with his success, and calculating on the defeat of his enemies; but
when he awoke in the morning it was to a sad reverse. He learned that
a strong force, stated at 40,000 men, had arrived in the vicinity of
the city, under the command of the Duke of Gloucester and the Earls of
Arundel and Nottingham. During the whole time that he had been making
his preparations to seize the members of the council they had been
carefully watching and cautiously following him. The very day after the
judges had delivered their decision at Nottingham, and bound themselves
to keep it profoundly secret, one of them in the other interest, Sir
Richard Fulthorpe, had betrayed the whole matter to the Earl of Kent,
and through him to the Duke of Gloucester. A royal proclamation was
issued, forbidding the citizens to aid or supply with provisions the
armed force without: but the confederates, the next day advancing to
Hackney, sent in a letter to the mayor and corporation, commanding them,
under menace of severe penalties, to give their assistance to the loyal
object of delivering the king from the hands of traitors, and requiring
an immediate answer. On the 13th the Earls of Derby and Warwick went
out and joined them at Waltham Cross, and the members of the commission
"appealed," as they termed it, of treason the Archbishop of York, the
Duke of Ireland, the Earl of Suffolk, Sir Robert Tresilian, and Sir
Nicholas Brember.
This "appeal" they sent to the king by the Archbishop of Canterbury, and
the Lords Cobham, Lovel, and Devereux. Richard was obliged to give way,
for he now perceived that, after all, the city was not with him; and on
Sunday, the 17th, the appellants marched into London, and, appearing
before the king in Westminster Hall, formally preferred the charge of
high treason against the aforesaid persons. The accused fled. De la Pole,
the Earl of Suffolk, succeeded in reaching France, where he soon after
died. De Vere, the Duke of Ireland, hastened to Wales, where the letters
of the king overtook him, commanding him to raise the royal standard, and
promising to join him on the first opportunity. The duke was encouraged
by the adherence of Molyneux, the constable of Chester, who came with
a strong body of archers; but Gloucester, who only wanted a plea for
deposing his nephew, eagerly seized on this circumstance, and agreed
with Arundel, Warwick, and Sir Thomas Mortimer at Huntingdon, to "depose
Richard, and take the crown into his own custody." De Vere was rapidly
marching towards London, but was met by Gloucester and Lord Derby,
Lancaster's son, at Radcot Bridge, in Oxfordshire, and utterly routed.
Molyneux was slain, but De Vere made his escape to Ireland, and thence
to Holland, where he died about four years afterwards.
The successful appellants returned to London at the head of their 40,000
men, and presented thirty-nine articles of impeachment against the five
already named, the Archbishop of York, Suffolk, De Vere, Tresilian the
judge, and Brember, Mayor of London. All, except Brember, who was in
prison, had fled, and all the judges, except Sir William Skepworth, were
arrested as they sat in their courts, and committed to the Tower. The
king demanded the opinion of the principal lawyers of the day on the
validity of the impeachment, who unanimously declared it to be informal
and illegal. But the peers determined to proceed; on which the bishops
and abbots all protested against taking any part in judgments of blood,
and left the house in a body. The accused were condemned and adjudged
to death; but only Sir Nicholas Brember and Tresilian the judge--who
was hated by the people for his bloody sentences on those involved in
the late insurrection, and who was betrayed in his concealment by a
servant--were executed.
Nothing could be more arbitrary than the proceedings of this "Wonderful
Parliament," as it was called. Brember, who was a commoner, was adjudged
and condemned by the peers, who were certainly not his peers. The
Archbishop of York had crossed to Flanders, where he passed the short
remainder of his days as a humble parish priest.
The "Wonderful Parliament," or, as others termed it, the "Merciless
Parliament," which sat all the spring of 1388, and was dissolved on
the 3rd of June, employed itself, at the instigation of the vindictive
Gloucester, who had a savage thirst of blood, in imprisoning, condemning,
and driving away the king's friends, even to his confessor. The judges
who gave the extra-judicial answers to the king at Nottingham were
condemned to death; but, at the intercession of the bishops, were
banished to Ireland; while Blake, the secretary who drew up those
answers, and Usk, who had been made under-sheriff, were put to death.
Sir John Beauchamp, Sir James Berners, Sir John Salisbury, and Sir Simon
Burley were all executed, Salisbury being drawn and hanged. Gloucester
did not suffer the Parliament to dissolve without an order for the
expulsion of the Bohemians who attended the queen, or without passing
acts to incapacitate the king from reversing the attainders which they
had issued. This strange Parliament at once declared that its judgments
should never be reversed, nor any of its statutes ever repealed. Yet
it declared that it had pronounced things treason which had never been
so held before, and therefore no judge should ever make its example a
precedent. It gave to the appellants £20,000 in remuneration for their
services, and granted to them and their friends a full indemnity, besides
a general pardon to the opposite party, with the exception of eighteen
persons named.
Richard, stunned, as it were, by this stern and sanguinary demonstration
on the part of his great and haughty relatives, remained for about twelve
months passive, and in a manner extinguished in his own kingdom. But we
may rest satisfied that he never for a moment in his own mind intended
that this state of things should last a day longer than he could help,
or that they who now carried measures against him with a high hand and
a combined power, should escape their due punishment. He felt that the
"sons of Zeruiah were too hard for him;" that his arbitrary uncles and
cousins had artfully raised the public will against him, and that it was
vain to resist. Gloucester had done his bloody work; and it only required
time to make the nation feel repugnance to the agency of so much cruelty.
His administration did not by its splendour conceal the hideousness of
the acts on which his power was based. Arundel, indeed, did some brave
deeds at sea; but the only brilliant deed on land was the battle of
Otterburn, which has been so celebrated by the minstrels of that day, as
may be seen in Percy's "Reliques of English Poetry." It was fought on the
15th of August, 1388, and Douglas, the Scottish chief, was killed; but
on the English side Sir Henry Percy--the celebrated Hotspur--and Ralph
Percy were taken prisoners, and the English, according to Froissart,
were driven from the field; though English writers give a different
account--each party, in fact, claiming the victory.
By degrees the terror which Gloucester had inspired began to die away
from the minds of men; they began to sympathise with their youthful
king, kept in such unworthy subjection, and to offer to him their aid
and services. No sooner did Richard feel conscious of this change in the
public feeling than he gave one of those proofs of high thought, and
bold, prompt action, which, if they had been the results of a steady,
energetic temperament, and not mere evanescent flashes, would have made
his enemies stoop in awe before him, and his reign fortunate. In a great
council held in May, 1389, he suddenly addressed his uncle Gloucester:
"How old do you think I am?" "Your highness," replied Gloucester, "is in
your twenty-second year." "Then," said the king, "I must surely be old
enough to manage my own concerns. I have been longer under the control of
guardians than any ward in my dominions. I thank ye, my lords, for your
past services, but I require them no longer."
Before the council could recover from its surprise he demanded the seals
from the Archbishop of Canterbury, and gave them to William of Wykeham,
Bishop of Winchester, and the keys of the exchequer from the Bishop of
Hereford, handing them to one of his own friends. Gloucester, after a
private interview with his nephew, finding it impossible to move him,
retired into the country. Richard retained his uncle, York, and his
cousin, Henry of Bolingbroke, in his favour, and entrusted them with the
chief administration of affairs.
For about eight years Richard ruled with a moderation and a deference to
the rights of Parliament and the people, which won him much popularity.
He, on one occasion, voluntarily remitted some subsidies, declaring
that he would not call for them till he really needed them. His uncle
Lancaster returned from Spain, and having placed his two daughters on the
thrones of that country and of Portugal, he appeared satisfied in his
ambition, and disposed not only to acquiesce in the sway of his nephew,
but also to reconcile him to the offending Gloucester, whom he brought
again to court. It was not long, however, before there was great division
between the royal brothers; for, Lancaster's wife being dead, he married
Catherine Swynford, a daughter of a private gentleman of Hainault, who
had been his mistress, and by whom he had several children. His brothers
York and Gloucester were highly incensed at this marriage of the great
John of Gaunt, regarding the lady of far too inferior birth to enter
into their alliance; but Richard not only countenanced his uncle in this
honourable proceeding, but passed an act through Parliament to legitimise
the children, and created the eldest son Earl of Somerset.
