CHAPTER VIII.
HOW THE BASTARD OF BURGUNDY PROSPERED MORE IN HIS POLICY THAN WITH THE
POLE-AXE.-AND HOW KING EDWARD HOLDS HIS SUMMER CHASE IN THE FAIR
GROVES OF SHENE.
It was some days after the celebrated encounter between the Bastard
and Lord Scales, and the court had removed to the Palace of Shene.
The Count de la Roche's favour with the Duchess of Bedford and the
young princess had not rested upon his reputation for skill with the
pole-axe, and it had now increased to a height that might well
recompense the diplomatist for his discomfiture in the lists.
In the mean while, the arts of Warwick's enemies had been attended
with signal success. The final preparations for the alliance now
virtually concluded with Louis's brother still detained the earl at
Rouen, and fresh accounts of the French king's intimacy with the
ambassador were carefully forwarded to Rivers, and transmitted to
Edward. Now, we have Edward's own authority for stating that his
first grudge against Warwick originated in this displeasing intimacy,
but the English king was too clear-sighted to interpret such
courtesies into the gloss given them by Rivers. He did not for a
moment conceive that Lord Warwick was led into any absolute connection
with Louis which could link him to the Lancastrians, for this was
against common-sense; but Edward, with all his good humour, was
implacable and vindictive, and he could not endure the thought that
Warwick should gain the friendship of the man he deemed his foe.
Putting aside his causes of hatred to Louis in the encouragement which
that king had formerly given to the Lancastrian exiles, Edward's pride
as sovereign felt acutely the slighting disdain with which the French
king had hitherto treated his royalty and his birth. The customary
nickname with which he was maligned in Paris was "the Son of the
Archer," a taunt upon the fair fame of his mother, whom scandal
accused of no rigid fidelity to the Duke of York. Besides this,
Edward felt somewhat of the jealousy natural to a king, himself so
spirited and able, of the reputation for profound policy and
statecraft which Louis XI. was rapidly widening and increasing
throughout the courts of Europe. And, what with the resentment and
what with the jealousy, there had sprung up in his warlike heart a
secret desire to advance the claims of England to the throne of
France, and retrieve the conquests won by the Fifth Henry to be lost
under the Sixth. Possessing these feelings and these views, Edward
necessarily saw in the alliance with Burgundy all that could gratify
both his hate and his ambition. The Count of Charolois had sworn to
Louis the most deadly enmity, and would have every motive, whether of
vengeance or of interest, to associate himself heart in hand with the
arms of England in any invasion of France; and to these warlike
objects Edward added, as we have so often had cause to remark, the
more peaceful aims and interests of commerce. And, therefore,
although he could not so far emancipate himself from that influence,
which both awe and gratitude invested in the Earl of Warwick, as to
resist his great minister's embassy to Louis; and though, despite all
these reasons in favour of connection with Burgundy, he could not but
reluctantly allow that Warwick urged those of a still larger and wiser
policy, when showing that the infant dynasty of York could only be
made secure by effectually depriving Margaret of the sole ally that
could venture to assist her cause,--yet no sooner had Warwick fairly
departed than he inly chafed at the concession he had made, and his
mind was open to all the impressions which the earl's enemies sought
to stamp upon it. As the wisdom of every man, however able, can but
run through those channels which are formed by the soil of the
character, so Edward with all his talents never possessed the prudence
which fear of consequences inspires. He was so eminently fearless, so
scornful of danger, that he absolutely forgot the arguments on which
the affectionate zeal of Warwick had based the alliance with Louis,--
arguments as to the unceasing peril, whether to his person or his
throne, so long as the unprincipled and plotting genius of the French
king had an interest against both; and thus he became only alive to
the representations of his passions, his pride, and his mercantile
interests. The Duchess of Bedford, the queen, and all the family of
Woodville, who had but one object at heart,--the downfall of Warwick
and his House,--knew enough of the earl's haughty nature to be aware
that he would throw up the reins of government the moment he knew that
Edward had discredited and dishonoured his embassy; and, despite the
suspicions they sought to instil into their king's mind, they
calculated upon the earl's love and near relationship to Edward, upon
his utter and seemingly irreconcilable breach with the House of
Lancaster, to render his wrath impotent, and to leave him only the
fallen minister, not the mighty rebel.
Edward had been thus easily induced to permit the visit of the Count
de la Roche, although he had by no means then resolved upon the course
he should pursue. At all events, even if the alliance with Louis was
to take place, the friendship of Burgundy was worth much to maintain.
