Читать книгу Red and White: A Tale of the Wars of the Roses онлайн | страница 6

King Henry was remarkably devoid of relatives, and the nearest he had were not of his own rank. He was the only child of his father, and on the father's side his only living connections beside distant cousins were an uncle—Humphrey Duke of Gloucester—and a grand-uncle—Cardinal Beaufort—both of whom were, though different from each other, equally diverse from the King in temperament and aim. On the mother's side he had two half-brothers and a sister, with whom he was scarcely allowed to associate at all. He wanted a wife: and he took the means to obtain one which in his day princes usually took. He sent artists to the various courts of Europe, to bring to him portraits of the unmarried Princesses. King Henry's truth-loving nature comes out in the instructions given to these artists. They were to be careful not to flatter any of the royal ladies, but to draw their portraits just as they were. Of the miniatures thus brought to him, the King's fancy was attracted by the lovely face of a beautiful blonde of sixteen—the Princess Marguerite of Anjou, second daughter of René, the dispossessed King of Naples. An embassy, at the head of which was William Duke of Suffolk, was sent over to demand, and if accepted, to bring home the young Princess.

The girl-Queen found herself a very lonely creature, flung into the midst of discordant elements. She loved her husband, as she afterwards showed beyond question, and she must have felt deep respect for his pure, gentle, truthful, saintly soul. Yet, excellent as he was, he was no adviser for her. It was simply impossible for her brilliant intellect and brave heart to lean upon his dulled brain and timid nature. How could he, with the uttermost will to aid her, help his young wife to keep out of snares laid for her which he could not even see, or counsel her to beware of false friends whose falsehood he never so much as suspected? Is it any wonder that Marguerite in this sore emergency turned to Suffolk, her first friend, a man almost old enough to be her grandfather, with a wise head and a tender heart, and thoroughly desirous to do his duty? Poor, innocent girl! she paid dearly for it. One word of cruel, contemptuous surmise dropped from the lips of a young nobleman,—who very possibly had wished the fair young Queen to make him her chief adviser—and all over the land, as with wings, the wicked falsehood sped, till there was no possibility of undoing the evil, and Marguerite woke up in horror to find her name defamed, and her innocent friendship with Suffolk believed to be criminal. She did not discover for some time who was the author of this cruel slander: but when she did, she never forgave Warwick.