RURAL ENGLAND IN THE MIDDLE AGES--NOBLE VISITORS SEEK THE CASTLE OF
MIDDLEHAM.
Autumn had succeeded to summer, winter to autumn, and the spring of
1468 was green in England, when a gallant cavalcade was seen slowly
winding the ascent of a long and gradual hill, towards the decline of
day. Different, indeed, from the aspect which that part of the
country now presents was the landscape that lay around them, bathed in
the smiles of the westering sun. In a valley to the left, a full view
of which the steep road commanded (where now roars the din of trade
through a thousand factories), lay a long, secluded village. The
houses, if so they might be called, were constructed entirely of wood,
and that of the more perishable kind,--willow, sallow, elm, and plum-
tree. Not one could boast a chimney; but the smoke from the single
fire in each, after duly darkening the atmosphere within, sent its
surplusage lazily and fitfully through a circular aperture in the
roof. In fact, there was long in the provinces a prejudice against
chimneys! The smoke was considered good both for house and owner; the
first it was supposed to season, and the last to guard "from rheums,
catarrhs, and poses." [So worthy Hollinshed, Book II. c. 22.--"Then
had we none but reredosses, and our heads did never ache. For as the
smoke, in those days, was supposed to be a sufficient hardening for
the timber of the house, so it was reputed a far better medicine to
keep the goodman and his familie from the quacke, or pose, wherewith
as then very few were oft acquainted."] Neither did one of these
habitations boast the comfort of a glazed window, the substitute being
lattice, or chequer-work,--even in the house of the franklin, which
rose statelily above the rest, encompassed with barns and outsheds.
And yet greatly should we err did we conceive that these deficiencies
were an index to the general condition of the working class. Far
better off was the labourer when employed, than now. Wages were
enormously high, meat extremely low; [See Hallam: Middle Ages, Chap.
xx. Part II. So also Hollinsbed, Book XI., c. 12, comments on the
amazement of the Spaniards, in Queen Mary's time, when they saw "what
large diet was used in these so homelie cottages," and reports one of
the Spaniards to have said, "These English have their houses of sticks
and dirt, but they fare commonlie so well as the king!"] and our
motherland bountifully maintained her children.
On that greensward, before the village (now foul and reeking with the
squalid population whom commerce rears up,--the victims, as the
movers, of the modern world) were assembled youth and age; for it was
a holiday evening, and the stern Puritan had not yet risen to sour the
face of Mirth. Well clad in leathern jerkin, or even broadcloth, the
young peasants vied with each other in quoits and wrestling; while the
merry laughter of the girls, in their gay-coloured kirtles and
ribboned hair, rose oft and cheerily to the ears of the cavalcade.
From a gentle eminence beyond the village, and half veiled by trees,
on which the first verdure of spring was budding (where now, around
the gin-shop, gather the fierce and sickly children of toil and of
discontent), rose the venerable walls of a monastery, and the chime of
its heavy bell swung far and sweet over the pastoral landscape. To
the right of the road (where now stands the sober meeting-house) was
one of those small shrines so frequent in Italy, with an image of the
Virgin gaudily painted, and before it each cavalier in the procession
halted an instant to cross himself and mutter an ave. Beyond, still
to the right, extended vast chains of woodland, interspersed with
strips of pasture, upon which numerous flocks were grazing, with
horses, as yet unbroken to bit and selle, that neighed and snorted as
they caught scent of their more civilized brethren pacing up the road.
In front of the cavalcade rode two, evidently of superior rank to the
rest,--the one small and slight, with his long hair flowing over his
shoulders; and the other, though still young, many years older, and
indicating his clerical profession by the absence of all love-locks,
compensated by a curled and glossy beard, trimmed with the greatest
care. But the dress of the ecclesiastic was as little according to
our modern notions of what beseems the Church as can well be
conceived: his tunic and surcoat, of a rich amber, contrasted well
with the clear darkness of his complexion; his piked shoes, or
beakers, as they were called, turned up half-way to the knee; the
buckles of his dress were of gold, inlaid with gems; and the housings
of his horse, which was of great power, were edged with gold fringe.
