HENRY TAKEN INTO THE CARE OF RICHARD. -- DEATH OF JOHN OF GAUNT. --
HENRY KNIGHTED BY RICHARD IN IRELAND. -- HIS PERSON AND MANNERS. --
NEWS OF BOLINBROKE'S LANDING AND HOSTILE MEASURES REACHES
IRELAND.--INDECISION AND DELAY OF RICHARD. -- HE SHUTS UP HENRY AND
THE YOUNG DUKE OF GLOUCESTER IN TRYM CASTLE. -- REFLECTIONS ON THE
FATE OF THESE TWO COUSINS -- OF BOLINBROKE -- RICHARD -- AND THE
WIDOWED DUCHESS OF GLOUCESTER.
1398-1399.
The first years of Henry of Monmouth fall, in part at least, as we
have seen, within the province of conjecture rather than of authentic
history: and the facts for reasonable conjecture to work upon are much
more scanty with regard to this royal child, than we find to be the
case with many persons far less renowned, and still further removed
from our day. But from the date of his father's banishment, very few
months in any one year elapse without supplying some clue, which
enables us to trace him step by step through the whole career of his
eventful life, to the very last day and hour of his mortal existence.
His father's exile dates from October 13, 1398, when Henry had just
concluded his eleventh year. Whether up to that time he had been (p. 033)
living chiefly in his father's house, or with his grandfather John of
Gaunt, or with his maternal grandmother, or with his uncle Henry
Beaufort either at Oxford or elsewhere, we have no positive evidence.
John of Gaunt did not die till the 3rd of the following February, and
he would, doubtless, have taken his grandson under his especial care,
at all events on his father's banishment, probably assigning Henry
Beaufort to be his tutor and governor. But when Richard sentenced
Henry of Bolinbroke, he was too sensible of his own injustice, and too
much alive, in this instance at least, to his own danger, to suffer
Henry of Monmouth to remain at large. One of the most ancient, and
most widely adopted principles of tyranny, pronounces the man "to be a
fool, who when he makes away with a father, leaves the son in power to
avenge his parent's wrongs." Accordingly Richard took immediate
possession of the persons both of the son of the murdered Duke of
Gloucester, and of Henry of Monmouth, of whose relatives, as the
chroniclers say, he had reason to be especially afraid.
John of Gaunt, we may conclude, now disabled as he was, by those
infirmities[36] which hastened him to the grave[37] more rapidly than
the mere progress of calm decay, could exert no effectual means (p. 034)
either of sheltering his son from the unjust tyrant who sentenced him
to ten years banishment from his native land, or of rescuing his
grandson from the close custody of the same oppressor. Still the very
name of that renowned duke must have put some restraint upon his royal
nephew. The lion had yet life, and might put forth one dying effort,
if the oppression were carried past his endurance; and it might have
been thought well to let him linger and slumber on, till nature should
have struggled with him finally. We find, consequently, that though
before Bolinbroke's departure from England Richard had remitted four
years of his banishment, as a sort of peace-offering perhaps to John
of Gaunt, no sooner was that formidable person dead, than Richard,
throwing off all semblance of moderation, exiled Bolinbroke for life,
and seized and confiscated his property.[38]
[Footnote 36: See the Remains of Thomas Gascoyne, a
contemporary writer. Brit. Mus. 2 I. d. p. 530.]
[Footnote 37: John of Gaunt died on the 3rd of
February 1399, at the house of the Bishop of Ely in
Holborn. Will. Worc.]
[Footnote 38: Two candelabra which belonged to
Henry Duke of Lancaster, were presented by Richard
to the abbot and convent of Westminster, 30th June
1399.--Pell Rolls. He also granted to Catherine
Swynford, the late duke's widow, some of the
possessions which she had enjoyed before, but which
had fallen into the king's hands by the
confiscation of the present duke's property.--Pat.
22 Ric. II. Froissart expressly says, that Richard
confiscated Bolinbroke's estates, and divided them
among his own favourites. He acquaints us,
moreover, with an act of cruel persecution and
enmity on the part of Richard, which must have
rendered Bolinbroke's exile far more galling, and
have exasperated him far more bitterly against his
persecutor. Richard, says Froissart, sent Lord
Salisbury over to France on express purpose to
break off the contemplated marriage between
Bolinbroke and the daughter of the Duke of Berry,
in the presence of the French court calling him a
false and wicked traitor. Ed. 1574. Vol. iv. p.
290.]
