The Last of the Barons
The Last of the BaronsDedicatory EpistlePreface to the Last of the BaronsBook I: The Adventures of Master Marmaduke NevileChapter IChapter IIChapter IIIChapter IVChapter VChapter VIChapter VIIChapter VIIIChapter IXBook II: The King's CourtChapter IChapter IIChapter IIIBook IIIChapter IChapter IIChapter IIIChapter IVChapter VChapter VIChapter VIIChapter VIIIChapter IXBook IV: Intrigues of the Court of Edward IVChapter IChapter IIChapter IIIChapter IVChapter VChapter VIChapter VIIChapter VIIIChapter IXChapter XBook VChapter IChapter IIChapter IIIChapter IVBook VIChapter IChapter IIChapter IIIChapter IVChapter VChapter VIChapter VIIBook VII: The Popular RebellionChapter IChapter IIChapter IIIChapter IVChapter VChapter VIChapter VIIChapter VIIIChapter IXBook VIII: In Which the Last Link Between King-maker and King Snaps AsunderChapter IChapter IIChapter IIIChapter IVChapter VChapter VIChapter VIIChapter VIIIBook IX: The Wanderers and the ExilesChapter IChapter IIChapter IIIChapter IVChapter VChapter VIChapter VIIChapter VIIIChapter IXChapter XBook X: The Return of the King-makerChapter IChapter IIChapter IIIChapter IVChapter VChapter VIChapter VIIChapter VIIIChapter IXChapter XChapter XIBook XI: The New Position of the King-makerChapter IChapter IIChapter IIIChapter IVChapter VChapter VIBook XII: The Battle of BarnetChapter IChapter IIChapter IIIChapter IVChapter VChapter VIChapter VIINotesCopyright
The Last of the Barons
Edward Bulwer Lytton
Dedicatory Epistle
I dedicate to you, my indulgent Critic and long–tried Friend,
the work which owes its origin to your suggestion. Long since, you
urged me to attempt a fiction which might borrow its characters
from our own Records, and serve to illustrate some of those truths
which History is too often compelled to leave to the Tale–teller,
the Dramatist, and the Poet. Unquestionably, Fiction, when aspiring
to something higher than mere romance, does not pervert, but
elucidate Facts. He who employs it worthily must, like a
biographer, study the time and the characters he selects, with a
minute and earnest diligence which the general historian, whose
range extends over centuries, can scarcely be expected to bestow
upon the things and the men of a single epoch. His descriptions
should fill up with colour and detail the cold outlines of the
rapid chronicler; and in spite of all that has been argued by
pseudo–critics, the very fancy which urged and animated his theme
should necessarily tend to increase the reader's practical and
familiar acquaintance with the habits, the motives, and the modes
of thought which constitute the true idiosyncrasy of an age. More
than all, to Fiction is permitted that liberal use of Analogical
Hypothesis which is denied to History, and which, if sobered by
research, and enlightened by that knowledge of mankind (without
which Fiction can neither harm nor profit, for it becomes
unreadable), tends to clear up much that were otherwise obscure,
and to solve the disputes and difficulties of contradictory
evidence by the philosophy of the human heart.My own impression of the greatness of the labour to which you
invited me made me the more diffident of success, inasmuch as the
field of English historical fiction had been so amply cultivated,
not only by the most brilliant of our many glorious Novelists, but
by later writers of high and merited reputation. But however the
annals of our History have been exhausted by the industry of
romance, the subject you finally pressed on my choice is
unquestionably one which, whether in the delineation of character,
the expression of passion, or the suggestion of historical truths,
can hardly fail to direct the Novelist to paths wholly untrodden by
his predecessors in the Land of Fiction.Encouraged by you, I commenced my task; encouraged by you, I
venture, on concluding it, to believe that, despite the partial
adoption of that established compromise between the modern and the
elder diction, which Sir Walter Scott so artistically improved from
the more rugged phraseology employed by Strutt, and which later
writers have perhaps somewhat overhackneyed, I may yet have avoided
all material trespass upon ground which others have already
redeemed from the waste. Whatever the produce of the soil I have
selected, I claim, at least, to have cleared it with my own labour,
and ploughed it with my own heifer.The reign of Edward IV. is in itself suggestive of new
considerations and unexhausted interest to those who accurately
regard it. Then commenced the policy consummated by Henry VII.;
then were broken up the great elements of the old feudal order; a
new Nobility was called into power, to aid the growing Middle Class
in its struggles with the ancient; and in the fate of the hero of
the age, Richard Nevile, Earl of Warwick, popularly called the
King–maker, "the greatest as well as the last of those mighty
Barons who formerly overawed the Crown," [Hume adds, "and rendered
the people incapable of civil government,"—a sentence which,
perhaps, judges too hastily the whole question at issue in our
earlier history, between the jealousy of the barons and the
authority of the king.] was involved the very principle of our
existing civilization. It adds to the wide scope of Fiction, which
ever loves to explore the twilight, that, as Hume has truly
observed, "No part of English history since the Conquest is so
obscure, so uncertain, so little authentic or consistent, as that
of the Wars between the two Roses." It adds also to the importance
of that conjectural research in which Fiction may be made so
interesting and so useful, that "this profound darkness falls upon
us just on the eve of the restoration of letters;" [Hume] while
amidst the gloom, we perceive the movement of those great and
heroic passions in which Fiction finds delineations everlastingly
new, and are brought in contact with characters sufficiently
familiar for interest, sufficiently remote for adaptation to
romance, and above all, so frequently obscured by contradictory
evidence, that we lend ourselves willingly to any one who seeks to
help our judgment of the individual by tests taken from the general
knowledge of mankind.Round the great image of the "Last of the Barons" group
Edward the Fourth, at once frank and false; the brilliant but
ominous boyhood of Richard the Third; the accomplished Hastings, "a
good knight and gentle, but somewhat dissolute of living;"
[Chronicle of Edward V., in Stowe] the vehement and fiery Margaret
of Anjou; the meek image of her "holy Henry," and the pale shadow
of their son. There may we see, also, the gorgeous Prelate,
refining in policy and wile, as the enthusiasm and energy which had
formerly upheld the Ancient Church pass into the stern and
persecuted votaries of the New; we behold, in that social
transition, the sober Trader—outgrowing the prejudices of the rude
retainer or rustic franklin, from whom he is sprung—recognizing
sagaciously, and supporting sturdily, the sectarian interests of
his order, and preparing the way for the mighty Middle Class, in
which our Modern Civilization, with its faults and its merits, has
established its stronghold; while, in contrast to the measured and
thoughtful notions of liberty which prudent Commerce entertains, we
are reminded of the political fanaticism of the secret Lollard,—of
the jacquerie of the turbulent mob–leader; and perceive, amidst the
various tyrannies of the time, and often partially allied with the
warlike seignorie, [For it is noticeable that in nearly all the
popular risings—that of Cade, of Robin of Redesdale, and afterwards
of that which Perkin Warbeck made subservient to his extraordinary
