Whether Henry of Monmouth met his father and the cavalcade at Chester, or joined them on their road to London, or followed them thither; whether he witnessed on the way the humiliation and melancholy of his friend, and the triumphant exaltation of his father, or not; every step taken by either of those two chieftains through the eventful weeks which intervened between King Richard making the youth a knight in the wilds of Ireland, and King Henry creating him Prince of Wales in the face of the nation at Westminster, bears immediately upon his destinies. And the whole complicated tissue of circumstances then in progress is so inseparably connected with him both individually and as the future monarch of England, that a brief review of the proceedings as well of the falling as of the rising antagonist seems indispensable in this place.
Henry Bolinbroke (having now, by the death of John of Gaunt,[57] succeeded to the dukedom of Lancaster,) found himself, during his exile, far from being the only victim of Richard's rash despotism; nor the only one determined to try, if necessary, and when occasion should offer, by strength of hand to recover their lost country, together with their property and their homes. Indeed, others proved to have been far more forward in that bold measure than himself. Whilst he was in Paris[58], he received by the hands of Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, an invitation to return, and set up his standard in their native land. Arundel,[59] himself one of Richard's victims, had been banished two years before the Duke, by a sentence which confiscated[60] all his property. He made his way, we are told, to Valenciennes in the disguise of a pilgrim, and, proceeding to Paris, obtained an interview with Henry; whom he found at first less sanguine perhaps, and less ready for so desperate an undertaking, than he expected. The Duke for some time remained, apparently, absorbed in deep thought, as he leaned on a window overlooking a garden; and at length replied that he would consult his friends. Their advice, seconding the appeal of the Archbishop, prevailed upon Henry to prepare for the hazardous enterprise; in which success might indeed be rewarded with the crown of England, over and above the recovery of his own vast possessions, but in which defeat must lead inevitably to ruin. He left Paris for Brittany; and sailing from one of its ports with three ships, having in his company only fifteen lances or knights, he made for the English coast.[61] About the 4th of July he came to shore at the spot where of old time had stood the decayed town of Ravenspur. Landing boldly though with such a handful of men, he was soon joined by the Percies, and other powerful leaders; and so eagerly did the people flock to him as their deliverer from a headstrong reckless despot, that in a short time he numbered as his followers sixty thousand men, who had staked their property, their liberty, and their lives, on the same die. The most probable account of his proceedings up to his return to Chester, immediately before the unfortunate Richard fell into his hands, is the following, for which we are chiefly indebted to the translator of the "Metrical History."[62]
The Duke of Lancaster's first measures, upon his landing, are not very accurately recorded by historians, nor do the accounts impress us with an opinion that they had arisen out of any digested plan of operation. But a comparison of the desultory information which is furnished relative to them, with what may fairly be supposed to be most advisable on his part, will, perhaps, show that they were the result of good calculation. The following is offered as the outline of the scheme. To secure to Henry a chance of success, it was in the first instance necessary, not only that the most powerful nobles remaining at home should join him, but that means should be devised for detaining the King in Ireland. It would be expedient to try the disposition of the people on the eastern coast, and that he should select a spot for his descent, from which he could immediately put himself in communication with his friends: Yorkshire afforded the greatest facility. The wind which took Albemarle over into Ireland must have been advantageous to Lancaster; and the tempestuous weather which succeeded must have been equally in his favour. He landed at Ravenspur, and marched to Doncaster, where the Percies and others came down to him. Knaresborough and Pontefract were his own by inheritance. Having thus gained a footing, he marched toward the south; and his opponents withdrew from before him.[63] The council, consisting of the Regent, Scroop, Bussy, Green, and Bagot, could interpose no obstacle, and were driven by fear to Bristol. The Duke of York made some show of resistance. Perhaps the others intended to make for Milford, and thence to Ireland, or to await the King's arrival. Henry advanced to Leicester and Kenilworth, both his own castles; and went through Evesham to Gloucester and Berkeley. At Berkeley he came to an agreement with the Duke of York, secured many of Richard's adherents, passed on to Bristol, took the castle, slew three out of four of the unfortunate ministers, and gained possession of a place entirely disaffected to the King. From Bristol he directed his course back to Gloucester, thence bearing westward to Ross and Hereford. Here he was joined by the Bishop and Lord Mortimer;[64] and, passing through Leominster and Ludlow, he moved onward,[65] increasing his forces as he advanced towards Shrewsbury and Chester. In the mean time the plans of Albemarle (if we acknowledge the reality of his alleged treason) were equally successful. At all events Richard's course was most favourable for Henry. Had he gone from Dublin to Chester, he might have anticipated his enemy, and infused a spirit into his loyal subjects. But he came southward whilst Henry was going northward; and, about the time that Richard came on shore at Milford, Henry must have been at Chester, surrounded by his friends, at the head of an immense force, master of London, Bristol, and Chester, and of all the fortresses that had been his own, or had belonged to Richard, within a triangle, the apex of which is to be found in Bristol, the base extending from the mouth of the Humber to that of the Dee.
