the country with confusion and blood. This Henry could not forget. Would the struggles of the two Roses be renewed after his death, occasioning, perhaps, the destruction of an ancient monarchy? If Mary, a princess of delicate health, should die, Scotland, France, the party of the White Rose, the Duke of Suffolk, whose wife was Henry’s sister, might drag the kingdom into endless wars. And even if Mary’s days were prolonged, her title to the crown might be disputed, no female sovereign having as yet sat upon the throne. Another train of ideas also occupied the king’s mind. He inquired sincerely whether his marriage with the widow of his brother was lawful. Even before its consummation, he had felt doubts about it. But even his defenders, if there are any, must acknowledge that one circumstance contributed at this time to give unusual force to these scruples. Passion impelled the king to break a holy bond; he loved another woman.