enterprise—the proclamations of the rebels always announced, among
their popular grievances, the depression of the ancient nobles and
the elevation of new men.]—ever jealous against all kingly
despotism,—the restless and ignorant movement of a democratic
principle, ultimately suppressed, though not destroyed, under the
Tudors, by the strong union of a Middle Class, anxious for security
and order, with an Executive Authority determined upon absolute
sway.Nor should we obtain a complete and comprehensive view of
that most interesting Period of Transition, unless we saw something
of the influence which the sombre and sinister wisdom of Italian
policy began to exercise over the councils of the great,—a policy
of refined stratagem, of complicated intrigue, of systematic
falsehood, of ruthless, but secret violence; a policy which
actuated the fell statecraft of Louis XI.; which darkened, whenever
he paused to think and to scheme, the gaudy and jovial character of
Edward IV.; which appeared in its fullest combination of profound
guile and resolute will in Richard III.; and, softened down into
more plausible and specious purpose by the unimpassioned sagacity
of Henry VII., finally attained the object which justified all its
villanies to the princes of its native land,—namely, the
tranquillity of a settled State, and the establishment of a
civilized but imperious despotism.Again, in that twilight time, upon which was dawning the
great invention that gave to Letters and to Science the precision
and durability of the printed page, it is interesting to conjecture
what would have been the fate of any scientific achievement for
which the world was less prepared. The reception of printing into
England chanced just at the happy period when Scholarship and
Literature were favoured by the great. The princes of York, with
the exception of Edward IV. himself, who had, however, the grace to
lament his own want of learning, and the taste to appreciate it in
others, were highly educated. The Lords Rivers and Hastings [The
erudite Lord Worcester had been one of Caxton's warmest patrons,
but that nobleman was no more at the time in which printing is said
to have been actually introduced into England.] were accomplished
in all the "witte and lere" of their age. Princes and peers vied
with each other in their patronage of Caxton, and Richard III.,
during his brief reign, spared no pains to circulate to the utmost
the invention destined to transmit his own memory to the hatred and
the horror of all succeeding time. But when we look around us, we
see, in contrast to the gracious and fostering reception of the
mere mechanism by which science is made manifest, the utmost
intolerance to science itself. The mathematics in especial are
deemed the very cabala of the black art. Accusations of witchcraft
were never more abundant; and yet, strange to say, those who openly
professed to practise the unhallowed science, [Nigromancy, or
Sorcery, even took its place amongst the regular callings. Thus,
"Thomas Vandyke, late of Cambridge," is styled (Rolls Parl. 6, p.
273) Nigromancer as his profession.—Sharon Turner, "History of
England," vol iv. p. 6. Burke, "History of Richard III."] and
contrived to make their deceptions profitable to some unworthy
political purpose, appear to have enjoyed safety, and sometimes
even honour, while those who, occupied with some practical, useful,
and noble pursuits uncomprehended by prince or people, denied their
sorcery were despatched without mercy. The mathematician and
astronomer Bolingbroke (the greatest clerk of his age) is hanged
and quartered as a wizard, while not only impunity but reverence
seems to have awaited a certain Friar Bungey, for having raised
mists and vapours, which greatly befriended Edward IV. at the
battle of Barnet.Our knowledge of the intellectual spirit of the age,
therefore, only becomes perfect when we contrast the success of the
Impostor with the fate of the true Genius. And as the prejudices of
the populace ran high against all mechanical contrivances for
altering the settled conditions of labour, [Even in the article of
bonnets and hats, it appears that certain wicked falling mills were
deemed worthy of a special anathema in the reign of Edward IV.
These engines are accused of having sought, "by subtle
imagination," the destruction of the original makers of hats and
bonnets by man's strength,—that is, with hands and feet; and an act
of parliament was passed (22d of Edward IV.) to put down the
fabrication of the said hats and bonnets by mechanical
contrivance.] so probably, in the very instinct and destiny of
Genius which ever drive it to a war with popular prejudice, it
would be towards such contrivances that a man of great ingenuity
and intellect, if studying the physical sciences, would direct his
ambition.Whether the author, in the invention he has assigned to his
philosopher (Adam Warner), has too boldly assumed the possibility
of a conception so much in advance of the time, they who have
examined such of the works of Roger Bacon as are yet given to the
world can best decide; but the assumption in itself belongs
strictly to the most acknowledged prerogatives of Fiction; and the
true and important question will obviously be, not whether Adam
Warner could have constructed his model, but whether, having so
constructed it, the fate that befell him was probable and
natural.Such characters as I have here alluded to seemed, then, to
me, in meditating the treatment of the high and brilliant subject
which your eloquence animated me to attempt, the proper
Representatives of the multiform Truths which the time of Warwick
the King–maker affords to our interests and suggests for our
instruction; and I can only wish that the powers of the author were
worthier of the theme.It is necessary that I now state briefly the foundation of
the Historical portions of this narrative. The charming and popular
"History of Hume," which, however, in its treatment of the reign of
Edward IV. is more than ordinarily incorrect, has probably left
upon the minds of many of my readers, who may not have directed
their attention to more recent and accurate researches into that
obscure period, an erroneous impression of the causes which led to
the breach between Edward IV. and his great kinsman and subject,
the Earl of Warwick. The general notion is probably still strong
that it was the marriage of the young king to Elizabeth Gray,
during Warwick's negotiations in France for the alliance of Bona of
Savoy (sister–in–law to Louis XI.), which exasperated the fiery
earl, and induced his union with the House of Lancaster. All our
more recent historians have justly rejected this groundless fable,
which even Hume (his extreme penetration supplying the defects of
his superficial research) admits with reserve. ["There may even
some doubt arise with regard to the proposal of marriage made to
Bona of Savoy," etc.—HUME, note to p. 222, vol. iii. edit. 1825.] A
short summary of the reasons for this rejection is given by Dr.
Lingard, and annexed below. ["Many writers tell us that the enmity
of Warwick arose from his disappointment caused by Edward's
clandestine marriage with Elizabeth. If we may believe them, the
earl was at the very time in France negotiating on the part of the
king a marriage with Bona of Savoy, sister to the Queen of France;
and having succeeded in his mission, brought back with him the
Count of Dampmartin as ambassador from Louis. To me the whole story
appears a fiction. 1. It is not to be found in the more ancient
historians. 2. Warwick was not at the time in France. On the 20th
of April, ten days before the marriage, he was employed in
negotiating a truce with the French envoys in London (Rym. xi.