Though Richard behaved towards Bolinbroke with such reckless (p. 035)
injustice, he does not appear to have been forgetful of his wants
during his exile. Within two months of the date of his banishment the
Pell Rolls record payment (14 November 1398) "of a thousand marks to
the Duke of Hereford, of the King's gift, for the aid and support of
himself, and the supply of his wants, on his retirement from England
to parts beyond the seas assigned for his sojourn." And on the 20th of
the following June payment is recorded of "1586_l._ 13_s._ 4_d._ part
of the 2000_l._ which the king had granted to him, to be advanced
annually at the usual times." But this was a poor compensation for the
honours and princely possessions of the Dukedom of Lancaster, and the
comforts of his home. No wonder if he were often found, as historians
tell, in deep depression of spirits, whilst he thought of "his four
brave boys, and two lovely daughters," now doubly orphans.
The plan of this work does not admit of any detailed enumeration of
the exactions, nor of any minute inquiry into the violence and
reckless tyranny of Richard. It cannot be doubted that a long series
of oppressive measures at this time alienated the affections of many
of his subjects, and exposed his person and his throne to the (p. 036)
attacks of proud and powerful, as well as injured and insulted
enemies. His conduct appears to evince little short of infatuation. He
was determined to act the part of a tyrant with a high hand, and he
defied the consequences of his rashness. He had stopped his ears to
sounds which must have warned him of dangers setting thick around him
from every side; and he had wilfully closed his eyes, and refused to
look towards the precipice whither he was every day hastening.[39] He
rushed on, despising the danger, till he fell once, and for ever. The
murder of the Duke of Gloucester, involving on the part of the king
one of the most base and cold-hearted pieces of treachery ever
recorded of any ruthless tyrant, had filled the whole realm with
indignation; and chroniclers do not hesitate to affirm that Richard
would have been then deposed and destroyed, had it not been for the
interposition of John of Gaunt; and now the eldest son of that very
man, who alone had sheltered him from his people's vengeance, Richard
banishes for ever without cause, confiscating his princely estates,
and pursuing him with bitter and insulting vengeance even in his
exile.
[Footnote 39: The chroniclers give us an idea of
expense in Richard both about his person, his
houses, and his presents, which exceeds belief.
Both the Monk of Evesham and the author of the
Sloane Manuscript speak of a single robe which cost
thirty thousand marks.]
If his own reason had not warned him beforehand against such (p. 037)
self-destroying acts of iniquity and violence, yet the signs of the
popular feeling which followed them, would have recalled any but an
infatuated man to a sense of the danger into which he was plunging.
When Henry of Bolinbroke left London for his exile, forty thousand
persons are said to have been in the streets lamenting his fate; and
the mayor, accompanied by a large body of the higher class of
citizens, attended him on his way as far as Dartford; and some never
left him till they saw him embark at Dover.[40] But to all these clear
and strong indications of the tone and temper of his subjects, Richard
was obstinately blind and deaf. If he heard and saw them, he hardened
himself against the only practical influence which they were
calculated to produce. Setting the approaching political storm, and
every moral peril, at defiance, he quitted England just as though he
were leaving behind him contented and devoted subjects.
[Footnote 40: Froissart tells us that Bolinbroke
was much beloved in London. He represents also his
reception in France to have been most cordial;
every city opening its gates to welcome him.--See
Froissart, vol. iv. p. 280.]
Having assigned Wallingford Castle for the residence of his Queen
Isabel, he departed for Ireland about the 18th of May; but did not set
sail from Milford Haven till the 29th; he reached Waterford on the
last day of the month. Though Richard[41] was prompted solely by (p. 038)
reasons of policy and by a regard to his own safety to take with him
to Ireland Henry of Monmouth, (together with Humphrey, son of the
murdered Duke of Gloucester,) we should do him great injustice were we
to suppose that he treated him as an enemy.[42] On the contrary, we
have reason to believe that he behaved towards him with great kindness
and respect.[43]
[Footnote 41: Froissart says that Richard sent
expressly both to Northumberland and Hotspur,
requiring their attendance in his expedition to
Ireland; that they both refused; and that he
banished them the realm. Vol. iv. p. 295.]
[Footnote 42: March 5, 1399, the Pell Rolls record
the payment of "10_l._ to Henry, son of the Duke of
Hereford, in part payment of 500_l._ yearly, which
our present lord the King has granted to be paid
him at the Exchequer during pleasure." Twenty
pounds also were paid to him on the 21st of the
preceding February.]
