unto the people, 'In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, I,
Henry of Lancaster, claim the realme of Englande and the crowne, as that
I am dyscended by righte lyne of bloode from that good Lord King Henry
III." Moreover, he proceeded to make clear, Richard had resigned the
crown into his hands, and he had also won it by right of conquest.
Then the Archbishop asked the assembly if they would have Henry for
king, to which with one voice they answered "Ye, ye, ye," and after that
the Archbishop led Henry to the king's throne and set him thereon with
great reverence, making to him a long "oryson" from the words, "When I
was a child, I spake as a child; but at the time when I came unto the
state of a man, I put away childish things."
"A chylde," he said, "will lyghtly promise and as lyghtly brake his
promise, doing all thinges that his fancye giveth him unto, and
forgettinge lyghtly what he hath done. By which reason it followyth
that great inconvenyence must fall to that people a chylde is ruler and
governour of. But now we ought all to rejoyse that a man and not a
chylde shall have lordeshype over us, a man that shall govern the people
by skylful doyngs, settyne apart wylfulnesse and all pleasure of
himself."
And the people answered "Amen" with great gladness; they clapped their
hands for joy and did homage to the new king, while the coronation was
fixed for the 13th of October, the Feast of St. Edward.
Froissart has left us a vivid account of that great day, which you shall
have in his words.
"On the Saturday before the coronation, the new king went from
Westminster to the Tower attended by great numbers, and those squires
who were to be knighted watched their arms that night. They amounted to
forty-six, and each squire had his chamber and his bath in which he
bathed. The ensuing day, the Duke of Lancaster, after mass, created
them knights, and presented them with long green coats with straight
sleeves. After dinner on this Sunday, the Duke left the Tower on his
return to Westminster; he was bareheaded, and there were of nobility
from eight to nine hundred horse in the procession. The Duke was
dressed in a jacket of cloth of gold, mounted on a white courser, with a
blue garter on his left leg. The same night the king bathed himself,
and on the morrow confessed himself and heard three masses. The
prelates and clergy who had assembled, then came in a large procession
from Westminster Abbey to conduct the king thither, and returned in the
same manner, the king and nobles following. The dukes, earls, and barons
wore long scarlet robes, with mantles trimmed with ermine and large
hoods of the same. The dukes and earls had three bars of ermine on the
left arm, the barons but two. On each side of the king were carried the
sword of mercy and the sword of justice, and the Marshal of England
carried the sceptre.
"The procession entered the church about nine o'clock, in the middle of
which was erected a scaffold covered with crimson cloth, and in the
centre a royal throne of cloth of gold. When the Duke entered the
church, he seated himself upon the throne, and was thus in royal state,
except having the crown on his head.
"The Archbishop of Canterbury proclaimed how God had given them a man
for their lord and sovereign, and then asked the people if they were
consenting to his being consecrated and crowned king. They unanimously
shouted out Ay.
"After this the Duke descended from the throne, and advanced to the
altar to be consecrated. He was anointed in six places, and while this
was doing the clergy chanted a litany that is performed at the hallowing
of a font.
"The king was now dressed in churchman's clothes, and they put on him
crimson shoes. Then they added spurs; the sword of justice was drawn,
blest, and delivered to the king, who put it into the scabbard. The
crown of St. Edward, which is arched over like a cross, was then brought
and blessed, and put on the king's head by the Archbishop.
"When mass was over, the king left the Abbey and returned to the Palace,
and went first to his apartment, then returned to the Hall to dinner.
"At the first table sat the king; at the second, five great peers of
England; at the third, the principal citizens of London; at the fourth,
the new created knights; at the fifth, all knights and squires of
honour. And the king was served by the Prince of Wales, who carried the
sword of mercy.
"When dinner was half over, a knight of the name of Dymock entered the
Hall completely armed, mounted on a handsome steed. The knight was
armed for wager of battle, and was preceded by another knight bearing
his lance; he himself had his drawn sword in one hand and a naked dagger
at his side. The knight presented the king with a written paper, the
contents of which were, that if any knight or gentleman would dare
maintain that King Henry was not the lawful sovereign, he was ready to
offer him combat in the presence of the king, when and where he would.