[Illustration: BETROTHAL OF THE PRINCESS ISABELLA TO RICHARD. (_See p._
472.)]
By this rupture between the royal brothers, the power of Richard was left
unassailed--which it never was when they were united--and the country
enjoyed internal tranquillity. He ceded to his uncle of Lancaster the
province of Guienne for life; but, as the inhabitants remonstrated
loudly against this act, it was finally revoked with the duke's consent.
He concluded a peace with France in 1394, which also included Scotland;
Robert II. having died in 1390, and John, his eldest son, now reigning
under the title of Robert III.; the Scots entertaining the same prejudice
against a king of the name of John as the French and English, each nation
remembering with disgust the reign of a King John.
Meantime Richard frequently met his Parliament, and appeared on all
occasions anxious to possess its approbation. He even on one occasion
asked his officers of state to resign, and place themselves at the bar
of Parliament, requesting every one who had cause of complaint to prefer
it. Pleased with this condescension, Parliament not only bore willing
testimony to the honour of the ministers, but were ready to meet all the
king's demands for money. By consent of Parliament, also, he recalled
such of the bishops who had been banished to Ireland as now survived;
made his confessor a bishop; and, moreover, on hearing of the death of
the Duke of Ireland, he restored the earldom of Oxford in favour of
his uncle, Sir Aubrey de Vere, and afterwards had the body of the duke
brought from Louvain, and re-interred with great state in the church of
Colne.
At this time, also, after much dispute with Rome regarding the
appointment by the Pope of foreigners to English bishoprics and livings,
he settled that question on a better basis than it had yet occupied,
passing the last and most comprehensive of the statutes of provisors,
by which it is provided that any persons receiving such investment from
Rome, or carrying causes there, shall, with all their abettors, suffer
forfeiture of all their goods, chattels, and lands, wherever found, and
be put out of the king's protection.
These were years in which Richard appeared to realise the early auguries
of his reign, and act with such wisdom and moderation as make the
latter portion of his days a marvel and a sad mystery. But we believe
the mystery will be solved by the fact that he now--that is, in June,
1394--lost his excellent queen, the good Queen Anne. She died at her
favourite palace of Shene; and Richard, who had been most ardently
attached to her, was so beside himself with grief that, in a state of
frenzy, he ordered the palace of Shene to be levelled with the ground;
and the rooms where Anne died were actually dismantled.
From all that we learn of Anne it appears very evident that her influence
over Richard was of the most beneficial kind, and that the longer she
lived the more prudent and popular he became. With her he lost his
compass and his guiding star, and wandered off the good way.
In the immediate bitterness of his grief, however, he was advised, in
order to divert his sorrow, to make a visit to his Irish dominions.
There was certainly confusion enough there to occupy his thoughts. The
wars of the last three monarchs, and the troubles of the second Edward,
had withdrawn their attention from Ireland, and both the native and the
English races there had made great encroachments on the authority of the
Government. The revenues had formerly produced a surplus of £30,000;
they were not now equal to the necessary expenses of the management of
the island. The natives, asserting their ancient territories, were fast
enclosing the English in narrower bounds, while the English were at
variance amongst themselves. They were divided into two classes--those
who had helped to conquer the country, and those who had been recently
sent there by the English Government. There were, therefore, English
by race merely, and English by birth. The descendants of the original
invaders had, in proportion as they were remote from the seat of
government, grown independent, and in many cases adopted the language and
manners of the natives. Many of these men retained great numbers of armed
followers, made inroads on their neighbours, ruled as kings in their own
districts, and expelled all thence who would not conform to their will.
Such was Thomas Fitzmaurice, who, to secure his goodwill, was created
Earl of Desmond, and who yet was rather a terror than a strength to the
Government.
These old settlers, the English by race merely, were very jealous of
new arrivals, many of them being poor courtiers who were sent there--as
they were in later days sent to our colonies--to help themselves to what
they could secure, and others banished men. These were supported by the
English Government as a counterbalance to the power of the native chiefs,
and of the English by race. Edward III. had indeed forbade any office to
be held but by Englishmen still connected with England by property or
office; but this produced such a ferment among the old Englishry that it
was obliged to be abandoned. While these feuds and divisions weakened
the English party, the native chiefs pushed on their advances, and the
greater part of Ulster was recovered by the O'Neills, much of Connaught
was regained by the O'Conors, and the O'Briens made equal conquests in
Leinster. To prevent amalgamation of the English chiefs with the native
Irish, and thus the strengthening of their formidable native power,
Edward III. had passed the famous statute of Kilkenny which made it high
treason to marry with the Irish.
It was in the hope that an English nobleman, residing in the country with
a permanent right, and with almost regal power, might reduce the island
to order, that Richard had made the Earl of Oxford Duke of Ireland, and
granted to him and his heirs for ever all the lands which he should
conquer from the native Irish, except such as they had retaken from the
Crown or from former grantees. The hopes which had been entertained from
this scheme were defeated by the king's feud with the barons, and by the
attainder and banishment of Oxford.
Richard now set out to reduce the different factions, and restore
order himself, at the head of 4,000 men-at-arms and 30,000 archers,
and attended by the Duke of Gloucester and the Earls of Rutland and
Nottingham. He landed at Waterford in October, 1394, and at the approach
of so effective a force the most daring chieftains retired into their
bogs and mountains. Such was the vigour with which Richard on this
occasion prosecuted his object--no doubt finding a great relief to his
mind in action--that very soon the Irish made terms of surrender, and the
four principal kings, O'Neill, O'Brien, O'Conor, and McMurrough, came
in and attended the king to Dublin, where they were, no doubt, much to
the annoyance of their wild Irish habits, obliged to assume the outward
smoothness of civilisation, most reluctantly induced to receive the
honour of knighthood, to be arrayed in robes of state, and feasted in all
decorum at the king's table.
The Irish chieftains, to the number of seventy-five, did homage, and
agreed to the payment of a yearly tribute. Richard never on any occasion,
not even in the Wat Tyler riots, displayed more energy and tact. He
had all the qualities which should distinguish a monarch. He reformed
the abuses of the Government, redressed grievances, enforced the laws,
removed tyrannical officers, and thus reconciled the minds of the Irish,
and re-established the English supremacy.
This good work was interrupted by a violent dispute between the Lollards
and the Church at home. The Reformers had acquired much power, and,
feeling their influence amongst the people, they prepared a sweeping
petition to the Commons, containing many facts which were yet too strong
for reception by the Government. They objected to the celibacy of the
clergy, and complained that, by accepting offices under Government, and
being ministers of state, and even generals, they were attempting to do
the impossible thing--namely, to serve God and Mammon. They declared that
by teaching transubstantiation they led to idolatry; that through the
confessional they acquired a despotism over the people; by authorising
war and criminal executions they opposed the law of Christ, which was
one of love and mercy; and they even asserted that by licensing men
to exercise the trade of goldsmiths and swordsmiths they violated the
principles of the Gospel, which were those of simplicity and peace.
Though no one was found hardy enough to present the petition abounding
with doctrines which, though they had existed in the New Testament
for nearly fourteen centuries, were still too new to the public for
acceptance, yet the clergy were alarmed at this demonstration, and
solicited the protection of the king, who severely reprimanded the
leaders of the Lollards, and ordered all teachers of that persuasion to
be expelled from the university of Oxford. Good Queen Anne was gone, and
a new era, with new influences and fortunes, was at hand.
Richard now astonished the whole country by proposing to marry the eldest
daughter of the King of France. The strong antipathy which the long
and cruel wars had nourished between the two nations made them already
regard each other as natural and hereditary enemies. Both the people
of England and France, therefore, were surprised at this proposal, and
averse from it. But the people are little consulted in any age in these
matters; and the proposal, after some discussion at the French court,
was well entertained. At the English court it was far from popular.
