Henry of Monmouth Volume I Part 2

His father's exile dates from October 13, 1398, when Henry had just concluded his eleventh year. Whether up to that time he had been (p. 033) living chiefly in his father's house, or with his grandfather John of Gaunt, or with his maternal grandmother, or with his uncle Henry Beaufort either at Oxford or elsewhere, we have no positive evidence.

John of Gaunt did not die till the 3rd of the following February, and he would, doubtless, have taken his grandson under his especial care, at all events on his father's banishment, probably a.s.signing Henry Beaufort to be his tutor and governor. But when Richard sentenced Henry of Bolinbroke, he was too sensible of his own injustice, and too much alive, in this instance at least, to his own danger, to suffer Henry of Monmouth to remain at large. One of the most ancient, and most widely adopted principles of tyranny, p.r.o.nounces the man "to be a fool, who when he makes away with a father, leaves the son in power to avenge his parent's wrongs." Accordingly Richard took immediate possession of the persons both of the son of the murdered Duke of Gloucester, and of Henry of Monmouth, of whose relatives, as the chroniclers say, he had reason to be especially afraid.

John of Gaunt, we may conclude, now disabled as he was, by those infirmities[36] which hastened him to the grave[37] more rapidly than the mere progress of calm decay, could exert no effectual means (p. 034) either of sheltering his son from the unjust tyrant who sentenced him to ten years banishment from his native land, or of rescuing his grandson from the close custody of the same oppressor. Still the very name of that renowned duke must have put some restraint upon his royal nephew. The lion had yet life, and might put forth one dying effort, if the oppression were carried past his endurance; and it might have been thought well to let him linger and slumber on, till nature should have struggled with him finally. We find, consequently, that though before Bolinbroke's departure from England Richard had remitted four years of his banishment, as a sort of peace-offering perhaps to John of Gaunt, no sooner was that formidable person dead, than Richard, throwing off all semblance of moderation, exiled Bolinbroke for life, and seized and confiscated his property.[38]

[Footnote 36: See the Remains of Thomas Gascoyne, a contemporary writer. Brit. Mus. 2 I. d. p. 530.]

[Footnote 37: John of Gaunt died on the 3rd of February 1399, at the house of the Bishop of Ely in Holborn. Will. Worc.]

[Footnote 38: Two candelabra which belonged to Henry Duke of Lancaster, were presented by Richard to the abbot and convent of Westminster, 30th June 1399.--Pell Rolls. He also granted to Catherine Swynford, the late duke's widow, some of the possessions which she had enjoyed before, but which had fallen into the king's hands by the confiscation of the present duke's property.--Pat.

22 Ric. II. Froissart expressly says, that Richard confiscated Bolinbroke's estates, and divided them among his own favourites. He acquaints us, moreover, with an act of cruel persecution and enmity on the part of Richard, which must have rendered Bolinbroke's exile far more galling, and have exasperated him far more bitterly against his persecutor. Richard, says Froissart, sent Lord Salisbury over to France on express purpose to break off the contemplated marriage between Bolinbroke and the daughter of the Duke of Berry, in the presence of the French court calling him a false and wicked traitor. Ed. 1574. Vol. iv. p.

290.]

Though Richard behaved towards Bolinbroke with such reckless (p. 035) injustice, he does not appear to have been forgetful of his wants during his exile. Within two months of the date of his banishment the Pell Rolls record payment (14 November 1398) "of a thousand marks to the Duke of Hereford, of the King's gift, for the aid and support of himself, and the supply of his wants, on his retirement from England to parts beyond the seas a.s.signed for his sojourn." And on the 20th of the following June payment is recorded of "1586_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ part of the 2000_l._ which the king had granted to him, to be advanced annually at the usual times." But this was a poor compensation for the honours and princely possessions of the Dukedom of Lancaster, and the comforts of his home. No wonder if he were often found, as historians tell, in deep depression of spirits, whilst he thought of "his four brave boys, and two lovely daughters," now doubly orphans.

