Cassell's Illustrated History of England/Volume 1/Chapter 67
CHAPTER LXVII.
Richard now astonished the whole country by proposing to marry the eldest daughter of the King of France. The strong antipathy which the long and cruel wars had nourished between the two nations made them already regard each other as natural and hereditary enemies. Both the people of England and France, therefore, were surprised at this proposal, and averse to it. But the people are little consulted in any age in these matters; and the proposal, after some discussion at the French court, was well entertained. At the English court it was far from popular. The great princes and barons looked on the French wars as the sources of fresh military glory and promotion. The Duke of Gloucester most of all expressed his opposition to it. He had more reasons than one. The first was, that he had a daughter whom he would fain see married to Richard. By this alliance he could calculate on his descendants succeeding to the throne of England, even if he could not himself usurp it. During the king's life, with his easy and pleasure-loving disposition, he could calculate on engrossing the real power of the state.
Not less strange was his second reason. If the king allied himself to France, he would thus greatly strengthen his authority at home, and Gloucester was too far-seeing not to perceive that Richard, who never forgot an injury, would then be in a position to revenge himself on him for his past attempts to usurp the control over his nephew, and especially for the armed conspiracy which had destroyed his favourite ministers, and suspended his prerogative for twelve months.
That this marriage was a matter entirely of policy was clear enough. The French princess was a mere child, not much more than seven years of age. She was already affianced to the heir of the Duke of Brittany. It would require a dispensation from the Pope to make void that arrangement, and for many years to come Richard could not promise himself in his wife a womanly companion, a mature friend and counsellor, nor could hope to secure his throne by an heir. His attention was zealously turned to the princesses of Brabant, Germany, and Navarre, but to no purpose. He had resolved on the alliance with France, and ambassadors were sent to negotiate the affair, while Robert the Hermit, a personage high in favour with the French king, came for the like purpose to England. Froissart, who himself made a visit to England at this time, describes very amusingly the interview which the Earl Marshal and the Earl of Rutland had with the French royal family and the future Queen of England. "The earl marshal, being on his knees, said to her, 'Fair lady, by the grace of God, you shall be our lady and Queen of England.' Then answered the young lady, well advisedly, without counsel of any other person, 'Sir, an it please God and my lord my father that I shall be Queen of England, I shall be glad thereof, for it is showed me that I shall then be a great lady.' Then she took the earl marshal by the hand, and led him to the queen her mother, who had great joy of the answer that she had made, and so were all other that heard it. The manner, countenance, and behaviour of this young lady pleased greatly the ambassadors, and they said amongst themselves that she was likely to be a lady of high honour and great goodness." The little girl was affianced by proxy through the earl marshal, and "a goodly sight it was," says Froissart, "to see her behaviour; for all she was but young, right pleasantly she bore the part of a queen." In the joy of this transaction Sir John Mercer—who was formerly taken prisoner by Alderman Phillpot—and the Count de la River, who had both been arrested on a political charge, were liberated by the French king.
The worthy chronicler details with great delight all the splendour of the meeting of the Kings of France and England at Guisnes, near Calais, where they came attended by all the great princes, lords, and ladies of their courts. Lancaster and Gloucester—the latter most unwillingly—attended the King of England. Tents were put up for the two royal parties not far from each other, and the two monarchs went on foot, passing between two bodies of knights of each nation, 400 in number, standing with their swords drawn. When the two kings met bare-headed, and took each other's hands, all the knights knelt down. Then the two kings went together into the tent of the King of France, which "was noble and rich," and the four royal dukes, Berri and Burgoyne, Lancaster and Gloucester, taking each other's hands, followed with other knights. The spectacle was striking, for it was long since any English and French kings had met in peace and amity. On the following Saturday, November 1, 1396, they met again in great state in the same place, and after a grand banquet in the French king's pavilion, the young queen was delivered to the King of England, and consigned by him to the care of the Duchesses of Lancaster, Gloucester, York, and Ireland, with many other great ladies, but only one French attendant, the Countess de Courci. The next Tuesday the marriage ceremony was performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury in the Church of St. Nicholas, in Calais; and on arriving in England, Isabella was crowned in Westminster Abbey on the 1st of January, 1397. Richard received with her 300,000 francs in gold, and 500,000 more were to be paid by annual instalments. It was carefully stipulated that the issue of this marriage should derive no claim from the mother to the crown of France; and if the king should die before the queen reached her twelfth year, all the money paid should be returned with her to France.
The conduct of Richard after this marriage was such as to lead the people the more sensibly to deplore the death of the good Queen Anne. Instead of the better spirit which had distinguished his latter years, instead of the wise and active conduct which he had displayed in Ireland while under the influence of a salutary sorrow, a light and thoughtless disposition had taken its place, as if a mere girlish wife had brought with her an atmosphere of trifling and frivolity. With the exception of his harsh treatment of the city a few years before, and the deprivation of its charter, which, though soon restored, had left a lively memory of the arbitrary fact, Richard's political conduct was not much to complain of. But his personal character was rapidly deteriorating. He lived in a continual course of feasting and dissipation, and thus wasted the funds he had received with the queen, and the resources derived from his people.
Amongst the principal favourites of this time were his half-brother, the murderer, Sir John Holland, who had been on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem in penance for his crimes, and now was dignified with the title of the Earl of Huntingdon, as his brother was of the Earl of Kent.
Through the hands of these men all favours and honours passed, and we cannot suppose that their conversations and counsels were very good for him. His household was on a most ruinous scale, consisting, it is said, of not less than 10,000 persons, and the riot and follies carried on there excited great disgust.
All these matters were carefully noted by the discontented Duke of Gloucester, still more morose from the king's refusal of his daughter, on the plea of her being too near akin. Gloucester, during the whole marriage visit to France, did not conceal his hostility to the alliance. It was in vain that the king made him rich presents to win his good-will. He was still sullen, morose, and destitute of all courtesy, returning the attentions of the nobles with abrupt and curt answers, so that they said amongst themselves, if ever Gloucester could stir up a war he would.
On his return home after the marriage, he disdained to cultivate the friendship of his nephew. On the contrary, he did everything possible to excite faction and mischief. He never attended the council except for the purpose of thwarting its proceedings. He came late, departed early, and while present treated the king with the most insolent air of superiority, often throwing out remarks, that he might hear them, on his conduct as effeminate and unlike that of his great ancestors. He talked in this manner to the warriors of the late reign, drawing comparisons between their days and deeds and the present.
These acts produced murmurs everywhere. The Commons, on the meeting of Parliament, presented a Bill to the Lords, proposing the regulation of the king's household, complaining especially that so many bishops who had lordships of their own, and so many ladies with their servants, were always at the palace, and supported at the public cost. Richard, indignant at this bold measure, demanded who was the author of it; and it is curious that it turned out to be one Sir Thomas Haxey, a clergyman, proving that the clergy at that time sat in Parliament, and the complaint itself that the bishops of those days were not averso to life, however gay, at a royal palace. Haxey was threatened with death, but was spared at the entreaty of the bishops—the very class he had complained of; but an Act was immediately passed by the submissive Parliament, that whoever again should make any such motion in the Commons, or should in any way attempt to reform the royal conduct, rule, or authority, should be held to be a traitor.
