Читать книгу The History of Medieval London - Walter Besant - Страница 20

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On the death of Edward IV., the Duke of Gloucester made haste to seize upon the Prince, his elder son, then a boy of thirteen, on his way from Ludlow Castle to Westminster.

RICHARD III. (1452-1485)

After the painting in Windsor Castle.

The City thereupon began to busy itself about the Coronation Festival. The civic procession was already organised (Sharpe, London and the Kingdom, i. 319). The City Fathers were to meet the young King who would come into the City: they were to be arrayed in gowns of scarlet, their attendants, including five sergeants at mace belonging to the Mayor and nineteen belonging to the Sheriffs, would have gowns of pied de lyon colour: the sword-bearer with four hundred and ten persons, forming a deputation from the guilds, were to have gowns of murrey. The riding out duly took place: the procession met the young King and the Duke of Gloucester at Hornsey and rode back with them to the Tower. That same day the Queen-mother with her younger son took sanctuary again at Westminster.

Gloucester took up his quarters at Crosby House or Hall, which still remains though greatly altered. The house was built by Sir Thomas Crosby, Grocer and Woolman, in the year 1466, on a piece of land belonging to St. Helen’s Nunnery, let to him by Alice Ashfield, Prioress, for ninety-nine years. Sir John Crosby cleared away the tenements which covered the spot, together with the poor people who lived in them, and built this palace, where he died in 1475. When the long lease expired there was no nunnery left to claim the ground.

Grove and Boulton.

NORTH-EAST VIEW OF CROSBY HALL and INTERIOR OF THE COUNCIL ROOM, CROSBY HALL

What follows belongs to the history of England. Yet it must be briefly narrated for the part taken in these events by the City. Gloucester began by executing without trial and without law Lord Hastings, the most powerful friend of the young King, on a trumped-up charge of conspiracy. He then called the Mayor and Aldermen to the Tower and gave them his version of the business. For himself the execution served his purposes: it removed an obstacle and it proclaimed his power. He next issued a proclamation as to the treason of Hastings, whom he connected with the notorious and unbridled incontinency of the late King. He then courted the City favour by bestowing honours on the City magistrates. London has always been open to flattery by royal distinctions. He made the Mayor a Privy Councillor. This drew to his side, one may suppose, not only the Mayor himself, but some of the Aldermen, with the Mayor’s brother, Dr. Shaw, a celebrated preacher. It was arranged that Shaw, who was to preach on the following Sunday at Paul’s Cross, should open the subject of the succession. The subject and the matter of the sermon were obviously agreed upon beforehand. The sermon is “reported” in More’s Life of Edward V. If his account of it be true then Shaw must have been one of the most brazen liars then living. His text was taken from the Book of Wisdom, and it showed at the outset what line the sermon would take. The words “Bastard slips shall take no deep root.” He said that the late King having promised marriage to the Lady Elizabeth Lucy before she would consent to her own dishonour, and having had a child by her, was already married to her—yet a Catholic Priest knew very well that there is no marriage except that which is celebrated by the Church: that his marriage with Elizabeth Woodville was therefore null and void, and that his children by Elizabeth were illegitimate. Therefore, of course, they could not succeed.

Next, neither the late King, nor his late brother, the Duke of Clarence, nor, consequently, the son of Clarence, had any right to the throne because, as was well known—the allegation may have had some slight foundation in scandals and gossip but could not be known to the citizens,—their mother, the late Duchess of York, was an adulteress, and these two Princes were the children of a certain person about the Duke of York’s Court. “But,” he cried, “in ancestry my Lord Protector, that noble Prince, the Pattern of all Virtuous and Heroic Actions, carried in his Air and in his Mien and in his Soul the perfect Image of his illustrious father the Great Duke of York.”