[Footnote 43: Whether as a measure of security, or
on a principle of kind considerateness for Henry of
Monmouth, when Richard left England he took with
him Henry Beaufort, (Pat. p. 3. 22 Ric. II, n.
11.): though it is curious to remark that when on
his return to England he left Henry of Monmouth in
Trym Castle, we find Henry Beaufort in the company
of Richard.]
About midsummer the king advanced towards the country and strong-holds
of Macmore, his most formidable antagonist. On the opening of that
campaign he conferred upon young Henry the order of knighthood;[44]
and wishing to signalize this mark of the royal favour with unusual
celebrity, he conferred on that day the same distinction (expressly
in honour of Henry) upon ten others his companions in arms. The (p. 039)
particulars of this transaction, and the details of the entire
campaign against the Wild Irish, as they were called, are recorded in
a metrical history by a Frenchman named Creton, who was an eye-witness
of the whole affair. This gentleman had accepted the invitation of a
countryman of his own, a knight, to accompany him to England. On their
arrival in London they found the king himself in the very act of
starting for Ireland, and thither they went in his company as
amateurs.
[Footnote 44: In 1379, his grandfather John of
Gaunt required aid of his tenants towards making
his eldest son, Henry of Bolinbroke, a knight.]
This writer thus describes[45] the courteous act and pledge of
friendship bestowed by Richard on his youthful companion and prisoner,
recording, with some interesting circumstances, the very words of
knightly and royal admonition with which the distinguished honour was
conferred. "Early on a summer's morning, the vigil of St. John, the
King marched directly to Macmore[46], who would neither submit, (p. 040)
nor obey him in any way, but affirmed that he was himself the rightful
king of Ireland, and that he would never cease from war and the
defence of his country till death. Then the King prepared to go into
the depths of the deserts in search of him. For his abode is in the
woods, where he is accustomed to dwell at all seasons; and he had with
him, according to report, 3000 hardy men. Wilder people I never saw;
they did not appear to be much dismayed at the English. The whole host
were assembled at the entrance of the deep woods; and every one put
himself right well in his array: for it was thought for the time that
we should have battle; but I know that the Irish did not show
themselves on this occasion. Orders were then given by the King that
every thing around should be set fire to. Many a village and house
were then consumed. While this was going on, the King, who bears
leopards in his arms, caused a space to be cleared on all sides, and
pennon and standards to be quickly hoisted. Afterwards, out of true
and entire affection, he sent for the son of the Duke of Lancaster, a
_fair young and handsome bachelor_,[47] and knighted him, saying, 'My
fair cousin, henceforth be gallant and bold, for, unless you conquer,
you will have little name for valour.' And for his greater honour and
satisfaction, to the end that it might be better imprinted on his
memory, he made eight or ten other knights; but indeed I do not (p. 041)
know what their names were, for I took little heed about the matter,
seeing that melancholy, uneasiness and care had formed, and altogether
chosen my heart for their abode, and anxiety had dispossessed me of
joy."
[Footnote 45: M. Creton's Metrical History is
translated from a beautifully illuminated copy, in
the British Museum, by the Rev. John Webb, who has
enriched it with many valuable notes and
dissertations, historical, biographical, &c. It
forms part of the twentieth volume of the
Archæologia. M. Creton confesses himself to have
been thrown into a terrible panic on the approach
of danger, more than once: and probably he was in
higher esteem in the hall among the guests for his
minstrelsy and song, than in the battle-field for
his prowess.]
[Footnote 46: The sons of this Irish chief,
Macmore, or Macmorgh, or Mac Murchard, were
hostages in England, May 3, 1399.--Pell Rolls.]
[Footnote 47: The term _bachelor_ signified, in the
language of chivalry, a young gentleman not yet
knighted.]
The English suffered much from hunger and fatigue during this
expedition in search of the archrebel, and after many fruitless
attempts to reduce him, reached Dublin, where all their sufferings
were forgotten in the plenty and pleasures of that "good city."
* * * * *
The day on which Richard conferred upon Henry so distinguished a mark
of his regard and friendship, offering the first occasion on which any
reference is made to his personal appearance and bodily constitution,
the present may, perhaps, be deemed an appropriate place for recording
what we may have been able to glean in that department of biographical
memoir with which few, probably, are inclined to dispense.