This only strengthened the hands of Gloucester. He was eagerly listened to by all classes. The knights and barons were influenced by his representations of the glories won in the late reigns, and of the ease with which the wealth of France might be won by the superiority of their English valour. The people seized eagerly on the same ideas; all combined to echo the charges of the pusillanimity of the king, and to applaud Gloucester as the greatest of patriots, and the champion of the British honour and advancement. His great abilities, his affable manners, his vast wealth, and his royal blood, all were placed in the scale against the voluptuous king, and made a profound impression.
It is asserted by Froissart that Gloucester did not confine himself to seditious language, but had actually proposed to his nephew, Roger Mortimer, the Earl of March, whom Richard had declared his successor, to give him immediate possession of the throne; and when that nobleman declined the offer, had laid a plan with his two brothers, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Earls of Arundel and Warwick, to depose Richard.
Whether this last assertion be true or not, the temper and conduct of Gloucester now became such as naturally excited the resentment of Richard. He appeared at first only desirous to got him out of the way: for which purpose he gave him permission to join the Christians who were fighting against the infidels in Prussia; but, though he set out, he returned in a few days, saying he had been driven back by a tempest. He then appointed him governor of Ireland; but Gloucester made no attempt to go over and assume that office.
This conduct of the Duke of Gloucester at length wore out the patience of Richard. He remembered vividly his past offences: he saw no means of dissipating his obstinate contempt and hostility. His favourites, with whom Gloucester kept no terms, urged him to severe measures; and the court of France, which he had insulted by his sullen aversion, and which beheld in him an avowed enemy to its peace and its alliance, strongly stimulated the king to provide for his own safety and that of his queen, by depriving the traitorous prince of his power to carry out his designs.
No sooner did Richard resolve to follow this advice than he put his resolve into execution. He invited the Earl of Warwick to dinner, and then, being off his guard, he had him arrested at the house of the chancellor, near Temple Bar, and committed to the Tower. The primate was made use of to bring his brother, the Earl of Arundel, to a private interview with the king, who instantly arrested him and sent him to Carisbrook Castle. But perhaps the most revolting of these insidious modes of seizure was that of the Duke of Gloucester himself. Richard, while intending to sacrifice his uncle's life, did not hesitate to make a visit to him at his castle of Pleshy, in Essex, where Gloucester, coming forth with his wife and daughter to meet him, without any suspicion, according to the account of the rolls of Parliament, "domino regi cum processiono solemni humiliter occurrontem," he caused him to be seized and hurried on board a vessel by the earl marshal, and conveyed to Calais. It is said by contemporary chroniclers that, while this was doing, Richard was conversing in a friendly guise with the duchess. Froissart says Richard was kindly entertained, requested Gloucester to accompany him to London, and had him seized on the way. This does not appear probable if the parliamentary rolls are correct. But in any case the manner of the thing was treacherous, and unworthy of a great monarch. The sudden disappearance of the duke alarmed all his 
Betrothal of the French Princess to Richard II. (See page 430.)
Arrest of the Duke of Gloucester.(See page 431.)
friends and partisans, who believed that he was murdered, and they trembled for their own security. To pacify the public mind, Richard issued a proclamation, stating that these arrests had been made with the full assent of the Dukes of Lancaster and York, and of their sons and all the leading members of the council; that they were made, not on account of the transactions of the tenth and eleventh years of his reign, for which bills of indemnity had been given, but for recent offences; and that no one need be alarmed on account of participation in those past proceeding's.
This was to lull into security fresh victims, and to obtain that sanction from Lancaster, York, and their sons, which Richard pretended to have had, and which was not true. These princes were at Nottingham, and Richard determined to retort upon them their conduct towards his favourites. He therefore hastened down thither, and as these noblemen were at dinner he suddenly summoned them to the gate, and compelled them to set their seals to a form of arrest which had been prepared for the purpose. They were made to say, "We appeal Thomas Duke of Gloucester, Richard Earl of Arundel, and Thomas Earl of Warwick, as traitors to your majesty and realm," and to call for trial upon them.
On returning to the hall, they found the king seated on the throne, wearing his crown, who granted the request they had been induced to make, and appointed a parliament to hear the cause on the 17th of the following month, September, 1397.
About three weeks later Sir William Rickhill, one of the justices, was suddenly roused from his bed at midnight at Essingham, in Kent, and ordered to hasten to Dover and follow the Earl of Nottingham, the earl marshal, to Calais. On his arrival there the earl put into his hand a commission to examine the Duke of Gloucester, whom he had imagined for some weeks was dead. Sir William refused to perform this office unless accompanied by two witnesses; and, on being admitted, advised Gloucester to return his answer in writing and to keep a copy. This caution afterwards saved the life of the prudent judge, who knew the danger of being the sole repository of a king's secrets. As soon as he had received Gloucester's statement, he was refused further admittance to him.
To secure his measures Richard employed every means to impress the Parliament and public with awe. Great preparations were made for the assembling of a Parliament which was to decide the fate of a prince of the blood, and one so powerful and popular, as well as of some of the chief nobles of the realm. It is said that the sheriffs had been tampered with—a most base and unconstitutional act, and which, resorted to in the assembling of this famous Parliament, opened the way for much subsequent corruption of the kind. A wooden shed of great extent was erected near Westminster Hall, for the reception of so numerous an assembly as was summoned to give the greater sanction to its decrees, and the lords came with such prodigious retinues, no doubt for their own safety, that they not only filled all the lodgings of London, but all the towns and villages for ten miles round.
The king came to Westminster attended by 600 men-at-arms, wearing the royal livery of the hart, and 200 archers, raised in Cheshire. On the second day of the session Sir John Bussy, the speaker, and a thorough creature of the king, petitioned that the clergy might appoint proxies, the canons forbidding their presence at any trials of blood, and Lord Thomas Percy was appointed their procurator. The Parliament passed whatever Richard was pleased to dictate to it. It annulled, the commission of regency and the statute confirming it, passed in the tenth year of his reign. It abrogated all the acts which attainted the king's ministers—though the Parliament which passed them and the people had sworn to maintain them for ever—and declared that they had been extorted by force. It revoked all pardons granted heretofore to Gloucester, Arundel, and Warwick.
This facile assembly first impeached Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, as the aider and abettor of the accused noblemen, for having moved and advised the arrest and execution of Sir Simon Burley and Sir James Berners, contrary to the wishes of the king, and that while chancellor, and bound to support the rights of the crown. The archbishop rose to defend himself; but Richard, fearful of the effect of his eloquence, desired him to waive awhile his observations, on pretence of requiring more time to consider the matter; but the next day he was declared to be guilty, and banished for life.
The following day, September 21st, the charges were read to the lords against the three nobles. They were that Gloucester and Arundel had compelled the king, under menace of his life, to sign the commission of regency; that at Hornsey Park they had drawn to their party the Earl of Warwick and Sir Thomas Mortimer, and by force had compelled the king to do their will. The Earls of Rutland, Kent, Huntingdon, Somerset, Salisbury, and Nottingham, and the Lords Spenser and Scrope, were accused of the same crime; that at Huntingdon they had conspired to depose the king, and shown him the statute of the deposition of Edward II., and had also insisted on the death of Sir Simon Burley, in opposition to the king's will.
Arundel pleaded not guilty and former pardons; but he was condemned and executed. Warwick was convicted of high treason; but, on account of his submissive behaviour, his life was spared, and he was banished to the Isle of Man.
