CHAPTER VII. WARWICK AND HIS FAMILY IN EXILE.
We now summon the reader on a longer if less classic journey than fromThebes to Athens, and waft him on a rapid wing from Shene to Amboise. Wemust suppose that the two emissaries of Gloucester have already arrivedat their several destinations,--the lady has reached Isabel, the envoyMargaret.
In one of the apartments appropriated to the earl in the royal palace,within the embrasure of a vast Gothic casement, sat Anne of Warwick; thesmall wicket in the window was open, and gave a view of a wide and fairgarden, interspersed with thick bosquets and regular alleys, over whichthe rich skies of the summer evening, a little before sunset, castalternate light and shadow. Towards this prospect the sweet face of theLady Anne was turned musingly. The riveted eye, the bended neck, thearms reclining on the knee, the slender fingers interlaced,--gave to herwhole person the character of revery and repose.
In the same chamber were two other ladies; the one was pacing the floorwith slow but uneven steps, with lips moving from time to time, as if inself-commune, with the brow contracted slightly: her form and face tookalso the character of revery, but not of repose.
The third female (the gentle and lovely mother of the other two) wasseated, towards the centre of the room, before a small table, on whichrested one of those religious manuscripts, full of the moralities andthe marvels of cloister sanctity, which made so large a portion of theliterature of the monkish ages. But her eye rested not on the Gothicletter and the rich blazon of the holy book. With all a mother's fearand all a mother's fondness, it glanced from Isabel to Anne, from Anneto Isabel, till at length in one of those soft voices, so rarely heard,which makes even a stranger love the speaker, the fair countess said,--
"Come hither, my child Isabel; give me thy hand, and whisper me whathath chafed thee."
"My mother," replied the duchess, "it would become me ill to have asecret not known to thee, and yet, methinks, it would become me less tosay aught to provoke thine anger!"
"Anger, Isabel! Who ever knew anger for those they love?"
"Pardon me, my sweet mother," said Isabel, relaxing her haughty brow,and she approached and kissed her mother's cheek.
The countess drew her gently to a seat by her side.
"And now tell me all,--unless, indeed, thy Clarence hath, in somelover's hasty mood, vexed thy affection; for of the household secretseven a mother should not question the true wife."
Isabel paused, and glanced significantly at Anne.
"Nay, see!" said the countess, smiling, though sadly, "she, too, haththoughts that she will not tell to me; but they seem not such as shouldalarm my fears, as thine do. For the moment ere I spoke to thee, thybrow frowned, and her lip smiled. She hears us not,--speak on."
"Is it then true, my mother, that Margaret of Anjou is hastening hither?And can it be possible that King Louis can persuade my lord and fatherto meet, save in the field of battle, the arch-enemy of our House?"
"Ask the earl thyself, Isabel; Lord Warwick hath no concealment from hischildren. Whatever he doth is ever wisest, best, and knightliest,--so,at least, may his children always deem!"
Isabel's colour changed and her eye flashed. But ere she could answer,the arras was raised, and Lord Warwick entered. But no longer did thehero's mien and manner evince that cordial and tender cheerfulnesswhich, in all the storms of his changeful life, he had hithertodisplayed when coming from power and danger, from council or from camp,to man's earthly paradise,--a virtuous home.
Gloomy and absorbed, his very dress--which, at that day, theAnglo-Norman deemed it a sin against self-dignity to neglect--betraying,by its disorder, that thorough change of the whole mind, that terribleinternal revolution, which is made but in strong natures by the tyrannyof a great care or a great passion, the earl scarcely seemed to heed hiscountess, who rose hastily, but stopped in the timid fear and reverenceof love at the sight of his stern aspect; he threw himself abruptly on aseat, passed his hand over his face, and sighed heavily.
That sigh dispelled the fear of the wife, and made her alive only toher privilege of the soother. She drew near, and placing herself onthe green rushes at his feet, took his hand and kissed it, but did notspeak.
The earl's eyes fell on the lovely face looking up to him through tears,his brow softened, he drew his hand gently from hers, placed it on herhead, and said in a low voice,--"God and Our Lady bless thee, sweetwife!"
Then, looking round, he saw Isabel watching him intently; and, risingat once, he threw his arm round her waist, pressed her to his bosom, andsaid, "My daughter, for thee and thine day and night have I striven andplanned in vain. I cannot reward thy husband as I would; I cannot givethee, as I had hoped, a throne!"
"What title so dear to Isabel," said the countess, "as that of LordWarwick's daughter?"
Isabel remained cold and silent, and returned not the earl's embrace.
Warwick was, happily, too absorbed in his own feelings to notice thoseof his child. Moving away, he continued, as he paced the room (his habitin emotion, which Isabel, who had many minute external traits in commonwith her father, had unconsciously caught from him),--
"Till this morning I hoped still that my name and services, thatClarence's popular bearing and his birth of Plantagenet, would sufficeto summon the English people round our standard; that the false Edwardwould be driven, on our landing, to fly the realm; and that, withoutchange to the dynasty of York, Clarence, as next male heir, would ascendthe throne. True, I saw all the obstacles, all the difficulties,--I waswarned of them before I left England; but still I hoped. Lord Oxfordhas arrived, he has just left me. We have gone over the chart of the waybefore us, weighed the worth of every name, for and against; and, alas!I cannot but allow that all attempt to place the younger brother onthe throne of the elder would but lead to bootless slaughter andirretrievable defeat."