If in like manner we trace the steps of the misguided and infatuated Richard, treacherous at once and betrayed, from the hour when the news of Bolinbroke's hostile and successful measures reached him in Dublin to the day when he fell powerless into the hands of his enemy, we shall find much to reprehend; much to pity; little, perhaps nothing, which can excite the faintest shadow of respect. When the Earl of Salisbury left Ireland, Richard solemnly promised him that he would himself put to sea in six days; and the Earl, whose conduct is marked by devoted zeal and fidelity in the cause of his unfortunate master, acted upon that pledge. But whether misled by the treacherous suggestions of Albemarle, or following his own self-will or imbecility of judgment, Richard allowed eighteen days to pass away before he embarked, every hour of which was pregnant with most momentous consequences to himself and his throne. He landed at length at Milford Haven, and then had with him thirty-two thousand men; but in one night desertions reduced this body to six thousand. It is said that, on the morrow after his return, looking from his window on the field where his forces were encamped overnight, he was panic-struck by the smallness of the number that remained. After deliberation, he resolved on starting in the night for Conway, disguised in the garb of a poor priest of the Friars-Minor, and taking with him only thirteen or fourteen friends. He so planned his journey as to reach Conway at break of day, where he found the Earl of Salisbury no less dejected than himself. That faithful adherent had taken effectual means, on his first arrival in Wales, to collect an army of Cambrians and Cheshiremen in sufficient strength, had the King joined them with his forces, to offer a formidable resistance to Bolinbroke. But, at the end of fourteen days, despairing of the King's arrival, they had disbanded themselves, and were scattered over the country, or returned to their own homes. On his clandestine departure also from Milford, the wreck of his army, who till then had remained true, were entirely dispersed: and his great treasure was plundered by the Welshmen, who are said to have been indignant at the treachery of those who were left in charge of it. Among many others, Sir Thomas Percy himself escaped naked and wounded to the Duke of Lancaster.
The page of history which records the proceedings of the two hostile parties, from the day of Richard's reaching Conway to the hour of his falling into the hands of Henry, presents in every line transactions stained with so much of falsehood and baseness, such revolting treachery and deceit, such wilful deliberate perjury, that we would gladly pass it over unread, or throw upon it the most cursory glance compatible with a bare knowledge of the facts. But whilst the desperate wickedness of the human heart is made to stand out through these transactions in most frightful colours, and whilst we shudder at the wanton prostitution of the most solemn ordinances of the Gospel, there so painfully exemplified, the same page suggests to us topics of gratitude and of admonition,—gratitude that we live in an age when these shameless violations of moral and religious bonds would not be tolerated; and admonition that the principles of integrity and righteousness can alone exalt a people, or be consistent with sound policy. The truth of history here stamps the king, the nobleman, the prelate, and the more humble instruments of the deeds then done, with the indelible stain of dishonour and falsehood, and a reckless violation of law human and divine.