On the 24th a mandate was issued by the king and his council in Parliament to the earl marshal to bring his prisoner, the Duke of Gloucester, from Calais to the bar of the house. Three days after this an answer was returned by the earl marshal that "he could not produce the said duke before the king and his council in that Parliament, for that, being in his custody in the king's prison at Calais, he there died."
The simple unexplanatory abruptness of this announcement is particularly startling. It immediately impresses the mind with the conviction of foul play; that the king, not daring to bring to further trial a prince so nearly related to the crown, and so highly esteemed by the people, and yet resolved not to let him escape, had procured his assassination. Apoplexy and other things were talked of, but there could be but one opinion of his end—murder. How this was effected has never been discovered. When Henry Bolingbroke had usurped Richard's throne, and it was his particular interest to prove Richard a murderer of their common uncle, one John Hall, a servant of the Earl of Nottingham, was brought forward, who swore that to his knowledge the duke was taken from the prison to an inn, called the Prince's Inn, and there smothered between two beds by a servant of the king and another of the Earl of Rutland. Though eight persons were named in the paper as being concerned in the transaction, none of these were ever examined, nor was Hall brought before any judge; but, having made this confession, was at once beheaded. It appears sufficiently clear, therefore, that this was an invention of Bolingbroke's to blacken the character of Richard. Froissart says he was strangled in prison by four people with towels; but the mode matters little: the fact of Gloucester's murder cannot admit of a doubt, and whatever it was, the Parliament appears to have troubled itself not at all about it. They declared, both Lords and Commons, that he was a traitor, and confiscated all his property to the crown.
The next day his confession, as delivered to Sir William Rickhill, was read in Parliament. He acknowledged that he had been guilty of procuring the commission of regency; of presenting himself with an armed force before the king in Westminster Hall; of opening the king's letters without permission; of speaking slanderously of him; of employing threats to compel the death of Sir Simon Burley; and of having conspired to depose the king, though only for a few days, after which he meant to replace him on the throne. To this confession was appended the most earnest and humble appeal for mercy. But Gloucester had never shown mercy, and none was shown to him.
In this document, however, Gloucester confesses to nothing recent; the whole of it applies to the transactions of 1386 and 1387; and it is remarkable that it was for these offences that Warwick and Arundel were condemned. So that any recent act of treason really did not enter into these trials.
The rest of the nobles and prelates named in the indictment were then conditionally pardoned, except those who took up arms against the king in his eleventh year, including the Lord Cobham, who was banished to Jersey for life, and Mortimer, who had fled into the wilds of Ireland, and was outlawed.
What is extraordinary is, that several of the very peers who were engaged in these transactions, now declared treasonable, sat in judgment on their more unlucky accomplices. The Duke of York, the Bishop of Winchester, and Sir Richard Scrope, had been members of Gloucester's commission of regency; and Derby and Nottingham were two of the five who appealed the favourites of treason. Some of these were not only winked at, but even promoted when the trial was over. Richard, indeed, in Parliament fully exculpated them, asserting that, though for a time deceived by the pretences of Gloucester, they had abandoned his cause like good and loyal subjects. He then created his cousins, Derby and Rutland, Dukes of Hereford and Albemarle; his two half-brothers, the Earls of Kent and Huntingdon, Dukes of Surrey and Exeter; the Earl of Nottingham, Duke of Norfolk; the Earl of Somerset, Marquis of Dorset; the Lords Despenser, Nevil, Percy, and William Scrope, Earls of Gloucester, Westmoreland, Worcester, end Wiltshire.
On the last day of the session of this servile Parliament the peers took an oath that all the judgments passed in this Parliament should have the full force of statutes for ever; that any one attempting to reverse them should be held to be a traitor; and that the clergy should excommunicate him. The Commons held out their hands in acquiescence with this oath, and Lord Thomas Percy, the proxy of the clergy, swore on their behalf. The Parliament was then prorogued till after the Christmas holidays when it met at Shrewsbury.
Here, again, Richard displayed his anxiety to prevent any future charge against him of unconstitutional proceedings in this Parliament. The guilt of blood was heavy on his soul, and he knew there were those living who, though he had sought to soothe them with titles and honours, trembled it their own insecurity, and might turn round some day with a terrible retaliation. He sought, therefore, to make that secure which his own acts and deed showed was void of all security; for the next monarch who rose might reverse every one of these acts, as he had reversed former ones. Those who now swore to the eternal stability of these judgments had ten years before swore exactly the contrary, and in two more years would swear the contrary again. Anxious, however, to make a rope of sand, to give duration to that which depended on the momentary breath of unprincipled men, he called in the judges to take their opinion of the answers of the judges ten years before at Nottingham; who now declared that that answer was sound and constitutional, and all the statutes of Gloucester's Parliament, which had also been sworn to be indissoluble, were repealed as treasonable. Still not satisfied, Richard asked the judges if there were no other means of securing the authority of the acts of this Parliament, who replied that the authority of Parliament was above all other guarantees. What that guarantee was they had just themselves shown.
But, to bind the Parliament, if possible, Richard desired the three estates of Parliament, the peers, the prelates, and the commons, should swear their former oath on the cross of Canterbury. He asked them if it were not possible to bind their successors, and being told he could not—(it is wonderful that a Parliament which had promised so much, could not also promise that little matter)—he then declared that he would get a bull from the Pope to excommunicate the prince who should attempt to annul any act of this Parliament. And he did in due time procure that bull. But now he had proclamation made out of doors amongst the people, asking it they would consent to this kind of security; and the people with loud acclamations declared they would. Thus the fickle people, equally subservient with the Parliament, gave their sanction to the murder of their late idol Gloucester.
Perhaps no period of our history exhibits a monarch more reckless of the restraints of the constitution than Richard at this epoch; nor a Parliament more servilely disposed to grovel at his feet, and surrender every valuable right. Before closing its sessions, the Commons not only granted him most liberal supplies, but a tax on wool, woolfells and hides, not for the year as previously, but for life, thus rendering him, to a great degree, independent of Parliament; and Richard, again, to provide against any repeal of this munificent grant, published a general pardon, which, however, was to become void the moment any future Parliament attempted to repeal this act
But this vile Parliament went still further in surrendering the birthrights of the people. It had been customary to appoint a committee of the peers and judges formerly, to remain after the business of the session was completed, to hear and determine on such petitions as had not been already answered. Advantage was now taken to seize on this form of a committee to supersede the general functions of Parliament; and twelve peers and six commoners, not judges or justices, were not only invested with the powers of the ancient committees, but also to "hear, examine, and determine all matters and subjects which had been moved in the presence of the king, with all the dependencies thereof." One half only of these were required to attend, so that to nine people were transferred all the powers and authority of Parliament!
The immediate object of this stretch of parliamentary and, under its guise, of kingly power, was to execute the designs of the monarch which led to his ruin. Richard was of that light and sensitive character, and had been early so imbued with the idea of "the divinity that doth hedge about a king," that he was easily led on to the most arbitrary conduct. In the late proceedings against Gloucester and his adherents he had broken unceremoniously through all the restraints of the constitution, and the obsequiousness of Parliament induced him now to imagine that he had placed himself above all law. Parliament had granted him supplies for life, and with the aid of the committee to which Parliament had so tamely resigned its prerogative, "all persons well affected to the king," he could, he imagined, do just as he pleased; and he lost no time in putting this to the proof. He had destroyed Gloucester; he resolved to cut off or remove other overgrown relatives and nobles.