M. Creton, in his account of this memorable knighthood, represents
Henry as "a handsome young bachelor," then in his twelfth year; and
very little further, of a specific character, is recorded by his
immediate contemporaries. The chroniclers next in succession describe
him as a man of "a spare make, tall, and well-proportioned,"
"exceeding," says Stow, "the ordinary stature of men;" beautiful (p. 042)
of visage, his bones small: nevertheless he was of marvellous strength,
pliant and passing swift of limb; and so trained was he to feats of
agility by discipline and exercise, that with one or two of his lords
he could, on foot, readily give chase to a deer without hounds, bow,
or sling, and catch the fleetest of the herd. By the period of his
early youth he must have outgrown the weakness and sickliness of his
childhood, or he could never have endured the fatigues of body and
mind to which he was exposed through his almost incessant campaigns
from his fourteenth to his twentieth year. These hardships, nevertheless,
may have been all the while sowing the seeds of that fatal disease
which at the last carried him so prematurely from the labours, and
vexations, and honours of this world.[48]
[Footnote 48: Fuller, in his Church History, thus
speaks of him, mingling with his description,
however, the verification of the proverb, "An ill
youth may make a good man," a maxim far less true
(though far more popular) than one of at least
equally remote origin, "Like sapling, like oak." He
was "one of a strong and active body, neither
shrinking in cold nor slothful in heat, going
commonly with his head uncovered; the wearing of
armour was no more cumbersome to him than a cloak.
He never shrunk at a wound, nor turned away his
nose for ill savour, nor closed his eyes for smoke
or dust; in diet, none less dainty or more
moderate; his sleep very short, but sound;
fortunate in fight, and commendable in all his
actions."]
With regard to his habits of social intercourse, his powers of
conversation, the disposition and bent of his mind when he mingled (p. 043)
with others, whether in the seasons of public business, or the more
private hours of retirement and relaxation, (whilst the never-ending
tales of his dissipation among his unthrifty reckless playmates are
reserved for a separate inquiry,) a few words only will suffice in
this place. In addition to the testimony of later authors, the records
of contemporaneous antiquity, sometimes by direct allusion to him,
sometimes incidentally and as it were undesignedly, lead us to infer
that he was a distinguished example of affability and courteousness;
still not usually a man of many words; clear in his own conception of
the subject of conversation or debate, and ready in conveying it to
others, yet peculiarly modest and unassuming in maintaining his
opinion, listening with so natural an ease and deference, and kindness
to the sentiments and remarks and arguments of others, as to draw into
a close and warm personal attachment to himself those who had the
happiness to be on terms of familiarity with him. Certainly the
unanimous voice of Parliament ascribed to him, when engaged in the
deeper and graver discussions involving the interests and welfare of
the state, qualities corresponding in every particular with these
representations of individual chroniclers. The glowing, living
language of Shakspeare seems only to have recommended by becoming and
graceful ornament, what had its existence really and substantially in
truth.
Hear him but reason in divinity, (p. 044)
And, all-admiring, with an inward wish
You would desire the King were made a prelate:
Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs,
You would say, it hath been all-in-all his study:
List his discourse in war, and you shall hear
A fearful battle render'd you in music:
Turn him to any cause of policy,
The Gordian knot of it he will unloose,
Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks,
The air, a charter'd libertine, is still,
And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears,
To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences.
Soon after Richard reached Dublin, the Duke of Albemarle, Constable of
England, arrived with a large fleet, and with forces all ready for a
campaign: but he came too late for any good purpose, and better had it
been for Richard had he never come at all. His advice was the king's
ruin. Richard with his army passed full six weeks in Dublin, in the
free enjoyment of ease and pleasure, altogether ignorant of the
terrible reverse which awaited him. In consequence of the
uninterrupted prevalence of adverse winds, his self-indulgence was
undisturbed by the news which the first change of weather was destined
to bring. Through the whole of this momentous crisis the weather was
so boisterous that no vessel dared to brave the tempest. On the return
of a quiet sea, a barge arrived at Dublin upon a Saturday, laden with
the appalling tidings that Henry, Duke of Lancaster, had returned from
exile and was carrying all before him; supported by Richard's (p. 045)
most powerful subjects, now in open rebellion against his authority;
and encouraged by the Archbishop, who in the Pope's name preached
plenary absolution and a place in paradise to all who would assist the
duke to recover his just rights from his unjust sovereign. The King
grew pale at this news, and instantly resolved to return to England on
the Monday following. But the Duke of Albemarle advised that unhappy
monarch, fatally for his interests, to remain in Ireland till his
whole navy could be gathered; and in the mean time[49] to send over
the Earl of Salisbury. That nobleman departed forthwith, (Richard
solemnly promising to put to sea in six days,) and landed at Conway,
"the strongest and fairest town in Wales."
