the court of the Duchess of Burgundy, and the merchants of Flanders
suffered heavily from the closure of the trade of Antwerp. This grew
intolerable. The people were indignant. Something must be done. The
pretended prince must leave Flanders, or he ran risk of being killed by
its inhabitants.
The adventurous youth was thus obliged to leave his refuge at Margaret's
court, and now entered upon a more active career. Accompanied by a few
hundred men, he sailed from Flanders and landed on the English coast at
Deal. He hoped for a rising in his behalf. On the contrary, the
country-people rose against him, killed many of his followers, and took
a hundred and fifty prisoners. These were all hanged, by order of the
king, along the sea-shore, as a warning to any others who might wish to
invade England.
Flanders was closed against the pretender. Ireland was similarly closed,
for Henry had gained the Irish to his side. Scotland remained, there
being hostility between the English and Scottish kings. Hither the
fugitive made his way. James IV. of Scotland gave him a most encouraging
reception, called him cousin, and in a short time married him to one of
the most beautiful and charming ladies of his court, Lady Catharine
Gordon, a relative of the royal house of the Stuarts.
For a time now the fortunes of the young aspirant improved. Henry,
alarmed at his progress, sought by bribery of the Scottish lords to have
him delivered into his hands. In this he failed; James was faithful to
his word. Soon Perkin had a small army at his back. The Duchess of
Burgundy provided him with men, money, and arms, till in a short time he
had fifteen hundred good soldiers under his command.
With these, and with the aid of King James of Scotland, who reinforced
his army and accompanied him in person, he crossed the border into
England, and issued a proclamation, calling himself King Richard the
Fourth, and offering large rewards to any one who should take or
distress Henry Tudor, as he called the king.
Unluckily for the young invader, the people of England had had enough of
civil war. White Rose or Red Rose had become of less importance to them
than peace and prosperity. They refused to rise in his support, and
quickly grew to hate his soldiers, who, being of different nations, most
of them brigandish soldiers of fortune, began by quarrelling with one
another, and ended by plundering the country.
"This is shameful," said Perkin. "I am not here to distress the English
people. Rather than fill the country with misery, I will lose my
rights."
King James laughed at his scruples, giving him to understand that no
true king would stop for such a trifle. But Perkin was resolute, and
the army marched back again into Scotland without fighting a battle.
The White Rose had shown himself unfit for kingship in those days. He
was so weak as to have compassion for the people, if that was the true
cause of his retreat.
This invasion had one unlooked-for result. The people had been heavily
taxed by Henry, in preparation for the expected war. In consequence the
men of Cornwall rose in rebellion. With Flammock, a lawyer, and Joseph,
a blacksmith, at their head, they marched eastward through England until
within sight of London, being joined by Lord Audley and some other
country gentlemen on their route. The king met and defeated them, though
they fought fiercely. Lord Audley was beheaded, Flammock and Joseph were
hanged, the rest were pardoned. And so ended this threatening
insurrection.
It was of no advantage to the wandering White Rose. He soon had to leave
Scotland, peace having been made between the two kings. James, like
Charles VIII. before him, was honorable and would not give him up, but
required him to leave his kingdom. Perkin and his beautiful wife, who
clung to him with true love, set sail for Ireland. For a third time he
had been driven from shelter.
In Ireland he found no support. The people had become friendly to the
king, and would have nothing to do with the wandering White Rose. As a
forlorn hope, he sailed for Cornwall, trusting that the stout Cornish
men, who had just struck so fierce a blow for their rights, might
gather to his support. With him went his wife, clinging with unyielding
faith and love to his waning fortunes.
He landed at Whitsand Bay, on the coast of Cornwall, issued a
proclamation under the title of Richard the Fourth of England, and
quickly found himself in command of a small army of Cornishmen. His wife
he left in the castle of St. Michael's Mount, as a place of safety, and
at the head of three thousand men marched into Devonshire. By the time
he reached Exeter he had six thousand men under his command. They
besieged Exeter, but learning that the king was on the march, they
raised the siege, and advanced until Taunton was reached, when they
found themselves in front of the king's army.
