There is reason to believe that Sir John Falstaff remained for some
months in the north-west of England, doubtless employed in pursuit of
the scattered remnants of the rebel forces. Some considerable time must
have elapsed from the date of the battle of Shrewsbury to that of his
next appearance in London of which we have any positive record. Sir John
was most favourably received on his return to the metropolis, where
he was more than compensated for the ingratitude of the court by the
hospitable treatment of the citizens, at whose expense he and his
retainers feasted in great profusion for many weeks, solely on the
strength of the glowing accounts received (never mind from what source)
of our knight’s achievements in Shropshire.
But a warrior like Sir John may not long rest on his laurels. A new
enemy had to be faced, arising in an unexpected quarter.
One of the most eminent men of the reign of Henry the Fourth (after
Sir John Falstaff) was William Gascoigne, Knight and Chief Justice of
England. The biography of this wise and excellent judge will be found
in Master Fuller’s work upon English Worthies; a book which would be
irreproachable but for the culpable and glaring omission of a personage
so eminently entitled to prominence in such a collection as the hero of
these pages. The anecdote of Sir William’s courageous committal of the
Prince of Wales for contempt of court--in the celebrated criminal action
of the King _versus_ Bardolph--is too well known to need recapitulation
here. It is true that, bearing as it does on two of the most conspicuous
characters in this narrative, some slight discussion might be
opportunely employed on the occurrence; for instance, as to the nature
of the offence which originally got our rubicund friend “into trouble,”
and what was the real extent of the magnanimity displayed by the Prince,
on the one hand, and the Lord Chief Justice, on the other. It would be
valuable to the cause of historic truth to make quite certain whether
the whole affair was, or was not, what, in the parlance of modern
criminal jurisprudence, is called a “put up concern” between the
two distinguished actors, having for its object a harvest of mutual
popularity. The fact that Bardolph _was at liberty_ in an incredibly
short space of time after the event, lends a slight colour of such
suspicion as I have hinted at to the transaction; but the rights of
the matter are involved in such hopeless obscurity as to render all
investigation on the subject worse than idle.
Though in the enjoyment of much and well-merited court favour, and
public approbation, and being a man of modest integrity, it is still
not unnatural or inexcusable that Sir William Gascoigne should feel
some little jealousy of the more brilliant attainments and more enviable
renown of a warrior, statesman, wit, and scholar like Sir John Falstaff.
The weakness of envy is perhaps the most difficult of all Adam’s legacy
for the best of us to rid ourselves of. History, ancient and modern,
abounds in illustrations of the tenacity of this vice, even in the
noblest natures. Dionysius the elder, and the great Cardinal Richelieu,
though the one an absolute monarch of the fairest island in Greek
colonised Europe, and the other the virtual master of the most warlike
and polished realm of the seventeenth century, were both jealous of the
pettiest scribblers of their respective days. The author of “The
Vicar of Wakefield,” and “The Citizen of the World,” could not see a
mountebank throw a summerset but he must risk the scattering of his
valuable brains in an attempt to do the same thing better. To seek an
illustration nearer our own time, have we not the celebrated little boy
of the United States of America, who, though he had carried away the
prizes for writing and arithmetic, committed suicide because an inferior
mathematician of his own class defeated him in the correct spelling of
“phthisic!”?
Is it then a great wonder that the Lord Chief Justice of England (an
office which, after all, was then of little more importance than that
of a police magistrate of the present day) should have felt envious of a
man so vastly his superior in every way (except in the trifling matters
of solvency and conventional honesty), as Sir John Falstaff, and should
have sought to annoy his brilliant rival by every means in his power; of
which, considering the official position of the one man, and the habits
of the other, there could have been no scarcity?
Amongst other illustrations of what must be called _petty
persecution_--(for, in a work of this serious description, things should
receive their right names without respect to persons)--on the part of
Sir William Gascoigne towards Sir John Falstaff, it may be mentioned
that the former chose to consider the Gadshill expedition as a grave
offence, punishable by the defective criminal code of the period. He
summoned Sir John to appear before him to answer the charge. Sir John
treated the invitation with the contempt it deserved, and went off
to kill Percy--stay, that is a slip of the pen--I should say, to
distinguish himself in the glorious field of Shrewsbury.