[Footnote 49: M. Creton, the author of the Metrical
History, acceded to the earnest request of the Earl
of Salisbury to accompany him, for the sake of his
minstrelsy and song. From the day of his departure
from Dublin his knowledge of public affairs, as far
as they are immediately connected with Henry of
Monmouth, ceases almost, if not altogether. He must
no longer be followed implicitly; whatever he
relates of the intervening circumstances till
Richard himself came to Conway, he must have
derived from hearsay. In one circumstance too
afterwards he must have been mistaken, when he says
the Duke of Lancaster committed Richard at Chester
to the safe keeping of _the son of the Duke of
Gloucester_ and the son of the Earl of Arundel, at
least if Humfrey be the young man he means. Stow
and others follow him here, but, as it should seem,
unadvisedly.]
Either before the Earl of Salisbury's departure, or as is the more
probable, towards the last of those eighteen days through which (p. 046)
afterwards, to the ruin of his cause, Richard wasted his time (the
only time left him) in Ireland, he sent for Henry of Monmouth, and
upbraided him with his father's treason. Otterbourne minutely records
the conversation which is said then to have passed between them.
"Henry, my child," said the King, "see what your father has done to
me. He has actually invaded my land as an enemy, and, as if in regular
warfare, has taken captive and put to death my liege subjects without
mercy and pity. Indeed, child, for you individually I am very sorry,
because for this unhappy proceeding of your father you must perhaps be
deprived of your inheritance." 'To whom Henry, though a boy, replied
in no boyish manner,' "In truth, my gracious king and lord, I am
sincerely grieved by these tidings; and, as I conceive, you are fully
assured of my innocence in this proceeding of my father."--"I know,"
replied the King, "that the crime which your father has perpetrated
does not attach at all to you; and therefore I hold you excused of it
altogether."
Soon after this interview the unfortunate Richard set off from Dublin
to return to his kingdom, which was now passing rapidly into other
hands: but his two youthful captives, Henry of Monmouth, and Humfrey,
son of the late Duke of Gloucester, he caused to be shut up in the
safe keeping of the castle of Trym.[50] From that day, which must have
been somewhere about the 20th of August, till the following (p. 047)
October,[51] when he was created Prince of Wales in a full assembly of
the nobles and commons of England, we have no direct mention made of
Henry of Monmouth. That much of the intervening time was a season of
doubt and anxiety and distress to him, we have every reason to
believe. Though he had been previously detained as a hostage, yet he
had been treated with great kindness; and Richard, probably inspiring
him with feelings of confidence and attachment towards himself, had
led him to forget his father's enemy and oppressor in his own personal
benefactor and friend. Richard had now left him and his cousin (a
youth doubly related to him) as prisoners in a solitary castle far
from their friends, and in the custody of men at whose hands they
could not anticipate what treatment they might receive. How long they
remained in this state of close and, as they might well deem it,
perilous confinement, we do not learn. Probably the Duke of Lancaster,
on hearing of Richard's departure from Dublin, sent off immediately to
release the two captive youths; or at the latest, as soon as he had
the unhappy king within his power. On the one hand it may be (p. 048)
argued that had Henry of Monmouth joined his father before the
cavalcade reached London, so remarkable a circumstance would have been
noticed by the French author, who accompanied them the whole way. On
the other hand we learn from the Pell Rolls that a ship was sent from
Chester to conduct him to London, though the payment of a debt does
not fix the date at which it was incurred.[52] We may be assured no
time was lost by the Duke, by those whom he employed, or by his son;
at all events that Henry was restored to his father at Chester (a
circumstance which would be implied had Richard there been consigned
to the custody of young Humphrey), is not at all in evidence. The far
more reasonable inference from what is recorded is, that Humphrey, his
young fellow-prisoner and companion, and near relative and friend, was
snatched from him by sudden death at the very time when Providence
seemed to have opened to him a joyous return to liberty and to his
widowed mother. There is no reason to doubt that the news of Richard's
captivity, and the Duke of Lancaster's success, reached the two
friends whilst prisoners in Trym Castle; nor that they were both
released, and embarked together for England. Where they were when (p. 049)
the hand of death separated them is not certainly known. The general
tradition is, that poor Humphrey had no sooner left the Irish coast
than he was seized by a fever, or by the plague, which carried him off
before the ship could reach England. But whether he landed or not,
whether he had joined the Duke or not before the fatal malady attacked
him, there is no doubt that his death followed hard upon his release.
