CHAPTER VII RICHARD II. AND QUEEN ANNE

Edward the Black Prince, that flower of English chivalry, had left his little son Richard as his legacy to the people who loved him so well.

"I commend to you my son," he said, as he lay dying in Westminster Palace, "for he is but young and small. And I pray that as you have served me, so from your heart you will serve him."

One year afterwards, this boy of eleven was crowned in Westminster, and so "young and small" was he that the long day with all its wearying ceremony was too much for him; he fainted away, and had to be carried from the Abbey to the Palace on a litter.

Never before had there been a coronation on so magnificent a scale: the citizens of London, with their good wives and daughters, were learning to enjoy pageants and holidays, and it was now better than half a century since a king had been crowned. First Richard had spent some days in the Tower, that great fort of the capital, and then had come the wonderful procession through Cheapside, Fleet Street, and the Strand, the boy riding bareheaded, surrounded by a band of young knights in new attire, forerunners of the knightly Order of the Bath, winning all hearts by his beautiful face and his lavish generosity. For the young king was from the first recklessly extravagant, and while he with his nobles feasted in the Palace at the coronation banquet, he caused the fountains outside to pour forth wine in abundance, that all who would might drink to their heart's desire.

John of Gaunt, his uncle, one of those many sons of Edward III., was made Regent, and Richard, with the approbation of all, was placed under the tutorship of that accomplished knight, Guiscard d'Angle, Earl of Huntingdon, to be instructed in the paths of virtue and honour.

But those were not peaceful days in England, and John of Gaunt made the fatal mistake of defying the knights of the shire and burgesses who composed the House of Commons, and who really represented the thoughts and feelings of the people.

"What do these base and ignoble knights attempt?" he asked contemptuously. "Do they think they be kings or princes in the land?"

Nevertheless, in the end he was forced to flee from England, so bitter was the feeling against him. The cause of the universal discontent was the heavy taxation, the result of the long French wars, and the Bishop of Rochester, in his sermon at the coronation, had boldly touched on this with words of solemn warning. For the first time the great peasant population of England, who had hitherto suffered in resentful silence, was in a position to lift up a voice of protest, as the Black Death had so ravaged the country that those labourers who were left were able to make terms for themselves, and to refuse to work without payment. The tax which brought the discontent to a crowning point was the poll-tax, which was a tax of twelve pence (about eighteen shillings) to be paid by every person over fifteen; and when a certain Wat the Tiler killed a tax-collector, who, not content with trying to force him into paying this poll-tax, insulted his little daughter, the men of Kent rallied in their thousands round Wat and marched on London. Richard was now only fifteen, but he was at his best, full of courage, full of strength, worthy grandson of Edward III., true son of Edward the Black Prince. He determined to ride out with a small escort and meet these thousands of rebels face to face. It was a bold stroke, and he knew the risk. But he would not be stayed. There is a story, most probably true, that he consulted the aged Anchorite of the Abbey, for every monastery of importance had its Anchorite, a monk who voluntarily set himself apart for the rest of his life to live in one cell, praying for the house; and more than one of the Anchorites of Westminster had given counsel to the kings who sought them out, the words of these holy men being held as sacred. Certain it is that, on the morning of this eventful day, he, with his escort, heard mass in the Abbey, paid his devotions, and made his offerings at King Edward's shrine, "in which," says an old writer, "the kings of England have great faith." Then he rode out to Smithfield.

"Here is the king," said Wat Tiler to his men. "I will go speak with him. When I give you a sign, step forward and kill every one except the king. Hurt him not, for he is young and we can do what we will with him. We will lead him with us about all England, so shall we be lords of the kingdom without a doubt."

But in a few minutes, as you know, the scene had changed. Wat Tiler lay dead, and the boy king, ordering that not one of his attendants should follow him, rode forward into the midst of the excited crowd, and said calmly, "Sirs, what aileth you? I will be your leader and captain. I am your king."

