THE DEATH OF HENRY
On May 21st Queen Katherine landed at Harfleur with her infant son. She
was accompanied by a brilliant court, and by the Duke of Bedford, who
had been summoned to join his brother, now feeling, we may suppose,
a pressing need of the assistance of his military skill. The Queen
journeyed from Harfleur on to Rouen, and from Rouen to Vincennes, where
Henry met her. Their entry into Paris was magnificent. It was noticed
that the English queen had two mantles of ermine borne before her
carriages, to mark, it was supposed, her dignity as Queen of England
and France. Charles was at that time also in Paris, and it was again
noticed that it was the English court rather than the French that
formed the centre of attraction. Meanwhile Henry was winning good
opinion from the commonalty by his just and moderate government, and
especially by his exact and impartial administration of justice, a new
thing in a country where privilege was always so powerful. On June
22nd Henry and his Queen left Paris for Senlis. He was soon again in
the capital to inquire into the circumstances of a plot which had been
discovered for the delivery of the city into the hands of the Dauphin;
and it was after his second return to Senlis that his health began
manifestly to fail. Of the nature of his illness we are not exactly
informed. Monstrelet says that it was St. Anthony’s fire or erysipelas;
other accounts speak of a fistula and pleurisy; in Walsingham the cause
of death is given as “a sharp fever with vehement dysentery.” Henry did
not come of a long-lived race. His great-grandfather indeed reached
an age (sixty-five) which, though often since exceeded, had only once
before been reached by an English king; but his grandfather--the
“time-honoured Lancaster” of Shakespeare--had died, worn out, at
fifty-eight; his father, after years of suffering, expired at
forty-seven; and his mother died in her twenty-fifth year.
Cosne-sur-Loire, a walled city belonging to the Duke of Burgundy, had
been besieged by the Dauphin, and had agreed to capitulate unless
relieved before August 6th. The Duke sent for help to Flanders and
Picardy, and, of course, to King Henry. The King replied that he would
come in person, and bring his whole army with him. The army marched
out of its quarters in Paris and its environs, and Henry, after taking
leave of his wife, whom indeed he never saw again, started from Senlis
to join it. He was able to ride as far as Melun, where he exchanged the
saddle for a litter, intending to overtake the army; but his illness
increased so rapidly that he was compelled to give up his purpose. He
handed over the command to the Duke of Bedford, and was carried to the
Bois de Vincennes. There he took to his bed, from which he never rose
again.
He seems to have been aware that his days were numbered. The Dukes
of Bedford and Exeter, the Earl of Warwick, and some four or five
more of his most trusted counsellors were called to his bedside. To
his brother John he said: “My good brother, I beseech you, on the
loyalty and love you have ever expressed for me, that you show the same
loyalty and affection to my son Henry, your nephew.” He then gave him
directions as to the policy he was to pursue. Monstrelet professes to
give the dying man’s exact words, but at this point they are obscure
and even contradictory. The Duke of Burgundy was to have the Regency
of France, if he wished for it; otherwise his brother was to take it
himself. Then, turning to his uncle, he said: “My good uncle of Exeter,
I nominate you sole Regent of the kingdom of England, for that you well
know how to govern it; and I likewise nominate you as guardian to my
son; and I insist, on your love to me, that very often you personally
visit and see him.” To the Earl of Warwick his words were: “My dear
cousin of Warwick, I will that you be his governor, and that you teach
him all things becoming his rank, for I cannot provide a fitter person
for the purpose.”
Then followed some advice as to the management of affairs. Above all
things, dissension with the Duke of Burgundy must be avoided; and this
was especially impressed on his brother Humphrey, whose relations with
the Duke were not friendly. Unless they could keep on good terms with
him, everything would be ruined. The princes of the French royal family
whom they had in custody were on no account to be released.
After an interview with Sir Hugh de Lannoy, who had come to him on a
mission from the Duke of Burgundy, Henry began to prepare for his end.
