There is nothing which should teach man virtue, if not religion, more
than the study of history; not by showing that the result of evil
action is punishment to the ill-doer, for such is frequently not the
case, in this world at least, unless we take into account the moral
suffering which the consciousness of wickedness must produce: but by
showing in the strongest possible light the vanity of human wishes,
the futility of human efforts, when directed in any other course than
that which leads to imperishable happiness hereafter. We often see the
man who lies, and cheats, and grinds the poor, and deceives the
unwary, and wrongs the confiding, obtain the pitiful yellow dust which
has caused so much misery on earth. We see the grander knave who
plots, and fights, and overcomes, and triumphs, who desolates fertile
lands, and sheds the blood of thousands, obtain power, that phantom
which has led statesmen, priests, and kings, through oceans of fraud,
falsehood, and gore. We see them all passing away like a vain shadow,
snatched from the midst of trickery or strife, of disappointment or
success, of prosperity or adversity, before the cup of joy is tasted,
before effort has been crowned by fruition. A few lines of history, a
brief record of censure or panegyric; then the page is turned, and all
is over. The mighty and the good things last; and the spirits of those
who wrought them are gone on high.
Richard walked in the gallery of the castle at York, his arms crossed
upon his chest, his eyes bent down upon the ground, his brain busy,
rejoining the broken threads of policy; as great a man perhaps as a
bad man can ever be. He was mighty as a soldier, mighty as a
politician, almost sublime in the vast wide-stretching reach of his
subtlety. Through life he had played a game almost against all odds;
and he had won every stake. He had seen those who stood between him
and the light swept away; he had contrived to remove obstacle after
obstacle; he had crushed or aided to crush all the enemies of his
house; he had imposed the silence of death, or the chains of exile,
upon all personal opponents; and he had often succeeded in the still
more perilous strife with the passions and the feelings of his own
heart; for, because he was ambitious, and all things gave place to
ambition, we have no right to conclude that his heart was without
feelings even of a gentle and a kindly nature. Ambition was the idol,
and to it the heart sacrificed its children.
As he thus walked, a man in a black robe, with a velvet cap upon his
head, which he doffed as soon as he saw the king, entered the gallery.
His step roused Richard from his reverie; and, looking up, he
exclaimed:
"Ha! How is the queen?"
"No better, I grieve to say, your grace," replied the physician.
"And when no better--worse," replied Richard, thoughtfully, "because a
day nearer the grave. These days, these days, they are but the fevered
pulses of the great malady, which, in the end, slays us all.--No
better?--What is her complaint?"
"'Tis a pining wasting sickness, sire," replied the physician,
"proceeding from the spirits more than the blood. It has consumed her
ever since the death of the prince was announced to her so rashly,
which may have occasioned a curdling of the juices, and rendered them
no longer fit to support life. I grieve to say, the case is one of
serious danger, if her grace cannot be persuaded to take more
nourishment, and to cast off this black melancholy."
"How long may it last?" asked Richard, gravely.
"Not very long," replied the physician; "I trust art may do something
to correct and alleviate; but cure nothing can, unless the lady use
her own powers to overcome this despondency and gloom."
"Well!" said Richard; and, at the same time, he bowed his head as an
indication that the physician might depart.
"It is strange," he thought, as soon as he was alone again. "Not long
since, I should have heard such tidings with a sigh. Ann is dying,
that is clear. How beautiful I remember her--how sweetly beautiful!
Yet weak, very weak. The white and red roses might have adorned her
cheek; but she should not have entwined them in her marriage bed. I
loved her--yes, I loved her well--I love her still, though her
weakness frets me. Yet England must have heirs. The crown must not
become a football at my death, to be kicked from John de la Pole to
Harry of Richmond. At my death! When will that be, I wonder? Ay, who
can say? There hangs the cloud. No eye can penetrate it. Turn which
way we will, fate's thick dark curtain is around us, and no hand can
raise it up; but we must go on till we touch it. 'Tis well, perchance.
Yet did one but know when that hour of death is to come, how many
things might we not do, how many things might we leave undone.