The princes and barons looked on the French wars as the sources of
fresh military glory and promotion. The Duke of Gloucester most of all
expressed his opposition to it. He had more reasons than one. The first
was, that he had a daughter whom he would fain see married to Richard.
By this alliance he could calculate on his descendants succeeding to
the throne of England, even if he could not himself usurp it. During
the king's life, with his easy and pleasure-loving disposition, he
could calculate on engrossing the real power of the State. Not less
strange was his second reason. If the king allied himself to France,
he would thus greatly strengthen his authority at home, and Gloucester
was too far-seeing not to perceive that Richard, who never forgot an
injury, would then be in a position to revenge himself on him for his
past attempts to usurp the control over his nephew, and especially for
the armed conspiracy which had destroyed his favourite ministers, and
suspended his prerogative for twelve months. That this marriage was a
matter entirely of policy was clear enough. The French princess was
a mere child ten years of age. The preliminaries were, however, soon
concluded, and the ceremony took place in 1396.
The conduct of Richard after this marriage was such as to lead the
people the more sensibly to deplore the death of the good Queen Anne.
Instead of the better spirit which had distinguished his latter years,
instead of the wise and active conduct which he had displayed in Ireland
while under the influence of a salutary sorrow, a light and thoughtless
disposition had taken its place, as if a mere girlish wife had brought
with her an atmosphere of trifling and frivolity. With the exception of
his harsh treatment of the city a few years before, and the deprivation
of its charter, which, though soon restored, had left a lively memory of
the arbitrary fact, there was not much in Richard's political conduct to
complain of. But his personal character was rapidly deteriorating. He
lived in a continual course of feasting and dissipation, and thus wasted
the funds he had received with the queen, and the resources derived from
his people.
Amongst the principal favourites of this time were his half-brother, the
murderer, Sir John Holland, who had been on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem
in penance for his crimes, and now was dignified with the title of the
Earl of Huntingdon, as his brother was with that of the Earl of Kent.
Through the hands of these men all favours and honours passed, and we
cannot suppose that their conversations and counsels were very good for
the king. His household was on a most ruinous scale, consisting, it is
said, of not less than 10,000 persons, and the riot and follies carried
on there excited great disgust.
All these matters were carefully noted by the discontented Duke of
Gloucester, still more morose from the king's refusal of his daughter, on
the plea of her being too near akin. It was in vain that the king made
him rich presents to win his goodwill. He was still sullen, morose, and
destitute of all courtesy, returning the attentions of the nobles with
abrupt and curt answers, so that they said amongst themselves, if ever
Gloucester could stir up a war he would.
At length Richard resolved to strike his long deferred blow. He invited
the Earl of Warwick to dinner, and then, the latter being off his guard,
he had him arrested at the house of the chancellor, near Temple Bar, and
committed to the Tower. The primate was made use of to bring his brother,
the Earl of Arundel, to a private interview with the king, who instantly
arrested him and sent him to Carisbrooke Castle. But perhaps the most
revolting of these insidious modes of arrest was that of the Duke of
Gloucester himself. Richard, while intending to sacrifice his uncle's
life, did not hesitate to pay him a visit at his castle of Pleshy, in
Essex. Here Gloucester came forth with his wife and daughter to meet
him, without any suspicion, and, according to the account of the rolls
of Parliament, with a dutiful procession. The king caused him to be
seized and hurried on board a vessel by the earl marshal, and conveyed
to Calais. It is said by contemporary chroniclers that, while this was
doing, Richard was conversing in a friendly guise with the duchess.
Froissart says Richard was kindly entertained, requested Gloucester to
accompany him to London, and had him seized on the way. This does not
appear probable if the parliamentary rolls are correct. But in any case
the manner of the thing was treacherous and unworthy of a great monarch.
The sudden disappearance of the duke alarmed all his friends and
partisans, who believed that he was murdered, and they trembled for their
own security. To pacify the public mind, Richard issued a proclamation,
stating that these arrests had been made with the full assent of the
Dukes of Lancaster and York, and of their sons and all the leading
members of the council; that they were made, not on account of the
transactions of the tenth and eleventh years of his reign, for which
bills of indemnity had been given, but for recent offences; and that no
one need be alarmed on account of participation in those past proceedings.
This was to lull into security fresh victims, and to obtain that
sanction from Lancaster, York, and their sons, which Richard pretended
to have had, and which was not true. These princes were at Nottingham,
and Richard determined to retort upon them their conduct towards his
favourites. He therefore hastened down thither, and as these noblemen
were at dinner he suddenly summoned them to the gate, and compelled them
to set their seals to a form of arrest which had been prepared for the
purpose. They were made to say, "We appeal Thomas Duke of Gloucester,
Richard Earl of Arundel, and Thomas Earl of Warwick, as traitors to your
majesty and realm," and to call for trial upon them.
[Illustration: ARREST OF THE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. (_See p._ 472.)]
To secure his measures Richard employed every means to impress the
Parliament and public with awe. Great preparations were made for the
assembling of a Parliament which was to decide the fate of a prince of
the blood, and one so powerful and popular, as well as of some of the
chief nobles of the realm. It is said that the sheriffs had been tampered
with--a most base and unconstitutional act, and which, resorted to in the
assembling of this famous Parliament, opened the way for much subsequent
corruption of the kind. A wooden shed of large extent was erected near
Westminster Hall, for the reception of so numerous an assembly as was
summoned to give the fuller sanction to its decrees, and the lords came
with such prodigious retinues, no doubt for their own safety, that they
not only occupied all the lodgings of London, but of the towns and
villages for ten miles round.
The king came to Westminster, attended by 600 men-at-arms, wearing
the royal livery of the hart, and 200 archers, raised in Cheshire. On
the second day of the session, Sir John Bussy, the Speaker, and a
thorough creature of the king, petitioned that the clergy might appoint
proxies, the canons forbidding their presence at any trials of blood,
and Lord Thomas Percy was appointed their procurator. The Parliament
passed whatever Richard was pleased to dictate to it. It annulled the
commission of regency and the statute confirming it, passed in the tenth
year of his reign. It abrogated all the acts which attainted the king's
ministers--though the Parliament which passed them and the people had
sworn to maintain them for ever--and declared that they had been extorted
by force. It revoked all pardons granted heretofore to Gloucester,
Arundel, and Warwick.
This facile assembly first impeached Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of
Canterbury, as the aider and abettor of the accused noblemen, for
having moved and advised the arrest and execution of Sir Simon Burley
and Sir James Berners, contrary to the wishes of the king, and that
while chancellor, and bound to support the rights of the Crown. The
archbishop rose to defend himself; but Richard, fearful of the effect of
his eloquence, desired him to waive awhile his observations, on pretence
of requiring more time to consider the matter; but the next day he was
declared to be guilty, and banished for life.
The following day, September 21st, the charges were read to the lords
against the three nobles. They were that Gloucester and Arundel had
compelled the king, under menace of his life, to sign the commission of
regency; that at Hornsey Park they had drawn to their party the Earl of
Warwick and Sir Thomas Mortimer, and by force had compelled the king
to do their will. The Earls of Rutland, Kent, Huntingdon, Somerset,
Salisbury, and Nottingham, and the Lords Spenser and Scrope were accused
of the same crime; that at Huntingdon they had conspired to depose the
king, and shown him the statute of the deposition of Edward II., and had
also insisted on the death of Sir Simon Burley, in opposition to the
king's will.
The Earl of Arundel pleaded not guilty and former pardons; but he was
condemned and executed. Warwick was convicted of high treason; but, on
account of his submissive behaviour, his life was spared, and he was
banished to the Isle of Man.
On the 24th a mandate was issued by the king and his council in
Parliament to the earl marshal to bring his prisoner, the Duke of
Gloucester from Calais to the bar of the House. Three days after this an
answer was returned by the earl marshal that "he could not produce the
said duke before the king and his council in that Parliament, for that,
being in his custody in the king's prison at Calais, he there died."
