the when has generally been considered less doubtful. The popular
belief for centuries was that, weary of the continual risk and fear,
Gloucester went to the Tower on that same night of his arrival in
London, and with one stroke of his dagger ended the Wars of the Roses,
and the sorrows of Henry of Lancaster. The courtier Comines writes
cautiously: Henry was killed by Gloucester, "if what was told me be
true." Had he in his heart believed it untrue, would he have thus
mentioned it? One dry old chronicler remarks that Henry died on the
twenty-first of May, "the Duke of Gloucester and his men being in the
Tower that night." Stow says that his body was carried to St. Paul's in
an open coffin on the 22nd. Stow, Sandford, Baker, and Mezeray have no
doubt of the murder. It was not until the last century that it was ever
questioned, and then by writers who were desirous to whitewash the
decidedly black character of Richard III. But so far as I know, no one
has ever noticed on either side the singular fact recorded on the Issue
Roll, that Henry did not die on the twenty-first at all. There may have
been some reason--now perhaps inscrutable--why Edward wished to convince
the public that Henry did die on that day: but his own Roll, meant for
no eyes but those of safe persons, unquestionably indicates that Henry
was living until the 27th of May, six days later. His "diet" is charged
until the latter day. There may have been some show of reason, as
putting a stop to all future trouble, why the public should believe
Henry to be dead when he was not: but what possible cause could there be
for entering on the Roll a false statement with the object of showing
Henry to be alive when he was really dead? The question of course
arises, whose was the body exposed to view in St. Paul's on the
twenty-second?--even if we put aside the sensational item that the
corpse bled wherever it rested, on account of the presence of the
murderer as chief mourner. The Roll above mentioned, which gives the
expenses of Henry's funeral, makes no mention of the day of burial.
Perhaps the difficulty is best left unsolved, with just one
statement--that Gloucester was perfectly capable of the crime laid to
his charge: and that the main point of circumstantial evidence in
determining the question, is to decide whether Gloucester was or was not
at the Tower on the 27th of May.
The strongest evidence known to me in Gloucester's favour is the
assertion of Fleetwood, adopted by the usually careful and accurate
Carte, that Henry was found dead, probably of apoplexy, on the night of
the twenty-first of May. This was of course the York version of facts.
But if, as has been shown, the date is conclusively disproved by the
testimony of the Issue Roll, may not the circumstances be equally far
from true? It was so exceedingly in the interest of Edward that Henry
should die just at that moment, that the suspicion of his death having
been humanly assisted will never be removed as long as the world lasts.
Very little expense attended the funeral of the dead. Twenty ells of
linen cloth, wax, and spices, were provided; two men only carried
torches (the number usually corresponding with the years of the
deceased); a few soldiers of Calais watched the corpse; and to five
orders of friars a pittance was given for masses, wretched indeed when
compared with the usual outlay. The whole cost was under L43--just the
price that King Edward paid about the same date for a crimson velvet
jacket.
There is nothing but pure fancy as the source of the scene imagined by
our greatest dramatist, wherein Gloucester makes love to the young
Princess of Wales when she officiates as chief mourner at King Henry's
funeral. The poor Princess was an outlaw and a prisoner in the Tower at
that moment, and assuredly never held any such position, any more than
she lent willing ear, whether first or last, to any such words.
The body of King Henry was buried at Chertsey Abbey, where it rested
until Gloucester himself was King, when, on the 12th of August, 1484, it
was finally removed to his birthplace, Windsor.
Many days had not elapsed after the funeral of the dead King, when
London was startled with the news that the Princess of Wales was
missing. How she had made good her escape no man knew: that she was no
longer a prisoner in the Tower was the one thing certain. Princess,
indeed, no one now called her. As her father's daughter, she was still
the Lady Anne: and this title now replaced the royal one. The first
idea was that she had taken refuge at Beaulieu with her mother; but this
was soon found to be a mistake. The Countess of Warwick was still in
sanctuary, though her elder daughter, the Duchess of Clarence, had
departed at once to take her proper place at Court as King Edward's
sister-in-law: and from her honorary imprisonment poor Lady Warwick was
inditing pitiful letters to every person whom she thought likely to have
any influence with King Edward, in the hope of procuring her pardon.