521), and on the 26th of May, about three weeks after it, was
appointed to treat of another truce with the King of Scots (Rym.
xi. 424). 3. Nor could he bring Dampmartin with him to England; for
that nobleman was committed a prisoner to the Bastile in September,
1463, and remained there till May, 1465 (Monstrel. iii. 97, 109).
Three contemporary and well–informed writers, the two continuators
of the History of Croyland and Wyrcester, attribute his discontent
to the marriages and honours granted to the Wydeviles, and the
marriage of the princess Margaret with the Duke of
Burgundy."—LINGARD, vol. iii. c. 24, pp. 5, 19, 4to ed.] And,
indeed, it is a matter of wonder that so many of our chroniclers
could have gravely admitted a legend contradicted by all the
subsequent conduct of Warwick himself; for we find the earl
specially doing honour to the publication of Edward's marriage,
standing godfather to his first–born (the Princess Elizabeth),
employed as ambassador or acting as minister, and fighting for
Edward, and against the Lancastrians, during the five years that
elapsed between the coronation of Elizabeth and Warwick's
rebellion.The real causes of this memorable quarrel, in which Warwick
acquired his title of King–maker, appear to have been
these.It is probable enough, as Sharon Turner suggests, [Sharon
Turner: History of England, vol. iii. p. 269.] that Warwick was
disappointed that, since Edward chose a subject for his wife, he
neglected the more suitable marriage he might have formed with the
earl's eldest daughter; and it is impossible but that the earl
should have been greatly chafed, in common with all his order, by
the promotion of the queen's relations, [W. Wyr. 506, 7. Croyl.
542.] new men and apostate Lancastrians. But it is clear that these
causes for discontent never weakened his zeal for Edward till the
year 1467, when we chance upon the true origin of the romance
concerning Bona of Savoy, and the first open dissension between
Edward and the earl.In that year Warwick went to France, to conclude an alliance
with Louis XI., and to secure the hand of one of the French princes
[Which of the princes this was does not appear, and can scarcely be
conjectured. The "Pictorial History of England" (Book v. 102) in a
tone of easy decision says "it was one of the sons of Louis XI."
But Louis had no living sons at all at the time. The Dauphin was
not born till three years afterwards. The most probable person was
the Duke of Guienne, Louis's brother.] for Margaret, sister to
Edward IV.; during this period, Edward received the bastard brother
of Charles, Count of Charolois, afterwards Duke of Burgundy, and
arranged a marriage between Margaret and the count.Warwick's embassy was thus dishonoured, and the dishonour was
aggravated by personal enmity to the bridegroom Edward had
preferred. [The Croyland Historian, who, as far as his brief and
meagre record extends, is the best authority for the time of Edward
IV., very decidedly states the Burgundian alliance to be the
original cause of Warwick's displeasure, rather than the king's
marriage with Elizabeth: "Upon which (the marriage of Margaret with
Charolois) Richard Nevile, Earl of Warwick, who had for so many
years taken party with the French against the Burgundians,
conceived great indignation; and I hold this to be the truer cause
of his resentment than the king's marriage with Elizabeth, for he
had rather have procured a husband for the aforesaid princess
Margaret in the kingdom of France." The Croyland Historian also
speaks emphatically of the strong animosity existing between
Charolois and Warwick.—Cont. Croyl. 551.] The earl retired in
disgust to his castle. But Warwick's nature, which Hume has happily
described as one of "undesigning frankness and openness," [Hume,
"Henry VI.," vol. iii. p. 172, edit. 1825.] does not seem to have
long harboured this resentment. By the intercession of the
Archbishop of York and others, a reconciliation was effected, and
the next year, 1468, we find Warwick again in favour, and even so
far forgetting his own former cause of complaint as to accompany
the procession in honour of Margaret's nuptials with his private
foe. [Lingard.] In the following year, however, arose the second
dissension between the king and his minister,—namely, in the king's
refusal to sanction the marriage of his brother Clarence with the
earl's daughter Isabel,—a refusal which was attended with a
resolute opposition that must greatly have galled the pride of the
earl, since Edward even went so far as to solicit the Pope to
refuse his sanction, on the ground of relationship. [Carte. Wm.
Wyr.] The Pope, nevertheless, grants the dispensation, and the
marriage takes place at Calais. A popular rebellion then breaks out
in England. Some of Warwick's kinsmen—those, however, belonging to
the branch of the Nevile family that had always been Lancastrians,
and at variance with the earl's party—are found at its head. The
king, who is in imminent danger, writes a supplicating letter to
Warwick to come to his aid. ["Paston Letters," cxcviii. vol. ii.,
Knight's ed. See Lingard, c. 24, for the true date of Edward's
letters to Warwick, Clarence, and the Archbishop of York.] The earl
again forgets former causes for resentment, hastens from Calais,
rescues the king, and quells the rebellion by the influence of his
popular name.We next find Edward at Warwick's castle of Middleham, where,
according to some historians, he is forcibly detained,—an assertion
treated by others as a contemptible invention. This question will
be examined in the course of this work; [See Note II.] but whatever
the true construction of the story, we find that Warwick and the
king are still on such friendly terms, that the earl marches in
person against a rebellion on the borders, obtains a signal
victory, and that the rebel leader (the earl's own kinsman) is
beheaded by Edward at York. We find that, immediately after this
supposed detention, Edward speaks of Warwick and his brothers "as
his best friends;" ["Paston Letters," cciv. vol. ii., Knight's ed.