It will hardly be supposed that the tidings of Sir John Falstaff’s safe
return from action under a perfect forest of fresh-grown laurels were
particularly agreeable to Sir William Gascoigne. Gall and wormwood, on
the contrary, may be assumed to have been the flavour imparted by them
to the chief judicial mind. At any rate, it is indisputable that his
lordship had not many days heard of our hero’s safe arrival and honoured
treatment in London when he took a walk, attended only by a single
follower, for the express purpose of taking Sir John Falstaff into
custody. There is but one consideration which makes such a proceeding
_wholly inexcusable_--namely, that the Justice should have nursed
his vindictiveness for a period of so many months. This, it must be
admitted, argues a relentless and unforgiving nature.
The Chief Justice was an artful man, as will be believed from his having
risen to high rank in the legal profession. He thought it prudent to
veil his malignant design even from his attendant.
“What’s he that goes there?” He enquired, breaking off a general
conversation to point towards a stout gentleman whom he saw walking
leisurely down the street followed by a diminutive page.
“Falstaff, an’t please your Lordship.”
His Lordship affected absence of mind.
“He that was in question for the robbery?”
_The_ robbery! You observe, reader? There was but one robbery present
to his Lordship’s mind, and that one committed possibly more than a
twelvemonth back.
“He, my Lord: but he hath since done good service at Shrewsbury; and, as
I hear, is now going with some charge to the Lord John of Lancaster.”
“What, to York?”
The countenance of his worship fell considerably. These tidings were
baffling to his hopes of vengeance. Sir John Falstaff was once more in
the king’s commission, and consequently not liable to arrest. Still Sir
William was loth to let his prey slip wholly away from him.
“Call him back,” he said to his servant.
There was some difficulty in getting the knight to arrest his course.
In the first place, he was afflicted with a sudden deafness. This
temporary obstacle overcome, he showed an obtuseness of understanding
as to what was said to him that was really surprising in a man of his
intellectual antecedents. At length the Justice attacked him personally,
with--
“Sir John Falstaff, a word with you.”
The Chief Justice had his wish--rather more than his wish, in fact. Sir
John Falstaffs manner of gratifying it shall be given in the exact words
of the chronicler *:--
* “Henry IV” (Part II.) Act I. Sc. 2.
Sir John Falstaff.--My good lord! God give your lordship good time of
day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad; I heard say your lordship
was sick: I hope your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship,
though not clean past your youth, hath yet some smack of age in you,
some relish of the saltness of time; and I most humbly beseech your
lordship, to have a reverend care of your health.
Chief Justice.--Sir John, I sent for you before your expedition to
Shrewsbury.
Sik John Falstaff.--An’t please your lordship, I hear his majesty is
returned with some discomfort from Wales.
Chief Justice.--I talk not of his majesty:--You would not come when I
sent for you.
Sir John Falstaff__And I hear, moreover, his highness is fallen into
this same villainous apoplexy.
Chief Justice.--Well, heaven mend him! I pray you, let me speak with
you.
Sib John Falstaff.--This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy,
an’t please your lordship; a kind of sleeping in the blood, a rascally
tingling.
Chief Justice.--What tell you me of it? be it as it is.
Sir John Falstaff.--It hath its original from much grief; from study,
and perturbation of the brain: I have read the cause of his effects in
Galen: it is a kind of deafness.
Chief Justice.--I think you are fallen into the disease; for you hear
not what I say to you.
Sir John Falstaff.--Very well, my lord, very well: rather, an’t please
you, it is the disease of not listening, the malady of not marking, that
I am troubled withal.
Chief Justice.--To punish you by the heels would amend the attention of
your ears; and I care not, if I do become your physician.
Sir John Falstaff.--I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not so patient;
your lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment to me, in
respect of poverty; but how I should be your patient to follow your
prescriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scruple, or, indeed, a
scruple itself.
Chief Justice.--I sent for you, when there were matters against you for
your life, to come speak with me.
Sir John Falstaff.--As I was then advised by my learned counsel in the
laws of this land-service, I did not come.
Chief Justice.--Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great infamy.
Sir John Falstaff.--He that buckles him in my belt cannot live in less.
Chief Justice.---Your means are very slender, and your waste great.
Sir John Falstaff.--I would it were otherwise; I would my means were
greater, and my waist slenderer.
Chief Justice.--You have misled the youthful prince.
Sir John Falstaff.--The young prince hath misled me: I am the fellow
with the great belly, and he my dog.
Chief Justice.--Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed wound: your day’s
service at Shrewsbury hath a little gilded over your night’s exploit on
Gads hill: you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o’er-posting
that action.