By the side of his steed walked a tall greyhound, upon which he ever
and anon glanced with affection. Behind these rode two gentlemen,
whose golden spurs announced knighthood; and then followed a long
train of squires and pages, richly clad and accoutred, bearing
generally the Nevile badge of the Bull; though interspersed amongst
the retinue might be seen the grim Boar's head, which Richard of
Gloucester, in right of his duchy, had assumed as his cognizance.
"Nay, sweet prince," said the ecclesiastic, "I pray thee to consider
that a greyhound is far more of a gentleman than any other of the
canine species. Mark his stately yet delicate length of limb, his
sleek coat, his keen eye, his haughty neck."
"These are but the externals, my noble friend. Will the greyhound
attack the lion, as our mastiff doth? The true character of the
gentleman is to know no fear, and to rush through all danger at the
throat of his foe; wherefore I uphold the dignity of the mastiff above
all his tribe, though others have a daintier hide and a statelier
crest. Enough of such matters, archbishop,--we are nearing Middleham."
"The saints be praised! for I am hungered," observed the archbishop,
piously: "but, sooth to say, my cook at the More far excelleth what we
can hope to find at the board of my brother. He hath some faults, our
Warwick! Hasty and careless, he hath not thought eno' of the
blessings he might enjoy, and many a poor abbot hath daintier fare on
his humble table."
"Oh, George Nevile! who that heard thee, when thou talkest of hounds
and interments, [entremets (side dishes)] would recognize the Lord
Chancellor of England,--the most learned dignitary, the most subtle
statesman?"
"And oh, Richard Plantagenet!" retorted the archbishop, dropping the
mincing and affected tone, which he, in common with the coxcombs of
that day, usually assumed, "who that heard thee when thou talkest of
humility and devotion, would recognize the sternest heart and the most
daring ambition God ever gave to prince?"
Richard started at these words, and his eye shot fire as it met the
keen calm glance of the prelate.
"Nay, your Grace wrongs me," he said, gnawing his lip,--"or I should
not say wrongs, but flatters; for sternness and ambition are no vices
in a Nevile's eyes."
"Fairly answered, royal son," said the archbishop, laughing; "but let
us be frank. Thou hast persuaded me to accompany thee to Lord Warwick
as a mediator; the provinces in the North are disturbed; the intrigues
of Margaret of Anjou are restless; the king reaps what he has sown in
the Court of France, and, as Warwick foretold, the emissaries and gold
of Louis are ever at work against his throne; the great barons are
moody and discontented; and our liege King Edward is at last aware
that, if the Earl of Warwick do not return to his councils, the first
blast of a hostile trumpet may drive him from his throne. Well, I
attend thee: my fortunes are woven with those of York, and my interest
and my loyalty go hand in hand. Be equally frank with me. Hast thou,
Lord Richard, no interest to serve in this mission save that of the
public weal?"
"Thou forgettest that the Lady Isabel is dearly loved by Clarence, and
that I would fain see removed all barrier to his nuptial bliss. But
yonder rise the towers of Middleham. Beloved walls, which sheltered
my childhood! and, by holy Paul, a noble pile, which would resist an
army, or hold one."
While thus conversed the prince and the archbishop, the Earl of
Warwick, musing and alone, slowly paced the lofty terrace that crested
the battlements of his outer fortifications.
In vain had that restless and powerful spirit sought content in
retirement. Trained from his childhood to active life, to move
mankind to and fro at his beck, this single and sudden interval of
repose in the prime of his existence, at the height of his fame,
served but to swell the turbulent and dangerous passions to which all
vent was forbidden.
