ENGLAND UNDER HENRY THE FOURTH, CALLED BOLINGBROKE
During the last reign, the preaching of Wickliffe against the pride and
cunning of the Pope and all his men, had made a great noise in England.
Whether the new King wished to be in favour with the priests, or
whether he hoped, by pretending to be very religious, to cheat Heaven
itself into the belief that he was not a usurper, I don’t know. Both
suppositions are likely enough. It is certain that he began his reign
by making a strong show against the followers of Wickliffe, who were
called Lollards, or heretics—although his father, John of Gaunt, had
been of that way of thinking, as he himself had been more than
suspected of being. It is no less certain that he first established in
England the detestable and atrocious custom, brought from abroad, of
burning those people as a punishment for their opinions. It was the
importation into England of one of the practices of what was called the
Holy Inquisition: which was the most _un_holy and the most infamous
tribunal that ever disgraced mankind, and made men more like demons
than followers of Our Saviour.
No real right to the crown, as you know, was in this King. Edward
Mortimer, the young Earl of March—who was only eight or nine years old,
and who was descended from the Duke of Clarence, the elder brother of
Henry’s father—was, by succession, the real heir to the throne.
However, the King got his son declared Prince of Wales; and, obtaining
possession of the young Earl of March and his little brother, kept them
in confinement (but not severely) in Windsor Castle. He then required
the Parliament to decide what was to be done with the deposed King, who
was quiet enough, and who only said that he hoped his cousin Henry
would be ‘a good lord’ to him. The Parliament replied that they would
recommend his being kept in some secret place where the people could
not resort, and where his friends could not be admitted to see him.
Henry accordingly passed this sentence upon him, and it now began to be
pretty clear to the nation that Richard the Second would not live very
long.
It was a noisy Parliament, as it was an unprincipled one, and the Lords
quarrelled so violently among themselves as to which of them had been
loyal and which disloyal, and which consistent and which inconsistent,
that forty gauntlets are said to have been thrown upon the floor at one
time as challenges to as many battles: the truth being that they were
all false and base together, and had been, at one time with the old
King, and at another time with the new one, and seldom true for any
length of time to any one. They soon began to plot again. A conspiracy
was formed to invite the King to a tournament at Oxford, and then to
take him by surprise and kill him. This murderous enterprise, which was
agreed upon at secret meetings in the house of the Abbot of
Westminster, was betrayed by the Earl of Rutland—one of the
conspirators. The King, instead of going to the tournament or staying
at Windsor (where the conspirators suddenly went, on finding themselves
discovered, with the hope of seizing him), retired to London,
proclaimed them all traitors, and advanced upon them with a great
force. They retired into the west of England, proclaiming Richard King;
but, the people rose against them, and they were all slain. Their
treason hastened the death of the deposed monarch. Whether he was
killed by hired assassins, or whether he was starved to death, or
whether he refused food on hearing of his brothers being killed (who
were in that plot), is very doubtful. He met his death somehow; and his
body was publicly shown at St. Paul’s Cathedral with only the lower
part of the face uncovered. I can scarcely doubt that he was killed by
the King’s orders.
The French wife of the miserable Richard was now only ten years old;
and, when her father, Charles of France, heard of her misfortunes and
of her lonely condition in England, he went mad: as he had several
times done before, during the last five or six years. The French Dukes
of Burgundy and Bourbon took up the poor girl’s cause, without caring
much about it, but on the chance of getting something out of England.
The people of Bordeaux, who had a sort of superstitious attachment to
the memory of Richard, because he was born there, swore by the Lord
that he had been the best man in all his kingdom—which was going rather
far—and promised to do great things against the English. Nevertheless,
when they came to consider that they, and the whole people of France,
were ruined by their own nobles, and that the English rule was much the
better of the two, they cooled down again; and the two dukes, although
they were very great men, could do nothing without them. Then, began
negotiations between France and England for the sending home to Paris
of the poor little Queen with all her jewels and her fortune of two
hundred thousand francs in gold. The King was quite willing to restore
the young lady, and even the jewels; but he said he really could not
part with the money. So, at last she was safely deposited at Paris
without her fortune, and then the Duke of Burgundy (who was cousin to
the French King) began to quarrel with the Duke of Orleans (who was
brother to the French King) about the whole matter; and those two dukes
made France even more wretched than ever.
As the idea of conquering Scotland was still popular at home, the King
marched to the river Tyne and demanded homage of the King of that
country. This being refused, he advanced to Edinburgh, but did little
there; for, his army being in want of provisions, and the Scotch being
very careful to hold him in check without giving battle, he was obliged
to retire. It is to his immortal honour that in this sally he burnt no
villages and slaughtered no people, but was particularly careful that
his army should be merciful and harmless. It was a great example in
those ruthless times.
A war among the border people of England and Scotland went on for
twelve months, and then the Earl of Northumberland, the nobleman who
had helped Henry to the crown, began to rebel against him—probably
because nothing that Henry could do for him would satisfy his
extravagant expectations. There was a certain Welsh gentleman, named
Owen Glendower, who had been a student in one of the Inns of Court, and
had afterwards been in the service of the late King, whose Welsh
property was taken from him by a powerful lord related to the present
King, who was his neighbour. Appealing for redress, and getting none,
he took up arms, was made an outlaw, and declared himself sovereign of
Wales. He pretended to be a magician; and not only were the Welsh
people stupid enough to believe him, but, even Henry believed him too;
for, making three expeditions into Wales, and being three times driven
back by the wildness of the country, the bad weather, and the skill of
Glendower, he thought he was defeated by the Welshman’s magic arts.