The plan of this work does not admit of any detailed enumeration of the exactions, nor of any minute inquiry into the violence and reckless tyranny of Richard. It cannot be doubted that a long series of oppressive measures at this time alienated the affections of many of his subjects, and exposed his person and his throne to the (p. 036) attacks of proud and powerful, as well as injured and insulted enemies. His conduct appears to evince little short of infatuation. He was determined to act the part of a tyrant with a high hand, and he defied the consequences of his rashness. He had stopped his ears to sounds which must have warned him of dangers setting thick around him from every side; and he had wilfully closed his eyes, and refused to look towards the precipice whither he was every day hastening.[39] He rushed on, despising the danger, till he fell once, and for ever. The murder of the Duke of Gloucester, involving on the part of the king one of the most base and cold-hearted pieces of treachery ever recorded of any ruthless tyrant, had filled the whole realm with indignation; and chroniclers do not hesitate to affirm that Richard would have been then deposed and destroyed, had it not been for the interposition of John of Gaunt; and now the eldest son of that very man, who alone had sheltered him from his people's vengeance, Richard banishes for ever without cause, confiscating his princely estates, and pursuing him with bitter and insulting vengeance even in his exile.

[Footnote 39: The chroniclers give us an idea of expense in Richard both about his person, his houses, and his presents, which exceeds belief.

Both the Monk of Evesham and the author of the Sloane Ma.n.u.script speak of a single robe which cost thirty thousand marks.]

If his own reason had not warned him beforehand against such (p. 037) self-destroying acts of iniquity and violence, yet the signs of the popular feeling which followed them, would have recalled any but an infatuated man to a sense of the danger into which he was plunging.

When Henry of Bolinbroke left London for his exile, forty thousand persons are said to have been in the streets lamenting his fate; and the mayor, accompanied by a large body of the higher cla.s.s of citizens, attended him on his way as far as Dartford; and some never left him till they saw him embark at Dover.[40] But to all these clear and strong indications of the tone and temper of his subjects, Richard was obstinately blind and deaf. If he heard and saw them, he hardened himself against the only practical influence which they were calculated to produce. Setting the approaching political storm, and every moral peril, at defiance, he quitted England just as though he were leaving behind him contented and devoted subjects.

[Footnote 40: Froissart tells us that Bolinbroke was much beloved in London. He represents also his reception in France to have been most cordial; every city opening its gates to welcome him.--See Froissart, vol. iv. p. 280.]

Having a.s.signed Wallingford Castle for the residence of his Queen Isabel, he departed for Ireland about the 18th of May; but did not set sail from Milford Haven till the 29th; he reached Waterford on the last day of the month. Though Richard[41] was prompted solely by (p. 038) reasons of policy and by a regard to his own safety to take with him to Ireland Henry of Monmouth, (together with Humphrey, son of the murdered Duke of Gloucester,) we should do him great injustice were we to suppose that he treated him as an enemy.[42] On the contrary, we have reason to believe that he behaved towards him with great kindness and respect.[43]

[Footnote 41: Froissart says that Richard sent expressly both to Northumberland and Hotspur, requiring their attendance in his expedition to Ireland; that they both refused; and that he banished them the realm. Vol. iv. p. 295.]

[Footnote 42: March 5, 1399, the Pell Rolls record the payment of "10_l._ to Henry, son of the Duke of Hereford, in part payment of 500_l._ yearly, which our present lord the King has granted to be paid him at the Exchequer during pleasure." Twenty pounds also were paid to him on the 21st of the preceding February.]

[Footnote 43: Whether as a measure of security, or on a principle of kind considerateness for Henry of Monmouth, when Richard left England he took with him Henry Beaufort, (Pat. p. 3. 22 Ric. II, n.

11.): though it is curious to remark that when on his return to England he left Henry of Monmouth in Trym Castle, we find Henry Beaufort in the company of Richard.]

About midsummer the king advanced towards the country and strong-holds of Macmore, his most formidable antagonist. On the opening of that campaign he conferred upon young Henry the order of knighthood;[44]

and wis.h.i.+ng to signalize this mark of the royal favour with unusual celebrity, he conferred on that day the same distinction (expressly in honour of Henry) upon ten others his companions in arms. The (p. 039) particulars of this transaction, and the details of the entire campaign against the Wild Irish, as they were called, are recorded in a metrical history by a Frenchman named Creton, who was an eye-witness of the whole affair. This gentleman had accepted the invitation of a countryman of his own, a knight, to accompany him to England. On their arrival in London they found the king himself in the very act of starting for Ireland, and thither they went in his company as amateurs.