The King, believing his case to be desperate, implored his friends to advise him what course to adopt. At their suggestion he sent off the Dukes of Exeter and Surrey to remonstrate with Bolinbroke, and to ascertain his real designs. Meanwhile he retired with his little party of adherents, not more than sixteen in all, first to Beaumaris; then to Caernarvon, where he stayed four or five days, living on the most scanty supply of the coarsest food, and having nothing better to lie upon than a bed of straw. Though this was a very secure place for him to await the issue of the present course of events, yet, unable to endure such privations any longer, he returned to Conway. Henry, meanwhile, having reduced Holt Castle,[66] and possessed himself of an immense treasure deposited there by Richard, was bent on securing the person of that unhappy King. He consequently detained the two Dukes in Chester Castle; and then, at the suggestion, it is said, of Arundel, sent off the Earl of Northumberland with an injunction not to return till either by truce or force he should bring back the King with him. The Duke, attended by one thousand archers and four hundred lances, advanced to Flint Castle, which forthwith surrendered to him. From Flint he proceeded along a toilsome road over mountains and rocks to Ruddlan, the gates of which were thrown open to him; when he promised the aged castellan the enjoyment of his post there for life. Richard knew nothing of these proceedings, and wondered at the absence of his two noble messengers, who had started for Chester eight days before. Northumberland, meanwhile, having left his men concealed in ambush "under the rough and lofty cliffs of a rock," proceeded with five or six only towards Conway. When he reached the arm[67] of the sea which washes the walls of that fortress, he sent over a herald, who immediately obtained permission for his approach. Northumberland, having reached the royal presence, proposed that the King should proceed with Bolinbroke amicably to London, and there hold a parliament, and suffer certain individuals named to be put on their trial. "I will swear," continued he, "on the body of our Lord, consecrated by a priest's hand, that Duke Henry shall faithfully observe all that I have said; for he solemnly pledged it to me on the sacrament when we parted." Northumberland then withdrew from the royal presence, when Richard thus immediately addressed his few counsellors: "Fair sirs, we will grant it to him, for I see no other way. But I swear to you that, whatever assurance I may give him, he shall be surely put to a bitter death; and, doubt it not, no parliament shall be held at Westminster. As soon as I have spoken with Henry, I will summon the men of Wales, and make head against him; and, if he and his friends be discomfited, they shall die: some of them I will flay alive." Richard had declared, before he left Ireland, that if he could but once get Henry into his power, he "would put him to death in such a manner as that it should be spoken of long enough, even in Turkey." Northumberland was then called in; and Richard assured him that, if he would swear upon the Host, he would himself keep the agreement. "Sire," said the Earl, "let the body of our Lord be consecrated. I will swear that there is no deceit in this affair; and that the Duke will observe the whole as you have heard me relate it here." Each of them heard mass with all outward devotion, and the Earl took the oath. Never was a contract made more solemnly, nor with a more fixed purpose on both sides not to abide by its engagements: it is indeed a dark and painful page of history. Upon this pledge of faith, mutually given, the King readily agreed to start, sending the Earl on to prepare dinner at Ruddlan. No sooner had he reached the top of the rock than he beheld the Earl and his men below; and, being now made aware of the treachery by which he had fallen, he sank into despair, and had recourse only to unmanly lamentations. His company did not amount to more than five-and-twenty, and retreat was impossible. His remonstrance with the Earl as he charged him with perjury and treason availed nothing, and he was compelled to proceed. They dined at Ruddlan, and in the afternoon advanced to Flint Castle.[68] Northumberland lost no time in apprising the Duke of the success of his enterprise. The messenger arrived at Chester by break of day; and the Duke set off with his army, consisting, it is said, of not less than one hundred thousand men. After mass, Richard beheld the Duke's army approaching along the sea-shore. "It was marvellously great, and showed such joy that the sound and noise of their instruments, horns, buisines, and trumpets, were heard even as far as the castle." The Duke sent forward the Archbishop, with two or three more, who approached the King with profound reverence. In this interview, the first which the King had with Arundel since he banished him the realm and confiscated his property, they conversed long together, and alone. Whether any allusion was then made to the necessity of the King abdicating the throne, must remain matter of conjecture. The Archbishop (as the Earl of Salisbury reported) then comforted the King in a very gentle manner, bidding him not to be alarmed, for no harm should happen to his person.