He sent for his physicians, and asked them how long they thought he
had to live. They were naturally unwilling to tell him the truth, and
endeavoured to evade the question: “It depended solely,” they said, “on
the will of God whether he should be restored to health.” The King,
dissatisfied with this answer, repeated his question, and commanded
them to tell him the actual truth. They consulted together. Then one of
them, whom they had appointed their spokesman, fell on his knees by the
bedside and said: “Sire, you must think on your soul; for, unless it be
the will of God to decree otherwise, it is impossible that you should
live more than two hours.”
On hearing this, Henry sent for his confessor. He made his confession,
and received the last sacraments of the Church. He then bade his
chaplains recite the seven penitential Psalms. When in chanting the
fifty-first they came to the words “Build Thou the walls of Jerusalem,”
he interrupted them and said aloud that he had fully intended, after
wholly subduing the realm of France and restoring it to peace, to
conquer the kingdom of Jerusalem. The priests went on with their
devotions. In the midst of them he cried out again, as if addressing
some invisible adversary, “Thou liest, thou liest; my part is with
the Lord Jesus”; then with a still louder voice, “_In manus tuas,
Domine_”--and so breathed his last. The day of his death was the last
day of August. He had just completed his thirty-fourth year.
The body was embalmed and placed in a coffin of lead. From Vincennes
it was first taken in great pomp, attended by the English princes, his
household, and a multitude of the people, to the Church of Notre-Dame
in Paris, where a solemn service was performed over it. From Paris it
was removed with the same state to Rouen.
At Rouen, Queen Katherine, who had been kept in ignorance of her
husband’s perilous condition, waited with the corpse till affairs were
sufficiently settled to allow of the return of the princes to England.
This was not for some weeks, and it must have been about the beginning
of November when the funeral procession set out. The route was through
Abbeville, Hesdin, Montreuil, and Boulogne to Calais.
The coffin was placed on a car drawn by four magnificent horses. Above
it was an effigy of the King, worked in leather, beautifully painted,
with a crown of gold upon the head. The right hand held a sceptre; the
left a golden ball; the face looked up to the heavens. The effigy lay
on a mattress, on which was a coverlet of vermilion silk interwoven
with beaten gold. When it passed through any town a canopy of silk,
like that which is borne over the Host on Corpus Christi Day, was
carried over it by men of rank. The King of Scots followed as chief
mourner; with him were Henry’s kinsmen, the English nobles in France,
and the officers of his household; at the distance of a league behind
followed the Queen with her ladies. The first halt was at the Church of
St. Wolfran in Abbeville; there the coffin rested awhile, while rows of
priests on either side chanted requiems unceasingly day and night. In
every town through which the procession passed, masses were daily said
from break of day to noon for the dead man’s soul.
From Calais the body was transported to Dover. From Dover it was
carried through Canterbury and Rochester to London, which was reached
on Martinmas Day (November 11th). As it approached the city it was
met by fifteen bishops clad in their episcopal robes, a number of
mitred abbots and other dignified ecclesiastics, and a vast multitude
of people of all ranks. The service for the dead was chanted as the
car passed over London Bridge, down Lombard Street, to St. Paul’s
Cathedral. The adornment of the horses which drew it was notably
significant. On the collar of the first were emblazoned the ancient
arms of England; on that of the second, the arms of France and England
quartered--these the late King had borne in his lifetime, as a solemn
claim to the double crown; the third showed the arms of France simply;
the fourth the traditionary bearings of the invincible Arthur--for,
like him, Henry had never been vanquished in the field--three crowns
_or_ on a field _azure_. After a great service in St. Paul’s the body
was transferred to its final resting-place in Westminster. Preparations
on a scale and of a kind such as had never before been thought of were
there made for its reception. The relics hitherto preserved at the
extreme eastern end of the Confessor’s Chapel were removed from their
place, to make room for the body of the great King. Over the spot was
raised a chantry, where masses were to be offered up for ever for his
soul, and an altar built in honour of the Annunciation. For a year
thirty poor persons were to recite there the Psalter of the Virgin,
adding to it in English the words, “Mother of God, remember thy servant
Henry, who putteth his whole trust in thee!” The masses have long
since ceased to be said; but the chapel with its elaborate sculptures
still remains to show the reverence in which the pious soldier was
held--reverence such, writes Monstrelet, “as if it were certain he was
a saint in Paradise.” The shape of the chapel is that of the first
letter of his name. Among the statues which adorn it are those of St.