The Cornishmen were brave and ready. They were poorly armed and
outnumbered, but battle was their only thought. Such was not the thought
of their leader. For the first time in his career he found himself face
to face with a hostile army. He could plot, could win friends by his
engaging manners, could do anything but fight. But now that the critical
moment had come he found that he lacked courage. Perhaps this had as
much as compassion to do with his former retreat to Scotland. It is
certain that the sight of grim faces and brandished arms before him
robbed his heart of its bravery. Mounting a swift horse, he fled in the
night, followed by about threescore others. In the morning his men found
themselves without a leader. Having nothing to fight for, they
surrendered. Some few of the more desperate of them were hanged. The
others were pardoned and permitted to return.
No sooner was the discovery made that the White Rose had taken to the
winds than horsemen were sent in speedy pursuit, one troop being sent to
St. Michael's Mount to seize the Lady Catharine, and a second troop of
five hundred horse to pursue the fugitive pretender, and take him, if
possible, before he could reach the sanctuary of Beaulieu, in the New
Forest, whither he had fled. The lady was quickly brought before the
king. Whether or not he meant to deal harshly with her, the sight of her
engaging face moved him to compassion and admiration. She was so
beautiful, bore so high a reputation for goodness, and was so lovingly
devoted to her husband, that the king was disarmed of any ill purposes
he may have entertained, and treated her with the highest respect and
consideration. In the end he gave her an allowance suitable to her rank,
placed her at court near the queen's person, and continued her friend
during life. Years after, when the story of Perkin Warbeck had almost
become a nursery-tale, the Lady Catharine was still called by the people
the "White Rose," as a tribute to her beauty and her romantic history.
As regards the fugitive and his followers, they succeeded in reaching
Beaulieu and taking sanctuary. The pursuers, who had failed to overtake
them, could only surround the sanctuary and wait orders from the king.
The astute Henry pursued his usual course, employing policy instead of
force. Perkin was coaxed out of his retreat, on promise of good
treatment if he should surrender, and was brought up to London, guarded,
but not bound. Henry, who was curious to see him, contrived to do so
from a window, screening himself while closely observing his rival.
London reached, the cavalcade became a procession, the captive being led
through the principal streets for the edification of the populace,
before being taken to the Tower. The king had little reason to fear him.
The pretended prince, who had run away from his army, was not likely to
obtain new adherents. Scorn and contempt were the only manifestations of
popular opinion.
So little, indeed, did Henry dread this aspirant to the throne, that he
was quickly released from the Tower and brought to Westminster, where he
was treated as a gentleman, being examined from time to time regarding
his imposture. Such parts of his confession as the king saw fit to
divulge were printed and spread through the country, but were of a
nature not likely to settle the difficulty. "Men missing of that they
looked for, looked about for they knew not what, and were more in doubt
than before, but the king chose rather not to satisfy, than to kindle
coals."
Perkin soon brought the king's complaisance to an end. His mercurial
disposition counselled flight, and, deceiving his guards, he slipped
from the palace and fled to the sea-shore. Here he found all avenues of
escape closed, and so diligent was the pursuit that he quickly turned
back, and again took sanctuary in Bethlehem priory, near Richmond. The
prior came to the king and offered to deliver him up, asking for his
life only. His escapade had roused anger in the court.
"Take the rogue and hang him forthwith," was the hot advice of the
king's council.
"The silly boy is not worth a rope," answered the king. "Take the knave
and set him in the stocks. Let the people see what sort of a prince this
is."
Life being promised, the prior brought forth his charge, and a few days
after Perkin was set in the stocks for a whole day, in the palace-court
at Westminster. The next day he was served in the same manner at
Cheapside, in both places being forced to read a paper which purported
to be a true and full confession of his imposture. From Cheapside he was
taken to the Tower, having exhausted the mercy of the king.
In the Tower he was placed in the company of the Earl of Warwick, the
last of the acknowledged Plantagenets, who had been in this gloomy
prison for fourteen years. It is suspected that the king had a dark
purpose in this. To the one he had promised life; the other he had no
satisfactory reason to remove; possibly he fancied that the uneasy
temper of Perkin would give him an excuse for the execution of both.