The Duke did not enter the castle till Richard had dined, for he was fasting. At the table he protracted the repast as long as possible, dreading what would follow. Dinner ended, he came down to meet the Duke, who, as soon as he perceived him, bowed very low. The King took off his bonnet, and first addressed Bolinbroke. The French writer pledges himself to the words, for, as he says, he heard them distinctly, and understood them well. "Fair cousin of Lancaster, you be right welcome." Then Duke Henry replied, bowing very low to the ground, "My lord, I am come sooner than you sent for me; the reason whereof I will tell you. The common report of your people is, that you have for the space of twenty years and more governed them very badly and very rigorously; and they are not well contented therewith: but, if it please our Lord, I will help you to govern them better." King Richard answered, "Fair cousin, since it pleaseth you, it pleaseth me well."
Upon this Henry, when the time of departure was come, knowing that Richard was particularly fond of fine horses, is said to have called out with a stern and savage voice, "Bring out the King's horses;" and then they brought him two little horses not worth forty francs: the King mounted one, and the Earl of Salisbury the other. If this statement of the French author be accurate, Henry compelled his king to endure a studied mortification, as uncalled for as it was galling. Starting from Flint about two o'clock, they proceeded to Chester,[69] where the Duke was received with much reverence, whilst the unhappy monarch was exposed to the insults of the populace. He was immediately lodged in the castle with his few friends, and committed to the safe keeping[70] of his enemies. In Chester they remained three days,[71] and then set out on the direct road for London. Their route lay through Nantwich, Newcastle-under-Line, Stafford, Lichfield, Daventry, Dunstable, and St. Alban's. Nothing worthy of notice occurred during the journey, excepting that at Lichfield the captive monarch endeavoured to escape at night, letting himself down into a garden from the window of a tower in which they kept him. He was however discovered, and from that time was watched most narrowly.
When they arrived within five or six miles of London, they were met by various companies of the citizens, who carried Richard first to Westminster, and next day to the Tower. Henry did not accompany him, but turned aside to enter the city by the chief gate. Proceeding along Cheapside to St. Paul's amidst the shouts of the people, he advanced in full armour to the high altar; and, having offered his devotions there, he turned to the tomb of his father and mother, at the sight of which he was deeply affected. He lodged the first five or six days in the Bishop's house; and, having passed another fortnight in the hospital of St. John without Smithfield, he went to Hertford, where he stayed three weeks. From that place he returned to meet the parliament, which was to assemble in Westminster Hall on Wednesday the first day of October.
When the Parliament assembled in Westminster Hall on Wednesday, October 1st, a deed of resignation of the crown, signed by the unhappy Richard, and witnessed by various noblemen, was publicly read. Whether, whilst a prisoner in the Tower, his own reflections on the present desperate state of his affairs had persuaded him to sever himself from the cares and dangers of a throne; whether he was prevailed upon to take this view of his interests and his duty by the honest and kind representations of his friends; or whether any degree of violence by threat and intimidation, and alarming suggestions of future evils had been applied, it would be fruitless to inquire. The instrument indeed itself is couched in terms expressive of most voluntary and unqualified self-abasement, containing, among others, such expressions as these: "I do entirely, of my own accord, renounce and totally resign all kingly dignity and majesty; purely, voluntarily, simply, and absolutely." On the other hand, if we believe Hardyng,[72] the Earl of Northumberland asserted in his hearing, that Richard was forced to resign under fear of death. Probably from his first interview with the Archbishop in Flint Castle, to the hour before he consented to execute the deed, his mind had been gradually and incessantly worked upon by various agents, and different means, short of actual violence, for the purpose of inducing him to make, ostensibly at least, a voluntary resignation. He seems more than once to have received both from Arundel and from Bolinbroke himself an assurance of personal safety; and he is said to have expressed a hope that "his cousin would be a kind lord to him."