The date of this letter, which puzzled the worthy annotator, is
clearly to be referred to Edward's return from York, after his
visit to Middleham in 1469. No mention is therein made by the
gossiping contemporary of any rumour that Edward had suffered
imprisonment. He enters the city in state, as having returned safe
and victorious from a formidable rebellion. The letter goes on to
say: "The king himself hath (that is, holds) good language of the
Lords Clarence, of Warwick, etc., saying 'they be his best
friends.'" Would he say this if just escaped from a prison? Sir
John Paston, the writer of the letter, adds, it is true, "But his
household men have (hold) other language." very probably, for the
household men were the court creatures always at variance with
Warwick, and held, no doubt, the same language they had been in the
habit of holding before.] that he betroths his eldest daughter to
Warwick's nephew, the male heir of the family. And then suddenly,
only three months afterwards (in February, 1470), and without any
clear and apparent cause, we find Warwick in open rebellion,
animated by a deadly hatred to the king, refusing, from first to
last, all overtures of conciliation; and so determined is his
vengeance, that he bows a pride, hitherto morbidly susceptible, to
the vehement insolence of Margaret of Anjou, and forms the closest
alliance with the Lancastrian party, in the destruction of which
his whole life had previously been employed.Here, then, where History leaves us in the dark, where our
curiosity is the most excited, Fiction gropes amidst the ancient
chronicles, and seeks to detect and to guess the truth. And then
Fiction, accustomed to deal with the human heart, seizes upon the
paramount importance of a Fact which the modern historian has been
contented to place amongst dubious and collateral causes of
dissension. We find it broadly and strongly stated by Hall and
others, that Edward had coarsely attempted the virtue of one of the
earl's female relations. "And farther it erreth not from the
truth," says Hall, "that the king did attempt a thing once in the
earl's house, which was much against the earl's honesty; but
whether it was the daughter or the niece," adds the chronicler,
"was not, for both their honours, openly known; but surely such a
thing WAS attempted by King Edward," etc.Any one at all familiar with Hall (and, indeed, with all our
principal chroniclers, except Fabyan), will not expect any accurate
precision as to the date he assigns for the outrage. He awards to
it, therefore, the same date he erroneously gives to Warwick's
other grudges (namely, a period brought some years lower by all
judicious historians) a date at which Warwick was still Edward's
fastest friend.Once grant the probability of this insult to the earl (the
probability is conceded at once by the more recent historians, and
received without scruple as a fact by Rapia, Habington, and Carte),
and the whole obscurity which involves this memorable quarrel
vanishes at once. Here was, indeed, a wrong never to be forgiven,
and yet never to be proclaimed. As Hall implies, the honour of the
earl was implicated in hushing the scandal, and the honour of
Edward in concealing the offence. That if ever the insult were
attempted, it must have been just previous to the earl's declared
hostility is clear. Offences of that kind hurry men to immediate
action at the first, or else, if they stoop to dissimulation the
more effectually to avenge afterwards, the outbreak bides its
seasonable time. But the time selected by the earl for his outbreak
was the very worst he could have chosen, and attests the influence
of a sudden passion,—a new and uncalculated cause of resentment. He
had no forces collected; he had not even sounded his own
brother–in–law, Lord Stanley (since he was uncertain of his
intentions); while, but a few months before, had he felt any desire
to dethrone the king, he could either have suffered him to be
crushed by the popular rebellion the earl himself had quelled, or
have disposed of his person as he pleased when a guest at his own
castle of Middleham. His evident want of all preparation and
forethought—a want which drove into rapid and compulsory flight
from England the baron to whose banner, a few months afterwards,
flocked sixty thousand men—proves that the cause of his alienation
was fresh and recent.If, then, the cause we have referred to, as mentioned by Hall
and others, seems the most probable we can find (no other cause for
such abrupt hostility being discernible), the date for it must be
placed where it is in this work,—namely, just prior to the earl's
revolt. The next question is, who could have been the lady thus
offended, whether a niece or daughter. Scarcely a niece, for
Warwick had one married brother, Lord Montagu, and several sisters;
but the sisters were married to lords who remained friendly to
Edward, [Except the sisters married to Lord Fitzhugh and Lord
Oxford. But though Fitzhugh, or rather his son, broke into
rebellion, it was for some cause in which Warwick did not
sympathize, for by Warwick himself was that rebellion put down; nor
could the aggrieved lady have been a daughter of Lord Oxford, for
he was a stanch, though not avowed, Lancastrian, and seems to have
carefully kept aloof from the court.] and Montagu seems to have had
no daughter out of childhood, [Montagu's wife could have been
little more than thirty at the time of his death. She married
again, and had a family by her second husband.] while that nobleman
himself did not share Warwick's rebellion at the first, but
continued to enjoy the confidence of Edward. We cannot reasonably,
then, conceive the uncle to have been so much more revengeful than
the parents,—the legitimate guardians of the honour of a daughter.
It is, therefore, more probable that the insulted maiden should
have been one of Lord Warwick's daughters; and this is the general
belief. Carte plainly declares it was Isabel. But Isabel it could
hardly have been. She was then married to Edward's brother, the
Duke of Clarence, and within a month of her confinement. The earl
had only one other daughter, Anne, then in the flower of her youth;
and though Isabel appears to have possessed a more striking
character of beauty, Anne must have had no inconsiderable charms to
have won the love of the Lancastrian Prince Edward, and to have
inspired a tender and human affection in Richard Duke of
Gloucester. [Not only does Majerus, the Flemish annalist, speak of
Richard's early affection to Anne, but Richard's pertinacity in
marrying her, at a time when her family was crushed and fallen,
seems to sanction the assertion. True, that Richard received with
her a considerable portion of the estates of her parents. But both
Anne herself and her parents were attainted, and the whole property
at the disposal of the Crown. Richard at that time had conferred
the most important services on Edward. He had remained faithful to
him during the rebellion of Clarence; he had been the hero of the
day both at Barnet and Tewksbury. His reputation was then
exceedingly high, and if he had demanded, as a legitimate reward,
the lands of Middleham, without the bride, Edward could not well
have refused them. He certainly had a much better claim than the
only other competitor for the confiscated estates,—namely, the
perjured and despicable Clarence. For Anne's reluctance to marry
Richard, and the disguise she assumed, see Miss Strickland's "Life
of Anne of Warwick." For the honour of Anne, rather than of
Richard, to whose memory one crime more or less matters but little,
it may here be observed that so far from there being any ground to
suppose that Gloucester was an accomplice in the assassination of
the young prince Edward of Lancaster, there is some ground to
believe that that prince was not assassinated at all, but died (as
we would fain hope the grandson of Henry V. did die) fighting
manfully in the field.—"Harleian Manuscripts;" Stowe, "Chronicle of
Tewksbury;" Sharon Turner, vol. iii. p. 335.] It is also
noticeable, that when, not as Shakspeare represents, but after long
solicitation, and apparently by positive coercion, Anne formed her
second marriage, she seems to have been kept carefully by Richard
from his gay brother's court, and rarely, if ever, to have appeared
in London till Edward was no more.That considerable obscurity should always rest upon the facts
connected with Edward's meditated crime,—that they should never be
published amongst the grievances of the haughty rebel is natural
from the very dignity of the parties, and the character of the
offence; that in such obscurity sober History should not venture
too far on the hypothesis suggested by the chronicler, is right and
laudable. But probably it will be conceded by all, that here
Fiction finds its lawful province, and that it may reasonably help,
by no improbable nor groundless conjecture, to render connected and
clear the most broken and the darkest fragments of our
annals.I have judged it better partially to forestall the interest
of the reader in my narrative, by stating thus openly what he may
expect, than to encounter the far less favourable impression (if he