George of England and St. Denis of France, the two kingdoms which for
a time at least he had united; and the sculptures represent the scenes
of his life, his coronation, and his victories in France. The shield
and the helmet that are still to be seen above the tomb belong indeed
to Henry’s time, but are not, as they have been represented to be, his
actual arms, having been furnished by the undertaker as part of the
funeral equipment. On the tomb below may still be seen the image of
the King, but sadly stripped of its ancient splendour. For the leather
effigy which was carried from Rouen to London was substituted, as a
more permanent memorial, a figure cut out of heart of oak, covered
with silver-gilt and with a head of solid silver. These ornaments were
too tempting for the cupidity of some of his degenerate countrymen.
_Sepulchrum modicum et mansurum_ is the terse phrase of Tacitus, but
Henry’s tomb did not fulfil the condition. Two teeth of gold were
carried off in the reign of Edward the Fourth, and the silver was
stolen at the time of the Dissolution. Had it been wrought of humbler
stone or alabaster, it might not have been the headless effigy which
stirred the wrath of Addison, and still rebukes us with the thought of
to what meanness humanity can descend.
The author of the curious _Versus Rhythmici de Henrico Quinto_ has
given us an elaborate description of the King’s personal appearance.
The name of this writer is unknown, but it is clear from many of
the expressions that he uses that he was a Westminster monk who
held some office in the royal household. Henry’s head, he tells us,
was spherical, his forehead smooth (_planus_), an epithet which may
possibly mean not receding. These two characteristics were, in his
view, signs of intelligence; whether he is right or wrong in his
generalisation, we may gather that Henry had an intelligent aspect.
His hair was brown, thick, and smooth: here the writer uses again the
epithet _plani_, for want, it would seem, of a more convenient word; he
was moving, it should be said, in the very cramping fetters of Leonine
verse. His nose was straight, and his face long (_extensus_): he had,
that is, the oval face so characteristic of the great Englishmen
of a later age, the golden time of Elizabeth. His complexion was
bright (_floridus_ is the word used, but “florid” would give a false
impression): his eyes clear and brilliant, opening wide, with a reddish
tinge in them (if this is the true translation of _subrufe patentes_);
they were the eyes of a dove when he was not provoked, of a lion when
he was stirred with anger. His teeth were white as snow and evenly
set; his ears small and well shaped; his chin divided (_fissum_,
meaning that it had a noticeable indentation); his neck of a becoming
thickness, and fair; his cheeks flat (_non inflatæ_ is the phrase,
meaning that they were not “puffy,” as were the cheeks of Henry the
Eighth) and of a good colour, and his lips of a vermilion hue. His
limbs were strongly and handsomely formed, with bones and sinews
firmly knit together. The chronicler Hall gives a description which
is substantially the same: “He was of stature more than the common
sort, of body lean, well-membered and strongly made, a face beautiful,
somewhat long-necked, black haired.” Black as the colour of his hair
is doubtless a mistake for brown, the epithet used by the contemporary
chronicler.
The author of this description goes on to relate the royal virtues.
Henry was regular in his attendance at mass, which he heard in his
private closet, diligently abstracting his mind at the time from
worldly cares. He made weekly confession. He was moderate in food and
drink, liberal in almsgiving, regular in his fasts. His mood varied
between liveliness and gravity (_morosus_). He was diligent in the
administration of justice, specially ready to help the cause of the
widow, prompt to put down abuses, “often reading books he surrenders
himself to an honourable occupation; and,” goes on the writer with an
abrupt transition, “as a bold archer he avoids inaction; therefore he
is not fleshy, nor burdened with corpulence, but a handsome man, never
weary, whether he be on horseback or on foot.” Elsewhere, too, he
speaks of the King’s fondness for hunting, fowling, and fishing, and of
his activity as a walker and rider, characteristics which follow his
praises as “one who was not given to vice or gluttony.” There can be
no doubt that, at least from the time when his father’s death brought
home to him the responsibilities of power, he emphatically deserved the
praise of purity of life.
