CHAPTER X. LOVE AND MARRIAGE--DOUBTS OF CONSCIENCE--DOMESTICJEALOUSY--AND HOUSEHOLD TREASON.
The events that followed this tempestuous interview were such as theposition of the parties necessarily compelled. The craft of Louis, theenergy and love of Prince Edward, the representations of all herkindred and friends, conquered, though not without repeated struggles,Margaret's repugnance to a nearer union between Warwick and her son. Theearl did not deign to appear personally in this matter. He left it, asbecame him, to Louis and the prince, and finally received from them theproposals, which ratified the league, and consummated the schemes of hisrevenge.
Upon the Very Cross [Miss Strickland observes upon this interview: "Itdoes not appear that Warwick mentioned the execution of his father, theEarl of Salisbury, which is almost a confirmation of the statements ofthose historians who deny that he was beheaded by Margaret."] in St.Mary's Church of Angers, Lord Warwick swore without change to hold theparty of King Henry. Before the same sacred symbol, King Louis and hisbrother, Duke of Guienne, robed in canvas, swore to sustain to theirutmost the Earl of Warwick in behalf of King Henry; and Margaretrecorded her oath "to treat the earl as true and faithful, and never fordeeds past to make him any reproach."
Then were signed the articles of marriage between Prince Edward and theLady Anne,--the latter to remain with Margaret, but the marriage not tobe consummated "till Lord Warwick had entered England and regained therealm, or most part, for King Henry,"--a condition which pleased theearl, who desired to award his beloved daughter no less a dowry than acrown.
An article far more important than all to the safety of the earl andto the permanent success of the enterprise, was one that virtuallytook from the fierce and unpopular Margaret the reins of government, byconstituting Prince Edward (whose qualities endeared him more and moreto Warwick, and were such as promised to command the respect and love ofthe people) sole regent of all the realm, upon attaining his majority.For the Duke of Clarence were reserved all the lands and dignities ofthe duchy of York, the right to the succession of the throne to himand his posterity,--failing male heirs to the Prince of Wales,--with aprivate pledge of the viceroyalty of Ireland.
Margaret had attached to her consent one condition highly obnoxiousto her high-spirited son, and to which he was only reconciled by thearguments of Warwick: she stipulated that he should not accompany theearl to England, nor appear there till his father was proclaimedking. In this, no doubt, she was guided by maternal fears, and by someundeclared suspicion, either of the good faith of Warwick, or of hismeans to raise a sufficient army to fulfil his promise. The brave princewished to be himself foremost in the battles fought in his right and forhis cause. But the earl contended, to the surprise and joy of Margaret,that it best behooved the prince's interests to enter England withoutone enemy in the field, leaving others to clear his path, free himselffrom all the personal hate of hostile factions, and without a drop ofblood upon the sword of one heralded and announced as the peace-makerand impartial reconciles of all feuds. So then (these high conditionssettled), in the presence of the Kings Rene and Louis, of the Earland Countess of Warwick, and in solemn state, at Amboise, Edward ofLancaster plighted his marriage-troth to his beloved and loving Anne.
It was deep night, and high revel in the Palace of Amboise crowned theceremonies of that memorable day. The Earl of Warwick stood alone in thesame chamber in which he had first discovered the secret of the youngLancastrian. From the brilliant company, assembled in the halls ofstate, he had stolen unperceived away, for his great heart was full tooverflowing. The part he had played for many days was over, and withit the excitement and the fever. His schemes were crowned,--theLancastrians were won to his revenge; the king's heir was the betrothedof his favourite child; and the hour was visible in the distance, when,by the retribution most to be desired, the father's hand should leadthat child to the throne of him who would have degraded her to the dust.If victory awaited his sanguine hopes, as father to his future queen,the dignity and power of the earl became greater in the court ofLancaster than, even in his palmiest day, amidst the minions ofungrateful York; the sire of two lines,--if Anne's posterity shouldfail, the crown would pass to the sons of Isabel,--in either casefrom him (if successful in his invasion) would descend the royaltyof England. Ambition, pride, revenge, might well exult in viewing thefuture, as mortal wisdom could discern it. The House of Nevile neverseemed brightened by a more glorious star: and yet the earl was heavyand sad at heart. However he had concealed it from the eyes of others,the haughty ire of Margaret must have galled him in his deepest soul.And even as he had that day contemplated the holy happiness in theface of Anne, a sharp pang had shot through his breast. Were those thewitnesses of fair-omened spousailles? How different from the heartygreeting of his warrior-friends was the measured courtesy of foes whohad felt and fled before his sword! If aught chanced to him in thehazard of the field, what thought for his child ever could speak in pityfrom the hard and scornful eyes of the imperious Anjouite?