"After King Henry had dined and partaken of wines and spices, he retired
to his private apartments, and all the company went. Thus passed the
Coronation Day of King Henry, who remained that and the ensuing day at
the Palace of Westminster."
But though Henry was thus firmly set on the throne by the will of
Parliament, he knew full well that he was not the lawful heir while the
Earl of March, the descendant of John of Gaunt's elder brother, was
alive, and this fact put him very much at the mercy of his Parliament
throughout his reign. He was there by the will of Parliament, and
therefore, according to their will he must act. His was a troubled,
anxious rule; for rebellions broke out in many different parts of the
country, and Henry never felt really secure.
With Westminster he had little to do, save at the beginning and end of
his reign, and he has left no memorial of himself in the building. Yet
he is the one king who died within the Abbey walls.
To ease his conscience, he had resolved to make a pilgrimage to the
sepulchre of the Lord at Jerusalem, and this in spite of the fact that
he was suffering from a grave disease.
"Galleys of warre" were made ready for the expedition, and the king came
to Westminster, both to meet his Parliament and to pray in the shrine of
Edward for the blessing and protection of that saint, though he firmly
believed an old prophecy that he should die in Jerusalem would be now
fulfilled.
While kneeling in the shrine, he became so ill that those about him
thought he would die in that place. But with difficulty they moved him
to the fine chamber in the Abbot's house, carrying him on a litter
through the cloisters, and "there they laid him before the fire on a
pallet, he being in great agony for a certain time."
At last, when he came to himself, he asked where he was, and when this
had been told him, he inquired if the chamber had any special name.
He was told its name was Jerusalem.
"Then sayd the Kynge: Laud be to the Father of Heaven, for nowe I knowe
I shall dye in this chamber, accordynge to ye propheseye of me
aforesayde, that I should dye in Jerusalem."
So, in that dark tapestried room, the king, lying there in his royal
robes, just as he had come from doing honour to St. Edward, made himself
ready to die. His son, Prince Harry, was with him, though between the
two there had been many a misunderstanding and quarrel during the last
few years; and Shakespeare, taking his facts from the French chronicler,
tells how Henry lay there unconscious, his crown on a pillow at his
side, and at last seemed to breathe no more. Whereupon the attendants,
believing him to be dead, covered over his face, and Prince Harry first
held the crown in his hands, then set it on his own head.
This very act seemed to call the dying king back to life, for he
groaned, came to himself, and missed the crown.
"What right have you to it, my son?" he asked reproachfully.
The Prince made answer: "My lord, as you have held it by the right of
your sword, it is my intent to hold and defend the same during my life."
To which replied the king: "I leave all things to God, and pray that He
will have mercy upon me."
And thus saying he died.
But the English chroniclers give another picture of the Prince, and
describe him sobered and awestruck in the presence of Death, kneeling at
his father's side as the priest administered the Holy Sacrament,
tenderly recalling his wandering mind and saying--
"My lord, he has just consecrated the Body of the Lord Christ: I entreat
you to worship Him, by whom kings reign and princes rule."
Then the king raised himself up to receive the cup, blessed his son,
kissed him, and died.
Prince Harry wept distractedly, full of remorse as he thought of all the
follies and mistakes of his past life, which had so added to the sorrows
of the dead king. But all that was good and great in him came to the
front now. Alone, in a little chapel inside the Abbey, he passed the
rest of that day, kneeling in utter humility before the King of kings,
praying for pardon, for peace, and for strength. "Then, when the shades
of night had fallen upon the face of the earth, the tearful Prince in
the darkness went to the Anchorite of Westminster (whose stone cell lay
on the south side of the infirmary cloister), and unfolding to this
perfect man the secrets of his life, being washed in penitence, he
received absolution, and putting off the cloak of iniquity, he returned
garbed in the mantle of virtue." Nor was this sudden change the impulse
of a moment, for "Henry, after he was admitted to the rule of the land,
showed himself a new man, and tourned all his wyldness into sobernesse,
wyse sadnesse and constant virtue."