The simple unexplanatory abruptness of this announcement is particularly
startling. It impresses the mind with the conviction of foul play, and
suggests that the king--not daring to bring to further trial a prince
so nearly related to the Crown, and so highly esteemed by the people,
and yet resolved not to let him escape--had procured his assassination.
Apoplexy and other things were talked of, but there could be but one
opinion of his end--murder. How this was effected has never been
discovered. When Henry Bolingbroke had usurped Richard's throne, and it
was his particular interest to prove Richard a murderer of their common
uncle, one John Hall, a servant of the Earl of Nottingham, was brought
forward, who swore that to his knowledge the duke was taken from the
prison to an inn, called the Prince's Inn, and there smothered between
two beds by a servant of the king and another of the Earl of Rutland.
Though eight persons were named in the paper as being concerned in the
transaction, none of these were ever examined, nor was Hall brought
before any judge; but, having made this confession, he was at once
beheaded. It appears sufficiently clear, therefore, that this was an
invention of Bolingbroke's to blacken the character of Richard. Froissart
says he was strangled in prison by four people with towels; but the mode
matters little: the fact of Gloucester's murder cannot admit of a doubt,
and whatever it was, the Parliament appears not to have troubled itself
about it. They declared, both Lords and Commons, that he was a traitor,
and confiscated all his property to the Crown. The rest of the nobles and
prelates named in the indictment were then conditionally pardoned, except
those who took up arms against the king in his eleventh year, including
Lord Cobham, who was banished to Jersey for life, and Mortimer, who had
fled into the wilds of Ireland, and was outlawed.
What is extraordinary is, that several of the very peers who were engaged
in these transactions, now declared treasonable, sat in judgment on their
more unlucky accomplices. The Duke of York, the Bishop of Winchester,
and Sir Richard Scrope, had been members of Gloucester's commission of
regency; and Derby and Nottingham were two of the five who appealed to
the favourites of treason. Some of these were not only winked at, but
even promoted when the trial was over. Richard, indeed, in Parliament,
fully exculpated them, asserting that, though for a time deceived by
the pretences of Gloucester, they had abandoned his cause like good and
loyal subjects. He then created his cousins, Derby and Rutland, Dukes
of Hereford and Albemarle; his two half-brothers, the Earls of Kent and
Huntingdon, Dukes of Surrey and Exeter; the Earl of Nottingham, Duke of
Norfolk; the Earl of Somerset, Marquis of Dorset; the Lords Despenser,
Nevil, Percy, and William Scrope, Earls of Gloucester, Westmoreland,
Worcester, and Wiltshire.
On the last day of the session of this servile Parliament the peers took
an oath that all the judgments passed in this Parliament should have the
full force of statutes for ever; that any one attempting to reverse them
should be held to be a traitor; and that the clergy should excommunicate
him. The Commons held out their hands in acquiescence with this oath, and
Lord Thomas Percy, the proxy of the clergy, swore on their behalf. The
Parliament was then prorogued till after the Christmas holidays, when it
met at Gloucester.
Perhaps no period of our history exhibits a monarch more reckless of
the restraints of the constitution than Richard at this epoch; nor a
Parliament more servilely disposed to grovel at his feet, and surrender
every valuable right. Before closing its sessions, the Commons not only
granted him most liberal supplies, but a tax on wool, wool-fells, and
hides, not for the year as previously, but for _life_, thus rendering
him, to a great degree, independent of Parliament; and Richard, again,
to provide against any repeal of this munificent grant, published a
general pardon, which, however, was to become void the moment any future
Parliament attempted to repeal this act.
But this vile Parliament went still further in surrendering the
birthrights of the people. It had been customary to appoint a committee
of the peers and judges formerly, to remain after the business of the
session was completed, to hear and determine on such petitions as had
not been already answered. Advantage was now taken to seize on this form
of a committee to supersede the general functions of Parliament; and
twelve peers and six commoners, not judges or justices, were not only
invested with the powers of the ancient committees, but also to "hear,
examine, and determine all matters and subjects which had been moved in
the presence of the king, with all the dependencies thereof." One half
only of these were required to attend, so that to nine people were
transferred all the powers and authority of Parliament!
The immediate object of this stretch of parliamentary and, under its
guise, of kingly power, was to execute the designs of the monarch which
led to his ruin. Richard was of that light and sensitive character, and
had been early so imbued with the idea of the divinity that "doth hedge
a king," that he was easily led on to the most arbitrary conduct. In
the late proceedings against Gloucester and his adherents he had broken
unceremoniously through all the restraints of the constitution, and the
obsequiousness of Parliament induced him now to imagine that he had
placed himself above all law. Parliament had granted him supplies for
life, and with the aid of the committee to which Parliament had so tamely
resigned its prerogative, "all persons well affected to the king," he
could, he imagined, do just as he pleased; and he lost no time in putting
this to the proof. He had destroyed Gloucester; he resolved to cut off or
remove other overgrown relatives and nobles.
The lively and strong memory which Richard had always shown of past
injuries, but never more so than during the late trials, struck terror
into the hearts of many who were conscious that they had offended.
Amongst these was the Duke of Norfolk. At present he stood apparently
high amongst Richard's friends; but he was well aware how slippery was
that position, and he was conscious that his reluctance to carry out
the bloody proscription against Gloucester would be treasured up in the
king's never-failing remembrance for the first tempting occasion. Of the
original lords appellant he only and the Duke of Hereford now remained.
Norfolk happening to overtake Hereford, on the road between Brentford and
London, the following conversation took place, according to Hereford's
statement of it as it still remains on the rolls of Parliament:--
_Norfolk._ We are on the point of being undone.
_Hereford._ Why so?
_Norfolk._ On account of the affair at Radcot Bridge.
_Hereford._ How can that be, since the king has granted us pardon,
and has declared in Parliament that we behaved as good and loyal
subjects?
_Norfolk._ Nevertheless, our fate will be like that of others
before us. He will annul that record.
_Hereford._ It will be marvellous, indeed, if the king, after
having said so before the people, should cause it to be annulled.
_Norfolk._ It is a marvellous and false world that we live in;
for I know well that, had it not been for some persons, my lord
your father of Lancaster and yourself would have been taken
or killed, when you went to Windsor after the Parliament. The
Dukes of Albemarle and Exeter, and the Earl of Worcester and
I, have pledged ourselves never to assent to the undoing of
any lord without just and reasonable cause. But this malicious
project belongs to the Duke of Surrey, the Earls of Wiltshire and
Salisbury, drawing to themselves the Earl of Gloucester. They
have sworn to undo six lords, the Dukes of Lancaster, Hereford,
Albemarle, and Exeter, the Marquess of Dorset and myself; and have
power to reverse the attainder of Thomas Earl of Lancaster, which
would turn to the derision of us and many others.
_Hereford._ God forbid! It will be a wonder if the king should
assent to such designs. He appears to make me good cheer, and has
promised to be my good lord. Indeed, he has sworn by St. Edward to
be a good lord to me and others.
_Norfolk._ So he has often sworn to me by God's body, but I do not
trust him the more for that. He is attempting to draw the Earl of
March into the scheme of the four lords to destroy the others.
_Hereford._ If that be the case, we can never trust them.
_Norfolk._ Certainly not. Though they may not accomplish their
purpose now, they will contrive to destroy us in our houses ten
years hence.
Hereford must have taken the earliest opportunity to communicate this
confidential conversation to the king. It showed him that the king was
carefully watching those who had formerly appeared as his enemies. He was
in haste, therefore, to secure himself by the sacrifice of the friend
who had thus put him on his guard. Whatever were the steps he took for
this end, he received a summons to attend the king at Haywood, where he
was made to pledge himself on his allegiance to lay the whole of the
preceding conversation before the council. Hereford took care not to
leave the king without obtaining a full pardon for himself, under the
Great Seal, for all the treasons, misprisions, and offences that he had
ever committed.