She addressed herself to every member of the royal family in turn; and
she notes as a special grievance in the petition she presently offered
to the King, that "in the absence of clerkes, she hath wretyn l'res with
her owne hand."[#]
[#] Cott. MS. Jul. B. xii., fol. 317.
Bitterly she complains that the King had sent letters to the Abbot of
Beaulieu, on account of some "synester informacion to his said Highness
made," with orders to keep her in strict prison, which was a deep grief
to her. She pleads her sore poverty, being cut off from all enjoyment
of her jointure and dower of the earldom of Salisbury, and also from her
own Despenser lands and earldom of Warwick: and lastly, she represents
that she has no opportunity of putting her case into the hands of any
solicitor, nor, if she had, is there one that would dare to undertake
it.
Edward paid little attention to this sad appeal. Clarence had his
brother's ear: and Clarence had set his mind upon one thing,--to hand
down to his children the vast Warwick inheritance, undivided. In order
to do this, he grudged his mother-in-law every unnecessary penny: and he
determined that so far as in him lay, his sister-in-law, the Princess of
Wales, should never marry again. There was much danger of this
calamity: not because of any wish to that effect on the part of the
girl-widow, whose heart was buried for ever in the nave of Tewkesbury
Abbey, and whose sole ambition was to creep out of sight and hearing of
the hard, cold world, into some quiet corner, where she could wait
undisturbed until God called her to rejoin her dead. The danger arose
not from her, but from the Duke of Gloucester. From his early boyhood,
Richard of York had loved Anne Neville; or rather, to put it more
accurately, he loved himself, and he found in Anne Neville a plaything
the possession of which was necessary to his happiness. That he did not
love her, he plainly showed by his actions. Had he done so, he would
have let her alone, which was all the grace she asked at his hands. But
Gloucester, like most human beings, looked upon love and persecution as
exchangeable terms. He wanted Anne Neville: whether she wanted him was
a point quite unnecessary to take into the account. And Anne did not
want him. On the contrary, she intensely disliked him. It was not
possible for her to compare to his advantage such a man as this, whose
soul was ten times more crooked than his body, with her tender, brave,
gallant young Plantagenet, whose death
"had made all earth and heaven
One vaulted grave to her."
It was not his disadvantages of person which made Anne shrink from
Gloucester like a bird from a snake. Had the characters been exchanged,
matters might have been very different.
These being the circumstances of the case, Anne had lent a willing ear
to the overtures of Clarence, who sent her secret messages during her
imprisonment, offering to deliver her from the Tower and keep her in
hiding from Gloucester. His object was to prevent her from requiring
her share of the Warwick lands: hers was to get rid of persecution from
a man whom she hated. Both being agreed upon the means, however they
might differ in the object, Clarence contrived to steal Anne out of the
Tower, and secreted her in a very romantic manner. The Princess of Wales
was actually placed in service, as a cook, in "a mean house" in the City
of London. So thoroughly was she concealed, that nearly two years
elapsed before the indefatigable Gloucester succeeded in discovering the
place of her retreat.
King Edward appears to have been at this time in a most gracious frame
of mind, which he evinced by scattering pardons and honours broadcast on
all sides. Fauconbridge, the latest insurrectionist in favour of the
House of Lancaster, was not only pardoned, but made Vice-Admiral.
Bishop Waynflete, Lord St. John, and even the Earl of Oxford, were taken
into favour. The poor Countess, his mother, who was Warwick's sister,
was left in such poverty for some time that she was reduced to earn her
bread by her needle, until Edward was pleased to awake to the fact of
her existence, and to grant her a pension of L100 per annum. The Duke
of Gloucester was created Lord High Chamberlain, the Earl of Wiltshire
Chief Butler, and the Earl of Essex Treasurer of the Exchequer. The
castles of Middleham and Sheriff Hutton--possessions of Warwick--were
granted to Gloucester, who had always been Edward's favourite brother,
notwithstanding the anger of Clarence at this poaching on his preserves.