The king, at his own wish, was buried at Canterbury by the side of the
Black Prince; some chroniclers say, because he trembled at the thought
of lying near Richard's tomb in the Confessor's Chapel; and nothing
disturbed the peace of the Abbey till the following spring, when on
Passion Sunday, "a daye of exceedinge rayne and snow," Henry V. was
crowned.
His first act as king was to give King Richard an honourable burial in
the tomb he had chosen, to order that tapers should burn around his
grave "as long as the world endureth," and that dirges and masses should
be said for his soul. Then he concerned himself with the building which
had stood still throughout his father's reign, and he made as his chief
architect the wealthy and generous Whittington, now Lord Mayor of
London--possibly the hero of the old story--with a monk of Westminster
named Haweden. To those two was entrusted the work of completing the
nave and all the western part of the Abbey.
Henry was brave and adventurous, the nobles were longing for war, and
France, at that moment divided against itself, almost invited attack.
The old pretext did well enough; Henry laid claim to the throne of
France and invaded the land, scorning all idea of compromise. Disease
attacked his army, so that when he came face to face with his foe he had
but 15,000 men to their 50,000. But his courage rose to the crisis, and
when one of his knights sighed for the thousands of brave warriors in
England, he said warmly--
"I would not have a single man more. If God give us the victory, it
will be plain we owe it to His grace."
And the battle there fought and won was the great battle of Agincourt,
the victory once again of the English archers. Henry had always been
loved by the nation, now he became their hero and their darling.
"Oh, when shall Englishmen
With such acts fill a pen,
Or England breed again
Such a King Harry?"
The news of the triumph was quickly sent to London by a special
messenger, and the Mayor, with the commonalty and an immense number of
citizens, set out on foot to make their pilgrimage to St. Edward's
shrine, there to offer devout thanksgiving for the joyful news.
And to this procession there joined themselves very many lords and peers
of the realm, with the substantial men, both spiritual and temporal, for
all knew that thanksgiving was due unto God, and to Edward, the glorious
Confessor. Therefore went they like pilgrims on foot to Westminster, as
aforesaid, passing through the newly built nave.
Later on, when Henry made his triumphant entry into London as the victor
of Agincourt, "the gates and streets of the cities were garnished and
apparelled with precious cloths of arras, containing the victories and
triumphs of the king of England, which was done to the intent that the
king might understand what remembrance his people would leave to their
posterity of these, his great victories and triumphs."
But the king would not have any ditties to be sung of his victory, for
he said the glory belonged to God, and the hymn of praise he commanded
was a joyful _Te Deum_, which rang through the vaulted arches of the
Abbey, led by the monks, swelled by countless voices of brave
Englishmen. Nor would Henry allow his battered helmet of gold and his
other armour, "that in cruel battaille was so sore broken with the great
strokes he hadde received," to be carried before him or shown to his
people. With a fine modesty, he sought in no way to glorify himself.
The memory of his early manhood, with its dark side, was ever before his
eyes; the conflict with the enemy within was ever waging, and the
knowledge of his own weakness swept over him even in the hour of his
greatest triumph, so that he could not but be humble as a little child.
Peace was at last made with France, the terms being that Henry should
marry the French king's daughter, Katherine, who possessed "a white oval
face, dark flashing eyes, and most engaging manners," and that he should
succeed to the throne of France on the death of his father-in-law. In
the February of 1421 he brought his pretty bride to England, where the
people received her "as if she had been an angel of God," and on the
24th of that month she was crowned by the Archbishop.
In the words of Robert Fabyan, an alderman of London, but devoted to the
pleasures of learning, "I will proceed to show you some part of the
great honour that was exercised and used upon that day."