But De la Roche soon made aware by the Duchess of Bedford of the
ground on which he stood, and instructed by his brother to spare no
pains and to scruple no promise that might serve to alienate Edward
from Louis and win the hand and dower of Margaret, found it a more
facile matter than his most sanguine hopes had deemed to work upon the
passions and the motives which inclined the king to the pretensions of
the heir of Burgundy. And what more than all else favoured the
envoy's mission was the very circumstance that should most have
defeated it,--namely, the recollection of the Earl of Warwick; for in
the absence of that powerful baron and master-minister, the king had
seemed to breathe more freely. In his absence, he forgot his power.
The machine of government, to his own surprise, seemed to go on as
well; the Commons were as submissive, the mobs as noisy in their
shouts, as if the earl were by. There was no longer any one to share
with Edward the joys of popularity, the sweets of power.
Though Edward was not Diogenes, he loved the popular sunshine, and no
Alexander now stood between him and its beams. Deceived by the
representations of his courtiers, hearing nothing but abuse of Warwick
and sneers at his greatness, he began to think the hour had come when
he might reign alone, and he entered, though tacitly, and not
acknowledging it even to himself, into the very object of the
womankind about him,--namely, the dismissal of his minister.
The natural carelessness and luxurious indolence of Edward's temper
did not however permit him to see all the ingratitude of the course he
was about to adopt. The egotism a king too often acquires, and no
king so easily as one like Edward IV., not born to a throne, made him
consider that he alone was entitled to the prerogatives of pride. As
sovereign and as brother, might he not give the hand of Margaret as he
listed? If Warwick was offended, pest on his disloyalty and
presumption! And so saying to himself, he dismissed the very thought
of the absent earl, and glided unconsciously down the current of the
hour. And yet, notwithstanding all these prepossessions and
dispositions, Edward might no doubt have deferred at least the
meditated breach with his great minister until the return of the
latter, and then have acted with the delicacy and precaution that
became a king bound by ties of gratitude and blood to the statesman he
desired to discard, but for a habit,--which, while history mentions,
it seems to forget, in the consequences it ever engenders,--the habit
of intemperance. Unquestionably to that habit many of the imprudences
and levities of a king possessed of so much ability are to be
ascribed; and over his cups with the wary and watchful De la Roche
Edward had contrived to entangle himself far more than in his cooler
moments he would have been disposed to do.
Having thus admitted our readers into those recesses of that cor
inscrutabile,--the heart of kings,--we summon them to a scene peculiar
to the pastimes of the magnificent Edward. Amidst the shades of the
vast park, or chase, which then appertained to the Palace of Shene,
the noonday sun shone upon such a spot as Armida might have dressed
for the subdued Rinaldo. A space had been cleared of trees and
underwood, and made level as a bowling-green. Around this space the
huge oak and the broad beech were hung with trellis-work, wreathed
with jasmine, honeysuckle, and the white rose, trained in arches.
Ever and anon through these arches extended long alleys, or vistas,
gradually lost in the cool depth of foliage; amidst these alleys and
around this space numberless arbours, quaint with all the flowers then
known in England, were constructed. In the centre of the sward was a
small artificial lake, long since dried up, and adorned then with a
profusion of fountains, that seemed to scatter coolness around the
glowing air. Pitched in various and appropriate sites were tents of
silk and the white cloth of Rennes, each tent so placed as to command
one of the alleys; and at the opening of each stood cavalier or dame,
with the bow or crossbow, as it pleased the fancy or suited best the
skill, looking for the quarry, which horn and hound drove fast and
frequent across the alleys. Such was the luxurious "summer-chase" of
the Sardanapalus of the North. Nor could any spectacle more
thoroughly represent that poetical yet effeminate taste, which,
borrowed from the Italians, made a short interval between the
chivalric and the modern age. The exceeding beauty of the day, the
richness of the foliage in the first suns of bright July, the bay of
the dogs, the sound of the mellow horn, the fragrance of the air,
heavy with noontide flowers, the gay tents, the rich dresses and fair
faces and merry laughter of dame and donzell,--combined to take
captive every sense, and to reconcile ambition itself, that eternal
traveller through the future, to the enjoyment of the voluptuous hour.
But there were illustrious exceptions to the contentment of the
general company.
A courier had arrived that morning to apprise Edward of the unexpected
debarkation of the Earl of Warwick, with the Archbishop of Narbonne
and the Bastard of Bourbon,--the ambassadors commissioned by Louis to
settle the preliminaries of the marriage between Margaret and his
brother. This unwelcome intelligence reached Edward at the very
moment he was sallying from his palace gates to his pleasant pastime.