The King also granted all the lands of John Lord Lovell, deceased, to
his sister the Princess Elizabeth and her husband, John Duke of Suffolk,
son of the famous Duke who had been the counsellor of Queen Marguerite.
This was a stroke of policy, for Suffolk was a Lancastrian. But now
that Henry VI. and his son were dead, numbers of Lancastrians came in
and offered themselves as henceforward loyal subjects of Edward IV., who
had now in their eyes become the rightful King. Thomas Earl of Ormonde
led the van: and he was followed by Jaspar Earl of Pembroke, the late
King's half-brother, by the Duke of Exeter from his prison, various
members of the Courtenay and Clifford families, and among others, not
least, by Margaret Duchess of Somerset, the mother of the only person
living who could on any pretence of right dispute the crown with Edward.
This was Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond, heiress of the
Beauforts, and widow of Edmund Tudor, the elder but deceased
half-brother of King Henry. The Beauforts, who were the illegitimate
children of John of Gaunt by Katherine Swynford, the lady who afterwards
became his third wife, had been formally legitimated in 1397, by a
patent which distinctly pronounced them capable of succeeding, to all
"honours, dignities, positions, and offices, public and private, whether
permanent or temporary, and to all feudalities and nobilities, by
whatsoever name known, whether dukedom, princedom, earldom, barony, or
other fief, mediately or immediately held of us ... as if they had been
born in lawful wedlock."[#]
[#] Patent Roll, 20 Ric. II., Part 2.
This language undoubtedly qualified the Beauforts for the royal
succession, and was meant to do so:[#] but at the time the patent was
drawn up, there was little reasonable probability of any such event, for
not only the reigning Sovereign, but the whole House of Lancaster, lay
between them and the throne. But now that the royal family was reduced
to the children of Richard Duke of York, and the heiress of the
Beauforts, Edward IV. was very naturally jealous of the latter. Under
the old law, she stood before him; and it was therefore necessary for
his peace that some bar should be provided to her further advance. This
was the more desirable, since she had a son, a clever youth of fifteen
years, concerning whom an anecdote, very awkward for Edward, was in
circulation among the populace. Five years[#] before this, Jaspar Tudor,
going into Wales, where young Richmond was residing with Lord Pembroke,
had brought him back with him, and presented him to King Henry. The
King was reported to have said, laying his hand on the boy's head as he
spoke,--
[#] The qualifying words "the royal dignity excepted," are over-lined,
in blacker ink and in a later hand than the original entry.
[#] This is the date usually given; but an earlier one is more likely to
be true, since in 1466 King Henry was a prisoner.
"Much striving there is between us; but this is he to whom both we and
our adversaries must submit."
There can be little doubt that Henry regarded his young nephew as his
heir presumptive, a fact which in itself was likely to rouse Edward's
jealousy against the boy: and even now a popular reaction was beginning
in favour of the deceased King, which took the form of reverence for the
sanctity of his life, and disposition to believe in his powers of
prediction. The last item was rather helped than hindered by his
predisposition to insanity, for in the Middle Ages a man with impaired
intellect, in whatever form, was always regarded as one with whom God
held direct communication. The particular form of madness which had
afflicted King Henry, and which was characterised not by any kind of
passion or violence, but by silence and dreaminess--an apparent absence
of the soul from the body--was especially looked upon as indicative of
inspiration. King Henry's own account of these attacks of aberration
was that they were simply a blank to him, and that he had not the
slightest idea of any thing that had taken place. It may be that to a
man of his tender, sensitive, affectionate nature, placed as he was in
these dreadful circumstances, these seasons, resting both mind and body,
were God's greatest mercy. At this early date after Henry's death, a
strong wish for his canonisation had already arisen. Had those who
aspired to canonise him after death been a little more friendly to him
in life, it would have been a state of things much more to his
advantage. But this is human nature. We worry our friend into his
grave, and then we call him poor dear So-and-so, and wear his portrait
in a locket.