had been hitherto a believer in the old romance of Bona of Savoy),
[I say the old romance of Bona of Savoy, so far as Edward's
rejection of her hand for that of Elizabeth Gray is stated to have
made the cause of his quarrel with Warwick. But I do not deny the
possibility that such a marriage had been contemplated and advised
by Warwick, though he neither sought to negotiate it, nor was
wronged by Edward's preference of his fair subject.] that the
author was taking an unwarrantable liberty with the real facts,
when, in truth, it is upon the real facts, as far as they can be
ascertained, that the author has built his tale, and his boldest
inventions are but deductions from the amplest evidence he could
collect. Nay, he even ventures to believe, that whoever hereafter
shall write the history of Edward IV. will not disdain to avail
himself of some suggestions scattered throughout these volumes, and
tending to throw new light upon the events of that intricate but
important period.It is probable that this work will prove more popular in its
nature than my last fiction of "Zanoni," which could only be
relished by those interested in the examinations of the various
problems in human life which it attempts to solve. But both
fictions, however different and distinct their treatment, are
constructed on those principles of art to which, in all my later
works, however imperfect my success, I have sought at least
steadily to adhere.To my mind, a writer should sit down to compose a fiction as
a painter prepares to compose a picture. His first care should be
the conception of a whole as lofty as his intellect can grasp, as
harmonious and complete as his art can accomplish; his second care,
the character of the interest which the details are intended to
sustain.It is when we compare works of imagination in writing with
works of imagination on the canvas, that we can best form a
critical idea of the different schools which exist in each; for
common both to the author and the painter are those styles which we
call the Familiar, the Picturesque, and the Intellectual. By
recurring to this comparison we can, without much difficulty,
classify works of Fiction in their proper order, and estimate the
rank they should severally hold. The Intellectual will probably
never be the most widely popular for the moment. He who prefers to
study in this school must be prepared for much depreciation, for
its greatest excellences, even if he achieve them, are not the most
obvious to the many. In discussing, for instance, a modern work, we
hear it praised, perhaps, for some striking passage, some prominent
character; but when do we ever hear any comment on its harmony of
construction, on its fulness of design, on its ideal character,—on
its essentials, in short, as a work of art? What we hear most
valued in the picture, we often find the most neglected in the
book,—namely, the composition; and this, simply because in England
painting is recognized as an art, and estimated according to
definite theories; but in literature we judge from a taste never
formed, from a thousand prejudices and ignorant predilections. We
do not yet comprehend that the author is an artist, and that the
true rules of art by which he should be tested are precise and
immutable. Hence the singular and fantastic caprices of the popular
opinion,—its exaggerations of praise or censure, its passion and
reaction. At one while, its solemn contempt for Wordsworth; at
another, its absurd idolatry. At one while we are stunned by the
noisy celebrity of Byron, at another we are calmly told that he can
scarcely be called a poet. Each of these variations in the public
is implicitly followed by the vulgar criticism; and as a few years
back our journals vied with each other in ridiculing Wordsworth for
the faults which he did not possess, they vie now with each other
in eulogiums upon the merits which he has never
displayed.These violent fluctuations betray both a public and a
criticism utterly unschooled in the elementary principles of
literary art, and entitle the humblest author to dispute the
censure of the hour, while they ought to render the greatest
suspicious of its praise.It is, then, in conformity, not with any presumptuous
conviction of his own superiority, but with his common experience
and common–sense, that every author who addresses an English
audience in serious earnest is permitted to feel that his final
sentence rests not with the jury before which he is first heard.
The literary history of the day consists of a series of judgments
set aside.But this uncertainty must more essentially betide every
student, however lowly, in the school I have called the
Intellectual, which must ever be more or less at variance with the
popular canons. It is its hard necessity to vex and disturb the
lazy quietude of vulgar taste; for unless it did so, it could
neither elevate nor move. He who resigns the Dutch art for the
Italian must continue through the dark to explore the principles
upon which he founds his design, to which he adapts his execution;
in hope or in despondence still faithful to the theory which cares
less for the amount of interest created than for the sources from
which the interest is to be drawn; seeking in action the movement
of the grander passions or the subtler springs of conduct, seeking
in repose the colouring of intellectual beauty.The Low and the High of Art are not very readily
comprehended. They depend not upon the worldly degree or the
physical condition of the characters delineated; they depend
entirely upon the quality of the emotion which the characters are
intended to excite,—namely, whether of sympathy for something low,
or of admiration for something high. There is nothing high in a
boor's head by Teniers, there is nothing low in a boor's head by
Guido. What makes the difference between the two? The absence or
presence of the Ideal! But every one can judge of the merit of the
first, for it is of the Familiar school; it requires a connoisseur
to see the merit of the last, for it is of the
Intellectual.I have the less scrupled to leave these remarks to cavil or
to sarcasm, because this fiction is probably the last with which I
shall trespass upon the Public, and I am desirous that it shall
contain, at least, my avowal of the principles upon which it and
its later predecessors have been composed. You know well, however
others may dispute the fact, the earnestness with which those
principles have been meditated and pursued,—with high desire, if
but with poor results.It is a pleasure to feel that the aim, which I value more
than the success, is comprehended by one whose exquisite taste as a
critic is only impaired by that far rarer quality,—the disposition
to over–estimate the person you profess to esteem! Adieu, my
sincere and valued friend; and accept, as a mute token of gratitude
and regard, these flowers gathered in the Garden where we have so
often roved together. E. L. B.
Preface to the Last of the Barons
This was the first attempt of the author in Historical
Romance upon English ground. Nor would he have risked the
disadvantage of comparison with the genius of Sir Walter Scott, had
he not believed that that great writer and his numerous imitators
had left altogether unoccupied the peculiar field in Historical
Romance which the Author has here sought to bring into cultivation.
In "The Last of the Barons," as in "Harold," the aim has been to
illustrate the actual history of the period, and to bring into
fuller display than general History itself has done the characters
of the principal personages of the time, the motives by which they
were probably actuated, the state of parties, the condition of the
people, and the great social interests which were involved in what,
regarded imperfectly, appear but the feuds of rival
factions."The Last of the Barons" has been by many esteemed the best
of the Author's romances; and perhaps in the portraiture of actual
character, and the grouping of the various interests and agencies
of the time, it may have produced effects which render it more
vigorous and lifelike than any of the other attempts in romance by
the same hand.It will be observed that the purely imaginary characters
introduced are very few; and, however prominent they may appear,
still, in order not to interfere with the genuine passions and
events of history, they are represented as the passive sufferers,
not the active agents, of the real events. Of these imaginary
characters, the most successful is Adam Warner, the philosopher in
advance of his age; indeed, as an ideal portrait, I look upon it as
the most original in conception, and the most finished in
execution, of any to be found in my numerous prose works, "Zanoni"
alone excepted.For the rest, I venture to think that the general reader will
obtain from these pages a better notion of the important age,
characterized by the decline of the feudal system, and immediately
preceding that great change in society which we usually date from
the accession of Henry VII., than he could otherwise gather,
without wading through a vast mass of neglected chronicles and
antiquarian dissertations.