Accordingly he appeared in full Parliament, and laid this statement
before them; but it contained so much which would naturally incense the
king, that he went to Richard the next day, and, throwing himself on his
knees before him, once more craved his pardon, declaring that, when he
took part formerly in measures against the king, he did not know that he
was doing wrong, but that now he knew it, and implored forgiveness for
it. All this anxiety showed that he was conscious of having entered into
the very conspiracies which he was now endeavouring to throw off upon
others.
Richard, with his usual smooth duplicity, once more assured him before
the whole Parliament of his entire pardon, and promised him great favour.
But Richard had, no doubt, already made up his mind as to what he would
do. He had here strong hold on his turbulent and disaffected nobles, and
he never let such advantages escape him. The great object, therefore, of
obtaining a committee of men devoted to him, in whom were concentrated
all the powers of Parliament, was to deal with these two nobles, who were
dangerous to the solidity of his throne.
To this convenient committee, this sort of pocket Parliament, Richard
referred the decision of the cause between them. Norfolk, aware of
danger, had not appeared in his place in Parliament; but he was summoned
by proclamation, and, on surrender, was brought before Richard at
Oswaldster. There he boldly declared his innocence, and denounced the
whole of Hereford's story as false, "the lies of a false traitor."
Richard had them now in his power, and ordered them both into custody.
He proceeded to Bristol, where his little pocket Parliament went on
exercising all the functions and authority of the real Parliament; and
Richard caused them to enact that their statutes were of equal authority
with those of a full Parliament, and should take the same effect; that
all prelates before taking possession of their sees, all tenants of the
Crown before receiving possession of their lands, should take an oath to
observe the enactments of this junto as perfectly as those of Parliament
itself, and that any person attempting to alter or revoke them should be
guilty of treason. No more absolute independence of Parliament was ever
assumed in this country. The violations of the constitution for which
Charles I. afterwards lost his head were not more outrageous than these.
The controversy between Hereford and Norfolk, it was decreed by this
committee, should be referred to a high court of chivalry, which was
appointed to take place at Windsor on the 29th of April. As Hereford
here persisted in the charge, and Norfolk as stoutly denied it, and as
no witnesses could be brought, the court determined that the decision of
the question should be made by wager of battle, which was to take place
at Coventry on the 16th of September.
There, at the moment that the two antagonists were on the point of
running a tilt at each other, the king threw down his warder, and the
earl marshal stayed the combat. The king then pronounced sentence of
banishment upon them both, which, he informed them, was the judgment of
the council. Hereford was exiled for ten years, Norfolk for life. It is
clear, from the greater severity of the sentence of Norfolk, that the
charges of Hereford had told against him. He was pronounced guilty of
having, on his own confession, endeavoured to excite dissensions amongst
the great lords, and of having secretly opposed the repeal of the acts
of Gloucester's Parliament. Richard took precautions to prevent the
malcontents associating abroad so as to plot treason. The Duke of Norfolk
was commanded to go on pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and after that to
reside only in Germany, Hungary, or Bohemia; and neither of the dukes was
to hold any communication with the banished Archbishop of Canterbury at
any time during their exile.
Hereford, a man of consummate command of his temper, cool, calculating,
and as unprincipled as he was ambitious, appeared to submit to this
extraordinary, and, by all, unexpected, sentence, with so much humility
that he obtained from Richard various benefits which a more openly
indignant man would have lost. In the first place, the king, touched by
his submission, promised to shorten the term of his exile five years.
He acceded to Hereford's request that letters patent should be granted
to both the banished lords to appoint attorneys to take possession of
any inheritances which might fall to them during their absence, though
they could not be there to perform homage or swear fealty. This request
has been pronounced by some historians a mysterious one; but there is
no mystery about it. John of Gaunt, Hereford's father, was now old and
infirm, and not likely to live long. He had so lost all that high and
swelling spirit which distinguished him through a long life, that he
had consented to sign the royal acts against his own family--that for
the attainder of his brother Gloucester, and now for the banishment
of his own son. If he died while his son was abroad under sentence of
banishment, all his vast estates would pass to the Crown in default of
the performance of the necessary feudal conditions of tenure. Hereford,
aware of this, endeavoured to guard against it by this royal engagement,
and, probably, that his design might not be too obvious, was a party to
the extension of the favour to his opponent. We shall presently see that
Hereford's precaution did not prevent Richard seizing on Lancaster's
estates, as that sagacious nobleman feared; but it gave Hereford a grand
plea for his return to vindicate his usurped rights.
The two banished dukes took their departure. Richard, to soften still
more the mind of Hereford, sent to him at Calais a present of 1,000
marks. The unfortunate Norfolk, after his pilgrimage, returned, and died
of a broken heart at Venice. And we may here notice what became of the
exiled Archbishop of Canterbury. After residing some time in France, the
Pope appointed him to the see of St. Andrews in Scotland. This step was
taken at the request of Richard, who flattered himself that he had thus
rendered a troublesome adversary harmless.
Richard now imagined that he had reached the summit of uncontrollable
power. With his taxes secured for life, instead of being compelled every
year to come to Parliament to solicit their renewal, and to be called to
account by the Commons for their expenditure; with his obsequious little
pocket Parliament and council ready to decree any measure that he willed,
however unjust and unconstitutional; and with a standing body of 10,000
archers, maintained out of those foolishly-conceded life-long supplies,
Richard was, in fact, an absolute monarch. Froissart says, no man,
however great, dared speak against anything that he did. He had lopped
off or driven away the most powerful of his nobles and kinsmen; and he
now raised money by forced loans. He compelled the judges to expound
the law at his pleasure. He forced the unhappy adherents of Gloucester
to purchase and re-purchase charters of pardon; and, to obtain plenty
of fines and amercements, he at one stroke outlawed seventeen counties,
on the charge of having favoured his enemies at the battle of Radcot
Bridge. He could accuse both sides at pleasure of being his enemies; for,
while he had secretly commissioned the Duke of Ireland to take up arms,
Gloucester and Hereford were ostensibly maintaining the royal cause.
The money thus extorted from his groaning subjects was spent with
reckless extravagance. We have already spoken of the prodigal licence and
swarming numbers of his court. That of Edward III. had been esteemed very
magnificent, but this of Richard far eclipsed it; and the chroniclers
describe with wonder the gorgeous furniture and equipages, the feasts
and pageants of this court, which had not the martial glory to make it
tolerable to the people which Edward's had. It is said that the number
of tailors, cloth merchants, cooks, jewellers, and retainers in costly
liveries, was something inconceivable.
But, like that of many another thoughtless king, Richard's grandeur was
hollow and delusive. It had no basis in the affections of any class of
the community. The friends of Gloucester and Hereford, and the other
nobles who were banished, were full of violent discontent, and secretly
diffused it on every side. The people saw with indignation their
hard-earned money wasted on the worst of creatures. Richard had made
them his enemies at the very commencement of his reign by his perfidious
conduct to them in the Wat Tyler insurrection, and by the cruelty with
which he pursued them afterwards. As Shakespeare makes the nobles say:--
_Ross._ The commons hath he pilled with grievous taxes,
And quite lost their hearts; the nobles hath he fined
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.
_Willoughby._ And daily new exactions are devised;
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what:
But what, o' God's name, doth become of this?
_Northumberland._ Wars have not wasted it, for warred he hath not,
But basely yielded upon compromise
That which his ancestors achieved with blows.
More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.
There wanted but a match to explode the mine, already laid by his folly
and want of real regard to his people, under Richard's feet, and this
came in the death of the aged John of Gaunt. He died about three months
after the banishment of his son; an event which no doubt hastened his end.
Now was seen the wisdom of Hereford's act in procuring the letters
patent for the securing of his inheritance, for the arbitrary rapacity
of Richard at once revealed itself, and he declared that Hereford's
banishment was tantamount to outlawry, which implied forfeiture of
estate; and this dishonest and impolitic judgment a great council which
he assembled, including his committee of Parliament, confirmed. It
declared the patents granted both to Hereford and Norfolk were utterly
illegal and void. Neither Richard nor his council hesitated, when it
pleased them, to stultify and declare unlawful their own most solemn
acts. In fact, all faith was banished, and government was a farce, to be
followed by a tragedy.