All these facts tended to make Edward's throne an uneasy seat, and
caused him to be very anxious to get hold of young Richmond. His
grandmother, the Duchess of Somerset, had returned to her allegiance:
but his mother, the Countess of Richmond and Wiltshire, made no sign.
His uncle Jaspar was watching over the boy; and no sooner did he hear
that Edward was endeavouring to discover him, than he fled with him
across the Channel, and delivered him into the safe keeping of the Duke
of Bretagne.
Seeing that his dangerous rival had escaped his hands, Edward thought it
desirable to assure himself of the fidelity of his nobles to his son.
The little child of eight months old was created Prince of Wales, Duke
of Lancaster, and Earl of Cornwall; and on the 3rd of July, in "the
Parliament Chamber" at Westminster, the Lords Spiritual and Temporal
swore allegiance to him.[#] Among those who took this oath is specially
named, third on the list, his uncle of Gloucester. An entire household
was appointed for the baby Prince--Chancellor, Seneschal, and
Chamberlain.
[#] Close Roll, 11 Edw. IV.
On the 27th of August, a patent of pardon was issued for five
Lancastrians. Three were men of no note. The others were described as
"Henry, calling himself Duke of Exeter," and "Jaspar Owen, calling
himself Earl of Pembroke."[#] It was not, however, for three weeks
after this, that Exeter was suffered to leave his prison. He came out
to find such a pestilence raging all over the country as had not been
known in England for many years--scarcely since the "black death" in the
reign of Edward III. No borough town in England was free. King and
Queen went on pilgrimage to Canterbury as an expiation for the sins
which had caused it. But, as a set-off to this humiliation, the
personal expenses of King Edward for this half-year--the bloodiest
period of his reign--amounted to a sum which no previous King of England
had ever approached. The details of this expenditure, from April to
September, 1471, will be found in the Appendix. They throw more light
on the King's character than pages of description.
[#] Patent Roll, 11 Edw. IV., Part I.--The scribe probably omitted a
word, and meant to describe the son of Owen Tudor as Jaspar ap Owen.
Perhaps, had Edward--and it may be more than he--carefully studied his
account-book, it might have given him some intimation of the quarter
wherein those sins lay for which he rode to Canterbury to do penance.
*CHAPTER VIII.*
*THE END OF A WEDDING-DAY*
"Aye, there's a blank at my right hand
That ne'er can be made up to me."
--HOGG.
"And how goes it with the fair Grisacres, Sellinger?"
The question was asked by King Edward IV., who was lounging in an
attitude of lazy ease on a "day-bed," the ancestor of the modern sofa.
His Majesty's life was spent in alternations between taking his ease in
the very easiest of ways, and fits of fiery bravery when occasion called
them forth. The gentleman addressed was Master Thomas St. Leger, a
squire of the body, to whom Edward had granted the marriage of Jane
Grisacres, one of the chamberers of his sister of Exeter. This meant
that the young lady was an heiress, and that the gentleman was at
liberty either to marry her himself, or to make merchandise of her to
some other person. The inclinations of the lady were not considered.
Her sole opportunity, therefore, if she did not admire her master, lay
in making herself so extremely disagreeable to him that he might prefer
to sell her.
"I humbly thank your Highness, all goes rarely well," replied St. Leger,
with a courtesy.
St. Leger was a good-looking man of some five and twenty years, with
light hair, which, in accordance with fashion, he wore very long, and
cut quite straight all round.
"That is well. I would fain do thee some grace for thy service," said
Edward, rising, and calling another of his squires to attend him, he
lounged out of the room.