Laborious plans, vast enterprises, schemes that require long long
years to perfect, might all be laid aside, and our energies fixed upon
the period that is ours. We work in the dark, and half our work is
vain. Well, well, time will show; and our labours must not be
imperfect, because we know not the result. Yes, with this ever-ready
fate yawning before me, nought must be delayed. Ann is dying, that is
clear. Had it not been so, perhaps it might have been necessary to put
her from me. Rome is an indulgent mother; and the sacrifice of a few
dozen lollards, together with some small share of gold, would have
found favour for a divorce. But she is dying, and that at least is
spared. My brother's daughter must be her successor. I will move at
Rome for the dispensation at once. And the lady too? But no fear of
her. She is ready and coming enough. She will have children surely, or
she will belie her father and mother. Heaven, what a progeny of them,
while I had but one son! Who goes there without?"
"'Tis I, sire," replied Sir Richard Ratcliffe; appearing at the door.
"Ah, Ratcliffe, come hither," said the king. "The queen is very ill,
Ratcliffe--dying, her physicians tell me."
"Your Grace must bear Heaven's will patiently," replied the courtier.
"I will so," answered Richard; "but we must foresee events, Ratcliffe.
The queen is dying. Men will say that I poisoned her; think you not
so, Ratcliffe?"
"It matters little what men say, sire," answered the other, "since we
well know that half they say is false."
"More than half," answered Richard. "Let a man look devout, and do
some seemly acts of charity, till he has made a name for the trumpet
of the multitude, and he may be luxurious, treacherous, false,
avaricious, if he pleases, he shall still have a multitude to speak
his praises to the sky. But let another, for some great object, do a
doubtful deed, though justified perhaps by the end in view, the whole
world will be upon his track, baying like hounds till they have run
him down. Every accident that favours him, every event, the mere fruit
of chance, that he takes advantage of, will be attributed to design
and to his act. No man will die, whom he could wish removed, but what
mankind will say, he poisoned him; no enemy will fall by the sword of
justice, but it will be a murder; no truth will be told favouring him,
but a falsehood will be found in it, and his best acts and highest
purposes will be made mean by the mean multitude. Well, it matters
not. We must keep on our course. While I hold the truncheon I will
rule; and these turbulent nobles shall find that, slander me as they
will, they have a master still. Oh, if Heaven but grant me life, I
will so break their power, and sap their influence, that the common
drudges of the cities, the traders who toil and moil after their dirty
lucre, shall stamp upon the coronets of peers, and leave them but the
name of the power which they have so long misused. But I must secure
my house upon the throne. The queen is dying, Ratcliffe--I must have
heirs, man, heirs."
Ratcliffe smiled meaningly, but replied not; for to mistake his
purposes, while seeming to divine them, was somewhat dangerous with
Richard.
The king remained in thought for a moment or two, and then enquired,
in an altered tone--
"Who is in the castle?"
Ratcliffe looked at him in some surprise; for his question was not as
definite as usual, and Richard went on to say--
"I heard that the princess Mary, of Scotland, had arrived last night.
I sent too for Lord Fulmer. I will not have that marriage go forward
till I am sure; and, if they dare to disobey me, let them beware."
"He is not yet arrived, sire," answered Ratcliffe; "but there has been
hardly time. The princess, however, came last night. She went first to
London by sea, it seems, and has since followed your grace hither. She
has just returned to her apartments from visiting the queen."
"Ha! Has she been there?" said Richard. "That had been better not; but
I will go and see her. Let some one go forward to say I wait upon her
highness. We must have this marriage concluded speedily, betwixt the
Duke of Rothsay and my niece Anne. Then, Harry of Richmond, thou hast
lost a hand; and a Scotch hand is hard, as we have found sometimes.
Go, good Ratcliffe, go to her yourself."
Ratcliffe immediately retired; and, after meditating for a few minutes
longer, Richard followed him. He found two servants waiting at the
door of the room to which he directed his steps, together with his
attached though somewhat unscrupulous friend and counsellor,
Ratcliffe, who had delivered his message and retired from the presence
of the princess. The door was immediately thrown open, one of the
servants saying, in a loud voice, "The king;" and Richard entered with
a calm, quiet, graceful step, as unlike the man which the perverted
statements of his enemies have taught us to imagine him as possible.