Richard seized on the vast estates of the banished Hereford, now Duke
of Lancaster, and when Henry Bowet, the duke's attorney, resisted this
iniquitous proceeding, he also was arrested and condemned to death as a
traitor, but let off with banishment. This most lawless deed appeared to
put the climax to the national endurance. The people murmured, the nobles
assumed a sullen and brooding aspect, and the whole nation was ripe for
revolt.
Henry of Lancaster was not a man to let slip the favourable opportunity.
He had always shown outward deference to the people; he waited and
watched every movement from Paris, where he resided, and where he had
been on the point of strengthening his position by marrying the daughter
of the Duke of Berri, when Richard, in alarm, sent over an embassy and
defeated it.
Yet at this crisis, when Hereford, newly become Lancaster, was maddened
by the seizure of all his demesnes and honours, did Richard venture to
leave his kingdom, where he had not one real friend. His cousin and heir,
the Earl of March, had been surprised and killed in a skirmish with the
Irish. Richard, with his quick, resentful feelings, in his eagerness to
revenge his loss, determined at once to go to Ireland. He appointed the
Duke of York, his uncle, regent in his absence, attended mass at Windsor,
and at the door of the church took wine and spices with his young queen,
whom he repeatedly took up in his arms and kissed like a child, as she
still was, being only about twelve years of age, saying, "Adieu, madam,
adieu, till we meet again."
From Windsor, Richard, accompanied by several noblemen, marched to
Bristol, where those circumstances were pressed on his attention which
would have made any prudent monarch return with all speed to his capital.
Reports of plots and discontents reached him from various quarters. The
Londoners, who had always shown the most decided liking for the present
Duke of Lancaster, on hearing of Richard's voyage for Ireland, said
amongst themselves, "Now goes Richard of Bordeaux to his destruction, as
sure as did Edward II., his great-grandfather. Like him, he has listened
so long to evil counsellors, that it can be neither concealed nor endured
any longer."
There were numbers of officers in his army who were as disaffected, and
amongst these were the Lord Percy and his son. The king summoned these
noblemen to his presence, but they got away into Scotland, and put
themselves under the protection of King Robert. The condition of England
at this moment was very miserable. There were general murmurings and
divisions in the community. Robbers and robberies abounded, justice was
perverted, and the people said it was time there was some remedy. The
bishops and nobles got into London for safety, and those who had lost
their relatives by the king's exactions rejoiced in the trouble, and
wished to see it grow. In their eyes the Duke of Gloucester had been a
great and plain-spoken patriot, to whom the king would not listen, and
who had lost his life through his honest representations of the condition
of the country.
[Illustration: THE CHARITY OF WHITTINGTON.
FROM THE WALL PAINTING BY HENRIETTA RAE (MRS. NORMAND) IN THE ROYAL
EXCHANGE.]
Under such circumstances Richard set sail at Milford Haven, and in
two days, on May 31st, 1399, landed at Waterford. There he lost three
weeks in waiting for the Duke of Albemarle, who was to have followed him
with another force, but who is supposed to have been influenced by the
prevailing disaffection. At length Richard marched on towards Kilkenny,
and many of the lesser chieftains came humbly, with halters round their
necks, suing for pardon. Not so the great chieftain McMurrough. He came
to a parley with Scrope, the Earl of Gloucester, mounted on a magnificent
grey charger, which had cost him 400 head of cattle, and brandishing a
huge spear in his hand. He expressed his willingness to become a nominal
vassal of the Crown, but would be free of all compulsion or conditions.
Richard refused to treat with so independent an individual, but set a
price on his head, and proceeded to Dublin, where he was at length joined
by Albemarle, and he then again gave chase to the wild Irish chief.
But in the midst of this pursuit he was suddenly arrested by news from
England, which reduced all other considerations to nothing.
Lancaster had landed at Ravenspur, in Yorkshire, and was rapidly
collecting an army and marching towards London. While the duke was
brooding at Paris over the fresh indignity put upon him by Richard,
who had sent the Earl of Salisbury to break off the match with Marie,
Countess of Eu, daughter of the Duke of Berri, the exiled Archbishop of
Canterbury arrived, bringing him the news of Richard's departure for
Ireland, and the desire of the people of London for his arrival. To
elude the vigilance of the French court, he obtained permission to visit
the Duke of Brittany, and he speedily set sail from Vannes for England.
Three small vessels carried the whole of his invading army--namely, the
archbishop, the son of the late Earl of Arundel, fifteen lancers, and a
few servants. But he had full reliance on the spirit which then animated
all England. He was quickly joined by the Earls of Westmoreland and
Northumberland, to whom he declared, in the White Friars at Doncaster,
that he came only to reclaim the honours and estates of his father, which
were secured to him by the king himself by his letters patent, and he
swore to make no claim upon the crown.
His uncle, the Duke of York, as regent of the kingdom in the royal
absence, advanced to St. Albans ostensibly to oppose his progress; but it
could not be supposed that he was very hearty in the cause, after having
seen one brother murdered by the king, and the only son of the other,
the great John of Gaunt, expelled and thwarted by him. The favourites
of the king, the Earl of Wiltshire, Bussy, and Green, who were not only
members of the infamous council, but had been farmers and exactors of the
oppressive taxes, showed a prudent doubt of any sure protection from such
a champion as York. They had been appointed to wait on the young queen
at Wallingford, but they took flight, leaving her to fate, and fled to
Bristol, in expectation of meeting the king. York very soon took the same
direction, no doubt in the desire to resign, as soon as possible, his
responsibility into the hands of the king, for he felt that there was no
reliance on his army.
Thus he left the way open to the capital, and Lancaster advanced along
it with equal rapidity and success. On all the estates belonging to his
family he was received with rapture, and the people of London came out
to meet him, headed by the clergy, with addresses of congratulation and
offers of assistance. But he did not make much delay in the metropolis:
all was evidently his own there. He therefore made a rapid march after
his uncle, to prevent his union with the king's forces, should he
arrive, and he came up with him at Berkeley. After a friendly message
from Lancaster, York met him in the castle church, and the result of
their conference was that York joined his forces to those of Lancaster.
Probably he might believe that Lancaster sought only his just demand of
the enjoyment of his hereditary estates, which York had already avowed
that he would aid him in. But from that moment the cause of Richard was
betrayed, and his doom was sealed. York, on his authority as the king's
lieutenant, ordered Sir Peter Courtenay, the governor of Bristol Castle,
to open its gates; Sir Peter, protesting that he knew no authority but
the king's, yet submitted to the commands of York as regent. The next
morning, the three late members of the council and farmers of the taxes,
the Earl of Wiltshire, Bussy, and Green, were brought out and executed
without any trial. The people had clamoured loudly for their blood, and
were delighted at their deaths. The Duke of York took up his quarters at
Bristol, and Lancaster, who must have had full confidence in the adhesion
of his uncle, went on to Chester, where the people were most favourable
to the king, in order to secure the city.
Meanwhile Richard, having received this astounding news, prepared to
pass over with his army. From this resolution the Duke of Albemarle,
who played constantly into the hands of the queen's enemies, used every
endeavour to persuade him. At length it was determined that the Earl of
Salisbury should sail with his own retainers, only 100 men, and endeavour
to raise the inhabitants of Wales, Richard promising to follow in a week.
[Illustration: THE TOWER OF LONDON: THE WHITE TOWER.]
Salisbury was successful. The men of both Wales and Cheshire flocked
to the king's standard, and the earl looked impatiently for the king's
arrival. But no Richard appeared; and it was not till nearly three
weeks from Salisbury's setting out that Richard came, with the Dukes of
Albemarle, Exeter, and Surrey, the Earl of Worcester, the Bishops of
London, Lincoln, and Carlisle--plenty of noblemen but hardly any soldiers.