He took aside Lord Hastings, and communicated the news to his able
favourite. "Put spurs to thy horse, Hastings, and hie thee fast to
Baynard's Castle. Bring back Gloucester. In these difficult matters
that boy's head is better than a council."
"Your Highness," said Hastings, tightening his girdle with one hand,
while with the other he shortened his stirrups, "shall be obeyed. I
foresaw, sire, that this coming would occasion much that my Lords
Rivers and Worcester have overlooked. I rejoice that you summon the
Prince Richard, who hath wisely forborne all countenance to the
Burgundian envoy. But is this all, sire? Is it not well to assemble
also your trustiest lords and most learned prelates, if not to overawe
Lord Warwick's anger, at least to confer on the fitting excuses to be
made to King Louis's ambassadors?"
"And so lose the fairest day this summer hath bestowed upon us?
Tush!--the more need for pleasaunce to-day since business must come
to-morrow. Away with you, dear Will!"
Hastings looked grave; but he saw all further remonstrance would be in
vain, and hoping much from the intercession of Gloucester, put spurs
to his steed and vanished. Edward mused a moment; and Elizabeth, who
knew every expression and change of his countenance, rode from the
circle of her ladies, and approached him timidly. Casting down her
eyes, which she always affected in speaking to her lord, the queen
said softly,--
"Something hath disturbed my liege and my life's life."
"Marry, yes, sweet Bessee. Last night, to pleasure thee and thy kin
(and sooth to say, small gratitude ye owe me, for it also pleased
myself), I promised Margaret's hand, through De la Roche, to the heir
of Burgundy."
"O princely heart!" exclaimed Elizabeth, her whole face lighted up
with triumph, "ever seeking to make happy those it cherishes. But is
it that which disturbs thee, that which thou repentest?"
"No, sweetheart,--no. Yet had it not been for the strength of the
clary, I should have kept the Bastard longer in suspense. But what is
done is done. Let not thy roses wither when thou hearest Warwick is
in England,--nay, nay, child, look not so appalled; thine Edward is no
infant, whom ogre and goblin scare; and"--glancing his eye proudly
round as he spoke, and saw the goodly cavalcade of his peers and
knights, with his body-guard, tall and chosen veterans, filling up the
palace-yard, with the show of casque and pike--"and if the struggle is
to come between Edward of England and his subject, never an hour more
ripe than this; my throne assured, the new nobility I have raised
around it, London true, marrow and heart true, the provinces at peace,
the ships and the steel of Burgundy mine allies! Let the white Bear
growl as he list, the Lion of March is lord of the forest. And now, my
Bessee," added the king, changing his haughty tone into a gay,
careless laugh, "now let the lion enjoy his chase."
He kissed the gloved hand of his queen, gallantly bending over his
saddle-bow, and the next moment he was by the side of a younger if not
a fairer lady, to whom he was devoting the momentary worship of his
inconstant heart. Elizabeth's eyes shot an angry gleam as she beheld
her faithless lord thus engaged; but so accustomed to conceal and
control the natural jealousy that it never betrayed itself to the
court or to her husband, she soon composed her countenance to its
ordinary smooth and artificial smile, and rejoining her mother she
revealed what had passed. The proud and masculine spirit of the
duchess felt only joy at the intelligence. In the anticipated
humiliation of Warwick, she forgot all cause for fear. Not so her
husband and son, the Lords Rivers and Scales, to whom the news soon
travelled.
"Anthony," whispered the father, "in this game we have staked our
heads."
"But our right hands can guard them well, sir," answered Anthony; "and
so God and the ladies for our rights!"
Yet this bold reply did not satisfy the more thoughtful judgment of
the lord treasurer, and even the brave Anthony's arrows that day
wandered wide of their quarry.
Amidst this gay scene, then, there were anxious and thoughtful bosoms.
Lord Rivers was silent and abstracted; his son's laugh was hollow and
constrained; the queen, from her pavilion, cast, ever and anon, down
the green alleys more restless and prying looks than the hare or the
deer could call forth; her mother's brow was knit and flushed. And
keenly were those illustrious persons watched by one deeply interested
in the coming events. Affecting to discharge the pleasant duty
assigned him by the king, the Lord Montagu glided from tent to tent,
inquiring courteously into the accommodation of each group, lingering,
smiling, complimenting, watching, heeding, studying, those whom he
addressed. For the first time since the Bastard's visit he had joined
in the diversions in its honour; and yet so well had Montagu played
his part at the court that he did not excite amongst the queen's
relatives any of the hostile feelings entertained towards his brother.