The men were Englishmen, and this cool courage won their hearts on the spot. They crowded round the king begging for pardon, which he granted to them at once, forbidding his followers to strike a blow. And so the great rebellion ended.

As he rode back to London, Richard stopped to reassure his mother.

"Rejoice and thank God, madam," he said, kissing her, "for I have this day regained my inheritance and the kingdom which I had lost."

If only the king had been true to the promise of his boyhood, he might have ranked among the greatest of our rulers. As it was, he went on his way unchecked, uncontrolled, till one after another his good points sank into the background; cowardice took the place of courage, cruelty of chivalry, and he who had said confidently to his people, "I will be your leader and your captain," proved himself to be utterly incapable and helpless.

A year later Richard married Princess Anne of Bohemia, the sister of that "good King Wencelaus," about whom was written the Christmas Carol you know so well, and on their wedding day there were great feastings at Westminster. All the city guilds and companies, splendidly arrayed, came out to do honour to the rosy-cheeked and smiling girl queen, herself only sixteen; and when at his coronation she entreated the king as a favour to set free all prisoners in the country, the delighted citizens gave her the name of "Our Good Queen Anne."

The young king spent much of his time in his Palace of Westminster, and as you look to-day at Westminster Hall, the only part of the fine building which stands, I want you to try and imagine all the busy life which centred there round the court and the church. Everything connected with Richard was done on a magnificent scale. He had a body-guard of four thousand archers; he had a band of nearly four hundred workmen—carpenters, jewellers, armourers, masons, tilers, furriers—whose duty it was to work everything needed for the king's service, and these, with their wives and children, lived under the shadow of Westminster. Then there were all the servants connected with the royal kitchen, the pantry, spicery, buttery, bakehouse, and brewery, and there must have been a goodly number of these, for a writer who belonged to the court tells us that every day ten thousand folk that "followed the Hous" drew their rations of food from the Palace.

Besides all these we must count the higher court officials, the members of the royal household, the judges who sat in Westminster Hall, the priests of St. Stephen's Chapel, the bishops and abbots and nobles with all their retinues, and then we may have some idea of the bustle and life round Westminster Palace at a time when there was "greate pride, and riche arraye, and all things much more costious and more precious than was before or sith."

Look at Old Palace Yard and New Palace Yard, with the dull old streets leading out of them, and then imagine Richard's Palace, with its towers, its posterns, its great halls and painted chambers, its cloisters, its courts, and its galleries; "gabled houses with carved timber and plastered fronts, cloisters which glowed in the sunshine with their lace like tracery, with the gold and crimson of their painted roofs and walls; everywhere tourelles with rich carvings, windows of tracery most beautiful, archways, gates, battlements; chantry chapels, oratories, courts of justice, and interiors bright with splendid tapestry, the colours of which had not yet faded, with canopies of scarlet and gold, and the sunlight reflected from many a shining helm and breastplate, from many a jewelled hilt and golden scabbard." Would that the Great Fire which destroyed all this had left us one little glimpse of its old splendour.

Inside the monastery, too, there was plenty of life of a different sort, though the monks were by no means cut off from the great world which lay at their door. For the Abbey of St. Peter was the richest of all the great houses, and was now at the height of its glory; and Litlington's new buildings greatly added to its importance, as the Abbot freely entertained in his new palace the highest in the land.

Yet a daily routine was carried out. Eight hours were given to sleep and eight were spent in church; the remainder were devoted to work—that is to say, some monks taught the young, others studied and transcribed, others had duties in the refectory and dormitory, and so on. Most of the monks had come here as young boys; many of them spent here fifty and sixty years of their lives, praying, working, teaching, learning. But I think sometimes the young men must have longed for some share in the life outside of which they heard the echoes daily, and saw all the outward splendours and delights.