The lively and strong memory which Richard had always shown of past injuries, but never more so than during the late trials, struck horror into the hearts of many who were conscious that they had offended. Amongst these was the Duke of Norfolk. At present he stood apparently high amongst Richard's friends; but he was well aware how slippery was that position, and he was conscious that his reluctance to carry out the bloody proscription against Gloucester would be treasured up in the king's never-failing remembrance for the first tempting occasion. Of the original lords appellants he only and the Duke of Hereford now remained.
Norfolk happening to overtake Hereford, on the road between Brentford and London, the following conversation took place, according to Hereford's statement of it as it still remains on the rolls of Parliament:—
Norfolk. We are on the point of being undone.
Hereford. Why so?
Norfolk. On account of the affair of Rartcot Bridge.
Hereford. How can that be. since the king has granted me pardon, and has declared in Parliament that we behaved as good and loyal subjects?
Norfolk. Nevertheless, our fate will be like that of others before us. He will annul that record.
Hereford. It will be marvellous indeed, if the king, after having said so before the people, should cause it to be annulled.
Norfolk. It is a marvellous and false world that we live in; for I know well that, had it not been for some persons, my lord your father of Lancaster and yourself would have been taken or killed, when you went to Windsor after the Parliament. The Dukes of Albemarle and Exeter, and the Earl of Worcester and I, have pledged ourselves never to assent to the undoing of any lord without just and reasonable cause. But this malicious project belongs to the Duke of Surrey, the Earls of Wiltshire and Salisbury, drawing to themselves the Earl of Gloucester. They have sworn to undo six lords, the Dukes of Lancaster, Hereford, Albemarle, and Exeter, the Marquess of Dorset and myself; and have power to reverse the attainder of Thomas Earl of Lancaster, which would turn to the derision of us and many others.
Hereford. God forbid! It will be a wonder if the king should assent to such designs. He appears to make me good cheer, and has promised to be my good lord. Indeed, he has sworn by St. Edward to be a good lord to me and others.
Norfolk. So he has often sworn to me by God's body, but I do not trust him the more for that. He is attempting to draw the Earl of March into the scheme of the four lords to destroy the others, Hereford. If that be the case, we can never trust them.
Norfolk. Certainly not. Though they may not accomplish their purpose now, they will contrive to destroy us in our houses ten years hence.
Hereford must have taken the earliest opportunity to communicate this confidential conversation to the king. It showed him that the king was carefully watching those who had formerly appeared as his enemies. He was in haste, therefore, to secure himself by the sacrifice of the friend who had thus put him on his guard. Whatever were the steps he took for this end, he received a summons to attend the king at Haywood, where he was made to pledge himself on his allegiance to lay the whole of the preceding conversation before the council. Hereford took care not to leave the king without obtaining a full pardon for himself, under the great seal, for all the treasons, misprisions, and offences that he had ever committed.
Accordingly he appeared in full Parliament, and laid this statement before them; but it contained so much which would naturally incense the king, that he went to Richard the next day, and, throwing himself on his knees before him, once more craved his pardon, declaring that, when he took part formerly in measures against the king, he did not know that he was doing wrong, but that now he know it, and implored forgiveness for it. All this anxiety showed that he was conscious of having entered into the very conspiracies which he was now endeavouring to throw off upon others.
Richard, with his usual smooth duplicity, once more assured him before the whole Parliament of his entire pardon, and promised him great favour. But Richard had, no doubt, already made up his mind as to what he would do. He had here strong hold on his turbulent and disaffected nobles, and he never let such advantages escape him. The great object, therefore, of obtaining a committee of men devoted to him, in whom were concentrated all the powers of Parliament, was to deal with these two nobles, who were dangerous to the solidity of his throne.
To this convenient committee, this sort of pocket Parliament, Richard referred the decision of the cause between them. Norfolk, aware of danger, had not appeared in his place in Parliament; but he was summoned by proclamation, and, on surrender, was brought before Richard at Oswaldstre. There he boldly declared his innocence, and denounced the whole of Hereford's story as false, "the lies of a false traitor."
Richard had them now in his power, and ordered them both into custody. He proceeded to Bristol, where his little pocket Parliament went on exercising all the functions and authority of the real Parliament; and Richard caused them to enact that their statutes were of equal authority with those of a full Parliament, and should take the same effect; that all prelates before taking possession of their sees, all tenants of the crown before receiving possession of their lands, should take an oath to observe the enactments of this junto as perfectly as those of Parliment itself, and that any person attempting to alter or revoke them should be guilty of treason. No more absolute independence of Parliament was ever assumed in this country. The violations of the constitution for which Charles I. afterwards lost his head were not more outrageous than these.
The controversy between Hereford and Norfolk, it was decreed by this committee, should be referred to a high court of chivalry, which was appointed to take place at Windsor on the 29th of April. As Hereford here persisted in the charge, and Norfolk as stoutly denied it, and as no witnesses could be brought, the court determined that the decision of the question should be made by wager of battle, which was to take place at Coventry on the 16th of September.
There, at the moment that the two antagonists were on the point of running a tilt at each other, the king threw down his warder, and the earl marshal stayed the combat. The king then pronounced sentence of banishment upon them both, which, he informed them, was the judgment of the council. Hereford was exiled for ten years, Norfolk for life. It is clear, from the greater severity of the sentence of Norfolk, that the charges of Hereford had told against him. He was pronounced guilty of having, on his own confession, endeavoured to excite dissensions amongst the great lords, and of having secretly opposed the repeal of the acts of Gloucester's Parliamout. Richard took precautions to prevent the malcontents associating abroad so as to plot treason. The Duke of Norfolk was commanded to go on pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and after that to reside only in Germany, Hungary, or Bohemia; and neither of the dukes was to hold any communication with the banished Archbishop of Canterbury at any time during their exile.
Hereford, a man of consummate command of his temper, cool, calculating, and as unprincipled as he was ambitious, appeared to submit to this extraordinary, and, by all, unexpected sentence, with so much humility that he obtained from Richard various benefits which a more openly indignant man would have lost. In the first place, the king, touched by his submission, promised to shorten the term of his exile five years. He acceded to Hereford's request that letters patent should be granted to both the banished lords to appoint attorneys to take possession of any inheritances which might fall to them during their absence, though they could not be there to perform homage or swear fealty. This request has been pronounced by some historians a mysterious one; but there is no mystery about it. John of Gaunt, Hereford's father, was now old and infirm, and not likely to live long. He had so lost all that high and swelling spirit which distinguished him through a long life, that he had consented to sign the royal acts against his own family; that for the attainder of his brother Gloucester, and now for the banishment of his own son. If he died while his son was abroad under sentence of banishment, all his vast estates would pass to the crown in default of the performance of the necessary feudal conditions of tenure. Hereford, aware of this, endeavoured to guard against it by this royal engagement, and, probably, that his design might not be too obvious, was a party to the extension of the favour to his opponent. We shall presently see that Hereford's precaution did not prevent Richard seizing on Lancaster's estates, as that sagacious nobleman feared; but it gave Hereford a grand plea for his return to vindicate his usurped rights.
