CHAPTER XXXVII.
To write a really good play is undoubtedly a much more difficult thing, and the achievement a much more glorious one, than to write a good romance; and yet the dramatist has some very great advantages over the romance writer. He is conventionally permitted to skip over all dull details, which the romance-writer is obliged to furnish. The prominent points alone are those with which he deals; the burden of the rest is cast upon nimble-footed imagination, who, supplies in a moment, from her own inexhaustible stores, all that is requisite to complete the tale, with much richer and more brilliant materials than pen or tongue can afford. If some reference to events going on at a distance from the scene be necessary in words, they may be as brief as the writer wills; and all that is needful to describe the approach of dangers, which have been long preparing, and the effect upon him to whom the tale is told, is comprised in two brief sentences:
Stanley--Richmond is on the seas.
King Richard--There let him sink--and be the seas on him,
White-livered runagate!
This is quite enough; and although I have heard the admirable critics object to the conceit approaching to a pun, expressed in the second line, as unnatural, when placed in the mouth of a man agitated by violent passions, as in the case of Richard, yet that man must have been a very poor observer of human nature, who does not know that the expression of strong passion is full of conceits. It seems as if ordinary words and ordinary forms fail before the energies of passion, and that recourse is had to language often obscure, often. extravagant, sometimes ludicrous, and always full of conceits.
However that may be, it is needful for me to give somewhat more at length the course of events which Shakspeare summed up but briefly. I will be rapid too, and pretend, in this short chapter, to give but a sketch of events, which took several months in action.
Weary men sleep not always sound; and, in less than four hours after the earl of Richmond had laid his head upon his pillow at Angers, he again came forth from his chamber, and went down to that large public room, which in those days, and for many years after, was to be found in every inn, both in France and England. When he entered, the room was tenanted by only one person, for the dinner hour was passed; but that person advanced to meet him at once, with a low reverence. "Ha, Sir Christopher Urswick," said the earl; "right glad am I to see you. The passport you obtained for me from the court of France served me right well this morning at the city gates. By my faith, the pursuers were close upon my heels. But why did you not come yourself?"
"Because I should have been in prison at Nantes by this time, and could serve you better in France," replied Urswick. "There are many of your friends waiting for you, sir, with anxious expectation, at the court of Langeais; and Madame de Beaujeu, the regent of the kingdom, is prepared to receive you as your dignity requires."
"Then am I expected?" asked Richmond.
"Many things are foreseen, which we can hardly say are expected," answered Urswick; "but all knew that, within a month, you must be either in France or England."
Richmond paused in thought, and then asked: "How far is it hence to Langeais?"
"Barely twenty leagues, my lord," replied the other; "an easy ride of two short days."
"And what is now the state of France?" asked Richmond, fixing his keen inquiring eyes upon him.
"Still sadly troubled," replied Urswick. "The contest for the guard of the king's person and the rule of the kingdom still goes on. Orleans, Dunois, and the old constable, on the one side, pull hard against Madame de Beaujeu, her husband, and the rest of the court, on the other; and there is nothing but cabals, dissensions, and from time to time outbreaks; but the princess has more wit than the whole of France put together; and she will break through all their plots, and confound their intrigues. Still the state is very much troubled, and a new revolt is expected every day."
"Then we can pause, and rest at Angers," said Richmond, gravely. "If I have many friends at the court of France, I have been obliged to leave many at the court of Britanny. Their safety must be considered at once. I will write to the good duke, before I break bread. I pray you, in the mean time, seek me a trusty messenger. Let him be a Frenchman, for there might be danger to any other."
Prompt to execute his determinations, the earl at once addressed a letter to the duke of Britanny, explaining the causes of his flight, and pointing out to the weak but amiable prince the stain which his minister had brought upon his name, by engaging to give up a guest, who trusted his hospitality, to a bitter enemy.
He urged not, it is true, the punishment of Landais; but he entreated that his friends, the companions of his exile, might be permitted to join him in France.
This letter had all the effect he could have desired. Free permission to go or stay was granted to every Englishman at the Breton court; and the rage and shame of the duke, at the misuse of his power by Landais, joined with the vehement accusations brought against that upstart minister by the Breton nobles, induced the prince to give him up to justice, reserving to himself indeed the right to pardon him, if he should be condemned by a court of justice. The proceedings, however, were too speedy for the slow duke. Landais was condemned; and he was hung also, while the signature to his pardon was still wet.
Three days after his arrival at Angers, the earl of Richmond set out for Langeais, and early on the second day reached the gates of that fine old château, in the great saloon of which may still be seen the sculptured memorials of joys and ceremonies long past, which ushered in the reign of the active and enterprising Charles VIII. His reception was kind and cordial; but, as Urswick had informed him, trouble still reigned at the court of France; and some weeks elapsed before the earl could obtain anything like a promise of assistance from Madame de Beaujeu. Then, however, she engaged to furnish a small and insignificant force, to form merely the nucleus of an army to be raised in England. Two thousand men alone was all that France offered; but with this insufficient army Richmond determined to take the field, and named Rouen, where he had many friends, as the meeting-place of his troops. The assistance in money was not greater than the assistance in men; and the hard condition of leaving hostages for the payment of all sums advanced was inforced by the shrewd regent of France, whose whole object and expectation, apparently, was, by stirring up civil wars in England, to prevent Richard from pressing any of those claims which he had against the neighbouring sovereign.