[Footnote 44: In 1379, his grandfather John of Gaunt required aid of his tenants towards making his eldest son, Henry of Bolinbroke, a knight.]

This writer thus describes[45] the courteous act and pledge of friends.h.i.+p bestowed by Richard on his youthful companion and prisoner, recording, with some interesting circ.u.mstances, the very words of knightly and royal admonition with which the distinguished honour was conferred. "Early on a summer's morning, the vigil of St. John, the King marched directly to Macmore[46], who would neither submit, (p. 040) nor obey him in any way, but affirmed that he was himself the rightful king of Ireland, and that he would never cease from war and the defence of his country till death. Then the King prepared to go into the depths of the deserts in search of him. For his abode is in the woods, where he is accustomed to dwell at all seasons; and he had with him, according to report, 3000 hardy men. Wilder people I never saw; they did not appear to be much dismayed at the English. The whole host were a.s.sembled at the entrance of the deep woods; and every one put himself right well in his array: for it was thought for the time that we should have battle; but I know that the Irish did not show themselves on this occasion. Orders were then given by the King that every thing around should be set fire to. Many a village and house were then consumed. While this was going on, the King, who bears leopards in his arms, caused a s.p.a.ce to be cleared on all sides, and pennon and standards to be quickly hoisted. Afterwards, out of true and entire affection, he sent for the son of the Duke of Lancaster, a _fair young and handsome bachelor_,[47] and knighted him, saying, 'My fair cousin, henceforth be gallant and bold, for, unless you conquer, you will have little name for valour.' And for his greater honour and satisfaction, to the end that it might be better imprinted on his memory, he made eight or ten other knights; but indeed I do not (p. 041) know what their names were, for I took little heed about the matter, seeing that melancholy, uneasiness and care had formed, and altogether chosen my heart for their abode, and anxiety had dispossessed me of joy."

[Footnote 45: M. Creton's Metrical History is translated from a beautifully illuminated copy, in the British Museum, by the Rev. John Webb, who has enriched it with many valuable notes and dissertations, historical, biographical, &c. It forms part of the twentieth volume of the Archaeologia. M. Creton confesses himself to have been thrown into a terrible panic on the approach of danger, more than once: and probably he was in higher esteem in the hall among the guests for his minstrelsy and song, than in the battle-field for his prowess.]

[Footnote 46: The sons of this Irish chief, Macmore, or Macmorgh, or Mac Murchard, were hostages in England, May 3, 1399.--Pell Rolls.]

[Footnote 47: The term _bachelor_ signified, in the language of chivalry, a young gentleman not yet knighted.]

The English suffered much from hunger and fatigue during this expedition in search of the archrebel, and after many fruitless attempts to reduce him, reached Dublin, where all their sufferings were forgotten in the plenty and pleasures of that "good city."

The day on which Richard conferred upon Henry so distinguished a mark of his regard and friends.h.i.+p, offering the first occasion on which any reference is made to his personal appearance and bodily const.i.tution, the present may, perhaps, be deemed an appropriate place for recording what we may have been able to glean in that department of biographical memoir with which few, probably, are inclined to dispense.

M. Creton, in his account of this memorable knighthood, represents Henry as "a handsome young bachelor," then in his twelfth year; and very little further, of a specific character, is recorded by his immediate contemporaries. The chroniclers next in succession describe him as a man of "a spare make, tall, and well-proportioned,"

"exceeding," says Stow, "the ordinary stature of men;" beautiful (p. 042) of visage, his bones small: nevertheless he was of marvellous strength, pliant and pa.s.sing swift of limb; and so trained was he to feats of agility by discipline and exercise, that with one or two of his lords he could, on foot, readily give chase to a deer without hounds, bow, or sling, and catch the fleetest of the herd. By the period of his early youth he must have outgrown the weakness and sickliness of his childhood, or he could never have endured the fatigues of body and mind to which he was exposed through his almost incessant campaigns from his fourteenth to his twentieth year. These hards.h.i.+ps, nevertheless, may have been all the while sowing the seeds of that fatal disease which at the last carried him so prematurely from the labours, and vexations, and honours of this world.[48]

[Footnote 48: Fuller, in his Church History, thus speaks of him, mingling with his description, however, the verification of the proverb, "An ill youth may make a good man," a maxim far less true (though far more popular) than one of at least equally remote origin, "Like sapling, like oak." He was "one of a strong and active body, neither shrinking in cold nor slothful in heat, going commonly with his head uncovered; the wearing of armour was no more c.u.mbersome to him than a cloak.