Scarcely had they landed, when the most general disaffection showed
itself. The news of the Duke of York having joined Lancaster was fatal;
and Richard, looking out of his window on the second morning after his
arrival at Milford Haven, saw that his army had vanished. A council
was instantly held in the greatest consternation. Some counselled the
king to retire to his French provinces; but his evil genius, the Duke
of Exeter, the quondam murderer, John Holland, strongly urged him to
hasten on to Conway, where the Earl of Salisbury lay. If they could not
make a stand there, they could still put out to sea for Guienne. This
advice prevailed; but such was the confused state of the royal councils
that, instead of advancing there in a small but compact body, the king,
disguised as a Franciscan friar, stole out of the camp at midnight,
and, accompanied by his two half-brothers, Exeter and Surrey, the Earl
of Gloucester, the Bishop of Carlisle, and a few other attendants, made
their way towards Conway. As soon as their departure was known, the
military chest was plundered, and Albemarle, Worcester, and most of the
leaders, hastened to Lancaster, the rest dispersing to their own counties
as best they might, insulted and robbed on their way by the Welsh.
[Illustration: CONWAY CASTLE.]
Still more overwhelming news met the fugitive king on reaching Conway.
Instead of a fine army, there lay Salisbury with only 100 men, and
destitute of all provisions. While Richard had delayed his coming,
adverse influences had been brought to bear on Salisbury's host;
disheartening rumours were circulated amongst the troops, and, in spite
of Salisbury's tears and entreaties, they rapidly dispersed.
In this deplorable situation the mind of the king seems to have lost all
its wonted courage. He sent his two half-brothers, the Dukes of Surrey
and Exeter, to his haughty rival to ask what were his intentions. They
could very easily be divined. Richard was wholly in his power, and it was
not in the nature of Lancaster to let pass so tempting an opportunity
of seizing a crown. While the two emissaries went on their mission, the
king and Salisbury examined the castles of Beaumaris and Carnarvon, but,
finding only bare walls, they returned dejected to Conway. Meantime
Surrey and Exeter were admitted to the presence of Lancaster at Chester,
who at once detained them as prisoners. Here was already the traitor
Albemarle, who was so gay that he could afford to taunt the fallen
kinsmen of the king.
Lancaster having carefully informed himself of the retreat of the king,
and that he had a considerable treasure deposited in the strong castle
of Holt, immediately despatched a body of troops to capture the money,
and another of 400 men-at-arms and 1,000 archers, under the Duke of
Northumberland, to secure the king. Northumberland marched into Flint,
and thence to Rhuddlan Castle, and about five miles beyond the latter
place left his detachment concealed behind a rock. He then rode forward
with only four attendants to Conway, where he was readily admitted to
the presence of the king, who was in the highest anxiety regarding
his brothers and the fate of their mission. The duke replied that his
brothers were quite well at Chester, and that he was himself despatched
with a letter to his Grace by the Duke of Exeter. In the letter Exeter
was instructed to say that Richard might put full confidence in the
offers made by Northumberland. These were that the said dukes, Exeter
and Surrey, the Earl of Salisbury, the Bishop of Carlisle, and Maudelin,
the king's chaplain, should take their trials for having advised the
murder of Gloucester; that Lancaster should be made justiciary of the
kingdom, as his ancestors had been before him; and, these terms being
conceded, the duke would wait on the king at Flint, to implore pardon,
and accompany him to London.
Richard, after consulting his friends, consented to the terms, but
secretly assured his adherents implicated that he would stand by them
steadfastly on their trial, and would take the first opportunity to be
avenged on his and their enemies; saying he would flay some of them alive
if he could, and that all the gold on earth should not induce him to
spare them. He insisted on Northumberland swearing on behalf of Lancaster
to the strict observance of the articles, and, "like Judas," says the
writer of the account, in the _Archæologia_, which we are following, "he
perjured himself on the body of our Lord"--that is he swore on the host.
Northumberland set out, Richard reminding him of his oath, and telling
him he relied upon him. He soon followed with a small company of friends
and servants. On coming to a turn of the road, Richard exclaimed, "God
of Paradise, assist me! I am betrayed! Do you not see pennons and
banners in the valley?" Northumberland with eleven others just then
came up, and pretended to be ignorant of any armed force near. "Earl of
Northumberland!" said Richard, "if I thought you capable of betraying me,
it is not too late to return!"
"You cannot return," said Northumberland, seizing Richard's bridle; "I
have promised to conduct you to the Duke of Lancaster." A body of lancers
and archers came hastening up, and Richard, seeing all hope of escape
gone by, exclaimed, "May the God on whom you laid your hand reward you
and your accomplices at the last day!"
They reached Flint Castle that evening, where Richard, when left alone
with his friends, vented the bitterness of his regret that he had
repeatedly spared Lancaster, when he so carefully destroyed other and far
less dangerous men. "Fool that I was!" he exclaimed; "thrice did I save
the life of this Henry of Lancaster. Once my dear uncle, his father, on
whom the Lord have mercy, would have put him to death for his treason and
villainy. God of Paradise! I rode all night to save him, and his father
delivered him to me to do with him as I pleased. How true is the saying
that we have no greater enemy than the man whom we have preserved from
the gallows! Another time he drew his sword on me, in the chamber of the
queen, on whom God have mercy! He was also the accomplice of the Duke of
Gloucester and the Earl of Arundel; he consented to my murder, to that of
his father, and of all my council. By St. John, I forgave him all; nor
would I believe his father, who more than once pronounced him deserving
of death."
The next morning the fallen king, after a sleepless night, ascended
the tower of the castle, and looked out anxiously for the approach of
Lancaster, who had agreed to meet him there; and anon he saw him coming
at the head of 80,000 men. This vast army came winding along the strand
to the castle, which it surrounded, and Richard beheld himself a captive
in the midst of his own subjects. At this sight, and the reflections it
occasioned, the once arbitrary monarch shuddered, and bewailed his fate.
He cursed Northumberland in impotent rage, but was soon called to meet
Archbishop Arundel, himself a rebel returned, without asking leave, from
banishment, the traitor Duke of Albemarle, and the Earl of Worcester.
They knelt in pretended homage, and Richard held a long conversation
with Arundel. When they were gone, Richard again ascended to the tower,
gazed on the great host of his revolted subjects, and feeling a dire
foreboding of his fate, said, "Good Lord God! I commend myself into Thy
holy keeping, and cry Thee mercy that Thou wouldst pardon all my sins. If
they put me to death, I will take it patiently, as Thou didst for us all."
At dinner there were only his few remaining adherents, and since they
were all companions in misfortune, Richard would insist on their sitting
down with him. While at their meal persons unknown came into the hall,
and insulted and menaced him; and no sooner did he rise than he was
summoned into the court to meet Lancaster.
The duke advanced to the king, clad in complete armour, but without
helmet, and, bending his knee, did obeisance with his cap in his hand.
"Fair cousin of Lancaster," said Richard, uncovering, "you are right
welcome." "My lord," replied Lancaster, "I am come somewhat before my
time, but I will show you the reason. Your people complain that for the
space of twenty or two-and-twenty years you have ruled them rigorously;
but, if it please God, I will help you to rule them better." The humbled
monarch replied, "Fair cousin, since it pleaseth you, it pleaseth us
well."
The king's horses were ordered, and they set forward at once for Chester,
amid a flourish of trumpets, Richard and the Earl of Salisbury riding
on tired and wretched animals. The duke came behind. At Chester, after
issuing writs in the king's name for a meeting of Parliament, Lancaster
dismissed a great part of his army, and set out for London. At Lichfield
Richard slipped unperceived out of his window, but was retaken in the
court, and was ever afterwards strictly guarded. On arriving at London,
Richard was sent to Westminster, and thence to the Tower, while the
hypocritical Lancaster went in solemn state to St. Paul's, and pretended
to weep awhile at the tomb of his father, while in his heart he was
congratulating himself on his successful treason. We have two conflicting
statements of the manner of Richard's entrance into London. Froissart
says that he was conducted secretly to the Tower for fear of the
Londoners, who had a great hatred of him; but other accounts accord with
that of Shakespeare, copied, no doubt, from the chronicles, which make
Lancaster conduct him thither in triumph.