She had to deal, indeed, with one perhaps as shrewd as herself; and, although Richmond could not refuse the demand, he took advantage of it to free himself of a person whose lightness and incapacity rendered him little serviceable as an ally, and whose sincerity and good faith were somewhat more than doubtful. Dorset was easily persuaded to avoid the perils of an enterprise, the result of which no one could foresee, by remaining as one of the hostages in Paris, with another gentleman whom the earl felt he could do very well without; and Richmond departed for Rouen, resolved to strike for life or death, a throne or a grave, with whatever means fortune might furnish.
A number of gallant English gentlemen surrounded the future king. But they were in almost all cases without followers, and but scantily provided with money. It was therefore not upon their unaided arms that Richmond could depend for a crown; and, as he rode into the fine old town of Rouen, a shade of despondency came over his countenance, never very bright and cheerful. But at the door of the house which had been prepared for him he was met by the boy Pierre la Brousse, who had been sent on to announce his coming, and now sprang forward to hold his stirrup.
"The good bishop is waiting within, my lord," said the boy eagerly, as Richmond dismounted. "He has news for you from England--" and then, giving a glance at the earl's face, he added--"Good news, my lord."
"You seem much in his confidence," said Richmond, coldly. "Does he tell you whether his news is good or bad?"
"His face does," replied the boy. "I watch men's faces."
Richmond smiled and walked on, guided by Pierre, to the room where Morton sat. For a moment the prelate did not seem to hear the opening door, but remained, with the light of the lamp well nigh absorbed by the black ceiling and the dark arras, poring over some papers on the table before him. The next instant, however, he raised his eyes as Richmond advanced, and, starting up, exclaimed--
"I beg your pardon, my lord the king, I did not hear you enter."
"The king?" said Richmond. "You forget, good father, I am as yet no king."
"But shall be so within a month," replied Morton, laying his hand on the papers, "if there be but one word true in ten of all that is written in these letters. But you are weary, you are thirsty. Let me order some refreshment, while supper is preparing."
"I am weary of disappointments, thirsty for hope," replied Richmond. "Give me your tidings, before I drink or rest. Now, boy, retire;" and he seated himself by the side of the chair which Morton had been occupying.
"This, my lord, from the gallant earl of Northumberland," said Morton, handing him one letter. "See what comfortable assurances he gives of the north."
Richmond read, and looked well satisfied, but said nothing; and then Morton handed him another, saying--
"This from Sir Walter Herbert."
"But poor comfort, that," observed Richmond. "He bids you be assured that, whatever appearances he may put on, he will stand neuter. This is cold, right reverend father."
"In some cases, neutrality is better than favour," replied Morton. "Herbert is Richard's right hand in Wales. If his right hand fail him, his left will serve him but little. Read this from Rice ap Thomas."
"Ay, this is more cheering," exclaimed Richmond, his face brightening. "A thousand men! Why 'tis half the force we bring hence. But think you, reverend friend, that he can keep his word?"
"That he has the will, doubt not," replied the bishop of Ely, "and his power must be shorn indeed, if he double not the number promised. Now mark, my noble prince, what is said by this good Captain Savage--a leader of no mean renown, and a man whose bare word will outweigh the oaths of other men. Listen, 'Wales waits for his coming, as those who watch for the dawn. She feels he is her son, and will give him the welcome of a parent.' Tudor will meet here many kinsmen, more friends than kinsmen, more soldiers than friends, more servants than all; for those will serve him with their hearts and their purses, their prayers and their means, who have not strength to draw a sword nor power to raise a force. Let him land nowhere but in Wales."
"And so say I," exclaimed Richmond; "my first footsteps upon British shore shall be in the land of my fathers. I will go forth to seek the crown, which is my right, from my own native home; and with such promises as these, such friendship as yours, so good a cause, so base an enemy, I will march on even with my little band, assured of victory, and shame the petty aid of miserly France, by winning gloriously, or leave my bones to pay the miserable debt, and let them go to England to fetch them back. Now, my good lord bishop, for our preparations; for I will not tarry longer by a day than I can help, on this ungenerous soil."
"Nay, my noble prince, take some refreshment," said Morton; "the proper hour for supper has long passed, and I doubt much that you tarried on the road for either food or rest."
"Ha! supper--I had forgot," said Richmond; "well, I suppose, man must eat. So we will sup, and call my brave companions in to aid us. Then will we discuss our after measures, hear all their counsel, and adopt--our own."