The two banished dukes took their departure. Richard, to soften still more the mind of Hereford, sent to him at Calais a present of 1,000 marks. The unfortunate Norfolk, after his pilgrimage, returned, and died of a broken heart at Venice. And we may here notice the fate of the exiled Archbishop of Canterbury. After residing some time in France, the Pope appointed him to the see of St. Andrews in Scotland. To this Richard made some opposition; but, finding it unavailing, at length acquiesced.
Richard now imagined that he had reached the summit of uncontrollable power. With his taxes secured for life, instead of being compelled every year to come to Parliament to solicit their renewal, and to be called to account by the Commons for their expenditure; with his obsequious little pocket Parliament; his council ready to decree any measure that he willed, however unjust an unconstitutional; and with a standing body of 10,000 archers, maintained out of those foolishly-conceded life long supplies, Richard was, in fact, an absolute monarch. Froissart says, no man, however great, dared speak against anything that he did. He had lopped off or driven away the most powerful of his nobles and kinsmen: and he now raised money by forced loans. He compelled the judges to expound the law at his pleasure. He forced the unhappy adherents of Gloucester to purchase and re-purchase charters of pardon; and, to obtain plenty of fines and amercements, he at one stroke outlawed seventeen counties, on the charge of having favoured his enemies at the battle of Radcot Bridge. He could accuse both sides at pleasure of being his enemies; for, while he had secretly commissioned the Duke of Ireland to take up arms, Gloucester and Hereford were ostensibly maintaining the royal cause.
The money thus extorted from his groaning subjects was spent with reckless extravagance. We have already spoken of the prodigal license and swarming numbers of his court. That of Edward III. had been esteemed very magnificent, but this of Richard far eclipsed it; and the chroniclers describe with wonder the gorgeous furniture and equipages, the feasts and pageants of this court, which had not the martial glory to make it tolerable to the people which Edward's had. It is said that the tailors, cloth merchants, cooks, jewellers, and hosts of retainers in costly liveries which frequented it, were something inconceivable.
But, like that of many another thoughtless king, Richard's grandeur was hollow and delusive. It had no basis in the affections of any class of the community. The friends of Gloucester and Hereford, and the other nobles who were banished, were full of violent discontent, and secretly diffused it on every side. The people saw with indignation their hard-earned money wasted on the worst of creatures. Richard had made them his enemies at the very commencement of his reign by his perfidious conduct to them in the Wat Tyler insurrection, and by the cruelty with which he pursued them afterwards. As Shakespeare makes the nobles say:—
Ross.
The commons hath he pilled with grievous taxes,
And quite lost their hearts; the nobles hath he fined
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.
Wiltshire.
And daily new exactions are devised;
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what:
But what o' God's name doth become of this?
Northumberland.
Wars have not wasted it, for warred he hath not.
But basely yielded upon compromise
That which his ancestors achieved with blows.
Here hath he spent in peace than they in wars.
There wanted but a match to explode the mine already laid by his folly and want of real regard to his people under Richard's feet, and this came in the death of the aged John of Gaunt. He died about three months after the banishment of his son; an event which no doubt hastened his end.
Combat between Earls Norfolk and Hereford
stopped by the King. (See page 437.)
Now was seen the wisdom of Hereford's act in procuring the letters patent for the securing of his inheritance, and the arbitrary rapacity of Richard, who at once declared that Hereford being banished was tantamount to outlawry, which implied forfeiture of estate; and this dishonest and impolitic judgment a great council which he assembled, including his committee of Parliament, confirmed. It declared the patents granted both to Hereford and Norfolk were utterly illegal and void. Neither Richard nor his council hesitated, when it pleased them, to stultify and declare unlawful their own most solemn acts. In fact, all faith was banished, and government was a farce, to be followed by a tragedy.
Richard seized on the vast estates of the banished Hereford, now Duke of Lancaster, and when Henry Bowet, the duke's attorney, resisted this iniquitous proceeding, he also was arrested and condemned to death as a traitor, but let off with banishment. This most lawless deed appeared to put the climax to the national endurance. The people murmured, the nobles assumed a sullen and brooding aspect, and the whole nation was ripe for revolt.
Henry of Lancaster was not a man to let slip the favourable opportunity. He had always shown outward deference to the people; he waited and watched every movement from Paris, where he resided, and where he had been on the point of strenghtening his position bymarrying the daughter of the Duke of Berri, when Richard, in alarm, sent over an embassy and defeated it.
Yet at this crisis, when Hereford, newly become Lancaster, was maddened by the seizure of all his demesnes and honours, did Richard venture to leave his kingdom where he had not one real friend. His cousin and heir, the Earl of March, had been surprised and killed in a skirmish with the Irish. Richard, with his quick, resentful feelings, in his eagerness to revenge his loss, determined at once to go to Ireland. He appointed the Duke of York, his uncle, regent in his absence, attended mass at Windsor, and at the door of the church took wine and spices with his young queen, whom he repeatedly took up in his 
Meeting of Richard and Lancaster at Flint Castle. (See page 442.)
From Windsor, Richard, accompanied by several noblemen, marched to Bristol, where those circumstances were pressed on his attention which would have made any prudent monarch return with all speed to his capital. Reports of plots and discontents reached him from various quarters. The Londoners, who had always shown the most decided liking for the present Duke of Lancaster, on hearing of Richard's voyage for Ireland, said amongst themselves, "Now goes Richard of Bordeaux to his destruction, as sure as did Edward II., his great-grand-father. Like him, he has listened so long to evil counsellors, that it can be neither concealed nor endured any longer."
There were numbers of officers in his army that were as disaffected, and amongst these were the Lord Percy and his son. The king summoned these noblemen to his presence, but they got away into Scotland, and put themselves under the protection of King Robert. The condition of England at this moment was very miserable. There were general murmurings and divisions in the community. Robbers and robberies abounded, justice was perverted, and the people said it was time there was some remedy. The bishops and nobles got into London for safety, and those who had lost their relatives by the king's exactions rejoiced in the trouble, and wished to see it grow. In their eyes the Duke of Gloucester had been a great and plain-spoken patriot, to whom the king would not listen, and who had lost his life through his honest representations of the condition of the country.
Under such circumstances Richard set sail at Milford Haven, and in two days, on May 31st, 1399, landed at Waterford. There he lost three weeks in waiting for the Duke of Albemarle, who was to have followed him with another force, but who is supposed to have been influenced by the prevailing disaffection. At length Richard marched on towards Kilkenny, and many of the lesser chieftains came humbly with halters round their necks, suing for pardon. Not so the great chieftain M'Murehad. He came to a parley with Scrope, the Earl of Gloucester, mounted on a magnificent gray charger, which had cost him 400 head of cattle, and brandishing a huge spear in his hand. He expressed his willingness to become a nominal vassal of the crown, but would be free of all compulsion or conditions. Richard refused to treat with so independent an individual, but set a price on his head, and proceeded to Dublin, where he was at length joined by Albemarle, and he then again gave chase to the wild Irish chief. But in the midst of this pursuit he was suddenly arrested by news from England, which reduced all other considerations to nothing.