Book I: The Adventures of Master Marmaduke Nevile
Chapter I
Westward, beyond the still pleasant, but even then no longer
solitary, hamlet of Charing, a broad space, broken here and there
by scattered houses and venerable pollards, in the early spring of
1467, presented the rural scene for the sports and pastimes of the
inhabitants of Westminster and London. Scarcely need we say that
open spaces for the popular games and diversions were then numerous
in the suburbs of the metropolis,—grateful to some the fresh pools
of Islington; to others, the grass–bare fields of Finsbury; to all,
the hedgeless plains of vast Mile–end. But the site to which we are
now summoned was a new and maiden holiday–ground, lately bestowed
upon the townsfolk of Westminster by the powerful Earl of
Warwick.Raised by a verdant slope above the low, marsh–grown soil of
Westminster, the ground communicated to the left with the
Brook–fields, through which stole the peaceful Ty–bourne, and
commanded prospects, on all sides fair, and on each side varied.
Behind, rose the twin green hills of Hampstead and Highgate, with
the upland park and chase of Marybone,—its stately manor–house half
hid in woods. In front might be seen the Convent of the Lepers,
dedicated to Saint James, now a palace; then to the left, York
House, [The residence of the Archbishops of York] now Whitehall;
farther on, the spires of Westminster Abbey and the gloomy tower of
the Sanctuary; next, the Palace, with its bulwark and vawmure,
soaring from the river; while eastward, and nearer to the scene,
stretched the long, bush–grown passage of the Strand, picturesquely
varied with bridges, and flanked to the right by the embattled
halls of feudal nobles, or the inns of the no less powerful
prelates; while sombre and huge amidst hall and inn, loomed the
gigantic ruins of the Savoy, demolished in the insurrection of Wat
Tyler. Farther on, and farther yet, the eye wandered over tower and
gate, and arch and spire, with frequent glimpses of the broad
sunlit river, and the opposite shore crowned by the palace of
Lambeth, and the Church of St. Mary Overies, till the indistinct
cluster of battlements around the Fortress–Palatine bounded the
curious gaze. As whatever is new is for a while popular, so to this
pastime–ground, on the day we treat of, flocked, not only the
idlers of Westminster, but the lordly dwellers of Ludgate and the
Flete, and the wealthy citizens of tumultuous Chepe.The ground was well suited to the purpose to which it was
devoted. About the outskirts, indeed, there were swamps and
fish–pools; but a considerable plot towards the centre presented a
level sward, already worn bare and brown by the feet of the
multitude. From this, towards the left, extended alleys, some
recently planted, intended to afford, in summer, cool and shady
places for the favourite game of bowls; while scattered clumps,
chiefly of old pollards, to the right broke the space agreeably
enough into detached portions, each of which afforded its separate
pastime or diversion. Around were ranged many carts, or wagons;
horses of all sorts and value were led to and fro, while their
owners were at sport. Tents, awnings, hostelries, temporary
buildings, stages for showmen and jugglers, abounded, and gave the
scene the appearance of a fair; but what particularly now demands
our attention was a broad plot in the ground, dedicated to the
noble diversion of archery. The reigning House of York owed much of
its military success to the superiority of the bowmen under its
banners, and the Londoners themselves were jealous of their
reputation in this martial accomplishment. For the last fifty
years, notwithstanding the warlike nature of the times, the
practice of the bow, in the intervals of peace, had been more
neglected than seemed wise to the rulers. Both the king and his
loyal city had of late taken much pains to enforce the due exercise
of "Goddes instrumente," [So called emphatically by Bishop Latimer,
in his celebrated Sixth Sermon.] upon which an edict had declared
that "the liberties and honour of England principally
rested!"And numerous now was the attendance, not only of the
citizens, the burghers, and the idle populace, but of the gallant
nobles who surrounded the court of Edward IV., then in the prime of
his youth,—the handsomest, the gayest, and the bravest prince in
Christendom.The royal tournaments (which were, however, waning from their
ancient lustre to kindle afresh, and to expire in the reigns of the
succeeding Tudors), restricted to the amusements of knight and
noble, no doubt presented more of pomp and splendour than the
motley and mixed assembly of all ranks that now grouped around the
competitors for the silver arrow, or listened to the itinerant
jongleur, dissour, or minstrel, or, seated under the stunted shade
of the old trees, indulged, with eager looks and hands often
wandering to their dagger–hilts, in the absorbing passion of the
dice; but no later and earlier scenes of revelry ever, perhaps,
exhibited that heartiness of enjoyment, that universal holiday,
which attended this mixture of every class, that established a rude
equality for the hour between the knight and the retainer, the
burgess and the courtier.The revolution that placed Edward IV. upon the throne had, in
fact, been a popular one. Not only had the valour and moderation of
his father, Richard, Duke of York, bequeathed a heritage of
affection to his brave and accomplished son; not only were the most
beloved of the great barons the leaders of his party; but the king
himself, partly from inclination, partly from policy, spared no
pains to win the good graces of that slowly rising, but even then
important part of the population,—the Middle Class. He was the
first king who descended, without loss of dignity and respect, from
the society of his peers and princes, to join familiarly in the
feasts and diversions of the merchant and the trader. The lord
mayor and council of London were admitted, on more than one solemn
occasion, into the deliberations of the court; and Edward had not
long since, on the coronation of his queen, much to the discontent
of certain of his barons, conferred the Knighthood of the hath upon
four of the citizens. On the other hand, though Edward's
gallantries—the only vice which tended to diminish his popularity
with the sober burgesses—were little worthy of his station, his
frank, joyous familiarity with his inferiors was not debased by the
buffooneries that had led to the reverses and the awful fate of two
of his royal predecessors. There must have been a popular
principle, indeed, as well as a popular fancy, involved in the
steady and ardent adherence which the population of London in
particular, and most of the great cities, exhibited to the person
and the cause of Edward IV. There was a feeling that his reign was
an advance in civilization upon the monastic virtues of Henry VI.,
and the stern ferocity which accompanied the great qualities of
"The Foreign Woman," as the people styled and regarded Henry's
consort, Margaret of Anjou. While thus the gifts, the courtesy, and
the policy of the young sovereign made him popular with the middle
classes, he owed the allegiance of the more powerful barons and the
favour of the rural population to a man who stood colossal amidst
the iron images of the Age,—the greatest and the last of the old
Norman chivalry, kinglier in pride, in state, in possessions, and
in renown than the king himself, Richard Nevile, Earl of Salisbury
and Warwick.This princely personage, in the full vigour of his age,
possessed all the attributes that endear the noble to the commons.