Seated at the farther end of the room, with two or three young women
standing round her, was a lady apparently of some six or seven and
thirty years of age--perhaps older, but she seemed no more--whose
beauty could hardly be said to have been touched by the hand of time.
The expression of her face was mild and melancholy; but yet there was
something high and commanding in it too. Her dress was very plain,
without ornament of any kind; and the colour was sombre, though not
exactly that of mourning. She rose when the king entered, and took a
step forward in front of her attendants, while Richard hastened on at
a quicker pace, and taking her hand courteously, pressed his lips upon
it; after which he led her back to her chair. The ladies around
hurried to bring forward a seat for the king of England; but he
remained standing by the side of the princess, for a moment or two,
inquiring after her health and her journey. She answered briefly, but
with courtesy, saying, that she had preferred to travel by sea, rather
than cross the border, on both sides of which were turbulent and
lawless men.
"I have come, my lord the king," she continued, "with full powers to
negociate and conclude the terms of the treaty already proposed
between your grace and my beloved brother, for the marriage of my
nephew and your niece. You may think it strange that he should choose
a woman for an ambassador; but, as you know, I begged the office; and
as you kindly seconded my views, by the hint contained in your letter,
he was content to trust me."
"I could do no less than give the hint, as knight and gentleman, when
I knew your wishes," replied Richard; "but, to say truth, dear lady, I
almost feared to yield to them. It is nothing new to see princesses
ruling states and guiding negociations; and, from all my own
experience, I should say, that strong must be the head and resolute
the heart which can resist their eloquence, their beauty, and their
gentleness. I always therefore fear to meet a lady as a diplomatist;
but I could not refuse when you laid on me your commands."
"Yet I fear," said Mary, "that those commands, as you term them, were
somehow made known to my brother or his ministers; for I find that
several messengers were sent to England before I departed myself; and,
the day before I set out, an old servant of mine, John Radnor, whom I
always fancied faithful, and whom your grace knew right well, left me,
with letters or messages, I am told, for England, which were kept
secret from me, and I have never seen him more."
"Nor have I," said Richard, gravely; "but when we are alone we will
talk farther."
"These are faithful friends," said the princess, looking round to the
young ladies who were with her; but, marking a slight smile which
curled Richard's lip, she added: "If your grace has matters of
secrecy, they shall go. Leave us, girls."
The king and the princess remained perfectly silent till the room was
cleared; but then Richard said:
"We, in high stations, dear lady, never know who are really faithful
friends, till we have tried them long and in many ways. You said but
now, that you fancied this John Radnor was your faithful servant. Now
this surprises me not," he added, in a tone of gallantry, not
unmingled with sarcasm, "for I always looked upon him as mine; and he,
who is my faithful servant, must be yours."
The princess gazed at him for a moment with a look of surprise; but
she then bent her eyes down, saying, "I think I understand your
highness. Was he a spy?"
"Nay, that is a harsh term," answered Richard. "He was not exactly a
spy. Peasants and franklins, when there is a great man in the
neighbourhood, will bring him presents or offerings of no great worth,
on the sweet certainty of receiving something in return more valuable
than that they bring. Thus did John Radnor with intelligence. When he
learned aught that was likely to be well paid, he brought it to him
who was likely to pay him best. But let us speak of him no more; for
his tale-telling mouth is closed in the dull earth. He was killed by
accident, on that very journey of which you speak; but his letters
were brought on by some posts of mine, who followed close behind him.
All the packets that you have sent me, within the last year, have
reached me safely, I believe--those which Radnor brought, delicately
fingered indeed, and those which came by other hands, either intact,
or resealed with greater skill. I have executed your commands to the
letter, however, without attending to the recommendations of others,
which sometimes accompanied them. But I grieve to say I have had no
success. Many are the inquiries I have made; but not a vestige, not a
trace is to be found."