The statesman of modern days has at least food for intellect in
letters when deprived of action; but with all his talents, and
thoroughly cultivated as his mind was in the camp, the council, and
the state, the great earl cared for nothing in book-lore except some
rude ballad that told of Charlemagne or Rollo. The sports that had
pleased the leisure of his earlier youth were tedious and flat to one
snatched from so mighty a career. His hound lay idle at his feet, his
falcon took holiday on the perch, his jester was banished to the
page's table. Behold the repose of this great unlettered spirit! But
while his mind was thus debarred from its native sphere, all tended to
pamper Lord Warwick's infirmity of pride. The ungrateful Edward might
forget him; but the king seemed to stand alone in that oblivion. The
mightiest peers, the most renowned knights, gathered to his hall.
Middleham,--not Windsor nor Shene nor Westminster nor the Tower--
seemed the COURT OF ENGLAND. As the Last of the Barons paced his
terrace, far as his eye could reach, his broad domains extended,
studded with villages and towns and castles swarming with his
retainers. The whole country seemed in mourning for his absence. The
name of Warwick was in all men's mouths, and not a group gathered in
market-place or hostel but what the minstrel who had some ballad in
praise of the stout earl had a rapt and thrilling audience.
"And is the river of my life," muttered Warwick, "shrunk into this
stagnant pool? Happy the man who hath never known what it is to taste
of fame,--to have it is a purgatory, to want it is a hell!"
Rapt in this gloomy self-commune, he heard not the light step that
sought his side, till a tender arm was thrown around him, and a face
in which sweet temper and pure thought had preserved to matronly
beauty all the bloom of youth, looked up smilingly to his own.
"My lord, my Richard," said the countess, "why didst thou steal so
churlishly from me? Hath there, alas! come a time when thou deemest
me unworthy to share thy thoughts, or soothe thy troubles?"
"Fond one! no," said Warwick, drawing the form still light, though
rounded, nearer to his bosom. "For nineteen years hast thou been to
me a leal and loving wife. Thou wert a child on our wedding-day,
m'amie, and I but a beardless youth; yet wise enough was I then to
see, at the first glance of thy blue eye, that there was more treasure
in thy heart than in all the lordships thy hand bestowed."
"My Richard!" murmured the countess, and her tears of grateful delight
fell on the hand she kissed.
"Yes, let us recall those early and sweet days," continued Warwick,
with a tenderness of voice and manner that strangers might have
marvelled at, forgetting how tenderness is almost ever a part of such
peculiar manliness of character; "yes, sit we here under this spacious
elm, and think that our youth has come back to us once more. For
verily, m'amie, nothing in life has ever been so fair to me as those
days when we stood hand in hand on its threshold, and talked, boy-
bridegroom and child-bride as we were, of the morrow that lay beyond."
"Ah, Richard, even in those days thy ambition sometimes vexed my
woman's vanity, and showed me that I could never be all in all to so
large a heart!"
"Ambition! No, thou mistakest,--Montagu is ambitious, I but proud.
Montagu ever seeks to be higher than he is, I but assert the right to
be what I am and have been; and my pride, sweet wife, is a part of my
love for thee. It is thy title, Heiress of Warwick, and not my
father's, that I bear; thy badge, and not the Nevile's, which I have
made the symbol of my power. Shame, indeed, on my knighthood, if the
fairest dame in England could not justify my pride! Ah, belle amie,
why have we not a son?"
"Peradventure, fair lord," said the countess, with an arch yet half-
melancholy smile, "because that pride, or ambition, name it as thou
wilt, which thou excusest so gallantly, would become too insatiate and
limitless if thou sawest a male heir to thy greatness; and God,
perhaps, warns thee that, spread and increase as thou wilt,--yea,
until half our native country becometh as the manor of one man,--all
must pass from the Beauchamp and the Nevile into new Houses; thy glory
indeed an eternal heirloom, but only to thy land,--thy lordships and
thy wealth melting into the dowry of a daughter."