His valour in the field was accompanied with a generosity rare in
the captains of the time. He valued himself on sharing the perils
and the hardships of his meanest soldier. His haughtiness to the
great was not incompatible with frank affability to the lowly. His
wealth was enormous, but it was equalled by his magnificence, and
rendered popular by his lavish hospitality. No less than thirty
thousand persons are said to have feasted daily at the open tables
with which he allured to his countless castles the strong hands and
grateful hearts of a martial and unsettled population. More haughty
than ambitious, he was feared because he avenged all affront; and
yet not envied, because he seemed above all favour.The holiday on the archery–ground was more than usually gay,
for the rumour had spread from the court to the city that Edward
was about to increase his power abroad, and to repair what he had
lost in the eyes of Europe through his marriage with Elizabeth
Gray, by allying his sister Margaret with the brother of Louis XI.,
and that no less a person than the Earl of Warwick had been the day
before selected as ambassador on the important
occasion.Various opinions were entertained upon the preference given
to France in this alliance over the rival candidate for the hand of
the princess,—namely, the Count de Charolois, afterwards Charles
the Bold, Duke of Burgundy."By 'r Lady," said a stout citizen about the age of fifty,
"but I am not over pleased with this French marriage–making! I
would liefer the stout earl were going to France with bows and
bills than sarcenets and satins. What will become of our trade with
Flanders,—answer me that, Master Stokton? The House of York is a
good House, and the king is a good king, but trade is trade. Every
man must draw water to his own mill.""Hush, Master Heyford!" said a small lean man in a light–gray
surcoat. "The king loves not talk about what the king does. 'T is
ill jesting with lions. Remember William Walker, hanged for saying
his son should be heir to the crown.""Troth," answered Master Heyford, nothing daunted, for he
belonged to one of the most powerful corporations of London,—"it
was but a scurvy Pepperer [old name for Grocer] who made that joke;
but a joke from a worshipful goldsmith, who has moneys and
influence, and a fair wife of his own, whom the king himself has
been pleased to commend, is another guess sort of matter. But here
is my grave–visaged headman, who always contrives to pick up the
last gossip astir, and has a deep eye into millstones. Why, ho,
there! Alwyn—I say, Nicholas Alwyn!—who would have thought to see
thee with that bow, a good half–ell taller than thyself? Methought
thou wert too sober and studious for such man–at–arms sort of
devilry.""An' it please you, Master Heyford," answered the person thus
addressed,—a young man, pale and lean, though sinewy and
large–boned, with a countenance of great intelligence, but a slow
and somewhat formal manner of speech, and a strong provincial
accent,—"an' it please you, King Edward's edict ordains every
Englishman to have a bow of his own height; and he who neglects the
shaft on a holiday forfeiteth one halfpenny and some honour. For
the rest, methinks that the citizens of London will become of more
worth and potency every year; and it shall not be my fault if I do
not, though but a humble headman to your worshipful mastership,
help to make them so.""Why, that's well said, lad; but if the Londoners prosper, it
is because they have nobles in their gipsires, [a kind of pouch
worn at the girdle] not bows in their hands.""Thinkest thou then, Master Heyford, that any king at a pinch
would leave them the gipsire, if they could not protect it with the
bow? That Age may have gold, let not Youth despise
iron.""Body o' me!" cried Master Heyford, "but thou hadst better
curb in thy tongue. Though I have my jest,—as a rich man and a
corpulent,—a lad who has his way to make good should be silent
and—But he's gone.""Where hooked you up that young jack fish?" said Master
Stokton, the thin mercer, who had reminded the goldsmith of the
fate of the grocer."Why, he was meant for the cowl, but his mother, a widow, at
his own wish, let him make choice of the flat cap. He was the best
'prentice ever I had. By the blood of Saint Thomas, he will push
his way in good time; he has a head, Master Stokton,—a head, and an
ear; and a great big pair of eyes always looking out for something
to his proper advantage."In the mean while, the goldsmith's headman had walked
leisurely up to the archery–ground; and even in his gait and walk,
as he thus repaired to a pastime, there was something steady,
staid, and business–like.The youths of his class and calling were at that day very
different from their equals in this. Many of them the sons of
provincial retainers, some even of franklins and gentlemen, their
childhood had made them familiar with the splendour and the sports
of knighthood; they had learned to wrestle, to cudgel, to pitch the
bar or the quoit, to draw the bow, and to practise the sword and
buckler, before transplanted from the village green to the city
stall. And even then, the constant broils and wars of the time, the
example of their betters, the holiday spectacle of mimic strife,
and, above all, the powerful and corporate association they formed
amongst themselves, tended to make them as wild, as jovial, and as
dissolute a set of young fellows as their posterity are now sober,
careful, and discreet. And as Nicholas Alwyn, with a slight
inclination of his head, passed by, two or three loud, swaggering,
bold–looking groups of apprentices—their shaggy hair streaming over
their shoulders, their caps on one side, their short cloaks of blue
torn or patched, though still passably new, their bludgeons under
their arms, and their whole appearance and manner not very
dissimilar from the German collegians in the last century—notably
contrasted Alwyn's prim dress, his precise walk, and the feline
care with which he stepped aside from any patches of mire that
might sully the soles of his square–toed shoes.The idle apprentices winked and whispered, and lolled out
their tongues at him as he passed. "Oh, but that must be as good as
a May–Fair day,—sober Nick Alwyn's maiden flight of the shaft!
Hollo, puissant archer, take care of the goslings yonder! Look this
way when thou pull'st, and then woe to the other side!" Venting
these and many similar specimens of the humour of Cockaigne, the
apprentices, however, followed their quondam colleague, and elbowed
their way into the crowd gathered around the competitors at the
butt; and it was at this spot, commanding a view of the whole
space, that the spectator might well have formed some notion of the
vast following of the House of Nevile. For everywhere along the
front lines, everywhere in the scattered groups, might be seen,
glistening in the sunlight, the armourial badges of that mighty
family. The Pied Bull, which was the proper cognizance [Pied Bull
the cognizance, the Dun Bull's head the crest] of the Neviles, was
principally borne by the numerous kinsmen of Earl Warwick, who
rejoiced in the Nevile name. The Lord Montagu, Warwick's brother,
to whom the king had granted the forfeit title and estates of the
earls of Northumberland, distinguished his own retainers, however,
by the special request of the ancient Montagus.—a Gryphon issuant
from a ducal crown. But far more numerous than Bull or Gryphon
(numerous as either seemed) were the badges worn by those who
ranked themselves among the peculiar followers of the great Earl of
Warwick. The cognizance of the Bear and Ragged Staff, which he
assumed in right of the Beauchamps, whom he represented through his
wife, the heiress of the lords of Warwick, was worn in the hats of
the more gentle and well–born clansmen and followers, while the
Ragged Staff alone was worked front and back on the scarlet jackets
of his more humble and personal retainers. It was a matter of
popular notice and admiration that in those who wore these badges,
as in the wearers of the hat and staff of the ancient Spartans,
might be traced a grave loftiness of bearing, as if they belonged
to another caste, another race, than the herd of men. Near the
place where the rivals for the silver arrow were collected, a
lordly party had reined in their palfreys, and conversed with each
other, as the judges of the field were marshalling the
competitors."Who," said one of these gallants, "who is that comely young
fellow just below us, with the Nevile cognizance of the Bull on his
hat? He has the air of one I should know.""I never saw him before, my Lord of Northumberland," answered
one of the gentlemen thus addressed; "but, pardieu, he who knows
all the Neviles by eye must know half England." The Lord
Montagu—for though at that moment invested with the titles of the
Percy, by that name Earl Warwick's brother is known to history, and
by that, his rightful name, he shall therefore be designated in
these pages—the Lord Montagu smiled graciously at this remark, and
a murmur through the crowd announced that the competition for the
silver arrow was about to commence. The butts, formed of turf, with
a small white mark fastened to the centre by a very minute peg,
were placed apart, one at each end, at the distance of eleven score
yards. At the extremity where the shooting commenced, the crowd
assembled, taking care to keep clear from the opposite butt, as the
warning word of "Fast" was thundered forth; but eager was the
general murmur, and many were the wagers given and accepted, as
some well–known archer tried his chance. Near the butt that now
formed the target, stood the marker with his white wand; and the
rapidity with which archer after archer discharged his shaft, and
then, if it missed, hurried across the ground to pick it up (for
arrows were dear enough not to be lightly lost), amidst the jeers
and laughter of the bystanders, was highly animated and diverting.