The accounts which have reached us of the proceedings, from the hour when Richard entered the Tower, to the day of his death, are by no means uniform and consistent. The discrepancies however of the various traditions neither involve any questions of great moment, nor deeply affect the characters of those who were engaged in the transactions. Of one point indeed we must make an exception, the cause and circumstances of Richard's death; which, whether we look to Henry of Monmouth's previous attachment to him, and the respect which he industriously and cordially showed to the royal remains immediately upon his becoming king himself; or whether we reflect on the vast consequence, affecting Bolinbroke's character, involved in the solution of that much-agitated question, may seem not only to justify, but to call for, a distinct examination in these pages. The broad facts, meanwhile, relative to the deposition of Richard and the accession of Henry, are clear and indisputable; whilst some minor details, which have excited discussions carried on in the spirit rather of angry contention than of the simple love of truth, and which do not bear immediately upon the objects of this work, may well be omitted altogether.
After Richard had signed the deed of resignation, the steps were few and easy which brought Henry of Bolinbroke to the throne. The Parliament, either by acquiescence in his demand of the crown, or in answer to the questions put by the Archbishop, elected Henry IV. to be king, and denounced all as traitors who should gainsay his election or dispute his right.[73] He was crowned on the Feast of St. Edward, Monday, October 13, when his eldest son, Henry of Monmouth, bore the principal sword of state; who, on the Wednesday following, by assent of all the Estates of Parliament, was created Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall, and Earl of Chester, and declared also to be heir to the throne.[74] On this occasion his father caused him to be brought into his presence as he sate upon the throne; and placing a gold coronet, adorned with pearls, on his head, and a ring on his finger, and delivering into his hand a golden rod, kissed him and blessed him. Upon which the Duke of York conducted him to the place assigned to him in right of his principality. The Estates swore "the same faith, loyalty, aid, assistance, and fealty" to the Prince, as they had sworn to his father. Much interest seems to have been excited by this creation of Henry of Monmouth as Prince of Wales. On the 3rd of November the "Commons pray that they may be entered on the record at the election of the Prince." Their petition can scarcely be interpreted as betraying a jealousy of the King's[75] right to create a Prince of Wales independently of themselves; we must suppose it to have originated in a desire to be recorded as parties to an act so popular and national. At all events, in the then transition-state of the royal authority, it was wise to combine the suffrages of all: and the prayer of the Commons was granted. Another petition, presented on the same day, acquaints us with the lively interest taken from the very first by the nation at large in the safety and welfare of their young Prince. They pray the King, "for-as-much as the Prince is of tender age, that he may not pass forth from this realm: for we, the Commons, are informed that the Scots are coming with a mighty hand; and they of Ireland are purposed to elect a king among them, and disdain to hold of you." This lively interest evinced thus early, and in so remarkable a manner, by the Commons, in the safety and well-being of Henry of Monmouth, seems never to have slackened at any single period of his life, but to have grown still warmer and wider to the very close of his career on earth. After the date of his creation as Prince of Wales, history records but few facts relating to him, either in his private or in his public capacity, till we find him personally engaged in suppressing the Welsh rebellion; a point of time, however, far less removed from the commencement of his princedom than seems to have been generally assumed. In the same month, (November 1399,) a negociation was set on foot, with the view of bringing about a marriage between the Prince and one of the daughters of the King of France. Since, however, he apparently took no part whatever in the affair, the whole being a state-device to avoid the restoration to France of Isabella's valuable paraphernalia; and since the proposals of the treaty were for the marriage of a daughter of France with the Prince, OR any other of the King's children; we need not dwell on a proceeding which reflects no great credit on his father, or his father's counsellors.[76] Not that the vague offers of the negociation stamp the negociators with any especial disgrace. We cannot read many pages of history without being apprised, sometimes by painful instances, sometimes by circumstances rather ludicrous than grave, that marriages were regarded as subjects of fair and honourable negociation; but requiring no greater delicacy than nations would observe in bargaining for a line of territory, or individuals in the purchase and sale of an estate. The negociation, however, though the Bishop of Durham and the Earl of Worcester, both able diplomatists, were employed on the part of England, was eventually broken off; and Isabella was reluctantly and tardily restored to France.