The mist which till then had clouded his mind, or left visible to hisgaze but one stern idea of retribution, melted into air. He beheldthe fearful crisis to which his life had passed,--he had reached theeminence to mourn the happy gardens left behind. Gone, forever gone,the old endearing friendships, the sweet and manly remembrances of bravecompanionship and early love! Who among those who had confronted war byhis side for the House of York would hasten to clasp his hand and hailhis coming as the captain of hated Lancaster? True, could he bow hishonour to proclaim the true cause of his desertion, the heart of everyfather would beat in sympathy with his; but less than ever could thetale that vindicated his name be told. How stoop to invoke malignantpity to the insult offered to a future queen? Dark in his gravemust rest the secret no words could syllable, save by such vague andmysterious hint and comment as pass from baseless gossip into dubioushistory. [Hall well explains the mystery which wrapped the king'sinsult to a female of the House of Warwick by the simple sentence, "Thecertainty was not, for both their honours, openly known!"] True, that inhis change of party he was not, like Julian of Spain, an apostate to hisnative land. He did not meditate the subversion of his country by theforeign foe; it was but the substitution of one English monarch foranother,--a virtuous prince for a false and a sanguinary king. True,that the change from rose to rose had been so common amongst thegreatest and the bravest, that even the most rigid could scarcelycensure what the age itself had sanctioned. But what other man of hisstormy day had been so conspicuous in the downfall of those he was nowas conspicuously to raise? What other man had Richard of York takenso dearly to his heart, to what other man had the august father said,"Protect my sons"? Before him seemed literally to rise the phantom ofthat honoured prince, and with clay-cold lips to ask, "Art thou, of allthe world, the doomsman of my first-born?" A groan escaped the breast ofthe self-tormentor; he fell on his knees and prayed: "Oh, pardon, thouAll-seeing!--plead for me, Divine Mother! if in this I have darklyerred, taking my heart for my conscience, and mindful only of a selfishwrong! Oh, surely, no! Had Richard of York himself lived to know whatI have suffered from his unworthy son,--causeless insult, broken faith,public and unabashed dishonour; yea, pardoning, serving, loving onthrough all, till, at the last, nothing less than the foulest taint thatcan light upon 'scutcheon and name was the cold, premeditated reward foruntired devotion,--surely, surely, Richard himself had said, 'Thy honourat last forbids all pardon!'"
Then, in that rapidity with which the human heart, once seizing uponself-excuse, reviews, one after one, the fair apologies, the earlpassed from the injury to himself to the mal-government of his land, andmuttered over the thousand instances of cruelty and misrule whichrose to his remembrance,--forgetting, alas, or steeling himself to thememory, that till Edward's vices had assailed his own hearth and honour,he had been contented with lamenting them, he had not venturedto chastise. At length, calm and self-acquitted, he rose from hisself-confession, and leaning by the open casement, drank in the revivingand gentle balm
of the summer air. The state apartments he had left,formed as we have before observed, an angle to the wing in whichthe chamber he had now retired to was placed. They were brilliantlyillumined, their windows opened to admit the fresh, soft breeze ofnight; and he saw, as if by daylight, distinct and gorgeous, in theirgay dresses, the many revellers within. But one group caught and rivetedhis eye. Close by the centre window he recognized his gentle Anne,with downcast looks; he almost fancied he saw her blush, as her youngbridegroom, young and beautiful as herself, whispered love's flatteriesin her ear. He saw farther on, but yet near, his own sweet countess, andmuttered, "After twenty years of marriage, may Anne be as dear to him asthou art now to me!" And still he saw, or deemed he saw, his lady's eye,after resting with tender happiness on the young pair, rove wistfullyaround, as if missing and searching for her partner in her mother's joy.But what form sweeps by with so haughty a majesty, then pauses by thebetrothed, addresses them not, but seems to regard them with so fixed awatch? He knew by her ducal diadem, by the baudekin colours of herrobe, by her unmistakable air of pride, his daughter Isabel. He did notdistinguish the expression of her countenance, but an ominous thrillpassed through his heart; for the attitude itself had an expression, andnot that of a sister's sympathy and love. He