Certain it is that Abbot Litlington was something more than a monk. For when, during the reign of Richard, there was a great scare that the French were about to invade England, he, though at that time seventy, armed himself and set off with some of his monks to the coast to defend his country. And we find that "one of these monks, Brother John, supposing his courage equal to his stature, was a very proper person for a soldier, being one of the largest men in the kingdom. His armour, the invasion not taking place, was carried into London to be sold, being so big that no person could be found of a size that it would fit."

One other part of vanished Westminster comes into prominence in this reign, and that is its Sanctuary, which stood where now is Westminster Hospital. It was a massive square keep built of stone, each side nearly eighty feet long, with a heavy oak and iron door, stone stairs, strong dark rooms and thick walls, and besides a belfry tower, in which hung those bells which rang for coronations and tolled for royal funerals; it contained two chapels. This place was the haven of refuge alike to innocent and to guilty; so long as they remained within its walls the Church protected them and kept them. Of course, originally these sanctuaries attached to the religious houses had been intended to protect the weak, the helpless, and the oppressed, but gradually all manner of men, thieves, debtors, and law-breakers, gathered round it, and at Westminster, where all the Abbey buildings were counted as sacred ground, strange and lawless crowds assembled; but the right of sanctuary was jealously guarded.

Outside the world of Westminster the country was full of discontent, which showed itself in parties and in plots. John of Gaunt had fled, and his place had been filled by his brother, Thomas Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester, who, with Gaunt's son, Henry of Bolingbroke, and other nobles, had forced Richard, still a minor, into accepting several of their demands. But directly he was of age Richard had his revenge; and in the Council Chamber he made it clear that he intended to keep all the authority in his own hands or in the hands of those he himself should choose. Francis, a scribe, and the lame Clerk to the Council, has left us a vivid picture of the scene.

"Then Richard stood in the doorway; upon his head he wore a crown; in his hand he carried his sceptre; on his shoulders hung a mantle of ermine, and through the door I saw a throng of armed men, and heard the clank of steel.

"Since the time of David there had not been a more comely prince in the world to look upon than King Richard.... Yet let no one say that his eyes were soft. This morning they were like the eyes of a falcon.

"'Good, my lord,' began the Duke of Gloucester.

"The King strode across the room and took his seat upon the throne.

"'Fair uncle,' he said, 'tell me how old I am.'

"'Your Highness,' said the Duke, 'is now in his twenty-fourth year.'

"'Say you so? Then, fair uncle, I am old enough to manage mine own affairs.'

"So saying, he took the Great Seal from the Archbishop, and the keys of the Exchequer from the Bishop of Hereford. From the Duke of Gloucester he took his office, he appointed new judges, he created a new council. 'Twas a gallant prince. Alas! that he was not always strong; twice in his life Richard was strong—that day and another. That night there was high revelry in the Palace: the mummers and the minstrels and the music made the Court merry. And the king's fool made the courtiers laugh when he jested about the Duke's amazement and the Archbishop's discomfiture."

Richard now fell entirely under the influence of his own favourites, and the friction between himself and his Parliament increased each year. The one good influence in his life was that of Queen Anne; over and over again her sound sense saved the situation. Once Richard, in a fit of sulkiness, had gone to live at Bristol, very privately, and to him there came the Archbishop of Canterbury, who warned him that unless he returned to London the citizens of London and the greater part of his subjects would be very discontented. Richard at first refused to pay any attention to the Archbishop, but at last the good advice of the queen prevailed; he controlled his anger and said he would cheerfully go to London. On his arrival there, a special Parliament was summoned, which made London and Westminster very crowded; the king heard Mass with the crown on his head in the chapel of the Palace; the Archbishop of Canterbury performed the divine service, and was very attentively heard, for he was an excellent preacher; and then came the barons, prelates, and nobles to Richard, with joined hands, as showing themselves to be vassals, swearing faith and loyalty, and kissing him on the mouth.

"But it was visible," adds Froissart, "that the king kissed some heartily and others not."

Possibly, if Anne had lived, her sensible influence might have saved Richard, in spite of the growing irritation of his people at his reckless extravagance. But after only a few hours' illness the queen died at the Feast of Whitsuntide 1394, in Sheen Palace, "to the infinite distress of King Richard, who was deeply afflicted at her death."