About the close of the present year, or the commencement of the following (1400), the Prince makes a direct appeal to the council,[77] that they would forthwith fulfil the expressed desire of his royal father with reference to his princely state and condition in all points. He requires them first of all to determine upon his place of residence, and the sources of his income; and then to take especial care that the King's officers, each in his own department and post of duty, should fully and perfectly put into execution whatever orders the council might give. "You are requested (says the memorial) to consider how my lord the Prince is utterly destitute of every kind of appointment relative to his household." The enumeration of his wants specified in detail is somewhat curious: "that is to say, his chapels,[78] chambers, halls, wardrobe, pantry, buttery, kitchen, scullery, saucery, almonry, anointry, and generally all things requisite for his establishment."
It has been already intimated in the Preface, that an examination would be instituted in the course of this work into the correspondence of Shakspeare's representations of Henry's character and conduct with the real facts of history, and we will not here anticipate that inquiry. Only it may be necessary to observe, as we pass on, that the period of his life when the poet first describes him to be revelling in the deepest and foulest sinks of riot and profligacy, as nearly as possible corresponds with the date of this petition to the council to supply him with a home.
It was in the very first week of the year 1400 that Henry IV. discovered the treasonable plot, laid by the Lords Salisbury, Huntingdon, and others, to assassinate him during some solemn justs intended to be held at Oxford, professedly in honour of his accession. The King was then at Windsor; and, immediately on receiving information of the conspiracy, he returned secretly, but with all speed, to London.[79] The defeat of these treasonable designs, and the execution of the conspirators, are matter of general history; and, as the name of the Prince does not occur even incidentally in any accounts of the transaction, we need not dwell upon it. Probably he was then living with his father under the superintendence of Henry Beaufort, now Bishop of Winchester, from whom indeed up to this time he seems to have been much less separated than from his parent. We have already seen that, whether for the benefit of the "young bachelor," or, with an eye to his own security, unwilling to leave so able an enemy behind, King Richard, when he took the boy Henry with him to Ireland, caused his uncle and tutor (Henry Beaufort) to accompany him also.[80] The probability also has been shown to approach demonstration that his residence in Oxford could not have taken place at this time; but that it preceded his father's banishment, rather than followed his accession to the throne. Be this as it may, history (as far as it appears) makes no direct mention of the young Prince Henry through the spring of 1400.
Soon, however, after the conspiracy against his father's life had been detected and frustrated, an event took place, already alluded to, which must have filled the warm and affectionate heart of Henry with feelings of sorrow and distress,—the premature death of Richard. That Henry had formed a sincere attachment for Richard, and long cherished his memory with gratitude for personal kindness, is unquestionable; and doubtless it must have been a source of anxiety and vexation to him that his father was accused in direct terms of having procured the death of the deposed monarch. He probably was convinced that the charge was an ungrounded calumny; yet, with his generous indignation roused by the charge of so foul a crime, he must have mingled feelings of increased regret at the miserable termination of his friend's life.