turned away his facewith an unquiet recollection of the altered mood of his discontenteddaughter. He looked again: the duchess had passed on, lost amidst theconfused splendour of the revel. And high and rich swelled the merrymusic that invited to the stately pavon. He gazed still; his lady hadleft her place, the lovers too had vanished, and where they stood, stoodnow in close conference his ancient enemies, Exeter and Somerset. Thesudden change from objects of love to those associated with hate hadsomething which touched one of those superstitions to which, in allages, the heart, when deeply stirred, is weakly sensitive. And again,forgetful of the revel, the earl turned to the serener landscape of thegrove and the moonlit green sward, and mused and mused, till a soft armthrown round him woke his revery. For this had his lady left the revel.Divining, by the instinct born of love, the gloom of her husband, shehad stolen from pomp and pleasure to his side.
"Ah, wherefore wouldst thou rob me," said the countess, "of one hourof thy presence, since so few hours remain; since, when the sun thatsucceeds the morrow's shines upon these walls, the night of thineabsence will have closed upon me?"
"And if that thought of parting, sad to me as thee, suffice not, belleamie, to dim the revel," answered the earl, "weetest thou not how illthe grave and solemn thoughts of one who sees before him the emprisethat would change the dynasty of a realm can suit with the carelessdance and the wanton music? But not at that moment did I think of thosemightier cares; my thoughts were nearer home. Hast thou noted, sweetwife, the silent gloom, the clouded brow of Isabel, since she learnedthat Anne was to be the bride of the heir of Lancaster?"
The mother suppressed a sigh. "We must pardon, or glance lightly over,the mood of one who loves her lord, and mourns for his baffled hopes!Well-a-day! I grieve that she admits not even me to her confidence. Everwith the favourite lady who lately joined her train,--methinks that newfriend gives less holy counsel than a mother!"
"Ha! and yet what counsels can Isabel listen to from a comparativestranger? Even if Edward, or rather his cunning Elizabeth, had subornedthis waiting-woman, our daughter never could hearken, even in an hour ofanger, to the message from our dishonourer and our foe."
"Nay, but a flatterer often fosters by praising the erring thought.Isabel hath something, dear lord, of thy high heart and courage; andever from childhood, her vaulting spirit, her very character of statelybeauty, hath given her a conviction of destiny and power loftierthan those reserved for our gentle Anne. Let us trust to time andforbearance, and hope that the affection of the generous sister willsubdue the jealousy of the disappointed princess."
"Pray Heaven, indeed, that it so prove! Isabel's ascendancy overClarence is great, and might be dangerous. Would that she consented toremain in France with thee and Anne! Her lord, at least, it seems I haveconvinced and satisfied. Pleased at the vast fortunes before him, thetoys of viceregal power, his lighter nature reconciles itself to theloss of a crown, which, I fear, it could never have upheld. For the moreI have read his qualities in our household intimacy, the more it seemsthat I could scarcely have justified the imposing on England a kingnot worthy of so great a people. He is young yet, but how different theyouth of Lancastrian Edward! In him what earnest and manly spirit! Whatheaven-born views of the duties of a king! Oh, if there be a sin in thepassion that hath urged me on, let me, and me alone, atone! and may I beat least the instrument to give to England a prince whose virtues shallcompensate for all!"
While yet the last word trembled upon the earl's lips, a light flashedalong the floors, hitherto illumined but by the stars and the full moon.And presently Isabel, in conference with the lady whom her mother hadreferred to, passed into the room, on her way to her private chamber.The countenance of this female diplomatist, whose talent for intriguePhilip de Comines [Comines, iii. 5; Hall, Lingard, Hume, etc.] hascommemorated, but whose name, happily for her memory, history hasconcealed, was soft and winning in its expression to the ordinaryglance, though the sharpness of the features, the thin compression ofthe lips, and the harsh dry redness of the hair corresponded with theattributes which modern physiognomical science truly or erringly assignsto a wily and treacherous character. She bore a light in her hand, andits rays shone full on the disturbed and agitated face of the duchess.Isabel perceived at once the forms of her parents, and stopped short insome whispered conversation, and uttered a cry almost of dismay.