He never shrunk at a wound, nor turned away his nose for ill savour, nor closed his eyes for smoke or dust; in diet, none less dainty or more moderate; his sleep very short, but sound; fortunate in fight, and commendable in all his actions."]

With regard to his habits of social intercourse, his powers of conversation, the disposition and bent of his mind when he mingled (p. 043) with others, whether in the seasons of public business, or the more private hours of retirement and relaxation, (whilst the never-ending tales of his dissipation among his unthrifty reckless playmates are reserved for a separate inquiry,) a few words only will suffice in this place. In addition to the testimony of later authors, the records of contemporaneous antiquity, sometimes by direct allusion to him, sometimes incidentally and as it were undesignedly, lead us to infer that he was a distinguished example of affability and courteousness; still not usually a man of many words; clear in his own conception of the subject of conversation or debate, and ready in conveying it to others, yet peculiarly modest and una.s.suming in maintaining his opinion, listening with so natural an ease and deference, and kindness to the sentiments and remarks and arguments of others, as to draw into a close and warm personal attachment to himself those who had the happiness to be on terms of familiarity with him. Certainly the unanimous voice of Parliament ascribed to him, when engaged in the deeper and graver discussions involving the interests and welfare of the state, qualities corresponding in every particular with these representations of individual chroniclers. The glowing, living language of Shakspeare seems only to have recommended by becoming and graceful ornament, what had its existence really and substantially in truth.

Hear him but reason in divinity, (p. 044) And, all-admiring, with an inward wish You would desire the King were made a prelate: Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, You would say, it hath been all-in-all his study: List his discourse in war, and you shall hear A fearful battle render'd you in music: Turn him to any cause of policy, The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks, The air, a charter'd libertine, is still, And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences.

Soon after Richard reached Dublin, the Duke of Albemarle, Constable of England, arrived with a large fleet, and with forces all ready for a campaign: but he came too late for any good purpose, and better had it been for Richard had he never come at all. His advice was the king's ruin. Richard with his army pa.s.sed full six weeks in Dublin, in the free enjoyment of ease and pleasure, altogether ignorant of the terrible reverse which awaited him. In consequence of the uninterrupted prevalence of adverse winds, his self-indulgence was undisturbed by the news which the first change of weather was destined to bring. Through the whole of this momentous crisis the weather was so boisterous that no vessel dared to brave the tempest. On the return of a quiet sea, a barge arrived at Dublin upon a Sat.u.r.day, laden with the appalling tidings that Henry, Duke of Lancaster, had returned from exile and was carrying all before him; supported by Richard's (p. 045) most powerful subjects, now in open rebellion against his authority; and encouraged by the Archbishop, who in the Pope's name preached plenary absolution and a place in paradise to all who would a.s.sist the duke to recover his just rights from his unjust sovereign. The King grew pale at this news, and instantly resolved to return to England on the Monday following. But the Duke of Albemarle advised that unhappy monarch, fatally for his interests, to remain in Ireland till his whole navy could be gathered; and in the mean time[49] to send over the Earl of Salisbury. That n.o.bleman departed forthwith, (Richard solemnly promising to put to sea in six days,) and landed at Conway, "the strongest and fairest town in Wales."

[Footnote 49: M. Creton, the author of the Metrical History, acceded to the earnest request of the Earl of Salisbury to accompany him, for the sake of his minstrelsy and song. From the day of his departure from Dublin his knowledge of public affairs, as far as they are immediately connected with Henry of Monmouth, ceases almost, if not altogether. He must no longer be followed implicitly; whatever he relates of the intervening circ.u.mstances till Richard himself came to Conway, he must have derived from hearsay. In one circ.u.mstance too afterwards he must have been mistaken, when he says the Duke of Lancaster committed Richard at Chester to the safe keeping of _the son of the Duke of Gloucester_ and the son of the Earl of Arundel, at least if Humfrey be the young man he means. Stow and others follow him here, but, as it should seem, unadvisedly.]