The princess cast down her eyes, and crushed a bright tear drop
between their jetty fringes. "Nevertheless," she answered, after a
moment's silence, "I will pursue the search myself, though not
doubting either your grace's kindness or your diligence. It is hardly
possible that his companions in arms should not mark the place where
so distinguished a man lies, even by a stone."
"He was indeed," said Richard, "the flower of courtesy and the pride
of knighthood. I remember the good earl well, just before he went to
Denmark, to bring home your brother's bride; and seldom have I seen
one so worthy to live in long remembrance, or to be mourned by the
widowed heart with such enduring grief as your noble husband, the earl
of Arran. Did I know where he lies, I myself would erect a monument to
his memory, although he took part with the enemies of my house."
While he had been pronouncing this panegyric upon her dead husband,
the eyes of the princess, countess of Arran, had overflowed with
tears; but she answered when he ceased, saying--
"That were indeed generous; and I beseech you show to me equal
generosity in assisting me to pursue my search."
"To the utmost of my power will I aid you," replied Richard, "although
I am sure it must be in vain. Let me, however, ask what leads you to
believe that he still lives?"
"Nay, I believe not," replied the princess. "It is something less than
belief--a doubt, a clinging hope. Perchance, had I seen his dead
corpse, I might have felt somewhat of the same. I might have fancied
that there was warmth about the heart, and tried to bring back life
into its seat, though life was quite extinct. Such is woman's love, my
lord. But you may ask what has nourished even this faint hope, when
twelve long years have passed, and when I received authentic news of
his death in the last skirmish of the war. That man, John Radnor,
swore that he saw him dead upon the field. The others who were with
him, in some sort, corroborated the same story; but they were not
quite so sure. My brother, all his court, affected to believe that it
was true--to have no doubt thereof. But yet, if they were so
thoroughly convinced, why, when they wanted me to wed another, did
they press so eagerly for a divorce at the court of Rome--a divorce
from a dead man! They must, at least, have doubted. Thus they taught
me to doubt; and, ere I yield even to my king's authority, I must see
and inquire for myself. All I ask is, let me find him living, or find
where they buried him. His arms, his look, must have shown, whoever
found the body, that he was no ordinary man, to be buried with the
common herd on the spot where he fell."
Richard shook his head, saying, "Alas, lady, you know not what a field
of battle is. The blows and bloody wounds, the trampling of the flying
multitude, the horses' hoofs, will often deface every feature, and
leave the dead body no resemblance to the living man; and, as for
arms, there is always hovering round a field of battle a foul flock of
human vultures, ready to despoil the dead, the moment that the tide of
contest ebbs away."
"But this was a mere skirmish," replied the lady.
"I know, I know," said Richard. "He was hurrying across the country
with a few score Lancastrian spears, to join Margaret at Tewksbury,
when he was encountered by Sir Walter Gray, with a superior force. But
think you, had he been alive, no tidings would have reached you from
himself, no message, no letter?"
"That he should have sent none would indeed be strange," replied the
lady; "but you know not, my lord, how I have been watched and guarded.
I know that some of my letters from Denmark were actually stopped;
and, till within the last two years, I have been almost a prisoner.
Nay, more, I find they spread a report that I was married to the earl
of Hamilton, amongst many other strokes of policy to bend me to their
wishes. All these things have made me doubt. 'Tis true, I cannot fully
give way to hope; but yet I perceive clearly they themselves do not
feel sure Arran is dead."
"Well, lady, my best assistance you shall have," answered Richard.
"All sheriffs of counties, and their officers, shall be commanded to
give you aid--ay, and to prosecute the search themselves; and to
monasteries and abbeys you will need no commendation."
"Thanks, gracious prince," replied the lady; and Richard, with an air
of real kindness, answered:
"No thanks are merited, where the pleasure received is far more than
that given. Would I could aid you farther!"
And then, changing the conversation, he added: "You have been to see
my poor unhappy queen, I find. She is sadly ill, poor Anne; and the
physicians give but very little hope."
"She looks ill indeed," replied the princess; "yet, I trust that care
and skilful tending may restore her."
Richard shook his head, and fell into a fit of thought, or seemed to
do so.
