COUNCILS AND MUSINGS.
The lamp shone through the lattice of Warwick's chamber at the
unwonted hour of midnight, and the earl was still in deep commune with
his guests. The archbishop, whom Edward, alarmed by the state of the
country and the disaffection of his barons, had reluctantly
commissioned to mediate with Warwick, was, as we have before said, one
of those men peculiar to the early Church. There was nothing more in
the title of Archbishop of York than in that of the Bishop of Osnaburg
(borne by the royal son of George III.) [The late Duke of York.] to
prevent him who enjoyed it from leading armies, guiding States, or
indulging pleasure. But beneath the coxcombry of George Nevile, which
was what he shared most in common with the courtiers of the laity,
there lurked a true ecclesiastic's mind. He would have made in later
times an admirable Jesuit, and no doubt in his own time a very
brilliant Pope. His objects in his present mission were clear and
perspicuous; any breach between Warwick and the king must necessarily
weaken his own position, and the power of his House was essential to
all his views. The object of Gloucester in his intercession was less
defined, but not less personal: in smoothing the way to his brother's
marriage with Isabel, he removed all apparent obstacle to his own with
Anne. And it is probable that Richard, who, whatever his crimes, was
far from inaccessible to affection, might have really loved his early
playmate, even while his ambition calculated the wealth of the
baronies that would swell the dower of the heiress and gild the barren
coronet of his duchy. [Majerns, the Flemish chronicler, quoted by
Bucke ("Life of Richard III"), mentions the early attachment of
Richard to Anne. They were much together, as children, at Middleham.]
"God's truth!" said Warwick, as he lifted his eyes from the scroll in
the king's writing, "ye know well, princely cousin, and thou, my
brother, ye know well how dearly I have loved King Edward; and the
mother's milk overflows my heart when I read these gentle and tender
words which he deigns to bestow upon his servant. My blood is hasty
and over-hot, but a kind thought from those I love puts out much fire.
Sith he thus beseeches me to return to his councils, I will not be
sullen enough to hold back; but, oh, Prince Richard! is it indeed a
matter past all consideration that your sister, the Lady Margaret,
must wed with the Duke of Burgundy?"
"Warwick," replied the prince, "thou mayest know that I never looked
with favour on that alliance; that when Clarence bore the Bastard's
helmet, I withheld my countenance from the Bastard's presence. I
incurred Edward's anger by refusing to attend his court while the
Count de la Roche was his guest. And therefore you may trust me when I
say now that Edward, after promises, however rash, most solemn and
binding, is dishonoured forever if he break off the contract. New
circumstances, too, have arisen, to make what were dishonour danger
also. By the death of his father, Charolois has succeeded to the Duke
of Burgundy's diadem. Thou knowest his warlike temper; and though in
a contest popular in England we need fear no foe, yet thou knowest
also that no subsidies could be raised for strife with our most
profitable commercial ally. Wherefore we earnestly implore thee
magnanimously to forgive the past, accept Edward's assurance of
repentance, and be thy thought--as it has been ever--the weal of our
common country."
"I may add, also," said the archbishop, observing how much Warwick was
touched and softened,--"that in returning to the helm of state, our
gracious king permits me to say, that, save only in the alliance with
Burgundy, which toucheth his plighted word, you have full liberty to
name conditions, and to ask whatever grace or power a monarch can
bestow."
"I name none but my prince's confidence," said Warwick, generously;
"in that, all else is given, and in return for that, I will make the
greatest sacrifice that my nature knoweth, or can conceive,--I will
mortify my familiar demon, I will subdue my PRIDE. If Edward can
convince me that it is for the good of England that his sister should
wed with mine ancient and bitter foe, I will myself do honour to his
choice. But of this hereafter. Enough now that I forget past wrongs
in present favour; and that for peace or war, I return to the side of
that man whom I loved as my son before I served him as my king."
Neither Richard nor the archbishop was prepared for a conciliation so
facile, for neither quite understood that peculiar magnanimity which
often belongs to a vehement and hasty temper, and which is as eager to
forgive as prompt to take offence,--which, ever in extremes, is not
contented with anything short of fiery aggression or trustful
generosity, and where it once passes over an offence, seeks to oblige
the offender. So, when, after some further conversation on the state
of the country, the earl lighted Gloucester to his chamber, the young
prince said to himself, musingly,--
"Does ambition besot and blind men? Or can Warwick think that Edward
can ever view him but as one to be destroyed when the hour is ripe?"
Catesby, who was the duke's chamberlain, was in attendance as the
prince unrobed.
"A noble castle this," said the duke, "and one in the midst of a
warlike population,--our own countrymen of York."
"It would be no mean addition to the dowry of the Lady Isabel," said
Catesby, with his bland, false smile.
"Methinks rather that the lordships of Salisbury (and this is the
chief) pass to the Lady Anne," said Richard, musingly. "No, Edward
were imprudent to suffer this stronghold to fall to the next heir to
his throne. Marked you the Lady Anne?--her beauty is most excellent."
"Truly, your Highness," answered Catesby, unsuspiciously, "the Lady
Isabel seems to me the taller and the statelier."
"When man's merit and woman's beauty are measured by the ell, Catesby,
Anne will certainly be less fair than Isabel, and Richard a dolt
compared to Clarence. Open the casement; my dressing-robe; good-night
to you!"