"Wherefore think you so, my lord?" asked Isabel, in evident excitement."Your own retainers are sixty thousand,--an army larger than Edward, andall his lords of yesterday, can bring into the field."
"My child," answered the earl, with that profound knowledge of hiscountrymen which he had rather acquired from his English heart than fromany subtlety of intellect, "armies may gain a victory, but they do notachieve a throne,--unless, at least, they enforce a slavery; and itis not for me and for Clarence to be the violent conquerors of ourcountrymen, but the regenerators of a free realm, corrupted by a falseman's rule."
"And what then," exclaimed Isabel,--"what do you propose, my father?Can it be possible that you can unite yourself with the abhorredLancastrians, with the savage Anjouite, who beheaded my grandsire,Salisbury? Well do I remember your own words,--'May God and Saint Georgeforget me, when I forget those gray and gory hairs!'"
Here Isabel was interrupted by a faint cry from Anne, who, unobservedby the rest, and hitherto concealed from her father's eye by the deepembrasure of the window, had risen some moments before, and listened,with breathless attention, to the conversation between Warwick and theduchess.
"It is not true, it is not true!" exclaimed Anne, passionately."Margaret disowns the inhuman deed."
"Thou art right, Anne," said Warwick; "though I guess not how thou didstlearn the error of a report so popularly believed that till of late Inever questioned its truth. King Louis assures me solemnly that thatfoul act was done by the butcher Clifford, against Margaret's knowledge,and, when known, to her grief and anger."
"And you, who call Edward false, can believe Louis true?"
"Cease, Isabel, cease!" said the countess. "Is it thus my child canaddress my lord and husband? Forgive her, beloved Richard."
"Such heat in Clarence's wife misbeseems her not," answered Warwick."And I can comprehend and pardon in my haughty Isabel a resentmentwhich her reason must at last subdue; for think not, Isabel, that it iswithout dread struggle and fierce agony that I can contemplate peace andleague with mine ancient foe; but here two duties speak to me in voicesnot to be denied: my honour and my hearth, as noble and as man, demandredress,
and the weal and glory of my country demand a ruler who doesnot degrade a warrior, nor assail a virgin, nor corrupt a people by lewdpleasures, nor exhaust a land by grinding imposts; and that honour shallbe vindicated, and that country shall be righted, no matter at whatsacrifice of private grief and pride."
The words and the tone of the earl for a moment awed even Isabel; butafter a pause, she said suddenly, "And for this, then, Clarence hathjoined your quarrel and shared your exile?--for this,--that he may placethe eternal barrier of the Lancastrian line between himself and theEnglish throne?"
"I would fain hope," answered the earl, calmly, "that Clarence will viewour hard position more charitably than thou. If he gain not all thatI could desire, should success crown our arms, he will, at least, gainmuch; for often and ever did thy husband, Isabel, urge me to sternmeasures against Edward, when I soothed him and restrained. Mort Dieu!how often did he complain of slight and insult from Elizabeth and herminions, of open affront from Edward, of parsimony to his wants asprince,--of a life, in short, humbled and made bitter by all theindignity and the gall which scornful power can inflict on dependentpride. If he gain not the throne, he will gain, at least, the successionin thy right to the baronies of Beauchamp, the mighty duchy, and thevast heritage of York, the vice-royalty of Ireland. Never prince of theblood had wealth and honours equal to those that shall await thy lord.For the rest, I drew him not into my quarrel; long before would he havedrawn me into his; nor doth it become thee, Isabel, as child and assister, to repent, if the husband of my daughter felt as brave men feel,without calculation of gain and profit, the insult offered to his lady'sHouse. But if here I overgauge his chivalry and love to me and mine,or discontent his ambition and his hopes, Mort Dieu! we hold him nota captive. Edward will hail his overtures of peace; let him make termswith his brother, and return."
"I will report to him what you say, my lord," said Isabel, with coldbrevity and, bending her haughty head in formal reverence, she advancedto the door. Anne sprang forward and caught her hand.
"Oh, Isabel!" she whispered, "in our father's sad and gloomy hour canyou leave him thus?" and the sweet lady burst into tears.
"Anne," retorted Isabel, bitterly, "thy heart is Lancastrian; and what,peradventure, grieves my father hath but joy for thee."
Anne drew back, pale and trembling, and her sister swept from the room.
The earl, though he had not overheard the whispered sentences whichpassed between his daughters, had watched them closely, and his lipquivered with emotion as Isabel closed the door.
"Come hither, my Anne," he said tenderly; "thou who hast thy mother'sface, never hast a harsh thought for thy father."