However, he took Lord Grey and Sir Edmund Mortimer, prisoners, and
allowed the relatives of Lord Grey to ransom him, but would not extend
such favour to Sir Edmund Mortimer. Now, Henry Percy, called Hotspur,
son of the Earl of Northumberland, who was married to Mortimer’s
sister, is supposed to have taken offence at this; and, therefore, in
conjunction with his father and some others, to have joined Owen
Glendower, and risen against Henry. It is by no means clear that this
was the real cause of the conspiracy; but perhaps it was made the
pretext. It was formed, and was very powerful; including Scroop,
Archbishop of York, and the Earl of Douglas, a powerful and brave
Scottish nobleman. The King was prompt and active, and the two armies
met at Shrewsbury.
There were about fourteen thousand men in each. The old Earl of
Northumberland being sick, the rebel forces were led by his son. The
King wore plain armour to deceive the enemy; and four noblemen, with
the same object, wore the royal arms. The rebel charge was so furious,
that every one of those gentlemen was killed, the royal standard was
beaten down, and the young Prince of Wales was severely wounded in the
face. But he was one of the bravest and best soldiers that ever lived,
and he fought so well, and the King’s troops were so encouraged by his
bold example, that they rallied immediately, and cut the enemy’s forces
all to pieces. Hotspur was killed by an arrow in the brain, and the
rout was so complete that the whole rebellion was struck down by this
one blow. The Earl of Northumberland surrendered himself soon after
hearing of the death of his son, and received a pardon for all his
offences.
There were some lingerings of rebellion yet: Owen Glendower being
retired to Wales, and a preposterous story being spread among the
ignorant people that King Richard was still alive. How they could have
believed such nonsense it is difficult to imagine; but they certainly
did suppose that the Court fool of the late King, who was something
like him, was he, himself; so that it seemed as if, after giving so
much trouble to the country in his life, he was still to trouble it
after his death. This was not the worst. The young Earl of March and
his brother were stolen out of Windsor Castle. Being retaken, and being
found to have been spirited away by one Lady Spencer, she accused her
own brother, that Earl of Rutland who was in the former conspiracy and
was now Duke of York, of being in the plot. For this he was ruined in
fortune, though not put to death; and then another plot arose among the
old Earl of Northumberland, some other lords, and that same Scroop,
Archbishop of York, who was with the rebels before. These conspirators
caused a writing to be posted on the church doors, accusing the King of
a variety of crimes; but, the King being eager and vigilant to oppose
them, they were all taken, and the Archbishop was executed. This was
the first time that a great churchman had been slain by the law in
England; but the King was resolved that it should be done, and done it
was.
The next most remarkable event of this time was the seizure, by Henry,
of the heir to the Scottish throne—James, a boy of nine years old. He
had been put aboard-ship by his father, the Scottish King Robert, to
save him from the designs of his uncle, when, on his way to France, he
was accidentally taken by some English cruisers. He remained a prisoner
in England for nineteen years, and became in his prison a student and a
famous poet.
With the exception of occasional troubles with the Welsh and with the
French, the rest of King Henry’s reign was quiet enough. But, the King
was far from happy, and probably was troubled in his conscience by
knowing that he had usurped the crown, and had occasioned the death of
his miserable cousin. The Prince of Wales, though brave and generous,
is said to have been wild and dissipated, and even to have drawn his
sword on Gascoigne, the Chief Justice of the King’s Bench, because he
was firm in dealing impartially with one of his dissolute companions.
Upon this the Chief Justice is said to have ordered him immediately to
prison; the Prince of Wales is said to have submitted with a good
grace; and the King is said to have exclaimed, ‘Happy is the monarch
who has so just a judge, and a son so willing to obey the laws.’ This
is all very doubtful, and so is another story (of which Shakespeare has
made beautiful use), that the Prince once took the crown out of his
father’s chamber as he was sleeping, and tried it on his own head.
The King’s health sank more and more, and he became subject to violent
eruptions on the face and to bad epileptic fits, and his spirits sank
every day. At last, as he was praying before the shrine of St. Edward
at Westminster Abbey, he was seized with a terrible fit, and was
carried into the Abbot’s chamber, where he presently died. It had been
foretold that he would die at Jerusalem, which certainly is not, and
never was, Westminster. But, as the Abbot’s room had long been called
the Jerusalem chamber, people said it was all the same thing, and were
quite satisfied with the prediction.
The King died on the 20th of March, 1413, in the forty-seventh year of
his age, and the fourteenth of his reign. He was buried in Canterbury
Cathedral. He had been twice married, and had, by his first wife, a
family of four sons and two daughters. Considering his duplicity before
he came to the throne, his unjust seizure of it, and above all, his
making that monstrous law for the burning of what the priests called
heretics, he was a reasonably good king, as kings went.