Either before the Earl of Salisbury's departure, or as is the more probable, towards the last of those eighteen days through which (p. 046) afterwards, to the ruin of his cause, Richard wasted his time (the only time left him) in Ireland, he sent for Henry of Monmouth, and upbraided him with his father's treason. Otterbourne minutely records the conversation which is said then to have pa.s.sed between them.

"Henry, my child," said the King, "see what your father has done to me. He has actually invaded my land as an enemy, and, as if in regular warfare, has taken captive and put to death my liege subjects without mercy and pity. Indeed, child, for you individually I am very sorry, because for this unhappy proceeding of your father you must perhaps be deprived of your inheritance." 'To whom Henry, though a boy, replied in no boyish manner,' "In truth, my gracious king and lord, I am sincerely grieved by these tidings; and, as I conceive, you are fully a.s.sured of my innocence in this proceeding of my father."--"I know,"

replied the King, "that the crime which your father has perpetrated does not attach at all to you; and therefore I hold you excused of it altogether."

Soon after this interview the unfortunate Richard set off from Dublin to return to his kingdom, which was now pa.s.sing rapidly into other hands: but his two youthful captives, Henry of Monmouth, and Humfrey, son of the late Duke of Gloucester, he caused to be shut up in the safe keeping of the castle of Trym.[50] From that day, which must have been somewhere about the 20th of August, till the following (p. 047) October,[51] when he was created Prince of Wales in a full a.s.sembly of the n.o.bles and commons of England, we have no direct mention made of Henry of Monmouth. That much of the intervening time was a season of doubt and anxiety and distress to him, we have every reason to believe. Though he had been previously detained as a hostage, yet he had been treated with great kindness; and Richard, probably inspiring him with feelings of confidence and attachment towards himself, had led him to forget his father's enemy and oppressor in his own personal benefactor and friend. Richard had now left him and his cousin (a youth doubly related to him) as prisoners in a solitary castle far from their friends, and in the custody of men at whose hands they could not antic.i.p.ate what treatment they might receive. How long they remained in this state of close and, as they might well deem it, perilous confinement, we do not learn. Probably the Duke of Lancaster, on hearing of Richard's departure from Dublin, sent off immediately to release the two captive youths; or at the latest, as soon as he had the unhappy king within his power. On the one hand it may be (p. 048) argued that had Henry of Monmouth joined his father before the cavalcade reached London, so remarkable a circ.u.mstance would have been noticed by the French author, who accompanied them the whole way. On the other hand we learn from the Pell Rolls that a s.h.i.+p was sent from Chester to conduct him to London, though the payment of a debt does not fix the date at which it was incurred.[52] We may be a.s.sured no time was lost by the Duke, by those whom he employed, or by his son; at all events that Henry was restored to his father at Chester (a circ.u.mstance which would be implied had Richard there been consigned to the custody of young Humphrey), is not at all in evidence. The far more reasonable inference from what is recorded is, that Humphrey, his young fellow-prisoner and companion, and near relative and friend, was s.n.a.t.c.hed from him by sudden death at the very time when Providence seemed to have opened to him a joyous return to liberty and to his widowed mother. There is no reason to doubt that the news of Richard's captivity, and the Duke of Lancaster's success, reached the two friends whilst prisoners in Trym Castle; nor that they were both released, and embarked together for England. Where they were when (p. 049) the hand of death separated them is not certainly known. The general tradition is, that poor Humphrey had no sooner left the Irish coast than he was seized by a fever, or by the plague, which carried him off before the s.h.i.+p could reach England. But whether he landed or not, whether he had joined the Duke or not before the fatal malady attacked him, there is no doubt that his death followed hard upon his release.

His mother, the widowed d.u.c.h.ess of his murdered father, who had moreover never been allowed the solace of her child's company, now bereft of husband and son, could bear up against her affliction no longer. On hearing of her desolate state, excessive grief overwhelmed her; and she fell sick and died.[53]

[Footnote 50: The castle of Trym, though described by Walsingham as a strong fort, was in so dilapidated a state, that, in 1402, the council, in taking the King's pleasure about its repairs, represent it as on the point of falling into ruins.]