The name of Henry of Monmouth has never been associated with Richard's except under circumstances which reflect credit on his own character. The bitterest enemies of his house, who scrupled not to charge Henry IV. with the wilful murder of his prisoner, have never sought to implicate his son in the same guilt in the most remote degree, or even by the gentlest whisper of insinuation. Whether Richard died in consequence of any foul act at the hand of an enemy, or by the fatal workings of a harassed mind and broken heart, or by self-imposed abstinence from food, (for to every one of these, as well as to other causes, has his death been severally attributed,) is a question probably now beyond the reach of successful inquiry. The whole subject has been examined by many able and, doubtless, unprejudiced persons; but their verdicts are far from being in accordance with each other. The general (though, as it should now seem, the mistaken) opinion appears to be, that after Richard had been removed from the Tower to Leeds Castle, and thence to other places of safe custody, and had finally been lodged in Pontefract,[81] the partisans of Henry IV. hastened his death. The Archbishop of York directly charged the King with the foul crime of murder, which he as positively and indignantly denied.[82] The minutes of the Privy Council have not been sufficiently noticed by former writers on this event; and the reflections of the Editor,[83] in his Preface, are so sensible and so immediately to the point, that we may be contented in these pages to do little more than record his sentiments.[84]
"Shortly after the attempt of the Earls of Kent, Salisbury, and Huntingdon to restore Richard to the throne, a great council was held for the consideration of many important matters. The first point was 'that if Richard the late king be alive, as some suppose he is, it be ordained that he be well and securely guarded for the salvation of the state of the King and of his kingdom.' On which subject the council resolved, that it was necessary to speak to the King, that, in case Richard the late king be still living, he be placed in security agreeably to the law of the realm; but if he be dead, then that he be openly showed to the people, that they may have knowledge thereof." These minutes (observes Sir Harris Nicolas) appear to exonerate Henry[85] from the generally received charge of having sent Sir Piers Exton to Pontefract for the purpose of murdering his prisoner. Had such been the fact, it is impossible to believe that one of Henry's ministers would have gone through the farce of submitting the above question to the council; or that the council would, with still greater absurdity, have deliberated on the subject, and gravely expressed the opinion which they offered to the King. A corpse, which was said to be that of Richard, was publicly exhibited at St. Paul's by Henry's direction, and he has been accused of substituting the body of some other person; but these minutes prove that the idea of such an exposure came from the council, and, at the moment when it was suggested, they actually did not know whether Richard was dead or alive, because they provided for either contingency. It is also demonstrated by them that, so far from any violence or ill-treatment being meditated in case he were living, the council merely recommended that he should be placed in such security as might be approved by the peers of the realm.[86] It must be observed that this new piece of evidence, coupled with the fact that a corpse said to be the body of Richard was exhibited shortly after the meeting of the council, strongly supports the belief that he died about the 14th of February 1400, and that Henry and his council were innocent of having by unfair means produced or accelerated his decease."