No man, except Hastings, was so "entirely loved" by Edward; and
Montagu, worldly as he was, and indignant against the king as he could
not fail to be, so far repaid the affection, that his chief fear at
that moment sincerely was not for Warwick but Edward. He alone of
those present was aware of the cause of Warwick's hasty return, for he
had privately despatched to him the news of the Bastard's visit, its
real object, and the inevitable success of the intrigues afloat,
unless the earl could return at once, his mission accomplished, and
the ambassadors of France in his train; and even before the courier
despatched to the king had arrived at Shene, a private hand had
conveyed to Montagu the information that Warwick, justly roused and
alarmed, had left the state procession behind at Dover, and was
hurrying, fast as relays of steeds and his own fiery spirit could bear
him, to the presence of the ungrateful king.
Meanwhile the noon had now declined, the sport relaxed, and the sound
of the trumpet from the king's pavilion proclaimed that the lazy
pastime was to give place to the luxurious banquet.
At this moment, Montagu approached a tent remote from the royal
pavilions, and, as his noiseless footstep crushed the grass, he heard
the sound of voices in which there was little in unison with the
worldly thoughts that filled his breast.
"Nay, sweet mistress, nay," said a young man's voice, earnest with
emotion, "do not misthink me, do not deem me bold and overweening. I
have sought to smother my love, and to rate it, and bring pride to my
aid, but in vain; and, now, whether you will scorn my suit or not, I
remember, Sibyll--O Sibyll! I remember the days when we conversed
together; and as a brother, if nothing else--nothing dearer--I pray
you to pause well, and consider what manner of man this Lord Hastings
is said to be!"
"Master Nevile, is this generous? Why afflict me thus; why couple my
name with so great a lord's?"
"Because--beware--the young gallants already so couple it, and their
prophecies are not to thine honour, Sibyll. Nay, do not frown on me.
I know thou art fair and winsome, and deftly gifted, and thy father
may, for aught I know, be able to coin thee a queen's dower out of his
awsome engines. But Hastings will not wed thee, and his wooing,
therefore, but stains thy fair repute; while I--"
"You!" said Montagu, entering suddenly--"you, kinsman, may look to
higher fortunes than the Duchess of Bedford's waiting-damsel can bring
to thy honest love. How now, mistress, say, wilt thou take this young
gentleman for loving fere and plighted spouse? If so, he shall give
thee a manor for jointure, and thou shalt wear velvet robe and gold
chain, as a knight's wife."
This unexpected interference, which was perfectly in character with
the great lords, who frequently wooed in very peremptory tones for
their clients and kinsmen, [See, in Miss Strickland's "Life of
Elizabeth Woodville," the curious letters which the Duke of York and
the Earl of Warwick addressed to her, then a simple maiden, in favour
of their protege, Sir R. Johnes.] completed the displeasure which the
blunt Marmaduke had already called forth in Sibyll's gentle but proud
nature. "Speak, maiden,--ay or no?" continued Montagu, surprised and
angered at the haughty silence of one whom he just knew by sight and
name, though he had never before addressed her.
"No, my lord," answered Sibyll, keeping down her indignation at this
tone, though it burned in her cheek, flashed in her eye, and swelled
in the heave of her breast. "No! and your kinsman might have spared
this affront to one whom--but it matters not." She swept from the
tent as she said this, and passed up the alley into that of the
queen's mother.
"Best so; thou art too young for marriage, Marmaduke," said Montagu,
coldly. "We will find thee a richer bride ere long. There is Mary of
Winstown, the archbishop's ward, with two castles and seven knight's
fees."
"But so marvellously ill-featured, my lord," said poor Marmaduke,
sighing.
Montagu looked at him in surprise. "Wives, sir," he said, "are not
made to look at,--unless, indeed, they be the wives of other men. But
dismiss these follies for the nonce. Back to thy post by the king's
pavilion; and by the way ask Lord Fauconberg and Aymer Nevile, whom
thou wilt pass by yonder arbour, ask them, in my name, to be near the
pavilion while the king banquets. A word in thine ear,--ere yon sun
gilds the top of those green oaks, the Earl of Warwick will be with
Edward IV.; and come what may, some brave hearts should be by to
welcome him. Go!"
Without tarrying for an answer, Montagu turned into one of the tents,
wherein Raoul de Fulke and the Lord St. John, heedless of hind and
hart, conferred; and Marmaduke, much bewildered, and bitterly wroth
with Sibyll, went his way.
