* * * * *
Sir Thomas More, the King's Treasurer and Privy Councillor, sat in
his garden at Chelsea above Westminster. He was correcting proofs,
for he was a great scholar, and wrote on all the controversial
questions of the day, religious and political, though he was
essentially a man of peace, living in this suburb an idyllic life
with his family.
He wore his best attire, although in the house and at work. He also
showed signs of disquietude, looking now and then towards the door,
for at an early hour of the day no one less than the King had sent
an intimation of his intention to pay him a visit. He knew from
experience how dangerous it was to be on intimate terms with the
King and to share his secrets. His sovereign had the bad habit
of asking for advice which he did not follow, and of imparting
secrets the knowledge of which often cost his confidants their
heads. The most dangerous thing of all was to undertake to act as
intermediary between Henry and anyone else, for then one fell
between two millstones.
With a mind prepared for the worst, More tried to quiet himself by
reading his proofs, but his efforts were vain. He rose and began to
walk up and down the garden path, went over in his mind all possible
causes of the King's coming, rehearsed answers to objections,
refutations of arguments, and ways of modifying the King's too
strong views without causing offence.
Pages:
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275