e.

Now was the time. The execution of More and Fisher, the suppression of the
monasteries, the spoliation of the Church, had filled clerical and
aristocratic England with fear and fury. The harvest had failed; and the
failure was interpreted as a judgment from Heaven on the King's conduct.
So sure Chapuys felt that the Emperor would now move that he sent positive
assurances to Catherine that his master would not return to Spain till he
had restored her to her rights. Even the Bishop of Tarbes, who was again
in London, believed that Henry was lost at last. The whole nation, he
said, Peers and commons, and even the King's own servants, were devoted to
the Princess and her mother, and would join any prince who would take up
their cause. The discontent was universal, partly because the Princess was
regarded as the right heir to the crown, partly for fear of war and the
ruin of trade. The autumn had been wet: half the corn was still in the
fields. Queen Anne was universally execrated, and even the King was losing
his love for her. If war was declared, the entire country would rise.[349]

The Pope, it has been seen, had thought of declaring Mary to be Queen in
her father's place. Such a step, if ventured, would inevitably be fatal to
her. Her friends in England wished to see her married to some foreign
prince--if possible, to the Dauphin--that she might be safe and out of the
way. The Princess herself, and even the Emperor, were supposed to desire
the match with the Dauphin, because in such an alliance the disputes with
France might be forgotten, and Charles and the French king might unite to
coerce Henry into obedience.

The wildest charges against Henry were now printed and circulated in
Germany and the Low Countries. Cromwell complained to Chapuys. "Worse," he
said, "could not be said against Jew or Devil." Chapuys replied ironically
that he was sorry such things should be published. The Emperor would do
his best to stop them, but in the general disorder tongues could not be
controlled.

So critical the situation had become in these autumn months that Cromwell,
of course with the King's consent, was obliged to take the unusual step of
interfering with the election of the Lord Mayor of London, alleging that,
with the State in so much peril, it was of the utmost consequence to have
a well-disposed man of influence and experience at the head of the City.

"Cromwell came to me this morning," Chapuys wrote to his master on