The devotional aspect of his character has been spoken of more than
once in these pages. It would be unjust to doubt the sincerity of
his piety because many of his acts seem inconsistent with our own
conceptions of the character which piety should produce. It was not
the less genuine in him because it did not make him tender-hearted or
philanthropic, because he pursued his great scheme of conquest without
scruple, without remorse, without a thought for the blood which he was
shedding, or for the desolation which he was causing. His religion
made him what few kings have been, temperate and chaste. It did not
make him merciful; it would not be too much to say that in Henry’s age
it made no man merciful. We must compare it, not with the religion
of a Havelock or a Gordon, but with the grovelling superstition of
a Lewis the Eleventh. It would certainly be more just to charge him
with fanaticism than with hypocrisy. He seems to have looked upon
his wars for the acquisition of the French crown as a devout prince
two centuries before might have looked upon a crusade. It was his
mission to recover what he seems, difficult as it is to believe it,
to have sincerely regarded as his rightful inheritance. By one of
those processes of self-deception that are so difficult to imagine of
others, so easy to perform for ourselves, he had persuaded himself
of the soundness of a title which seems to us to need no refutation;
and all his candid, his almost audacious confidence, his unhesitating
rejection of compromises, as well as the earnestness of his prayers
and thanksgivings for victory, indicate a profound conviction that
he was doing a work to which he had been divinely sent. If we are to
compare him with the famous conquerors of the world, we should find
his parallel in Alexander, convinced that it was his mission to take
the vengeance of force for centuries of Persian wrong, rather than in
Napoleon, whose faith did not go beyond a conviction of the power of
his big battalions.
Of Henry’s qualities as a military leader it is impossible to speak
too highly. The one possible exception where he may be thought to
have failed, not indeed in skill, but in prudence, was the march
from Harfleur to Calais. Yet it was a piece of calculated audacity
abundantly justified by the result. To have gone back from Harfleur
with nothing to show for a wasted army but a single seaport, would
have discredited him both at home and abroad. He had to make an
impressive display of his superiority if he was to be accepted as
the future conqueror of France. His career after this was one of
unbroken success--success earned by courage, foresight, tactical skill,
fertility of resource, economy of strength, in short, by all the
qualities of a great captain. There is no more conclusive proof of his
greatness than the instantaneous change which his presence wrought in
the prospects of a campaign: _Ipso adventu profligata bella_.
Of his qualities as a ruler it is difficult to speak. It would be
unjust to compare him with Richard Cœur de Lion, and speak of him as
a great soldier and nothing more. On the other hand, we do not find
in him--we have indeed no opportunity of finding in him--the great
legislative power of Edward the First. But he was not unmindful of
his duties as a king, and in the midst of his campaigns he found
time for the cares of civil government. England never had a more
popular sovereign, though he made demands upon it in men and money
which, considering the shortness of his reign, must have exceeded all
precedent; and even in the country which he ruled as a stranger he won
a general admiration and respect.
It should not affect our estimate of his greatness that we now see his
schemes of conquest to have been chimerical, his purpose of uniting the
crowns of England and France an impossible dream. He must have himself
found it to be so had he lived. When thirty years had passed, after an
enormous expenditure of blood and treasure, nothing was left of his
French conquests. But he had come nearer than any who had gone before
him to the accomplishment of the great hope of his predecessors. He
died in Paris, the “Heir of France.”
THE END
_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_
FOOTNOTES
[1] Henry’s brothers and sisters were (1) Thomas, Duke of Clarence,
born 1389, killed at Baugé in Anjou, March 22nd, 1421; (2) John, Duke
of Bedford, born 1390, died Regent of France at Rouen, September 14th,
1435; (3) Humphrey, born 1391, died, it was commonly supposed by foul
means, early in 1447; (4) Blanche, married to Louis, son of Rupert,
King of the Romans; (5) Philippa, married to Eric the Thirteenth, King
of Denmark.