After the service in the church was ended, Queen Katherine was led into
the great hall of Westminster, and there sat at dinner at Henry's side,
while close to her sat the captive Prince James of Scotland, the
Archbishop of Canterbury, and many great nobles. The Countess of Kent
sat under the table at the right side of the queen, and the Countess
Marshal on the left side, holding her napkin, while the Earl of
Worcester rode about the hall on a great courser to keep room and order.
Being Lent, no meat was allowed, excepting brawn served with mustard,
but of fish there was a great choice; "pyke in herbage lamprey powderyd,
codlyng, crabbys, solys, fresshe samon, dryed smelt, halybut, rochet,
porpies rostyd, prawys, clys roast, and a white fisshe florysshed with
hawthorne leaves and redde lawrys." Wonderful ornaments called
"subtelties" were on the table, being images intended to symbolise the
happy event, and fastened on to these were labels with such verses as--
"To this sign the king
Great joy will bring,
And all his people
The queen will content."
Or--
"It is written
And can be seen,
In marriage pure
No strifes endure."
Katherine's pity was roused by the clever and charming young Scottish
prince who had been so long a prisoner, and who was now deeply in love
with Lady Joanna Beaufort, a lady he had seen in the gardens of Windsor
Castle, and at this banquet she pleaded for him with her husband, with
the result that he was eventually set free, and allowed to marry the
lady of his love.
In spite of the peace which had been made, the French people were not
inclined to submit to their conquerors, and within a few months of
Katherine's coronation war broke out again, which sent Henry off in
haste to France. He was still victorious, and when besieging Meaux the
news was brought that Katherine had given him a son. At the same time
came a loving letter from the queen herself, begging that she might join
him in France so soon as her health would permit. The permission was
readily granted, and she came, but not too soon; for Henry, who had
bravely fought illness as he fought all other enemies, was conquered at
last, and died at Vincennes, he, "mighty victor, mighty lord, being
carried there helpless on a litter."
In the third year of his reign Henry had made his will, in which he had
set down careful instructions as to his own burying, which was to be at
Westminster, among the kings; and as by now there was but little room
left in the Confessor's Chapel, he directed that at its eastern end,
where the relics were kept, a high place should be made, ascended on
each side by steps, and that there should be raised an altar, while
underneath it his body should be laid. To this altar he bequeathed
plate, vestments, and a sum of money for the Abbey, in token of which
three monks of the Abbey were daily to say three masses there for his
soul.
He had been a great benefactor to the Abbey, for besides having
completed the nave, he had paid to it a thousand marks yearly, restored
to it a ring valued at a thousand marks, and given such valuable
presents as a Psalter and other fine books; so the monks were anxious to
do him all honour, while the people of London were determined to
worthily show their sorrow and their love.
The great funeral procession set out from France, and by slow stages
reached London. The coffin had been set on an open chariot, and behind
it was carved an image of the king made of leather and painted to look
lifelike, clothed in purple with ermine, holding a sceptre, crowned and
sandalled. The queen and King James of Scotland followed as chief
mourners; a thousand men in white bore torches; throughout the day
chants, hymns, and sacred offices were sung by the priests, and wherever
his body rested for awhile in a church, masses were said.
From Paris to Calais, Calais to Dover, Dover to Canterbury, and
Canterbury to London, this solemn journey of many weeks was made, while
once on English soil the procession was greatly lengthened. The streets
of London were draped in black; each householder stood at his door with
a lighted torch; before the royal coffin rode the king's favourite
knight and standard-bearer, Sir Louis Robsart, and many lords bore the
banners of saints. Men at arms, in deep black and on black horses,
formed the guard of honour; behind came his three chargers, then
followed the royal mourners, and once more came a touch of relief from
the rich vestments of the bishops and abbots, and the white robes of the
priests and singers.
"So with great solemnity and honour was that excellent prince brought
unto the monastery of Westminster, and there at the feet of St. Edward
reverently interred, on whose soul, sweet Jesus, be merciful."