"Thou leavest the revel betimes, fair daughter," said the earl,examining her countenance with an eye somewhat stern.
"My lady," said the confidant, with a lowly reverence, "was anxious forher babe."
"Thy lady, good waiting-wench," said Warwick, "needs not thy tongue toaddress her father. Pass on."
The gentlewoman bit her lips, but obeyed, and quitted the room. The earlapproached, and took Isabel's hand,--it was cold as stone.
"My child," said he, tenderly, "thou dost well to retire to rest; oflate thy cheek hath lost its bloom. But just now, for many causes, Iwas wishing thee not to brave our perilous return to England; and now,I know not whether it would make me the more uneasy, to fear for thyhealth if absent or thy safety if with me!"
"My lord," replied Isabel, coldly, "my duty calls me to my husband'sside, and the more, since now it seems he dares the battle but reaps notits rewards! Let Edward and Anne rest in safety, Clarence and Isabel goto achieve the diadem and orb for others!"
"Be not bitter with thy father, girl; be not envious of thy sister!"said the earl, in grave rebuke; then, softening his tone, he added,"The women of a noble House should have no ambition of their own,--theirglory and their honour they should leave, unmurmuring, in the hands ofmen! Mourn not if thy sister mounts the throne of him who would havebranded the very name to which thou and she were born!"
"I have made no reproach, my lord. Forgive me, I pray you, if I nowretire; I am so weary, and would fain have strength and health not to bea burden to you when you depart."
The duchess bowed with proud submission, and moved on. "Beware!" saidthe earl, in a low voice.
"Beware!--and of what?" said Isabel, startled.
"Of thine own heart, Isabel. Ay, go to thine infant's couch ere thouseek thine own, and, before the sleep of innocence, calm thyself back towomanhood."
The duchess raised her head quickly, but habitual awe of her fatherchecked the angry answer; and kissing, with formal reverence, the handthe countess extended to her, she left the room. She gained the chamberin which was the cradle of her son, gorgeously canopied with silks,inwrought with the blazoned arms of royal Clarence;--and beside thecradle sat the confidant.
The duchess drew aside the drapery, and contemplated the rosy face ofthe infant slumberer.
Then, turning to her confidant, she said,--
"Three months since, and I hoped my first-
born would be a king! Awaywith those vain mockeries of royal birth! How suit they the destinedvassal of the abhorred Lancastrian?"
"Sweet lady," said the confidant, "did I not warn thee from the firstthat this alliance, to the injury of my lord duke and this dear boy,was already imminent? I had hoped thou mightst have prevailed with theearl!"
"He heeds me not, he cares not for me!" exclaimed Isabel; "his wholelove is for Anne,--Anne, who, without energy and pride, I scarcely havelooked on as my equal! And now to my younger sister I must bow my knee,pleased if she deign to bid me hold the skirt of her queenly robe!Never,--no, never!"
"Calm thyself; the courier must part this night. My Lord of Clarence isalready in his chamber; he waits but thine assent to write to Edward,that he rejects not his loving messages."
The duchess walked to and fro, in great disorder. "But to be thus secretand false to my father?"
"Doth be merit that thou shouldst sacrifice thy child to him? Reflect!the king has no son! The English barons acknowledge not in girls asovereign; [Miss Strickland ("Life of Elizabeth of York") remarks, "Howmuch Norman prejudice in favour of Salic law had corrupted the commonor constitutional law of England regarding the succession!" The remarkinvolves a controversy.] and, with Edward on the throne, thy son isheir-presumptive. Little chance that a male heir shall now be born toQueen Elizabeth, while from Anne and her bridegroom a long line mayspring. Besides, no matter what parchment treaties may ordain, how canClarence and his offspring ever be regarded by a Lancastrian king but asenemies to feed the prison or the block, when some false invention givesthe seemly pretext for extirpating the lawful race?"