According to some Gloucester was to have appeared at this point as if by accident, but he did not come. Either he mistook the time, or he was hindered, or his mind misgave him, or news came to Baynard’s Castle, which was no more than five minutes’ distance, that the people were cold and quiet. If this account be true, the coup was missed. It is, however, stated by Fabyan that the Duke of Gloucester, accompanied by Buckingham and other Lords, was present during the sermon which branded his mother as an adulteress. One would willingly believe that Fabyan was wrong. In what follows, one hopes that he was right. For he tells us that Dr. Shaw never ceased to feel the agonies of remorse for this sermon, which helped to bring death upon two innocent boys, and that he died shortly afterwards. Next, the Mayor and Aldermen, the Common Council, and the principal citizens, were summoned to Guildhall to hear the Duke of Buckingham on affairs of State. The City was in silent surprise: most men knew, or feared, what was coming. The Princes in the Tower; sanctuary broken and by order of the Archbishop; Hastings executed; Shaw proclaiming the illegitimacy of the Princes and their father; what but one thing could these actions mean? The citizens assembled, however, in silence: and in silence they stood while Buckingham, in a long oration, endeavoured to bring them round to the point which he desired. If it be reported truly, or only in substance, as he delivered it, the speech must be accounted a remarkable effort. Unfortunately, it must be considered as apocryphal, as the speeches in history usually are. As it is reported, however, he attacked the morals of the King, his lewdness and incontinency, which was easy; he asked them to remember the many cruelties of his reign, which was also easy—but Edward was no more revengeful or bloodthirsty than his enemies; he recalled the bloodshed and slaughter through which he had climbed to the throne, the heavy taxes he had imposed—in which he compared favourably with his predecessors; he repeated the calumnies and statements of Dr. Shaw; he showed—which was the most moving argument of all—the miseries of having a child for King. “Vae Regno cujus Rex puer est!” What sufferings had the realm endured through the long minority of Henry VI.! Finally, he called upon them in impassioned terms to proclaim Richard, Duke of Gloucester, lawful King of England. No one replied: the citizens stood in cold silence. The Duke repeated part of his speech: they still remained impassive. The Mayor suggested that perhaps they resented an address from one who did not belong to them: they expected to hear the voice of their Recorder. The Duke therefore ordered their Recorder to speak to them, in accordance with City usage. The Recorder did so, repeating the Duke’s own words. Yet still the citizens remained silent. Buckingham thereupon told them that their voice was not wanted in the matter at all: the succession was already decided upon by the Lords. He had invited their voices as a compliment to the City. They might, however, answer Yea or Nay—would they have the Protector to reign over them? A few hats were thrown up with the cry, King Richard! King Richard! upon which the Duke declared that the citizens were unanimous, and retired. The day after, Richard, being then at Baynard’s Castle and not at Crosby House, as is generally supposed, received the Mayor and Aldermen, and, pretending it to be much against his wish, accepted the proffered crown.

In the dead silence, neither of approval nor of dissent, which greeted the Duke’s speech we may read anxiety, doubt, and even dismay. The history of Henry III., of Richard II., of Henry VI., all cried aloud the dangers that awaited a country whose King was a child. All the rivers of blood, the destruction of noble houses, the loss of France, the national humiliation, the waste of treasure, the ruin of trade, of the last sixty years were caused by the feebleness of a child King, and the dissensions of his guardians. Were all those troubles to be begun again? It would seem so. We have seen a similar hesitation with the Archbishops over the invasion of Sanctuary. Both Princes, if the younger should join his brother in the Tower, would be most certainly murdered; no one could doubt that; yet—yet—what were the lives of these two boys compared with the chance of bringing peace once more to this distracted country? I am, therefore, of opinion that the Archbishops consented to the removal of the younger boy and the violation of Sanctuary deliberately, and knowing full well beforehand that the children would be murdered: yet feeling that the evils of a long minority were far worse than the murder of two boys: and that a strong King sitting on the throne, however he got there, was above all things needed by the distracted and bleeding and impoverished country. In the same way I am of opinion that in the City the nomination of Richard was a thing agreed upon by the City—it certainly was agreed upon—deliberately and perhaps unanimously, perhaps also in heaviness of spirit—in order to prevent worse calamities.

After the defeat and death of Buckingham, Richard received a loyal welcome from the City, together with a petition in which the citizens boldly told him that they were resolved no longer to live in thraldom and bondage, “oppressed and injured by extortions and new impositions against the laws of God and man.” Richard received this protest graciously, and passed a statute acknowledging that the exaction of money under the name of a benevolence was unconstitutional. He also pleased the City by forbidding alien merchants to have alien apprentices. In 1484-85, when it was known that Henry Tudor would attempt an invasion, the City presented the King first with the sum of £2400 and afterwards with £2000. Thus assisted, Richard marched out of London and met his enemy at Bosworth Field.

With the death of Richard we may fitly close the history of Mediæval London. The City no longer stands in isolation surrounded by its grey old walls: on the East and North suburbs are rising outside the walls: along the roads stand inns and taverns and houses for half a mile beyond the gates: Westminster is joined to London by a mile of Palaces as well as by the river highway: the old danger that the City might become another Venice—a state in itself—is gone: the other danger, that it would be seized by any King and deprived of its liberties is also gone. London was the chief town of the kingdom: the centre of the Parliament: the centre of intellectual life. Its institutions were by this time fully grown and fully formed.