"Her heart has received a wound that will never heal," he answered, at
length, with a sigh. "Man's nature resists these things; but woman's
yields. Always a delicate flower, this last storm has crushed her. Our
beautiful boy, our Edward, our only one, to be snatched from us in
this sudden and fearful way! It was enough, surely it was enough, to
break a heart so tender as hers. Alas, lady, I must not indulge in
hope. But this conversation unmans me," he continued. "I am not fit
now to discuss matters of urgent business. To-night, lady, to-night we
will talk of the marriage of your nephew with my niece. At present, I
can think of nothing but my dead boy, and my dying wife. Farewell,
then, farewell for the present. Alas, poor lady! It has fallen hard
upon her;" and, turning sharply away, he quitted the room, muttering
words to himself, as if solely occupied with the fate of his wife, and
the loss of his son.
The moment he had closed the door, however, he took the arm of
Ratcliffe, who was still in waiting, and led him along the corridor,
speaking to him in a low voice.
"We must conclude this matter speedily," he said--"the marriage,
Ratcliffe. I mean the marriage. I will have you go yourself."
"I am ready this moment, sire," answered Ratcliffe. "But tell me where
I am to go, and my foot shall be in the stirrup within half an hour."
"Where?" exclaimed Richard, in a tone of surprise, "why, to the
sanctuary at Westminster, to be sure. I must have you deal with our
good sister, Elizabeth of Woodville, the queen dowager, and persuade
her to give her girls into my safe custody."
"That were difficult, very difficult, my lord," replied Ratcliffe.
"Not a whit," said Richard. "Be liberal of promises; say that I will
wed her daughters to the noblest in the realm. Tell her, my own child
being dead, my brother's children become objects of love and care,
instead of fear. Assign them liberal pensions--ay, and give the same
unto the queen their mother. Tell her, her kinsmen shall be well
treated and restored to their estates and honours, and contrive to
whisper in the ear of my fair niece Elizabeth, that, were Richard
free, as he soon may be, he would set her on the throne of England.
Dost thou understand me, Ratcliffe?"
"Ay, gracious lord, right well," replied Ratcliffe. "I have never
wanted zeal; and, if zeal can do aught, within ten days the princesses
shall be in your grace's hand."
"Zeal! Thou hast more than zeal, Ratcliffe," exclaimed Richard. "Zeal
is the gallant horse that bears us on full speed. Wit is the hand that
guides him. Why look'st thou thoughtful, man?"
"I was but thinking, sire," answered Ratcliffe, "that it were well to
send off messengers to the pope. To wed your niece, you must have a
dispensation. Rome has no pity for love's impatience, little
consideration for exigencies of state. 'Twere well to have matters
begun and carried on at once, with that slow court, or we shall have
objections, and at first refusals."
"Refusals!" said Richard, with a bitter smile. "There are still
lollards in England, Ratcliffe; and by St. Paul, if he delay or
hesitate, his triple crown may lose its brightest gem. We are a devout
son of the church, my friend; but still we must be tender to our
subjects. See the bishop of London, when you are there, and bid him
cease all flame and faggot denunciations. Tell him that reasons of
state require us to be tolerant at least for the time, and insinuate
that we intend to pass an act for the relief of men's consciences."
"He will send the news to Rome, sire," said Ratcliffe, with some
hesitation.
"Let him," answered Richard, with a meaning smile; "'tis what I would
have! I would provide something to give up, lest Rome's demands should
be too unreasonable. A little fear, too, is salutary. So see him, see
him, and put the matter as I have said, strongly enough to create
alarm, not strongly enough to give offence. But the queen and her
daughter must be first dealt with. Let me have her forth from
sanctuary, and my wife no longer in the way between us; and I will
pass over papal dispensations, and laugh at Roman thunders. You have
your directions, away."
Thus saying, he turned to the door of his cabinet, round which several
persons were waiting.
"Lord Fulmer has arrived, your grace, and is waiting below in the
green chamber," said one of the attendants.
"Bring him hither," answered Richard; "and mark me, if any news come
from the coast, give the messengers instant admission;" and he entered
the cabinet.