"Cease, cease, cease!" cried Isabel, in terrible struggles with herself.
"Lady, the hour presses! And, reflect, a few lines are but words, to beconfirmed or retracted as occasion suits! If Lord Warwick succeed, andKing Edward lose his crown, ye can shape as ye best may your conductto the time. But if the earl lose the day, if again he be driveninto exile, a few words now release you and yours from everlastingbanishment; restore your boy to his natural heritage; deliver you fromthe insolence of the Anjouite, who, methinks, even dared this very dayto taunt your highness--"
"She did--she did! Oh that my father had been by to hear! She bade mestand aside that Anne might pass,--'not for the younger daughter ofLord Warwick, but for the lady admitted into the royalty of Lancaster!'Elizabeth Woodville, at least, never dared this insolence!"
"And this Margaret the Duke of Clarence is to place on the throne whichyour child yonder might otherwise aspire to mount!"
Isabel clasped her hands in mute passion.
"Hark!" said the confidant, throwing open the door--
And along the corridor came, in measured pomp, a stately procession, thechamberlain in front, announcing "Her Highness the Princess of Wales;"and Louis XI., leading the virgin bride (wife but in name and honour,till her dowry of a kingdom was made secure) to her gentle rest. Theceremonial pomp, the regal homage that attended the younger sister thusraised above herself, completed in Isabel's jealous heart the triumph ofthe Tempter. Her face settled into hard resolve, and she passed at oncefrom the chamber into one near at hand, where the Duke of Clarence satalone, the rich wines of the livery, not untasted, before him, and theink yet wet upon a scroll he had just indited.
He turned his irresolute countenance to Isabel as she bent over him andread the letter. It was to Edward; and after briefly warning him of themeditated invasion, significantly added, "and if I may seem to sharethis emprise, which, here and alone, I cannot resist, thou shalt findme still, when the moment comes, thy affectionate brother and loyalsubject."
"Well, Isabel," said the duke, "thou knowest I have delayed this tillthe last hour to please thee; for verily, lady mine, thy will is mysweetest law. But now, if thy heart misgives thee--"
"It does, it does!" exclaimed the duchess, bursting into tears.
"If thy heart misgives thee," continued Clarence, who with all hisweakness had much of the duplicity of his brothers, "why, let it pass.Slavery to scornful Margaret, vassalage to thy sister's spouse, triumphto the House which both thou and I were taught from childhood to deemaccursed,--why, welcome all! so that Isabel does not weep, and our boyreproach us not in the days to come!"
For all answer, Isabel, who had seized the letter, let it drop on thetable, pushed it, with averted face, towards the duke, and turned backto the cradle of her child, whom she woke with her sobs, and who wailedits shrill reply in infant petulance and terror, snatched from itsslumber to the arms of the remorseful mother.
A smile of half contemptuous joy passed over the thin lips of theshe-Judas, and, without speaking, she took her way to Clarence. He hadsealed and bound his letter, first adding these words, "My lady andduchess, whatever her kin, has seen this letter, and approves it,for she is more a friend to York than to the earl, now he has turnedLancastrian;" and placed it in a small iron coffer.
He gave the coffer, curiously clasped and locked, to the gentlewoman,with a significant glance--"Be quick, or she repents! The courier waits,his steed saddled! The instant you give it, he departs,--he hath hispermit to pass the gates."
"All is prepared; ere the clock strike, he is on his way." The confidantvanished; the duke sank in his chair, and rubbed his hands.
"Oho, father-in-law, thou deemest me too dull for a crown! I am not dullenough for thy tool. I have had the wit, at least, to deceive thee,and to hide resentment beneath a smiling brow! Dullard, thou to believeaught less than the sovereignty of England could have bribed Clarence tothy cause!" He turned to the table and complacently drained his goblet.
Suddenly, haggard and pale as a spectre, Isabel stood before him.
"I was mad--mad, George! The letter! the letter--it must not go!"
At that moment the clock struck.
"Bel enfant," said the duke, "it is too late!"
BOOK X. THE RETURN OF THE KING-MAKER.
The Last of the Barons — Complete Page 72
