HENRY V., OF MONMOUTH. A.D. 1413--1423.
The young King Henry was full of high, good thoughts. He was devout
in going to church, tried to make good Bishops, gave freely to the
poor, and was so kindly, and hearty, and merry in all his words and
ways, that everyone loved him. Still, he thought it was his duty to
go and make war in France. He had been taught to believe the kingdom
belonged to him, and it was in so wretched a state that he thought he
could do it good. The poor king, Charles VI., was mad, and had a
wicked wife besides; and his sons, and uncles, and cousins were always
fighting, till the streets of Paris were often red with blood, and the
whole country was miserable. Henry hoped to set all in order for them,
and gathering an army together, crossed to Normandy. He called on the
people to own him as their true king, and never let any harm be done
to them, for he hung any soldier who was caught stealing, or misusing
anyone. He took the town of Harfleur, on the coast of Normandy, but
not till after a long siege, when his camp was in so wet a place that
there was much illness among his men. The store of food was nearly
used up, and he was obliged to march his troops across to Calais,
which you know belonged to England, to get some more. But on the way
the French army came up to meet him--a very grand, splendid-looking
army, commanded by the king's eldest son the dauphin. Just as the
English kings' eldest son was always Prince of Wales, the French
kings' eldest son was always called Dauphin of Vienne, because Vienne,
the country that belonged to him, had a dolphin on its shield. The
French army was very large--quite twice the number of the English--
but, though Henry's men were weary and half-starved, and many
of them sick, they were not afraid, but believed their king when he
told them that there were enough Frenchmen to kill, enough to run
away, enough to make prisoners. At night, however, the English had
solemn prayers, and made themselves ready, and the king walked from
tent to tent to see that each man was in his place; while, on the
other hand, the French were feasting and revelling, and settling
what they would do the English when they had made them prisoners.
They were close to a little village which the English called Agincourt,
and, though that is not quite its right name, it is what we have
called the battle ever since. The French, owing to the quarrelsome
state of the country, had no order or obedience among them. Nobody
would obey any other; and when their own archers were in the way, the
horsemen began cutting them down as if they were the enemy. Some
fought bravely, but it was of little use; and by night all the French
were routed, and King Henry's banner waving in victory over the field.
He went back to England in great glory, and all the aldermen of London
came out to meet him in red gowns and gold chains, and among them was
Sir Richard Whittington, the great silk mercer.
Henry was so modest that he would not allow the helmet he had worn at
Agincourt, all knocked about with terrible blows, to be carried before
him when he rode into London, and he went straight to church, to give
thanks to God for his victory. He soon went back to France, and went
on conquering it till the queen came to an agreement with him that he
should marry his daughter Catherine, and that, though poor, crazy
Charles VI. should reign to the end of his life, when he died Henry
and Catherine should be king and queen of France. So Henry and
Catherine were married, and he took her home to England with great
joy and pomp, leaving his brother Thomas, Duke of Clarence to take
care of his army in France. For, of course, though the queen had made
this treaty for her mad husband, most brave, honest Frenchmen could
not but feel it a wicked and unfair thing to give the kingdom away
from her son, the Dauphin Charles. He was not a good man, and had
consented to the murder of his cousin, the Duke of Burgundy, and this
had turned some against him; but still he was badly treated, and the
bravest Frenchmen could not bear to see their country given up to the
English. So, though he took no trouble to fight for himself, they
fought for him, and got some Scots to help them; and by and by news
came to Henry that his army had been beaten, and his brother killed.
He came back again in haste to France, and his presence made everything
go well again; but all the winter he was besieging the town of Meaux,
where there was a very cruel robber, who made all the roads to Paris
unsafe, and by the time he had taken it his health was much injured.
His queen came to him, and they kept a very grand court at Paris, at
Whitsuntide; but soon after, when Henry set out to join his army, he
found himself so ill and weak that he was obliged to turn back to the
Castle of Vincennes, where he grew much worse. He called for all his
friends, and begged them to be faithful to his little baby son, whom
he had never even seen; and he spoke especially to his brother John,
Duke of Bedford, to whom he left the charge of all he had gained. He
had tried to be a good man, and though his attack on France was really
wrong, and caused great misery, he had meant to do right. So he was
not afraid to face death, and he died when only thirty-four years old,
while he was listening to the 51st Psalm. Everybody grieved for him--
even the French--and nobody had ever been so good and dutiful to poor
old King Charles, who sat in a corner lamenting for his good son Henry,
and wasting away till he died, only three weeks later, so that he was
buried the same day, at St. Denys Abbey, near Paris, as Henry was
buried at Westminster Abbey, near London.