As yet, however, no marksman had hit the white, though many had
gone close to it, when Nicholas Alwyn stepped forward; and there
was something so unwarlike in his whole air, so prim in his gait,
so careful in his deliberate survey of the shaft and his precise
adjustment of the leathern gauntlet that protected the arm from the
painful twang of the string, that a general burst of laughter from
the bystanders attested their anticipation of a signal
failure."'Fore Heaven!" said Montagu, "he handles his bow an' it were
a yard–measure. One would think he were about to bargain for the
bow–string, he eyes it so closely.""And now," said Nicholas, slowly adjusting the arrow, "a shot
for the honour of old Westmoreland!" And as he spoke, the arrow
sprang gallantly forth, and quivered in the very heart of the
white. There was a general movement of surprise among the
spectators, as the marker thrice shook his wand over his head. But
Alwyn, as indifferent to their respect as he had been to their
ridicule, turned round and said, with a significant glance at the
silent nobles, "We springals of London can take care of our own, if
need be.""These fellows wax insolent. Our good king spoils them," said
Montagu, with a curl of his lip. "I wish some young squire of
gentle blood would not disdain a shot for the Nevile against the
craftsman. How say you, fair sir?" And with a princely courtesy of
mien and smile, Lord Montagu turned to the young man he had noticed
as wearing the cognizance of the First House in England. The bow
was not the customary weapon of the well–born; but still, in youth,
its exercise formed one of the accomplishments of the future
knight; and even princes did not disdain, on a popular holiday, to
match a shaft against the yeoman's cloth–yard. [At a later period,
Henry VIII. was a match for the best bowman in his kingdom. His
accomplishment was hereditary, and distinguished alike his wise
father and his pious son.] The young man thus addressed, and whose
honest, open, handsome, hardy face augured a frank and fearless
nature, bowed his head in silence, and then slowly advancing to the
umpires, craved permission to essay his skill, and to borrow the
loan of a shaft and bow. Leave given and the weapons lent, as the
young gentleman took his stand, his comely person, his dress, of a
better quality than that of the competitors hitherto, and, above
all, the Nevile badge worked in silver on his hat, diverted the
general attention from Nicholas Alwyn. A mob is usually inclined to
aristocratic predilections, and a murmur of goodwill and
expectation greeted him, when he put aside the gauntlet offered to
him, and said, "In my youth I was taught so to brace the bow that
the string should not touch the arm; and though eleven score yards
be but a boy's distance, a good archer will lay his body into his
bow ['My father taught me to lay my body in my bow,' etc.," said
Latimer, in his well–known sermon before Edward VI.,—1549. The
bishop also herein observes that "it is best to give the bow so
much bending that the string need never touch the arm. This," he
adds, "is practised by many good archers with whom I am acquainted,
as much as if he were to hit the blanc four hundred yards
away.""A tall fellow this!" said Montagu; "and one I wot from the
North," as the young gallant fitted the shaft to the bow. And
graceful and artistic was the attitude he assumed,—the head
slightly inclined, the feet firmly planted, the left a little in
advance, and the stretched sinews of the bow–hand alone evincing
that into that grasp was pressed the whole strength of the easy and
careless frame. The public expectation was not disappointed,—the
youth performed the feat considered of all the most dexterous; his
arrow, disdaining the white mark, struck the small peg which
fastened it to the butts, and which seemed literally invisible to
the bystanders."Holy Saint Dunstan! there's but one man who can beat me in
that sort that I know of," muttered Nicholas, "and I little
expected to see him take a bite out of his own hip." With that he
approached his successful rival."Well, Master Marmaduke," said he, "it is many a year since
you showed me that trick at your father, Sir Guy's—God rest him!
But I scarce take it kind in you to beat your own
countryman!""Beshrew me!" cried the youth, and his cheerful features
brightened into hearty and cordial pleasure, "but if I see in thee,
as it seems to me, my old friend and foster–brother, Nick Alwyn,
this is the happiest hour I have known for many a day. But stand
back and let me look at thee, man. Thou! thou a tame London trader!
Ha! ha! is it possible?""Hout, Master Marmaduke," answered Nicholas, "every crow
thinks his own baird bonniest, as they say in the North. We will
talk of this anon an' thou wilt honour me. I suspect the archery is
over now. Few will think to mend that shot."And here, indeed, the umpires advanced, and their chief—an
old mercer, who had once borne arms, and indeed been a volunteer at
the battle of Towton—declared that the contest was over,—"unless,"
he added, in the spirit of a lingering fellow–feeling with the
Londoner, "this young fellow, whom I hope to see an alderman one of
these days, will demand another shot, for as yet there hath been
but one prick each at the butts.""Nay, master," returned Alwyn, "I have met with my
betters,—and, after all," he added indifferently, "the silver
arrow, though a pretty bauble enough, is over light in its
weight.""Worshipful sir," said the young Nevile, with equal
generosity, "I cannot accept the prize for a mere trick of the
craft,—the blanc was already disposed of by Master Alwyn's arrow.
Moreover; the contest was intended for the Londoners, and I am but
an interloper, beholden to their courtesy for a practice of skill,
and even the loan of a bow; wherefore the silver arrow be given to
Nicholas Alwyn.""That may not be, gentle sir," said the umpire, extending the
prize. "Sith Alwyn vails of himself, it is thine, by might and by
right."