Lancaster had landed at Ravenspur, in Yorkshire, and was rapidly collecting an army and marching towards London. While the duke was brooding at Paris over the fresh indignity put upon him by Richard, who had sent the Earl of Salisbury to break off the match with Marie, Countess of Eu, daughter of the Duke of Berri, the exiled Archbishop of Canterbury arrived, bringing him the news of Richard's departure for Ireland, and the desire of the people of London for his arrival. To elude the vigilance of the French court, he obtained permission to visit the Duke of Brittany, and he speedily set sail from Vannes for England. Three small vessels carried the whole of his invading army—namely, the archbishop, the son of the late Earl of Arundel, fifteen lancers, and a few servants. But he had full reliance on the spirit which then animated all England. He was quickly joined by the Earls of Westmoreland and Northumberland, to whom he declared, in the White Friars at Doncaster, that he came only to reclaim the honours and estates of his father, which wore secured to him by the king himself by his letters patent; and he swore to make no claim upon the crown.
His uncle, the Duke of York, as regent of the kingdom in the royal absence, advanced to St. Albans to oppose ostensibly his progress; but it could not be supposed that he was very hearty in the cause, after having seen one brother murdered by the king, and the only son of the other, the great John of Gaunt, expelled and thwarted by him. The favourites of the king, the Earl of Wiltshire, Bussy, and Green, who were not only members of the infamous council, but had been farmers and exactors of the oppressive taxes, showed a prudent doubt of any sure protection from such a champion as York. They had been appointed to wait on the young queen at Wallingford, but they took flight, leaving her to fate, and fled to Bristol, in expectation of meeting the king. York very soon took the same direction, no doubt in the desire to resign, as soon as possible, his responsibility into the hands of the king, for he felt that there was no reliance on his army.
Thus he left the way open to the capital, and Lancaster advanced along it with equal rapidity and success. The expression of Lingard is the most descriptive of his progress: "The snowball increased as it rolled along, and the small number of forty followers, with whom he had landed, swelled by the time he reached St. Albans to 60,000 men." He sent before him letters and messages, in which he stated his wrongs and the grievances of the people. One to the Duke of York, entreating him not to "oppose a loyal and humble supplicant in recovering his sacred patrimony," is said to have drawn from the regent of the kingdom a declaration that he would second his nephew in so reasonable a request, and the army is reported to have received it with acclamations.
On all the estates belonging to his family he was received with rapture, and the people of London came out to meet him, headed by the clergy, with addresses of congratulation and offers of assistance. But he did not make much delay in the metropolis: all was evidently his own there. He therefore made a rapid march after his uncle, to prevent his union with the king's forces, should he arrive, and he came up with him at Berkeley. After a friendly message from Lancaster, York met him in the castle church, and the result of their conference was that York joined his forces to those of Lancaster. Probably he might credit Lancaster that he sought only his just demand of the enjoyment of his hereditary estates, which York had already avowed that he would aid him in. But from that moment the cause of Richard was betrayed, and his doom was sealed. York, on his authority as the king's lieutenant, ordered Sir Peter Courtenay, the governor of Bristol Castle, to open its gates; Sir Peter protesting that he knew no authority but the king's, yet submitted to the commands of York as regent. The next morning, the three late members of the council and farmers of the taxes, the Earl of Wiltshire, Bussy, and Green, were brought out and executed without any trial. The people had clamoured loudly for their blood, and wore enthusiastically delighted at their deaths. The Duke of York took up his quarters at Bristol, and Lancaster, who must have had full confidence in the adhesion of his uncle, went on to Chester, where the people were most favourable to the king, in order to secure the city.
Meanwhile Richard, having received this astounding news, prepared to pass over with his army. From this resolution the Duke of Albemarle, who played constantly into the hands of the king's enemies, used every endeavour to persuade him. At length it was determined that the Earl of Salisbury should sail with his own retainers, only 100 men, and endeavour to raise the inhabitants of Wales, Richard promising to follow in a week.
Salisbury was successful. The men of both Wales and Cheshire flocked to the king's standard, and the earl looked impatiently for the king's arrival. But no Richard appeared; and it was not till nearly three weeks from Salisbury's setting out that Richard presented himself with the Dukes of Albemarle, Exeter, and Surrey, the Earl of Worcester, the Bishops of London, Lincoln, and Carlisle. If earls and bishops could have saved the throne, there was a fair array: but where was the army? Gone; melted away like a morning mist.
Scarcely had they landed, when the most general disaffection showed itself. The news of the Duke of York having joined Lancaster was fatal; and Richard, looking out of his window on the second morning after his arrival at Milford Haven, saw that his army had vanished. A council was instantly held in the greatest consternation. Some counselled the king to retire to his French provinces; but his evil genius, the Duke of Exeter, the quondam murderer, John Holland, strongly urged him to hasten on to Conway, where the Earl of Salisbury lay. If they could not make a stand there, they could still put out to sea for Guienne. This advice prevailed; but such was the confounded state of the royal councils that, instead of advancing there in a small but compact body, the king, disguised as a Franciscan friar, stole out of the camp at midnight, and, accompanied by his two half-brothers, Exeter and Surrey, the Earl of Gloucester, the Bishop of Carlisle, and a few other attendants, made their way towards Conway. As soon as their departure was known, the military chest was plundered, and Albemarle, Worcester, and most of the loaders hastened to Lancaster, the rest dispersing and getting away to their own counties as best they might, insulted and plundered on their way by the Welsh.
Still more overwhelming news met the fugitive king on reaching Conway. Instead of a fine army, there lay Salisbury with only 100 men, and destitute of all provisions. While Richard had delayed his coming, all adverse influences had been brought to bear on Salisbury's host; disheartening rumours were circulated amongst the troops, and, in spite of Salisbury's tears and entreaties, they rapidly dispersed. The news which that brave commander had to give Richard when he inquired for his army is well expressed in the words of our national dramatist:—
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth.
Oh, call back yesterday, bid time return.
And thou shalt hare twelve thousand fighting men
To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late,
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy stato;
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead,
In this deplorable situation the mind of the king seems to have lost all its wonted courage. He sent his two half-brothers, the Dukes of Surrey and Exeter, to his haughty rival to ask what were his intentions. They could very easily be divined. Richard was wholly in his power, wholly deserted, and it was not in the nature of Bolingbroke to let pass so tempting an opportunity of seizing a crown. While the two emissaries went on their unpromising mission, the king and Salisbury examined the castles of Beaumaris and Carnarvon, but, finding
only bare walls, they returned dejected to Conway.
Meantime Surrey and Exeter were admitted to the presence of Lancaster at Chester, who at once detained them as prisoners. Here was already the traitor Albemarle, who was so gay that he could afford to taunt the fallen kinsmen of the king.
There have been various relations of the capture of Richard, but this is that which is left by two of his own suite, and may be found in the Archæologia.
Lancaster having carefully informed himself of the retreat of the king, and that he had a considerable treasure deposited in the strong castle of Holt, immediately dispatched a body of troops to capture the money, and another, of 400 men-at-arms and 1,000 archers, under the Duke of Northumberland, to secure the king. Northumberland marched into Flint, and thence to Rhuddlan Castle, and about five miles beyond the latter place left his detachment concealed behind a rock. He then rode forward with only four attendants to Conway, where he was readily admitted to the presence of the king, who was in the highest anxiety regarding his brothers and the fate of their mission. The duke replied that his brothers were quite well at Chester, and that he was himself dispatched with a letter to his grace by the Duke of Exeter. In the letter Exeter was instructed to say that Richard might put full confidence in the offers made by Northumberland. These were that the said dukes, Exeter and Surrey, the Earl of Salisbury, the Bishop of Carlisle, and Maudelain, the king's chaplain, should take their trials for having advised the murder of Gloucester; that Lancaster should be made justiciary of the kingdom, as his ancestors had been before him; and, these terms being conceded, the duke would wait on the king at Flint, to implore pardon, and accompany him to London.