[2] I have to express my special obligations to a pamphlet by Mr. F.
Solly-Flood, Q.C., reprinted from the _Transactions_ of the Royal
Historical Society. It bears the title of _The Story of Prince Henry
of Monmouth and Chief-Justice Gascoign_, but it discusses fully the
whole question of Henry’s character in early life. I am also greatly
indebted to the able account of Henry’s campaigns which is to be found
in Mr. H. R. Clinton’s _From Crécy to Assye_. Finally I must thank the
Provost of Queen’s College, Oxford, for his courtesy in communicating
to me some interesting information about Henry’s supposed residence at
Oxford, and Major Servanté, R.M., for his courtesy in guiding me on a
visit which I paid to the field of Agincourt.
[3] I cannot feel satisfied with Mr. F. Solly-Flood’s explanation that,
owing to the Prince’s frequent absences at Calais, his attendance at
the Council had been intermittent, and his salary had fallen into
arrear. A thousand marks is a large sum, more than a Councillor’s
salary for many years could amount to.
[4] The request seems reasonable enough--viz., that no boat or barge
travelling on a river, out of which a person might accidentally fall
and so be drowned, should be taken as a deodand, _i.e._ forfeited to
the lord of the manor or the Crown as being a cause or instrument of
death.
[5] Edward’s claim had to encounter the difficulty that, according to
its argument, the French crown could not pass _to_ a female (for in
that case it would have gone to Joan, Queen of Navarre, the daughter of
Louis the Tenth, Charles’s eldest brother), but could pass _through_ a
female--that is, through his mother Isabella to himself.
[6] The demand in money amounted in all to more than a million pounds
in the currency of the time. It should be multiplied by fifteen to
convert it into present value. The sum would have been considered
large, had it not been dwarfed by the enormous ransom exacted from
France within the last few years.
[7] These were taxes on capital, the tenth being payable in town, the
fifteenth in the country. But the sum actually levied was not the
literal tenth or fifteenth of the property taxed. Burdensome as the
imposts certainly were, these payments would have passed all endurance.
From before the middle of the fourteenth century these taxes had been
commuted for fixed sums. So much was levied from each township or manor.
[8] This Richard was the Duke of York who was killed after the battle
of Wakefield, and whose son was Edward the Fourth.
[9] A story is told to the effect that on one occasion he passed the
place which had been arranged for his quarters. He would not return.
He was in his war-coat, and could not go back without displeasing God.
The anecdote seems characteristic of the man, and, indeed, to suit the
temper which had suggested the march to Calais.
[10] Contemporary estimates of their numbers vary very much.
Monstrelet, who probably drew his information from French sources,
puts them at one hundred and fifty thousand. Elsewhere he says that
they were more than six times the number of the English. The latter,
however, could not have numbered as many as twenty-five or even twenty
thousand. There would be a tendency, of course, after the battle to
diminish and to exaggerate the numbers engaged. It is certain that the
French superiority was very great. More it is impossible to say.
[11] Charles the Sixth had twelve children, whom it will be convenient
to enumerate:--(1) Charles, died in infancy; (2) Charles, died 1400,
at the age of nine; (3) Louis, died December 1415--though “stout of
body, and skilful in arms,” he had refused to fight at Agincourt;
(4) John, died August 1417; (5) Charles, afterwards Charles the
Seventh, the “Dauphin” mentioned in the text; (6) Philip, died in
infancy; (7) Isabella, second wife of Richard the Second of England,
afterwards married to the Duke of Orleans, who was murdered 1407 at the
instigation of the Duke of Burgundy; (8) Jane, died in infancy; (9)
Mary, took the veil; (10) Jane, married to the Duke of Britanny; (11)
Michelle, married to Philip, Count of Charolois, eldest son of the Duke
of Burgundy; (12) Katherine, born October 17th, 1400.
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant
preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced
quotation marks retained.
Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained; occurrences of
inconsistent hyphenation have not been changed.
Page 133: “the excitement of changing blows” was printed that way, not
as “exchanging”.