If such was his scheme, it worked well. Perkin had not been long in the
Tower before the quick-silver of his nature began to declare itself. His
insinuating address gained him the favor of his keepers, whom he soon
began to offer lofty bribes to aid his escape. Into this plot he managed
to draw the young earl. The plan devised was that the four keepers
should murder the lieutenant of the Tower in the night, seize the keys
and such money as they could find, and let out Perkin and the earl.
It may be that the king himself had arranged this plot, and instructed
the keepers in their parts. Certainly it was quickly divulged. And by
strange chance, just at this period a third pretender appeared, this
time a shoemaker's son, who, like the baker's son, pretended to be the
Earl of Warwick. His name was Ralph Wilford. He had been taught his part
by a priest named Patrick. They came from Suffolk and advanced into
Kent, where the priest took to the pulpit to advocate the claims of his
charge. Both were quickly taken, the youth executed, the priest
imprisoned for life.
And now Henry doubtless deemed that matters of this kind had gone far
enough. The earl and his fellow-prisoner were indicted for conspiracy,
tried and found guilty, the earl beheaded on Tower Hill, and Perkin
Warbeck hanged at Tyburn. This was in the year 1499. It formed a
dramatic end to the history of the fifteenth century, being the closing
event in the wars of the White and the Red Roses, the death of the last
Plantagenet and of the last White Rose aspirant to the throne.
In conclusion, the question may be asked, Who was Perkin Warbeck? All we
know of him is the story set afloat by Henry VII., made up of accounts
told by his spies and a confession wrested from a boy threatened with
death. That he was taught his part by Margaret of Burgundy we have only
this evidence for warrant. He was publicly acknowledged by this lady,
the sister of Edward IV., was married by James of Scotland to a lady of
royal blood, was favorably received by many English lords, and was
widely believed, in view of the mystery surrounding the fate of the
princes, to be truly the princely person he declared himself. However
that be, his story is a highly romantic one, and forms a picturesque
closing scene to the long drama of the Wars of the Roses.
_THE FIELD OF THE CLOTH OF GOLD._
It was the day fixed for the opening of the most brilliant pageant known
to modern history. On the green space in front of the dilapidated castle
of Guisnes, on the soil of France, but within what was known as the
English pale, stood a summer palace of the amplest proportions and the
most gorgeous decorations, which was furnished within with all that
comfort demanded and art and luxury could provide. Let us briefly
describe this magnificent palace, which had been prepared for the
temporary residence of the English king.
The building was of wood, square in shape, each side being three hundred
and twenty-eight feet long. On every side were oriel-windows and
curiously glazed clerestories, whose mullions and posts were overlaid
with gold. In front of the grand entrance stood an embattled gate-way,
having on each side statues of warriors in martial attitudes. From the
gate to the palace sloped upward a long passage, flanked with images in
bright armor and presenting "sore and terrible countenances." This led
to an embowered landing-place, where, facing the great doors, stood
antique figures girt with olive-branches.
Interiorly the palace halls and chambers were superbly decorated, white
silk forming the ceilings of the passages and galleries, from which
depended silken hangings of various colors and braided cloths, "which
showed like bullions of fine braided gold." Roses set in lozenges, on a
golden ground-work, formed the chamber ceilings. The wall spaces were
decorated with richly carved and gilt panels, while embroidered silk
tapestry hung from the windows and formed the walls of the corridors. In
the state apartments the furniture was of princely richness, the whole
domains of art and industry having been ransacked to provide their most
splendid belongings. Exteriorly the building presented an equally ornate
appearance, glass, gold-work, and ornamental hangings quite concealing
the carpentry, so that "every quarter of it, even the least, was a
habitation fit for a prince."