King Edward IV. was the handsomest man of his age. "A more beautiful
person," says Comines, "never did mine eyes behold." He was very
tall,--six feet three inches--of extremely fair complexion, light brown
hair, and blue eyes--true Plantagenet colours: but he grew corpulent in
his later years--a blemish which at this time had not begun to appear.
Like most persons at that period, he wore his hair very long, but
neither beard, whiskers, nor moustache.
"What though the face be fair,
What though the eye be bright,
What though the rare and flowing hair
Vie with the rich sunlight,--
If the soul which of all should the fairest be,
If the soul which must last through eternity
Be a dark and unholy thing?"
And certainly, in Edward's case, the beauty of the outward man was very
far from corresponding with the inner man of the heart.
A rather peculiar smile curled the lip of the squire after the King's
departure.
"His Highness would fain do me some grace--would he so?" he inquired
half aloud, and to all appearance addressing himself to a fly which was
marching up the diamond-shaped panes of the window. "What should he
say, trow, an' he wist of the grace which another thinks to do me?"
The same evening saw Mr. St. Leger a visitor at Coldharbour, for the
purpose of carrying on that wooing which was now beginning to be thought
decorous even in these cases where the lady was not free to
refuse--though, of course, capable of omission if preferred. Half an
hour he spent with Mistress Jane Grisacres in the hall--a half-hour
which was a weary weight to him, and a moment of enchantment to her,
for--alas for poor Jane Grisacres!--she loved the handsome suitor who
cared so little about her. This business well over, Mr. St. Leger
slipped out of the hall, and passed lightly up a spiral staircase, to do
his real wooing in another chamber, to a lady who had double the beauty,
and ten times the position, but not one per cent. of the heart, of poor
Jane Grisacres.
Men and women do not leap, but grow, into monsters of iniquity.
Dionysius the Tyrant, Pope Alexander the Sixth, Judge Jeffries, and
Robespierre, were all innocent babies once. The heart not yet hardened
in sin shrinks back from the first touch of what it recognises as evil,
with the cry, "Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?"[#]
[#] These words have passed into an English proverb, and are here used
in their current sense: but it should be remembered that in that sense
they are not a Scriptural quotation, the key-note word being omitted
from the sentence. Hazael really said, "Thy servant the dog, shall he do
this great thing?" In other words, Is so mean a creature as I to attain
to so high a position as you intimate? His feeling, therefore, was not
righteous indignation, but rather rapturous astonishment.
But when the evil is not recognised, how then? There is no shrinking
from Satan when he comes to us clad in the robes of an angel of light.
One of the most skilful touches of the wonderful tinker is that passage
where Christian and Hopeful admit that they were forewarned to beware of
the Flatterer. "But we did not imagine (said they) that this fine-spoken
man had been he."
When the Lady Anne of York, in her innocent girlhood, scarcely more than
a child, stood at the altar with Henry Duke of Exeter, she would
probably have repulsed with indignant horror the prophet who should have
told her that ere twenty years were over, she would fling overboard,
careless what fate he met, the husband who would have loved her if she
had given him leave, for the sake of a young man who was merely
attracted by her beauty, rank, and wealth. She was ready to do it now.
Beginning by simply amusing herself with the young squire, then
regarding him as a friend, she had reached a point at which she was
willing to abnegate rank, and sacrifice even her hoarded wealth, sooner
than part with him. The matter was easily managed. A Princess would
find it no hard matter to obtain a divorce. Of course the King must be
amused with some other reason than the true one, as he might not fancy a
marriage between his sister and his servant. But it was easy enough to
take him in, by a little virtuous indignation about the wicked
Lancastrian proclivities of the Duke, which made it utterly
impracticable for the Duchess ever to bear him again. Edward's own
constancy was not so remarkable that he could afford to be severe upon
Anne.
And what of the delicate maiden whose one tie to life was that father
who was thus to be cast away and left to his fate? Her mother did not
find it convenient to consider her. She was to be married to Thomas
Grey. If she did not like him, worse luck! What more could be said?
She must put up with her fate, as others had done before her.