CHAPTER III. FURTHER VIEWS INTO THE HEART OF MAN, AND THE CONDITIONS OFPOWER.
But woe to any man who is called to power with exaggerated expectationsof his ability to do good! Woe to the man whom the populace haveesteemed a popular champion, and who is suddenly made the guardian oflaw! The Commons of England had not bewailed the exile of the goodearl simply for love of his groaning table and admiration of his hugebattle-axe,--it was not merely either in pity, or from fame, that his"name had sounded in every song," and that, to use the strong expressionof the chronicler, the people "judged that the sun was clearly takenfrom the world when he was absent."
They knew him as one who had ever sought to correct the abuses of power,to repair the wrongs of the poor; who even in war had forbidden hisknights to slay the common men. He was regarded, therefore, as areformer; and wonderful indeed were the things, proportioned to hisfame and his popularity, which he was expected to accomplish; and histhorough knowledge of the English character, and experience of everyclass,--especially the lowest as the highest,--conjoined with the vigourof his robust understanding, unquestionably enabled him from the veryfirst to put a stop to the lawless violences which had disgraced therule of Edward. The infamous spoliations of the royal purveyors ceased;the robber-like excesses of the ruder barons and gentry were severelypunished; the country felt that a strong hand held the reins of power.But what is justice when men ask miracles? The peasant and mechanic wereastonished that wages were not doubled, that bread was not to be had forasking, that the disparities of life remained the same,--the rich stillrich, the poor still poor. In the first days of the revolution, SirGeoffrey Gates, the freebooter, little comprehending the earl's mercifulpolicy, and anxious naturally to turn a victory into its accustomedfruit of rapine and pillage, placed himself at the head of an armed mob,marched from Kent to the suburbs of London, and, joined by some of themiscreants from the different Sanctuaries, burned and pillaged, ravishedand slew. The earl quelled this insurrection with spirit and ease;[Hall, Habington] and great was the praise he received thereby. Butall-pervading is the sympathy the poor feel for the poor. And when eventhe refuse of the populace once felt the sword of Warwick, some portionof the popular enthusiasm must have silently deserted him.
Robert Hilyard, who had borne so large a share in the restoration of theLancastrians, now fixed his home in the metropolis; and anxious asever to turn the current to the popular profit, he saw with rage anddisappointment that as yet no party but the nobles had really triumphed.He had longed to achieve a revolution that might be called the People's;and he had abetted one that was called "the Lord's doing." The affectionhe had felt for Warwick arose principally from his regarding him as aninstrument to prepare society for the more democratic changes he pantedto effect; and, lo! he himself had been the instrument to strengthen thearistocracy. Society resettled after the storm, the noble retained hisarmies, the demagogue had lost his mobs! Although through England werescattered the principles which were ultimately to destroy feudalism,to humble the fierce barons into silken lords, to reform the Church,to ripen into a commonwealth through the representative system,--theprinciples were but in the germ; and when Hilyard mingled with thetraders or the artisans of London, and sought to form a party whichmight comprehend something of steady policy and definite object, hefound himself regarded as a visionary fanatic by some, as a dangerousdare-devil by the rest. Strange to say, Warwick was the only man wholistened to him with attention; the man behind the age and the manbefore the age ever have some inch of ground in common both desired toincrease liberty; both honestly and ardently loved the masses; but eachin the spirit of his order,--Warwick defended freedom as against thethrone, Hilyard as against the barons. Still, notwithstanding theirdifferences, each was so convinced of the integrity of the other,--thatit wanted only a foe in the field to unite them as before. The naturalally of the popular baron was the leader of the populace.
Some minor, but still serious, griefs added to the embarrassment of theearl's position. Margaret's jealousy had bound him to defer all rewardsto lords and others, and encumbered with a provisional council all greatacts of government, all grants of offices, lands, or benefits. [SharonTurner] And who knows not the expectations of men after a successfulrevolution? The royal exchequer was so empty that even the ordinaryhousehold was suspended; [See Ellis: Original Letters from HarleianManuscripts, second series, vol. i., letter 42.] and as ready money wasthen prodigiously scarce, the mighty revenues of Warwick barely sufficedto pay the expenses of the expedition which, at his own cost, hadrestored the Lancastrian line. Hard position, both to generosity and toprudence, to put off and apologize to just claims and valiant service!