Parliament met on the 29th of September to consider of the course to be
adopted: in other words, to carry out the will of Lancaster, and depose
Richard. It was clear that Richard had entirely lost the affections of
the people. They would never again receive him. His utter want of regard
for them; his continual exactions to waste their means on unworthy
favourites; the contempt he had all along expressed for the people, and
his severe treatment of them; his breach of all his oaths as a king; his
attempts to make himself absolute, and to rule by a junto, had made him
disliked and despised through the whole realm, but especially in the
metropolis. It is equally true that Lancaster was their favourite, and
that they would willingly accept him as king; and had he been content
to accept the crown as the popular gift, he would have had the highest
possible title to it, far beyond any hereditary plea. But Lancaster
disdained that only valid ground of right, and determined to claim it by
descent. Than this there could be nothing more palpably untenable, for
the Earl of March, the grandson of Lionel, Duke of Clarence, the third
son of Edward III., was the true heir.
As soon as Lancaster allowed it to be known that he did not really
content himself with being the reformer of the State, but aspired to
the crown, some of his chief supporters fell away; and amongst them the
Earl of Northumberland, who had been made to assure Richard of his just
treatment. This was a main reason for Lancaster dismissing a large part
of his army at Chester, including the followers of Northumberland.
The remaining transactions of this reign come to us chiefly through the
rolls of Parliament, penned under the direct influence of Lancaster,
and, therefore, are probably coloured as much as possible to favour his
own views, and cover his notorious usurpation. A deputation of prelates,
barons, knights, and lawyers waited on Richard in the Tower, and received
from him his resignation, which he was then said to have promised at
Conway, but which we know was not the fact. He was also in that document,
signed by him and presented by the deputies to Parliament, made to name,
by his own preference, Lancaster as his successor. Of course, all this he
was obliged to say.
The next day this act of resignation was read in full Parliament, and
there unanimously accepted, and received by the people with shouts of
applause. If Richard had thus voluntarily abdicated, there could be
no necessity for what immediately followed--a series of thirty-three
articles of impeachment in order to his deposition. The chief charges
contained in these were his violation of his coronation oath, his murder
of the Duke of Gloucester, and his despotic and unconstitutional conduct.
Of course, there was no opposition; but Merks, the Bishop of Carlisle,
who had remained faithful to Richard, and continued with him to the last,
stood boldly forward, claimed for him the right to be confronted with
his accusers, and urged that Parliament should have the opportunity of
judging whether his resignation were voluntary or not. Nothing could be
more reasonable, but nothing more inconvenient where all was settled
beforehand to one end; and the only answer which the high-minded prelate
received was his immediate arrest by Lancaster, and consignment to the
Abbey of St. Albans.
Richard was then formally deposed, with an acrimony of accusation which,
to say the least, if his resignation had been, as asserted, voluntary in
favour of Lancaster, was as ungracious as it was uncalled for. The chief
justice, Sir William Thirning, was deputed to notify this decision of
Parliament to the captive.
Lancaster, who had taken his seat during these proceedings near the
throne, then rising, and crossing himself on the forehead and breast,
pronounced the following words:--"In the name of Fadher, Son, and Holy
Ghost, I, Henry of Lancaster, challenge this rewme of Ynglonde and the
crowne, with all the members and appurtenances, als I that am descendit
be ryght lyne of the blode, cumyng fra the gude lord King Henry Thirde,
and throghe that ryght that God of His grace has sent me, with help of my
kyn and of my frendes to recover it; the whiche rewme was in poynt to be
ondone for defaut of governance, and undoying of the gude lawes."
This speech was one of those which have a sound of reason to the ear, but
will not bear a moment's examination. True, he was descended from Henry
III., like Edward III. and Richard, but not in the true line--that being,
as we have stated, the line of Lionel, and Henry being now not only the
usurper of Richard's throne, but of the Earl of March's reversion.
But the pretence was enough, and more than enough, for all who heard it.
They knew it was empty sound, and the real reasons for assent lay in
Lancaster's will, backed by a powerful army and a willing people.
Henry, as proof of Richard's having resigned his rights into his hands,
produced the ring and seal. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Arundel, his
late fellow-exile, now took him by the hand, and led him to the throne.
He knelt for a short time on the steps in prayer, or affected prayer; for
Lancaster, amid all his grasping at his neighbour's goods, was especially
careful to do outward homage to the great Being who had said, "Thou shalt
not covet." On rising, the two archbishops placed him on the throne; and,
as soon as the acclamations ceased, the primate made a short sermon,
choosing his text, with the finished tact of a priestly courtier, from 1
Samuel ix. 17:--"Behold the man whom I spake to thee of! this same shall
reign over my people;" and the sermon was worthy of the text.
Thus ended the reign of Richard II.; and, as with it ended also the
authority of Parliament and the ministers of the Crown, Lancaster
immediately summoned the Parliament to meet again in six days, appointed
new officers, and, having received their oaths, retired to the royal
palace.
The history of the progress of Parliamentary power in this reign is most
important. We find Parliament at various times asserting its authority,
calling on the Crown to reform its household, its courts of law, to
restrain its expenditure, and dismiss its servants. By its means the Duke
of Gloucester obtained his commission to regulate the administration,
and to impeach the prime minister, De la Pole, the Earl of Suffolk; and
though, during the latter years of his reign, Parliament, as in our time,
became corrupt and subservient, yet the people, assuming the exercise of
those powers which their delegates had basely surrendered, punished and
deposed the monarch whom they could not reform.
Richard was dethroned in the twenty-third year of his reign, and the
thirty-fourth of his age. We may anticipate the events related at greater
length in subsequent pages (see Chapter XXXIV.) to briefly sketch the
fate of the deposed king. Henry IV. submitted to the lords the question
what should be done with the late monarch, whose life, he declared, he
was at all events resolved to preserve. The lords recommended perpetual
confinement in some castle, where none of his former adherents could
obtain access to him. This advice was acted upon, and probably was first
suggested by Henry. Richard disappeared, and no one knew anything of his
place of detention. The King of France threatened war on behalf of the
rights of his daughter, Isabella, and his son-in-law, the deposed king.
To avert this storm Henry proposed to make various alliances between
the two royal families, including the marriage of the Prince of Wales
to a daughter of Charles. But the King of France rejected the proposal,
declaring that he knew no King of England but Richard. The French king,
however, received intelligence that Richard was dead, and therefore he
avowedly ceased to prosecute his claims, but confined himself to those
of his daughter, demanding that she should be restored to him, with her
jewels and her dowry, according to the marriage settlement. Charles
afterwards consented to receive her with her jewels only, counter claims
being set up against the dowry.
[Illustration: ARREST OF KING RICHARD. (_See p._ 482.)]
From the moment, however, that the public statement of Richard's death
was made by the King of France, the nation became inquisitive, and it
was not long before the dead body of the deposed monarch was brought
up from Pontefract Castle, and shown publicly in St. Paul's for two
days, where 20,000 people are said to have gone to see it. Only the
face was uncovered, and that was wonderfully emaciated. Various were
the rumours of the mode of his death on all these occasions, but, as in
the case of Richard's victim, the Duke of Gloucester, nothing certain
ever transpired. One story was that Sir Piers Exton, with seven other
assassins, entered his cell to despatch him, when Richard, aware of their
purpose, snatched an axe from one of them, and felled him and several of
his fellows to the earth; but that Exton, getting behind him, prostrated
him with one blow, and then slew him. Another story was that he starved
himself to death; and there were not wanting rumours that he had escaped,
and lived many years in the guise of an ordinary man. One thing is
quite certain; that the so-called Richard, who, as we shall see, was a
considerable source of anxiety to the new king, can have been nothing
but an arrant impostor. But Henry of Lancaster may be safely trusted to
secure his dangerous captive. The features of Richard were too well known
to thousands in London to be mistaken for those of the priest Maudelin,
whose body, it was pretended, had been substituted for Richard's. There
can be no doubt but that he died a secret and violent death; the mode of
that death must for ever remain a mystery. But the evidence would seem to
incline to the conclusion that he was starved to death by his keepers.