Richard, after consulting his friends, consented to the terms, but secretly assured his adherents implicated that he would stand by them steadfastly on their trial, and would take the first opportunity to be avenged on his and their enemies; saying he would flay some of them alive if he could, and that all the gold on earth should not induce him to spare them. He insisted on Northumberland swearing on behalf of Lancaster to the strict observance of the articles, and, "like Judas," says the writer of the account, "he perjured himself on the body of our Lord"—that is, he swore on the host.
Northumberland set out, Richard reminding him of his oath, and telling him he relied upon him. He soon followed with a small company of friends and servants. On coming to a turn of the road, Richard exclaimed, "God of Paradise, assist me! I am betrayed! Do you not see pennons and banners in the valley?" Northumberland with eleven others just then came up, and pretended to be ignorant of any armed force near. "Earl of Northumberland!" said Richard, "if I thought you capable of betraying me, it is not too late to return!"
"You cannot return," said Northumberland, seizing Richard's bridle; "I have promised to conduct you to the Duke of Lancaster." A body of lancers and archers came hastening up, and Richard, seeing all hope of escape gone by, exclaimed, "May the God on whom you laid your hand reward you and your accomplices at the last day!"
Pontefract Castle.
They reached Flint Castle that evening, where Richard, when left alone with his friends, vented the bitterness of his regret that he had repeatedly spared Lancaster, when he so carefully destroyed other and far less dangerous men. "Fool that I was!" he exclaimed; "thrice did I save the life of this Henry of Lancaster. Once my dear uncle, his father, on whom the Lord have mercy, would have put him to death for his treason and villany. God of Paradise! I rode all night to save him, and his father delivered him to me to do with him as I pleased. How true is the saying, that we have no greater enemy than the man whom we have preserved from the gallows! Another time he drew his sword on me, in the chamber of the queen, on whom God have mercy! He was also the accomplice of the Duke of Gloucester and the Earl of Arundel; he consented to my murder, to that of his father, and of all my council. By St. John, I forgave him all; nor would I believe his father, who more than once pronounced him. deserving of death."
The next morning the fallen king, after a sleepless night, ascended the tower of the castle, and looked out anxiously for the approach of Lancaster, who had agreed to meet him there; and anon he saw him coming, at the head of 80,000 men. This vast army came winding along the strand to the castle, which it surrounded, and Richard beheld himself a captive in the midst of his own subjects. At this sight, and the reflections it occasioned, the once arbitrary monarch shuddered, and bewailed his fate. He cursed Northumberland in impotent rage, but was soon called to meet Archbishop Arundel, himself a rebel returned, without asking leave, from banishment, the traitor Duke of Albemarle, and the Earl of Worcester. They knelt in pretended homage, and Richard held a long conversation with Arundel. When they were gone, Richard again ascended to the tower, gazed on the great host of his revolted subjects, and feeling a dire foreboding of his fate, said, "Good Lord God! I commend myself into thy holy keeping, and cry thee mercy that thou wouldst pardon all my sins. If they put me to death, I will take it patiently, as thou didst for us all."
At dinner there were only his few remaining adherents, and since they were all companions in misfortune, Richard would insist on their sitting down with him. While at their meal persons unknown came into the hall, and insulted and menaced him; and no sooner did he rise than he was summoned into the court to meet Lancaster.
The duke advanced to the king clad in complete armour, but without helmet, and, bending his knee, did obeisance with his cap in his hand. "Fair cousin of Lancaster," said Richard, uncovering, "you are right welcome." "My lord," replied Lancaster, "I am come somewhat before my time, but I will show you the reason. Your people complain that for the space of twenty or two-and-twenty years you have ruled them rigorously; but, if it please God, I will help you to rule them better." The humbled monarch replied, "Fair cousin, since it pleaseth you, it pleaseth us well."
The king's horses were ordered, and they set forward at once for Chester, amid a flourish of trumpets, Richard and the Earl of Salisbury riding on tired and wretched animals. The duke came behind. At Chester, after issuing writs in the king's name for a meeting of Parliament, Lancaster dismissed a great part of his army, and set out for London. At Lichfield, Richard slipped unperceived out of his window, but was retaken in the court, and was ever afterwards strictly guarded. On arriving at London, Richard was sent to Westminster, and thence to the Tower, while the hypocritical Lancaster went in solemn state to St. Paul's, and pretended to weep awhile at the tomb of his father, while in his heart he was congratulating himself on his successful treason. We have two conflicting statements of the manner of Richard's entrance into London. Froissart says that he was conducted secretly to the Tower for fear of the Londoners, who had a great hatred of him; but other accounts accord with that of Shakespeare, copied no doubt from the chronicles, which make Lancaster conduct him thither in triumph.
The people are said to have cursed him as he went along, and cried "bastard," which alluded to a common scandal amongst the Londoners, and with which Froissart makes Lancaster personally upbraid Richard, that he was not really the son of the Black Prince, but of a young canon or priest at Bordeaux. This was a very probable aspersion of Lancaster, because it rendered Richard a usurper, and took away his own treason. So completely was Richard deserted, that Froissart says a favourite greyhound, which he had, called Mathe, and which would never notice any one else, while Lancaster spoke with Richard in the castle court at Flint, suddenly left Richard, went and fawned on Lancaster, and ever afterwards followed him.
According to the same authority, we are told that Lancaster sent to the queen at Leeds Castle in Kent, and had the Lady Courci sent away to France, and allowed no French man or woman to remain in her service, but all English, and newly placed about her, so that there should be no talk of, or communication with, the king. "And in all this, the Londoners," he says, "rejoiced; only they were discontented that Richard was kept out of their sight and reach." For, says he, "behold the opinion of the common people when they be up against their prince or lord, and especially in England. Among them there is no remedy, for they are the most dangerous people in the world, and most outrageous if they be up, and especially Londoners."
Parliament met on the 29th of September to consider of the course to be adopted; in other words, to carry out the will of Lancaster and depose Richard. It was clear that Richard had entirely lost the affections of the people. They would never again receive him. His utter want of regard for them; his continual exactions to waste their moans on unworthy favourites; the contempt he had all along expressed for the people, and his severe treatment of them; his breach of all his oaths as a king; his attempts to make himself absolute, and to rule by a junto, had made him disliked and despised through the whole realm, but especially in the metropolis. It is equally true that Lancaster was their favourite, and that they would willingly accept him as king; and had he been content to accept the crown as the popular gift, he would have had the highest possible title to it, far beyond any hereditary plea. In fact, he would have occupied the position since assumed by William III., who refused to reign in right of his wife, and was eventually elected by the nation. But Lancaster disdained that only valid ground of right, and determined to claim it by descent. Than this there could be nothing more palpably untenable, for the Earl of March, the grandson of Lionel, Duke of Clarence, the third son of Edward III., was the true heir. By standing on the empty claim of descent, instead of the free election of the people, he was and remained an arrant usurper.