[Footnote 51: M. Creton expressly states that Henry IV. made Henry of Monmouth Prince of Wales on the day of his election to the throne, the first Wednesday in October; but in this he is not borne out by authority.]

[Footnote 52: 1401, March 5, "To Henry Dryhurst of West Chester, payment for the freightage of a s.h.i.+p to Dublin: also for sailing to the same place and back again, to conduct the lord the Prince, the King's son, from Ireland to England; together with the furniture of a chapel and ornaments of the same, which belonged to King Richard."]

[Footnote 53: Her death took place on the 3rd October 1399, four days after the accession of Henry IV. On the 6th of the preceding May the Pell Rolls record payment of the residue of 155_l._ 11_s._ 8_d._ to Alianore de Bohun, d.u.c.h.ess of Gloucester, for the maintenance of a master, twelve chaplains, and eight clerks, appointed to perform divine service in the College of Plecy.]

It is impossible to contemplate these two youthful relatives setting out from the prison doors full of joy, and happy auguries, and mutual congratulations, in health and spirits, panting for their dearest friends,--one going to a princedom, and a throne, and a brilliant career of victories, the other to disease and death,--without being impressed with the wonderful acts of an inscrutable Providence, with the ignorance and weakness of man, and with the resistless will (p. 050) of the merciful Ruler of man's destinies. Even had young Humphrey foreseen his dissolution, then so nigh at hand, as the gates of Trym Castle opened for their release, he might well have addressed his companion in words once used by the prince of Grecian philosophers at the close of his defence before the court who condemned him. "And now we are going, I indeed to death, you to life; to which of the two is the better fate a.s.signed is known only to G.o.d!"[54]

[Footnote 54: Socrates, in his Defence before his Judges.]

Since this page was first written, the Author has been led to examine the Pell Rolls;[55] and he is induced to confess that, independently of the full confirmation afforded by those original doc.u.ments to numberless facts referred to in these Memoirs, many an interesting train of thought is suggested by the inspection of them. The bare and dry entries of one single roll at the period now under consideration, bring with them to his mind a.s.sociations of a truly affecting, serious, and solemn character. The very last roll of Richard II. by the merest details of expenditure records the payment of sums made by that unhappy monarch to Bolinbroke, then in exile, expatriated by his unjust and wanton decree; to Humphrey, the orphan son of the late (p. 051) murdered Duke of Gloucester; to Henry of Monmouth his cousin, both then in Richard's safe keeping; and to Eleanor, the widowed mother of Humphrey, and maternal aunt of Henry. Can any event paint in deeper and stronger colouring the vicissitudes and reverses of mortality, "the changes and chances" of our life on earth? Before the scribe had filled the next half-year's roll, (now lying with it side by side, and speaking like a monitor from the grave to high and low, rich and poor, prince and peasant alike,)--of those five persons, Richard had lost both his crown and his life; Bolinbroke had mounted the throne from which Richard had fallen; Henry of Monmouth had been created Prince of Wales, and was hailed as heir apparent to that throne; his cousin Humphrey, once the companion of his imprisonment, and the sharer of his antic.i.p.ations of good or ill, had been carried off from this world by death at the very time of his release; and the broken-hearted Eleanor, (the root and the branch of her happiness now gone for ever,) unable to bear up against her sorrows, had sunk under their weight into her grave![56]

[Footnote 55: May 2nd & 6th, 1399, payments are recorded to both these boys of different sums to purchase dresses, and coat-armour, &c. preparatory to their voyage to Ireland in company with the King.]

[Footnote 56: Perhaps the sentiments of this afflicted n.o.ble lady's will may be little more than words of course; but, coming from her as they did a few days only before the news of her son's death paralyzed her whole frame, they appear peculiarly appropriate: "Observing and considering the mischances and uncertainties of this changeable and transitory world." The will bears date August 9, 1399.]

CHAPTER III. (p. 052)

PROCEEDINGS OF BOLINBROKE FROM HIS INTERVIEW WITH ARCHBISHOP ARUNDEL, IN PARIS, TO HIS MAKING KING RICHARD HIS PRISONER. -- CONDUCT OF RICHARD FROM THE NEWS OF BOLINBROKE'S LANDING. -- TREACHERY OF NORTHUMBERLAND. -- RICHARD TAKEN BY BOLINBROKE TO LONDON.