The little king of England was not yet a year old, but directly after
the funeral Parliament met, and Queen Katherine rode through the city of
London in a chariot drawn by white horses, surrounded by the nobles of
the land. She held her baby in her arms, and in the words of one who
watched, "Those pretty hands which could not yet feed himself, were made
capable of wielding a sceptre, and he who beholden to his nurses for
food, did distribute law and justice to the nation." By his Chancellor
the infant king saluted, and to his people spoke his mind, by means of
another tongue. Alice Boteler and Joan Ashley were appointed by this
year-old child to be his governess and nurse, "from time to time
reasonably to chastise us as the case may require, to teach us courtesy
and good manners, and many things convenient for our royal persons to
learn."
The building of the chantry over the grave of Henry V. was not long
delayed, and all his instructions were carefully carried out. You will
see it is a little chapel of itself at the east end of the Confessor's
Chapel, standing so high, that at first the people from the farther end
of the Abbey could see the priests celebrating mass at its altar.
[Illustration: HENRY V.'s TOMB]
But before long the stone screen put up about this time, to the further
honour of St. Edward, cut it off from view. How exquisite must that
screen have been, with its lacework tracery, its niches full of saints,
its brilliancy of gold, of crimson, and of blue! You must look carefully
at the carvings, which tell the story of Edward's life, fact and legend
blended together. Here I will tell you shortly what each scene is meant
to represent, beginning from your left as you face the screen.
The first two describe the birth of Edward; the third, his coronation;
the fourth, his dream of the devil dancing for joy over the piles of
money collected by the much-hated tax called Danegeld, a dream which so
alarmed the king that he did away with the tax. The fifth shows how
Edward had mercy on a thief who tried to steal his gold, for the king
said, "Let him keep it; he hath more need of it than us." The sixth
tells how Christ appeared to the king at the Holy Sacrament; the seventh
and eighth describe the crowning of the king of Denmark and a quarrel
between Harold and Tostig. The ninth and tenth go back to legend, the
vision of the Seven Sleepers and the appearance of St. John as a
pilgrim; while the twelfth and thirteenth describe St. John giving back
the ring to the pilgrim, and the pilgrim's bearing it to King Edward.
The eleventh shows the king washing his hands on the right, and on the
left are three blind men, waiting for their sight to be restored to them
when they wash their eyes in the water Edward had used; and the two last
tell of the king's death and the dedication of the Abbey.
The chantry of King Henry was less ornate than this screen, but it was
nevertheless very beautiful. You must look at the pattern of the open
work on the iron grating which is round the tomb gates, and pick out the
fleur-de-lis, the emblem of France, claimed by Henry as his inheritance.
The figure of the king was the special gift of his widow, and was carved
of the best English oak, with a head of silver, and its value made it
too great a temptation to some "covetous pilferers about the latter end
of Henry VIII., who broke it off and conveyed it clean awaie."
Over the chantry you will see a helmet, shield, and saddle; and though
the helmet is certainly not the one which Henry kept hidden from all
people at the Agincourt festival, it is certainly as old as the funeral
day, and was probably made for that occasion.
In the year 1878, Katherine of Valois, who had first been buried in
Henry III.'s chapel, then left for more than two hundred years in a
rudely made coffin, open to the public gaze, by her husband's tomb, and
afterwards laid in a side chapel, was at last buried under the altar
slab in the Chantry Chapel of Henry V., and here within the calm shelter
of Edward's shrine were carried the remains of two other queens,
Eadgytha, the wife of Harold, and good Queen Maude, the wife of Henry I.
Here, too, rest two tiny royal children, Margaret of York, the baby
daughter of Edward IV., and her niece, Elizabeth Tudor, the
three-year-old child of Henry VII. and Elizabeth. Their little marble
tombs are plain and bear now no name. One other royal prince is buried
here, Thomas of Woodstock, the uncle and for some time the adviser of
Richard II., who certainly suffered heavily for any advice he gave, good
or otherwise, for he was smothered to death at Calais with Richard's
consent. And one man not of royal birth lies here--John of Waltham,
Bishop of Salisbury, for whom this same Richard II. had so great a
liking, that, defying every one, he ordered him to be laid among kings,
close to the tomb of the Confessor.