With intense, wearying, tortured anxiety, did the earl await the comingof Margaret and her son. The conditions imposed on him in their absencecrippled all his resources. Several even of the Lancastrian nobles heldaloof, while they saw no authority but Warwick's. Above all, he reliedupon the effect that the young Prince of Wales's presence, his beauty,his graciousness, his frank spirit--mild as his fathers, bold as hisgrandsire's--would create upon all that inert and neutral mass of thepublic, the affection of which, once gained, makes the solid strengthof a government. The very appearance of that prince would at once dispelthe slander on his birth. His resemblance to his heroic grandfatherwould suffice to win him all the hearts by which, in absence, he wasregarded as a stranger, a dubious alien. How often did the earl groanforth, "If the prince were but here, all were won!" Henry was worse thana cipher,--he was an eternal embarrassment. His good intentions, hisscrupulous piety, made him ever ready to interfere. The Church had gothold of him already, and prompted him to issue proclamations againstthe disguised Lollards, which would have lost him at one stroke half hissubjects. This Warwick prevented, to the great discontent of the honestprince. The moment required all the prestige that an imposing presenceand a splendid court could bestow. And Henry, glad of the poverty of hisexchequer, deemed it a sin to make a parade of earthly glory. "Heavenwill punish me again," said he, meekly, "if, just delivered from adungeon, I gild my unworthy self with all the vanities of perishablepower."
There was not a department which the chill of this poor king's virtuedid not somewhat benumb. The gay youths, who had revelled in thealluring court of Edward IV., heard, with disdainful mockery, the gravelectures of Henry on the length of their lovelocks and the beakersof their shoes. The brave warriors presented to him for praise wereentertained with homilies on the guilt of war. Even poor Adam wasmolested and invaded by Henry's pious apprehensions that he was seeking,by vain knowledge, to be superior to the will of Providence.
Yet, albeit perpetually irritating and chafing the impetuous spirit ofthe earl, the earl, strange to say, loved the king more and more. Thisperfect innocence, this absence from guile and self-seeking, in themidst of an age never excelled for fraud, falsehood, and selfishsimulation, moved Warwick's admiration as well as pity. Whatevercontrasted Edward IV. had a charm for him. He schooled his hot temper,and softened his deep voice, in that holy presence; and the intimatepersuasion of the hollowness of all worldly greatness, which worldlygreatness itself had forced upon the earl's mind, made somethingcongenial between the meek saint and the fiery warrior. For thehundredth time groaned Warwick, as he quitted Henry's presence,--
"Would that my gallant son-in-law were come! His spirit will soon learnhow to govern; then Warwick may be needed no more! I am weary, soreweary of the task of ruling men!"
"Holy Saint Thomas!" bluntly exclaimed Marmaduke, to whom these sadwords were said,--"whenever you visit the king you come back--pardon me,my lord--half unmanned. He would make a monk of you!"
"Ah," said Warwick, thoughtfully, "there have been greater marvels thanthat. Our boldest fathers often died the meekest shavelings. An' I hadruled this realm as long as Henry,--nay, an' this same life I lead nowwere to continue two years, with its broil and fever,--I could wellconceive the sweetness of the cloister and repose. How sets the wind?Against them still! against them still! I cannot b
ear this suspense!"
The winds had ever seemed malignant to Margaret of Anjou, but never morethan now. So long a continuance of stormy and adverse weather was neverknown in the memory of man; and we believe that it has scarcely itsparallel in history.
The earl's promise to restore King Henry was fulfilled in October. FromNovember to the following April, Margaret, with the young and royalpair, and the Countess of Warwick, lay at the seaside, waiting fora wind. [Fabyan, 502.] Thrice, in defiance of all warnings from themariners of Harfleur, did she put to sea, and thrice was she driven backon the coast of Normandy, her ships much damaged. Her friends protestedthat this malice of the elements was caused by sorcery, [Hall, WarkworthChronicle]--a belief which gained ground in England, exhilarated theDuchess of Bedford, and gave new fame to Bungey, who arrogated allthe merit, and whose weather wisdom, indeed, had here borne out hispredictions. Many besought Margaret not to tempt Providence, not totrust the sea; but the queen was firm to her purpose, and her sonlaughed at omens,--yet still the vessels could only leave the harbour tobe driven back upon the land.
Day after day the first question of Warwick, when the sun rose, was,"How sets the wind?" Night after night, ere he retired to rest, "Illsets the wind!" sighed the earl. The gales that forbade the coming ofthe royal party sped to the unwilling lingerers courier after courier,envoy after envoy; and at length Warwick, unable to bear the sickeningsuspense at distance, went himself to Dover [Hall], and from its whitecliffs looked, hour by hour, for the sails which were to bear "Lancasterand its fortunes." The actual watch grew more intolerable than thedistant expectation, and the earl sorrowfully departed to his castleof Warwick, at which Isabel and Clarence then were. Alas! where the oldsmile of home?
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