A MESSAGE IS SENT TO RICHMOND
Harlston's statement, that the line of Richard's success must part, and
that he could not gain the ship's cargo, proved to be wrong.
Gloucester had met with success where'er he turned.
Hastings' death had been received with but grumblings of discontent and
not, as we had hoped, with clamorous outbursts of bloody insurrection.
Stanley, for remonstrating with Gloucester, in an attempt to save his
friend, Hastings, from his fate, was now confined within the Tower's
walls. The Archbishop of York and the Bishop of Ely here kept him
company.
Whisperings there now were of the coronation of a different King from
Edward. Richard's full hand was now being shown to the whole broad
world. Most of those which lived at court had seen it, ere this last
card was laid upon the board.
Rumours to the effect that young Edward's father's marriage with the
Lady Grey, the young King's mother, had been illegal now had a noble
circulation. 'Twas whispered in the court, and gossipped o'er. 'Twas
the sole story on the tradesman's lips. The urchin in the street had
heard it told, and each ear did either credit or despise the tale, that
Edward, the father of our present King, had been united by the bonds of
wedlock with the Lady Eleanor Talbot, daughter of the Earl of
Shrewsbury, previous to his union with the Lady Grey. This tale, 'tis
scarce necessary for me to say, was but one of many similar inventions
of Richard to throw discredit on the rightful Sovereign, and thus help
him to reach that awful height to which he was determined to climb.
As my friend and I were one day passing the great Church of St. Paul,
we were attracted by a surging crowd of people trying, as best they
might, to see some poor soul who had just finished doing penance in a
sheet of white, and who now stood, in pitiful abashment, upon the
church's steps. Behold her as she stands there, an object of curiosity
and derision. Hear the coarse jests of the vulgar rabble, who, in
their delight at the sight of fallen power, hurl at her defenseless
ears all the filthy epithets in the vocabulary of the indecent.
Compare her authority of yesterday with her degradation of to-day. Not
one of those who were helped to power and greatness, by this woman, now
speak one word of sympathy or regret. Such a scene should find in Hell
more fitting surroundings for its tragic action. So could I imagine
the condemned souls revel and domineer when a Prince of Darkness hath
been reduced to a lower level. Another triumph for the Protector.
This is Jane Shore, the mistress of the late lamented Edward.
Gloucester, the better to deceive the people, and make them to believe
in his purity and religious ardour, compelled this poor woman, whose
sole crime against the state was that her Creator had given her such
beauty as to cause the amorous Edward to cast a longing eye upon
her--which, with that fiery Sovereign, was ever the prologue to a
history of a woman's loss of character--to thus do penance, draped in a
sheet, before the insulting eyes of the scum of the city's population.
"Look at the shameless hussy standing, with bowed head, as though she
cared a hair for all this gentle penance. See how she stands,
blushing, as a properer dame might do," said a heartless wretch,
dressed in the garb of a gentleman.
Harleston stooped and, taking up a stone, he handed it to this fellow,
with these words:--'There, my fine fellow, hurl thou this pebble at the
woman there. 'Tis much to be regretted, sir, that thou didst not live
in the days of Christ. He asked for such an one as thou to hurl the
stone at Mary Magdalene."[1]
"And who art thou, sir, to criticise my words?"
"A gentleman," replied Harleston with a slight bow. Then, as the
fellow stared stupidly into his face, my friend again said:--"I
suppose, sir, that thou dost not e'en comprehend the meaning of that
name. I should have used another word. This, then, is the definition
of that article with which you have no doubt often met, and still you
understand not. First, he is a man; second, his speech is courteous,
to those whose manner doth deserve such speech; third, he protects the
weak and defenceless, and doth not insult a helpless woman, as thou
this day hast done; fourth, he is possessed of a quality known by the
name of honour, the which to brush against or attempt to stain means
death to the transgressor or himself; last, and yet first above all
else, he must be brave, and not submit to insult such as thou dost
bear; and 'twould be death for one to strike a blow upon his cheek, as
I now do to thee." And, suiting the action to the word, Harleston gave
him a stinging slap upon the ear that almost caused the other to drop
upon his knees.
My friend's judgment of the knave was right. He was, as all these
blackguards are, a coward through and through. A plenteous supply of
bluster had he, to be sure, and this he commenced to fling at
Harleston. However, he got not far in his list of compliments; for my
friend, losing all patience with this blackguarding knave, took him by
the ear, that now was the colour of a fiery sunset, and, turning him
about, he placed his knee beneath his doublet tail and hurled him upon
his hands and knees among the legs and feet of the surging crowd about.
I had never known Harleston to act thus before, and greatly was I
surprised to see him so ready to pick up a quarrel.
When we left the crowd before the Church and continued on our way I
thought to find him still heated with his indignation. But in this I
had again misjudged this man whose brain seemed balanced with such an
exactness. He was as quiet and unruffled as though he had been but
talking with a priest about some books, of which he was most fond.
"Strange," said he in musing tone, "that men so love to see their
fellows lowered. Why can they not mourn for their sorrows and exult
when others do succeed? Instead of doing this, they glory in another's
fall, and when the downcast tries to regain his feet, cruel and
remorseless blows are heaped upon his head, till the poor creature,
hopeless of success, lies back there where he falls, among the quick
and devouring sands of vice, or other misery. Still he sinks lower,
and, as he disappears, the sands put on their faces of harmlessness and
tempting beauty, to await another victim. And the cold world jeers at
the sufferer's dying struggles, and laughs, and he's soon forgot."
"Why, my friend, thou art quite mournful," I remarked.
"Nay, by my troth, mine heart was never lighter. Misunderstand me not.
The picture that my mind now draws is sad, 'tis true. But verily do I
tell thee, Bradley, mine eye enjoys the sight. What song is there so
sweet as that which telleth to our hearts a tale of woe?"