As Anne threw herself on Warwick's breast, he continued, "And how camestthou to learn that Margaret disowns a deed that, if done by her command,would render my union with her cause a sacrilegious impiety to thedead?"
Anne coloured, and nestled her head still closer to her father's bosom.Her mother regarded her confusion and her silence with an anxious eye.
The wing of the palace in which the earl's apartments were situatedwas appropriated to himself and household, flanked to the left by anabutting pile containing state-chambers, never used by the austere andthrifty Louis, save on great occasions of pomp or revel; and, as we havebefore observed, looking on a garden, which was generally solitary anddeserted. From this garden, while Anne yet strove for words to answerher father, and the countess yet watched her embarrassment, suddenlycame the soft strain of a Provencal lute; while a low voice, rich, andmodulated at once by a deep feeling and an exquisite art that would havegiven effect to even simpler words, breathed--
THE LAY OF THE HEIR OF LANCASTER
"His birthright but a father's name, A grandsire's hero-sword, He dwelt within the stranger's land, The friendless, homeless lord!"
"Yet one dear hope, too dear to tell, Consoled the exiled man; The angels have their home in heaven And gentle thoughts in Anne."
At that name the voice of the singer trembled, and paused a moment;the earl, who at first had scarcely listened to what he deemed but theill-seasoned gallantry of one of the royal minstrels, started in proudsurprise, and Anne herself, tightening her clasp round her father'sneck, burst into passionate sobs. The eye of the countess met that ofher lord; but she put her finger to her lips in sign to him to listen.The song was resumed--
"Recall the single sunny time, In childhood's April weather, When he and thou, the boy and girl, Roved hand in band together."
"When round thy young companion knelt The princes of the isle; And priest and people prayed their God, On England's heir to smile."
The earl uttered a half-stifled exclamation, but the minstrel heard notthe interruption, and continued,--
"Methinks the sun hath never smiled Upon the exiled man, Like that bright morning when the boy Told all his soul to Anne."
"No; while his birthright but a name, A grandsire's hero--sword, He would not woo the lofty maid To love the banished lord."
"But when, with clarion, fife, and drum, He claims and wins his own; When o'er the deluge drifts his ark, To rest upon a throne."
"Then, wilt thou deign to hear the hope That blessed the exiled man, When pining for his father's crown To deck the brows of Anne?"
The song ceased, and there was silence within the chamber, broken but byAnne's low yet passionate weeping. The earl gently strove to disengageher arms from his neck; but she, mistaking his intention, sank on herknees, and covering her face with her hands, exclaimed,--
"Pardon! pardon! pardon him, if not me!"
"What have I to pardon? What hast thou concealed from me? Can I thinkthat thou hast met, in secret, one who--"
"In secret! Never, never, Father! This is the third time only that Ihave heard his voice since we have been at Amboise, save when--savewhen--"
"Go on."
"Save when King Louis presented him to me in the revel under the nameof the Count de F----, and he asked me if I could forgive his mother forLord Clifford's crime."
"It is, then, as the rhyme proclaimed; and it is Edward of Lancaster wholoves and woos the daughter of Lord Warwick!"
Something in her father's voice made Anne remove her hands from herface, and look up to him with a thrill of timid joy. Upon his brow,indeed, frowned no anger, upon his lip smiled no scorn. At that momentall his haughty grief at the curse of circumstance which drove him tohis hereditary foe had vanished. Though Montagu had obtained fromOxford some glimpse of the desire which the more sagacious and temperateLancastrians already entertained for that alliance, and though Louishad already hinted its expediency to the earl, yet, till now, Warwickhimself had naturally conceived that the prince shared the enmity of hismother, and that such a union, however politic, was impossible; butnow indeed there burst upon him the full triumph of revenge and pride.Edward of York dared to woo Anne to dishonour, Edward of Lancaster darednot even woo her as his wife till his crown was won! To place upon thethrone the very daughter the ungrateful monarch had insulted; to makeher he would have humbled not only the instrument of his fall, but thesuccessor of his purple; to unite in one glorious strife the wrongsof the man and the pride of the father,--these were the thoughts thatsparkled in the eye of the king-maker, and flushed with a fierce rapturethe dark cheek, already hollowed by passion and care. He raised hisdaughter from the floor, and placed her in her mother's arms, but stillspoke not.
"This, then, was thy secret, Anne," whispered the countess; "and I halfforeguessed it, when, last night, I knelt beside thy couch to pray, andoverheard thee murmur in thy dreams."
"Sweet mother, thou forgivest me; but my father--ah, he speaks not. Oneword! Father, Father, not even his love could console me if I angeredthee!"
The earl, who had remained rooted to the spot, his eyes shiningthoughtfully under his dark brows, and his hand slightly raised, asif piercing into the future
, and mapping out its airy realm, turnedquickly,--
"I go to the heir of Lancaster; if this boy be bold and true, worthy ofEngland and of thee, we will change the sad ditty of that scrannel luteinto such a storm of trumpets as beseems the triumph of a conqueror andthe marriage of a prince!"
The Last of the Barons — Complete Page 69