"At least no king hath daughters so dowried," answered Warwick; "and
though I disdain for myself the hard vassalage of a throne, yet if the
channel of our blood must pass into other streams, into nothing meaner
than the veins of royalty should it merge." He paused a moment, and
added with a sigh, "Would that Clarence were more worthy Isabel!"
"Nay," said the countess, gently, "he loveth her as she merits. He is
comely, brave, gracious, and learned."
"A pest upon that learning,--it sicklies and womanizes men's minds!"
exclaimed Warwick, bluntly. "Perhaps it is his learning that I am to
thank for George of Clarence's fears and doubts and calculations and
scruples. His brother forbids his marriage with any English donzell,
for Edward dares not specialize what alone he dreads. His letters
burn with love, and his actions freeze with doubts. It was not thus I
loved thee, sweetheart. By all the saints in the calendar, had Henry
V. or the Lion Richard started from the tomb to forbid me thy hand, it
would but have made me a hotter lover! Howbeit Clarence shall decide
ere the moon wanes, and but for Isabel's tears and thy entreaties, my
father's grandchild should not have waited thus long the coming of so
hesitating a wooer. But lo, our darlings! Anne hath thine eyes,
m'amie; and she groweth more into my heart every day, since daily she
more favours thee."
While he thus spoke, the fair sisters came lightly and gayly up the
terrace: the arm of the statelier Isabel was twined round Anne's
slender waist; and as they came forward in that gentle link, with
their lithesome and bounding step, a happier blending of contrasted
beauty was never seen. The months that had passed since the sisters
were presented first to the reader had little changed the superb and
radiant loveliness of Isabel, but had added surprisingly to the
attractions of Anne. Her form was more rounded, her bloom more
ripened; and though something of timidity and bashfulness still
lingered about the grace of her movements and the glance of her dove-
like eye, the more earnest thoughts of the awakening woman gave sweet
intelligence to her countenance, and that divinest of all attractions
--the touching and conscious modesty--to the shy but tender smile, and
the blush that so came and went, so went and came, that it stirred the
heart with a sort of delighted pity for one so evidently susceptible
to every emotion of pleasure and of pain. Life seemed too rough a
thing for so soft a nature, and gazing on her, one sighed to guess her
future.
"And what brings ye hither, young truants?" said the earl, as Anne,
leaving her sister, clung lovingly to his side (for it was ever her
habit to cling to some one), while Isabel kissed her mother's hand,
and then stood before her parents, colouring deeply, and with downcast
eyes. "What brings ye hither, whom I left so lately deep engaged in
the loom, upon the helmet of Goliath, with my burgonet before you as a
sample? Wife, you are to blame,--our rooms of state will be arrasless
for the next three generations, if these rosy fingers are suffered
thus to play the idlers."
"My father," whispered Anne, "guests are on their way hither,--a noble
cavalcade; you note them not from this part of the battlements, but
from our turret it was fair to see how their plumes and banners shone
in the setting sun."
"Guests!" echoed the earl; "well, is that so rare an honour that your
hearts should beat like village girls at a holiday? Ah, Isabel! look
at her blushes. Is it George of Clarence at last? Is it?"
"We see the Duke of Gloucester's cognizance," whispered Anne, "and our
own Nevile Bull. Perchance our cousin George, also, may--"
Here she was interrupted by the sound of the warder's horn, followed a
moment after by the roar of one of the bombards on the keep.
"At least," said Warwick, his face lighting up, "that signal announces
the coming of king's blood. We must honour it,--for it is our own.
We will go forth and meet our guests--your hand, countess."
And gravely and silently, and in deep but no longer gloomy thought,
Warwick descended from the terrace, followed by the fair sisters; and
who that could have looked upon that princely pair and those lovely
and radiant children, could have foreseen that in that hour, Fate, in
tempting the earl once more to action, was busy on their doom!