To what end, in the now far-away year of 1520, and in that rural
locality, under the shadows of a castle which had fallen into
irredeemable ruin, had such an edifice been built,--one which only the
revenues of a kingdom, in that day, could have erected? Its purpose was
a worthy one. France and England, whose intercourse for centuries had
been one of war, were now to meet in peace. Crecy and Agincourt had been
the last meeting-places of the monarchs of these kingdoms, and death and
ruin had followed their encounters. Now Henry the Eighth of England and
Francis the First of France were to meet in peace and amity, spending
the revenues of their kingdoms not for armor of linked mail and
death-dealing weapons, but for splendid attire and richest pageantry, in
token of friendship and fraternity between the two realms.
A century had greatly changed the relations of England and France. In
1420 Henry V. had recently won the great victory of Agincourt, and
France lay almost prostrate at his feet. In 1520 the English possessions
in France were confined to the seaport of Calais and a small district
around it known as the "English pale." The castle of Guisnes stood just
within the English border, the meeting between the two monarchs being
fixed at the line of separation of the two kingdoms.
The palace we have described, erected for the habitation of King Henry
and his suite, had been designed and ordered by Cardinal Wolsey, to
whose skill in pageantry the management of this great festival had been
consigned. Extensive were the preparations alike in England and in
France. All that the island kingdom could furnish of splendor and riches
was provided, not alone for the adornment of the king and his guard, but
for the host of nobles and the multitude of persons of minor estate, who
came in his train, the whole following of the king being nearly four
thousand persons, while more than a thousand formed the escort of the
queen. For the use of this great company had been brought nearly four
thousand richly-caparisoned horses, with vast quantities of the other
essentials of human comfort and regal display.
While England had been thus busy in preparing for the pageant, France
had been no less active. Arde, a town near the English pale, had been
selected as the dwelling-place of Francis and his train. As for the
splendor of adornment of those who followed him, there seems to have
been almost nothing worn but silks, velvets, cloth of gold and silver,
jewels and precious stones, such being the costliness of the display
that a writer who saw it humorously says, "Many of the nobles carried
their castles, woods, and farms upon their backs."
Magnificent as was the palace built for Henry and his train, the
arrangements for the French king and his train were still more imposing.
The artistic taste of the French was contrasted with the English love
for solid grandeur. Francis had proposed that both parties should lodge
in tents erected on the field, and in pursuance of this idea there had
been prepared "numerous pavilions, fitted up with halls, galleries, and
chambers ornamented within and without with gold and silver tissue.
Amidst golden balls and quaint devices glittering in the sun, rose a
gilt figure of St. Michael, conspicuous for his blue mantle powdered
with golden _fleurs-de-lis_, and crowning a royal pavilion of vast
dimensions supported by a single mast. In his right hand he held a dart,
in his left a shield emblazoned with the arms of France. Inside, the
roof of the pavilion represented the canopy of heaven ornamented with
stars and figures of the zodiac. The lodgings of the queen, of the
Duchess d'Alençon, the king's favorite sister, and of other ladies and
princes of the blood, were covered with cloth of gold. The rest of the
tents, to the number of three or four hundred, emblazoned with the arms
of their owners, were pitched on the banks of a small river outside the
city walls."
No less abundant provision had been made for the residence of the
English visitors. When King Henry looked from the oriel windows of his
fairy palace, he saw before him a scene of the greatest splendor and the
most incessant activity. The green space stretching southward from the
castle was covered with tents of all shapes and sizes, many of them
brilliant with emblazonry, while from their tops floated rich-colored
banners and pennons in profusion. Before each tent stood a sentry, his
lance-point glittering like a jewel in the rays of the June sun. Here
richly-caparisoned horses were prancing, there sumpter mules laden with
supplies, and decorated with ribbons and flowers, made their slow way
onward. Everywhere was movement, everywhere seemed gladness; merriment
ruled supreme, the hilarity being doubtless heightened by frequent
visits to gilded fountains, which spouted forth claret and hypocras into
silver cups from which all might drink. Never had been seen such a
picture in such a place. The splendor of color and decoration of the
tents, the shining armor and gorgeous dresses of knights and nobles, the
brilliancy of the military display, the glittering and gleaming effect
of the pageant as a whole, rendering fitly applicable the name by which
this royal festival has since been known, "The Field of the Cloth of
Gold."