Such we may hope to have been the case: at all events, the purpose of this work does not admit of any fuller investigation of the points at issue. If Henry were accessory to Richard's death, (to use an expression quoted as that unhappy king's own words,)[87] "it would be a reproach to him for ever, so long as the world shall endure, or the deep ocean be able to cast up tide or wave." It is, however, satisfactory to find in these authentic documents evidence which seems to justify us in adopting no other alternative than to return for Bolinbroke a verdict of "Not guilty." The corpse[88] of Richard was carried through the city of London to St. Paul's with much of religious ceremony and solemn pomp, Henry himself as King bearing the pall, "followed by all those of his blood in fair array." After it had been inspected by multitudes, (Froissart[89] says by more than twenty thousand,) it was buried at Langley, where Richard had built a Dominican convent. Henry V, soon after his accession, removed the corpse to Westminster Abbey, and, laid it by the side of Ann, Richard's former queen, in the tomb which he had prepared for her and himself.[90]
Henry IV. had no sooner gained the throne of England, than he was made to feel that he could retain possession of it only by unremitting watchfulness, and by a vigorous overthrow of each successive design of his enemies as it arose. In addition as well to the hostility of France (whose monarch and people were grievously incensed by the deposition of Richard), as to the restless warfare of the Scots, he was compelled to provide against the more secret and more dangerous machinations of his own subjects.[91] After the discovery and defeat of the plot laid by the malcontent lords in the beginning of January (1400), he first employed himself in making preparations to repress the threatened aggressions of his northern neighbours. His council had received news as early as the 9th of February of the intention of the Scots to invade England; indeed, as far back as the preceding November, the petition of the Commons informs us that they considered war with Scotland inevitable. On this campaign Henry IV. resolved to enter in his own person, and he left London for the North in the June following. Our later historians seem not to have entertained any doubts as to the accuracy of some early chroniclers, when they state that Henry of Monmouth was sent on towards Scotland as his father's representative, in command of the advanced guard, in the opening of the summer[92] of 1400. Elmham states the general fact that Henry was sent on with the first troops, but in the manuscript there is a "Quære" in the margin in the same hand-writing. And the querist seems to have had sufficient reasons for expressing his doubts as to the accuracy of such a statement. The renown of the Prince as a youthful warrior will easily account for any premature date assigned to his earliest campaign; whilst the age of his father, who was seen at the head of the invading army in Scotland, might perhaps have contributed to a mistake. The King himself, at that time personally little known among his subjects, was not more than thirty-four years old.[93] Be this as it may, we have great reason to believe that Henry IV, when he proceeded northward, left the Prince of Wales at home. In the first place, we must remember that, among their primary and most solemn acts after the King's coronation, the Commons, anticipating the certainty of this expedition into Scotland, preferred to him a petition, praying that the Prince by reason of his tender age might not go thither, "nor elsewhere forth of the realm." The letter too of Lord Grey of Ruthyn, to which we must hereafter refer, announcing the turbulent state of Wales, and the necessity of suppressing its disorders with a stronger hand, can best be explained on the supposition that the King was absent at the date of that letter,[94] about Midsummer 1400, and that the Prince was at home. Lord Grey addresses his letter to the Prince, and not to the King; though the King, as well as the Prince, had commissioned him to put down the rising disturbances in his neighbourhood.[95] Some, perhaps, may think this intelligible on the ground that Lord Grey wrote to Henry as Prince of Wales, and therefore more immediately intrusted with the preservation of its peace. But his suggestion to the Prince to take the advice of the King's council,—"with advice of our liege lord his council,"—is scarcely consistent with the idea of the King himself being at hand to give the necessary directions and a "more plainer commission."
Be this however as it may: whether Henry of Monmouth's noviciate in arms was passed on the Scotch borders, (for in Ireland, as the companion of Richard, he had been merely a spectator,) or whether, as the evidence seems to preponderate, we consider the chroniclers to have antedated his first campaign, he was not allowed to remain long without being personally engaged in a struggle of far greater magnitude in itself, and of vastly more importance to the whole realm of England, than any one could possibly infer from the brief and cursory references made to it by the historians who are the most generally consulted by our countrymen. The rebellion of Owyn Glyndowr[96] is despatched by Hume in less than two octavo pages, though it once certainly struck a panic into the very heart of England, and through the whole of Henry IV.'s reign, more or less, involved a considerable portion of the kingdom in great alarm; carrying devastation far and wide through some of its fairest provinces; and at one period of the struggle, by the succour of Henry's foreign and domestic enemies, with whom the Welsh made common cause, threatening to wrest the sceptre itself from the hands of that monarch. The part which his son Henry of Monmouth was destined to take personally in resisting the progress of this rebellion, and the evidence which the indisputable facts recorded of that protracted contest bear to his character, (facts, most of which are comparatively little known, and many of which are altogether new in history,) seem to require at our hands a somewhat fuller investigation into the origin, progress, and circumstances of this rebellion, than has hitherto been undertaken by our chroniclers.