As soon as Lancaster began to allow it to be known that he did not really content himself with being the reformer of the state, but aspired to the crown, some of his chief supporters fell away; and amongst them the Earl of Northumberland, who had been made to assure Richard of his just treatment. This was a main reason for dismissing a great host of his army at Chester, including the followers of Northumberland.
The remaining transactions of this reign come to us chiefly through the rolls of Parliament, penned under the direct influence of Lancaster, and, therefore, are probably coloured as much as possible to favour his own views, and cover his notorious usurpation. A deputation of prelates, barons, knights, and lawyers waited on Richard in the Tower, and received from him his resignation, which he was then said to have promised at Conway, but which we know was not the fact. He was also in that document, signed by him and presented by the deputies to Parliament, made to name, by his own preference, Lancaster as his successor. Of course, all this he was obliged to say.
The next day this act of resignation was read in full Parliament, and there unanimously accepted, and received by the people with shouts of applause. If Richard had thus voluntarily abdicated, there could be no necessity for what immediately followed—a series of thirty-three, articles of impeachment in order to his deposition. The chief charges contained in those were his violation of his coronation oath, his murder of the Duke of Gloucester, and his despotic and unconstitutional conduct. Of course, there was no opposition; but Merks, the Bishop of Carlisle, who had remained faithful to Richard, and continued with him to the last, stood boldly forward, and claimed for him the right to be confronted with his accusers, and that Parliament should have the opportunity of judging whether his resignation were voluntary or not. Nothing could be more reasonable, but nothing more inconvenient where all was settled beforehand to one end; and the only answer which the high-minded prelate received was his immediate arrest by Lancaster, and consignment to the Abbey of St. Albans.
Richard was then formally deposed, with an acrimony of accusation which, to say the least, if his resignation had been, as asserted, voluntary in favour of Lancaster, was as ungracious as it was uncalled for. The chief justice, Sir William Thirning, was deputed to notify this decision of Parliament to the captive.
Lancaster, who had taken his seat during these proceedings near the throne, then rising and crossing himself on the forehead and breast, pronounced the following words:—In the name of Fadher, Son, and Holy Ghost, I, Henry of Lancaster, challenge this rewme of Ynglonde and the crowne, with all the members and appurtenances, als I that am descendit be ryght lyne of the blode, cumyng fra the gude lord King Henry Thirde, and throghe that ryght that God of his grace has sent me, with help of my kyn and of my frendes to recover it; the whiche rewme was in poynt to be ondone for defaut of governance, and undoying of the gude lawes.'
This speech was one of those which have a sound of reason to the ear, but will not bear a moment's examination. True, he was descended from Henry III., like Edward III. and Richard, but not in the true line—that being, as we have stated, the line of Lionel, and Henry being now not only the usurper of Richard's throne, but of the Earl of March's reversion.
But the pretence was enough, and more than enough, for all who heard it. They knew it was all empty sound, and the real reasons for assent lay in Lancaster's will, backed by a powerful army and a willing people.
Henry, as proof of Richard's having resigned all his rights into his hands, produced the ring and seal. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Arundel, his late fellow-exile, now took him by the hand and led him to the throne. He knelt for a short time on the steps in prayer, or affected prayer; for Lancaster, amid all his grasping at his neighbour's goods, was especially careful to do outward homage to the great Being who had said, "Thou shalt not covet." On rising, the two archbishops placed him on the throne; and, as soon as the acclamations ceased, the primate made a short sermon, choosing his test, with the finished tact of a priestly courtier, from 1 Samuel ix. 17:—"Behold the man whom I spoke to thee of; this same shall reign over my people;" and the sermon was worthy of the text.
Then the new king, fearful that his bold claims to the right of conquest might alarm some of his hearers, stood up, and said, as reported by old Knyghton:—"Siris, I thank God and zou, spiritual and temporal, and all the astates of the land, and do zow to wyte, it is naght my will that no man thynk that be way of conquest I wold disherit any man of his heritage, franches, or other rights that hym oght to have, no put hym out of that he has, and has had by the gude lawes and custumes of the rewme, except those persons that has been agan the gude purpose and the commune profyt of the rewme."
Thus ended the reign of Richard II.; and, as with it ended also the authority of Parliament and the ministers of the crown, Lancaster immediately summoned the Parliament to meet again in six days, appointed now officers, and, having received their oaths, retired to the royal palace.
The history of the progress of parliamentary power in this reign is most important. We find Parliament at various times assorting its authority, calling on the crown to reform its household, its courts of law, to restrain its expenditure, and dismiss its servants. By its means the Duke of Gloucester obtained his commission to regulate the administration, and to impeach the prime minister, the Earl of Suffolk, De la Pole; and though, during the latter years of his reign, Parliament, as in our time, became corrupt and subservient, yet the people, assuming the exercise of those powers which their delegates had basely surrendered, punished and deposed the monarch whom they could not reform. So self-evident is this fact, that some of our most celebrated legal historians contend that the Duke of Lancaster cannot properly be called a usurper, seeing that he was undoubtedly the elect of the nation.
Richard was dethroned in the twenty-third year of his reign, and the thirty-fourth of his age. His last dark days properly belong to the reign of his rival and destroyer, but will most effectually be finished here. Henry IV. lost no time in submitting to the lords the question what should be done with the late monarch, whose life, he declared, he was at all events resolved to preserve. The lords recommended perpetual confinement in some castle, where none of his former adherents could obtain access to him. This advice was acted upon, as there can be little doubt that it was first suggested by Henry. Richard disappeared, and no one knew anything of his place of detention. The King of France threatened war on behalf of the rights of his daughter, Isabella, and his son-in-law, the deposed king. To avert this storm Henry proposed to make various alliances between the two royal families, including the marriage of the Prince of Wales to a daughter of Charles. But the King of France rejected the proposal, declaring that he knew no King of England but Richard. The French king, however, received intelligence that Richard was dead, and therefore he avowedly ceased to prosecute his claims, but confined himself to those of his daughter, demanding that she should be restored to him, with her jewels and her dowry, according to the marriage settlement. Charles afterwards consented to receive her with her jewels only, counter claims being set up against the dowry.
From the moment, however, that the public statement of Richard's death was made by the King of France, the nation became inquisitive, and it was not long before the dead body of the deposed monarch was brought up from Pontefract Castle, and shown publicly in St. Paul's for two days, where 20,000 people are said to have gone to see it. Only the face was uncovered, and that was wonderfully emaciated. Various were the rumours of the mode of his death on all these occasions, but, as in the case of Richard's victim, the Duke of Gloucester, nothing certain ever transpired. One story was that Sir Piers Exton, with seven other assassins, entered his cell to despatch him, when Richard, aware of their purpose, snatched an axe from one of them, and felled him and several of his fellows to the earth; but that Exton, getting behind him, prostrated him with one blow, and then slew him. Another story was that he was starved to death; and there were not wanting rumours that he had escaped, and lived many years in the guise of an ordinary man. But Henry Bolingbroke may be safely trusted to secure his dangerous captive. The features of Richard were too well known to thousands in London to be mistaken for those of one Maudelain, whose body, it was pretended, had been substituted for Richard's. There can be no doubt but that he died a secret and violent death: the mode of that death must for ever remain a mystery.