His mother, the widowed duchess of his murdered father, who had
moreover never been allowed the solace of her child's company, now
bereft of husband and son, could bear up against her affliction no
longer. On hearing of her desolate state, excessive grief overwhelmed
her; and she fell sick and died.[53]
[Footnote 50: The castle of Trym, though described
by Walsingham as a strong fort, was in so
dilapidated a state, that, in 1402, the council, in
taking the King's pleasure about its repairs,
represent it as on the point of falling into
ruins.]
[Footnote 51: M. Creton expressly states that Henry
IV. made Henry of Monmouth Prince of Wales on the
day of his election to the throne, the first
Wednesday in October; but in this he is not borne
out by authority.]
[Footnote 52: 1401, March 5, "To Henry Dryhurst of
West Chester, payment for the freightage of a ship
to Dublin: also for sailing to the same place and
back again, to conduct the lord the Prince, the
King's son, from Ireland to England; together with
the furniture of a chapel and ornaments of the
same, which belonged to King Richard."]
[Footnote 53: Her death took place on the 3rd
October 1399, four days after the accession of
Henry IV. On the 6th of the preceding May the Pell
Rolls record payment of the residue of 155_l._
11_s._ 8_d._ to Alianore de Bohun, Duchess of
Gloucester, for the maintenance of a master, twelve
chaplains, and eight clerks, appointed to perform
divine service in the College of Plecy.]
It is impossible to contemplate these two youthful relatives setting
out from the prison doors full of joy, and happy auguries, and mutual
congratulations, in health and spirits, panting for their dearest
friends,--one going to a princedom, and a throne, and a brilliant
career of victories, the other to disease and death,--without being
impressed with the wonderful acts of an inscrutable Providence, with
the ignorance and weakness of man, and with the resistless will (p. 050)
of the merciful Ruler of man's destinies. Even had young Humphrey
foreseen his dissolution, then so nigh at hand, as the gates of Trym
Castle opened for their release, he might well have addressed his
companion in words once used by the prince of Grecian philosophers at
the close of his defence before the court who condemned him. "And now
we are going, I indeed to death, you to life; to which of the two is
the better fate assigned is known only to God!"[54]
[Footnote 54: Socrates, in his Defence before his
Judges.]
Since this page was first written, the Author has been led to examine
the Pell Rolls;[55] and he is induced to confess that, independently
of the full confirmation afforded by those original documents to
numberless facts referred to in these Memoirs, many an interesting
train of thought is suggested by the inspection of them. The bare and
dry entries of one single roll at the period now under consideration,
bring with them to his mind associations of a truly affecting,
serious, and solemn character. The very last roll of Richard II. by
the merest details of expenditure records the payment of sums made by
that unhappy monarch to Bolinbroke, then in exile, expatriated by his
unjust and wanton decree; to Humphrey, the orphan son of the late (p. 051)
murdered Duke of Gloucester; to Henry of Monmouth his cousin, both
then in Richard's safe keeping; and to Eleanor, the widowed mother of
Humphrey, and maternal aunt of Henry. Can any event paint in deeper
and stronger colouring the vicissitudes and reverses of mortality,
"the changes and chances" of our life on earth? Before the scribe had
filled the next half-year's roll, (now lying with it side by side, and
speaking like a monitor from the grave to high and low, rich and poor,
prince and peasant alike,)--of those five persons, Richard had lost
both his crown and his life; Bolinbroke had mounted the throne from
which Richard had fallen; Henry of Monmouth had been created Prince of
Wales, and was hailed as heir apparent to that throne; his cousin
Humphrey, once the companion of his imprisonment, and the sharer of
his anticipations of good or ill, had been carried off from this world
by death at the very time of his release; and the broken-hearted
Eleanor, (the root and the branch of her happiness now gone for ever,)
unable to bear up against her sorrows, had sunk under their weight
into her grave![56]
[Footnote 55: May 2nd & 6th, 1399, payments are
recorded to both these boys of different sums to
purchase dresses, and coat-armour, &c. preparatory
to their voyage to Ireland in company with the
King.]
[Footnote 56: Perhaps the sentiments of this
afflicted noble lady's will may be little more than
words of course; but, coming from her as they did a
few days only before the news of her son's death
paralyzed her whole frame, they appear peculiarly
appropriate: "Observing and considering the
mischances and uncertainties of this changeable and
transitory world." The will bears date August 9,
1399.]