Two leagues separated Arde and Guisnes, two leagues throughout which the
spectacle extended, rich tents and glittering emblazonry occupying the
whole space, the canvas habitations of the two nations meeting at the
dividing-line between England and France. It was a splendid avenue
arranged for the movements of the monarchs of these two great kingdoms.
Such was the scene: what were the ceremonies? They began with a grand
procession, headed by Cardinal Wolsey, who, as representative of the
king of England, made the first move in the game of ostentation. Before
him rode fifty gentlemen, each wearing a great gold chain, while their
horses were richly caparisoned with crimson velvet. His ushers, fifty
other gentlemen, followed, bearing maces of gold which at one end were
as large as a man's head. Next came a dignitary in crimson velvet,
proudly carrying the cardinal's cross of gold, adorned with precious
stones. Four lackeys, attired in cloth of gold and with magnificent
plumed bonnets in their hands, followed. Then came the cardinal himself,
man and horse splendidly equipped, his strong and resolute face full of
the pride and arrogance which marked his character, his bearing that of
almost regal ostentation. After him followed an array of bishops and
other churchmen, while a hundred archers of the king's guard completed
the procession.
Reaching Arde, the cardinal dismounted in front of the royal tent, and,
in the stateliest manner, did homage in his masters name to Francis, who
received him with a courteous display of deference and affection. The
next day the representatives of France returned this visit, with equal
pomp and parade, and with as kindly a reception from Henry, while the
English nobles feasted those of France in their lordliest fashion, so
boisterous being their hospitality that they fairly forced their
visitors into their tents.
These ceremonial preliminaries passed, the meeting of the two sovereigns
came next in order. Henry had crossed the channel to greet Francis;
Francis agreed to be the first to cross the frontier to greet him. June
7 was the day fixed. On this day the king of France left his tent amid
the roar of cannon, and, followed by a noble retinue in cloth of gold
and silver, made his way to the frontier, where was set up a gorgeous
pavilion, in whose decorations the heraldries of England and France were
commingled. In this handsome tent the two monarchs were to confer.
About the same time Henry set out, riding a powerful stallion, nobly
caparisoned. At the border-line between English and French territory the
two monarchs halted, facing each other, each still on his own soil. Deep
silence prevailed in the trains, and every eye was fixed on the two
central figures.
They were strongly contrasted. Francis was tall but rather slight in
figure, and of delicate features. Henry was stout of form, and massive
but handsome of face. He had not yet attained those swollen proportions
of face and figure in which history usually depicts him. Their attire
was as splendid as art and fashion could produce. Francis was dressed in
a mantle of cloth of gold, which fell over a jewelled cassock of gold
frieze. He wore a bonnet of ruby velvet enriched with gems, while the
front and sleeves of his mantle were splendid with diamonds, rubies,
emeralds, and "ropes of pearls." He rode a "beautiful horse covered with
goldsmith's work."
Henry was dressed in cloth of silver damask, studded with gems, and
ribbed with gold cloth, while his horse was gay with trappings of gold,
embroidery and mosaic work. Altogether the two men were as splendid in
appearance as gold, silver, jewelry, and the costliest tissues could
make them,--and as different in personal appearance as two men of the
same race could well be.
[Illustration: HENRY THE EIGHTH.]
The occasion was not alone a notable one, it was to some extent a
critical one. For centuries the meetings of French and English kings had
been hostile; could they now be trusted to be peaceful? Might not the
sword of the past be hidden in the olive-branch of the present? Suppose
the lords of France should seize and hold captive the English king, or
the English lords act with like treachery towards the French king, what
years of the out-pouring of blood and treasure might follow!
Apprehensions of such treachery were not wanting. The followers of
Francis looked with doubt on the armed men in Henry's escort. The
English courtiers in like manner viewed with eyes of question the
archers and cavaliers in the train of Francis. Lord Abergavenny ran to
King Henry as he was about to mount for the ride to the French frontier.