* * * * *
Again doth Richard triumph. The ship sails quickly through the water,
brushing aside the difficulties that would impede its progress.
Gloucester steps o'er the rail and takes possession of the cargo.
Thus, after the disgraceful scene in the Cathedral of St. Paul, when
Doctor Shaw preached his now notorious sermon on the bastardy of young
Edward and his brother, and after the Lord Mayor and the Duke of
Buckingham had wrung from a small gathering of London's citizens an
unwilling consent to the crown being placed upon the head of Richard,
instead of on our gentle, rightful, boyish King, Richard was crowned
with great pomp and ceremony, and ruled England as the rightful heir by
birth, whilst his young nephew lay within the Tower, uncrowned, a stain
attempting to hang upon his name, and treated as a malefactor, who
should have worn the diadem of England.
Richard's court was now removed to Crosby Place, where the boar
bedecked himself and his surroundings with all the gaudy finery, of
which he was so fond.
Then whisperings began to circulate, to the effect that both of the
little Princes (for the people all believed that little York was also
there) had been murdered in the Tower. This tale, which soon became
general court gossip, was never contradicted by the friends of our new
King Richard, and therefore it soon came to be believed about the
court, from whence the people had it, and believed. Some said that
Tyrrell, with an order from the usurping King, went to the Tower and
took full charge thereof for but one night. That with him went three
others which, whilst the young Princes slept, smothered them to death.
This was the version most generally believed, and, to my mind, it
indeed seemeth a likely tale, in so far, of course, as it refers to
young Edward; for well did my friend and I know that little York was
far from London at that time; though where he was we knew not. We
dreaded telling to the Queen this news, and therefore waited for some
time before we again visited the Sanctuary. When at length we did go,
we were saved from again inflicting torture on this poor woman. Lord
Stanley, who had been released from his imprisonment but a few days
previous and now had been appointed to the office of Steward at the
Palace, had been there before us and told the Queen the whole sad story
of how her son had, in the night, been murdered whilst he slept.
This time the Queen was not resigned nor stupefied. Bold determination
and a hunger for revenge were imprinted on her features.
When I look back to those harsh, cruel days of misery for that woman, I
compare her, in my mind, with those savage tribes which dwell in that
distant land beyond the seas, discovered by that Genoese sailor. 'Twas
told to me, by Cabot and his son, that they, when injured, show but
little spleen; but with deliberation and the greatest care they plan,
with wonderous skill, some grand invention that enables them to have
revenge in the most complete and properest of ways.
Cold and deliberate was the ex-Queen, as she informed us that she had
sent her son, Dorset (which had returned, after leaving the little Duke
of York in a Sanctuary in France) with a letter to the Earl of
Richmond, who then resided, in exile, at the court of Brittany, asking
him to take up arms in her cause, and his own, and fight King Richard,
with the crown of England as the stake.
"I have decided on this course," said the ex-Queen, "because I realize
that my son, the Duke of York, may never rule so long as Richard lives.
If Richmond doth accept mine offer, and if he wins the crown away from
the murderous Usurper, then will I make him regent during the minority
of my little Richard. All this I have set forth distinctly in my
letter to the Earl. I also promised him my daughter Elizabeth's hand
in marriage. Such offers, methinks, no sane man would refuse, unless
he be a coward, which 'tis not possible for him to be. 'Tis true he
belongs to the Lancastrian party, which hath ever been our enemies;
but, under the circumstances in which I now find myself placed, I
cannot choose, but must accept that which is best for my poor son's
welfare. Therefore I have asked for Richmond's aid."
"Madam," said Harleston, when Elizabeth had finished speaking, "I pray
that thou wilt pardon the liberty I am about to take, in making a
remark about thine own affairs. Mine excuse for doing so is that thou,
madam, hast honoured me ere this by asking mine advice."
"Speak out, Sir Frederick," said Elizabeth. "Well dost thou know that
no word of thine, intended for my help, will be considered as
impertinent."
"Then, madam, I would ask if thou dost consider it as safe to thus
invite the Earl of Richmond to your aid? Dost thou not fear that
he--should he be successful--will claim the throne as his very own by
right of conquest by the sword? 'Tis but a possibility, madam, but
methinks 'tis worthy of consideration."
"But how could he claim the throne, having no right thereto?"
"Richard hath taken it."
"Ay, true, true, true!" wailed the poor Queen, as she walked about the
room, wringing her hands.
"Dost thou not think, madam," continued Harleston, "that it would be
better if thou wert to try and win over Buckingham to thy cause?"
"He is the friend of Richard."
"Ay, madam; but he is also ambitious. Two such men as he and the
Usurper cannot for long agree. Richard must fear that some day
Buckingham's prestige with the people will be too great. No doubt some
jealousy doth exist already. Have Lord Stanley, in thy behalf, offer
to the Duke some noble inducement to bring him to thy side. The
people, indignant at the murder of thy son, could soon be tempted to
revolt and make up a strong force; drive forth the Usurper from the
throne and place the crown upon the rightful head."
"But how shall I prevent the Earl of Richmond from coming to mine aid,
now that I have once invited him?"
"Prevent him not, madam. He shall be of the greatest possible
assistance. He and your brother-in-law, the Duke of Buckingham, united
should face the boar; and then, when victory doth rest upon their arms,
the Duke can hold the Earl in check."
"A happy thought; I'll act upon it straight away. Ah! Sir Frederick,
what should I do without thine ever sage advice? Pray God the time
will soon come when I can reward my friends, with more than thanks.
When my son cometh to his own thou, Sir Frederick, shalt be his
Counsellor."
This promise was doomed to never be fulfilled.
[1] Harleston's knowledge of scripture was evidently not great. K.M.