Richard was with her when she died, and so uncontrolled was his grief, that, cursing the place of her death, he ordered the Palace of Sheen to be levelled to the ground. He determined that hers should be the greatest burial ever seen in London, and sent to Flanders for large quantities of wax wherewith to have made the torches and flambeaux, though this delayed the funeral by some months. He summoned all the nobles of the land to be present in these words:—

"Inasmuch as our beloved companion the Queen, whom God has hence commanded, will be buried at Westminster on Monday, the 3rd of August next, we earnestly entreat that you, setting aside all excuses, will repair to our city of London the Wednesday previous to the same day, bringing with you our very dear kinswoman your consort at the same time. We desire that you will, the preceding day, accompany the corpse of our dear consort from our manor of Sheen to Westminster, and for this we trust we may rely on you, as you desire our honour and that of our kingdom."

So a great procession followed the queen from Sheen to Westminster, and all were clothed in black, men and women, with black hoods also. Richard behaved as one mad with grief, and when the Earl of Arundel arrived late, he seized a cane, and struck him on the head with such force that the unfortunate nobleman fell to the ground.

A year later the king ordered the beautiful monument which you see in the Confessor's Chapel, and so great was his devotion that he had his own monument made at the same time, with his hand clasped in that of his dearly loved queen. And the touching inscription, of which this is a translation, was of his own choosing:—

    "Under this stone lies Anne, here entombed,
    Wedded in this world's life to the second Richard.
    To Christ were her meek virtues devoted,
    His poor she freely fed from her treasures.
    Strife she healed and feuds she appeased.
    Beauteous her form, her face surpassing fair.
    Only July's seventh day, thirteen hundred, ninety four,
    All comfort was bereft, for through irremediable sickness
    She passed away into eternal joys."
    

In spite of his grief, which was very real, Richard married again; but the new queen had no influence with him, and the breach between him and his people widened daily. "Nothing but complaints were heard; the courts of justice were closed; the enmities increased, and the common people said, 'Times are sadly changed; we have a good-for-nothing king, who only attends to his idle pleasures, and so that his inclinations are gratified cares not how public affairs are managed. We must look for a remedy, or our enemies and well-wishers will rejoice.'"

So writes Froissart, who lived in England at the time; and he goes on to say how the people declared to one another, "Our ancestors in former days provided a remedy; our remedy is in Henry of Lancaster. Him we must send for and appoint him regent of the kingdom. For these people are most obstinate, and of all England, the Londoners are the leaders."
HENRY OF LANCASTER CROWNED AT WESTMINSTER.
HENRY OF LANCASTER CROWNED AT WESTMINSTER.

This being the feeling in the country, the time was ripe for John of Gaunt's banished son, Henry Bolingbroke, who had long been waiting for his hour. He landed with but thirty men, while Richard was away on one of his highly unpopular expeditions in Ireland; soon he had an army of fifty thousand with which he marched to London, and Richard when he returned agreed meekly, without a word, to all that was demanded. He signed a deed prepared by Parliament in which he said that "he was incapable of reigning, worthy to be deposed, and willing to renounce the throne."

"If it pleases you, it pleases me also," was his feeble remark.

Then he was put into prison, first in the Tower, afterwards in Pontefract Castle, and from this last place he never came out alive. His death was very sudden; some said he fell sick, some said he was starved, almost certainly he was murdered. He was buried at Langley, though many a long year afterwards his body was moved to Westminster by command of Henry V., and laid in the tomb he had chosen close to his wife, after it had been carried through London followed by 20,000 persons, of whom "some on him had pity and some none."

So husband and wife lie united at last under this fine tomb, which cost ￡10,000 in our money. But in one detail Richard's wish is ungratified to-day, for his hand and hers, which on the monument were clasped together, have been ruthlessly broken off.

Another memorial of Richard in the Abbey is his portrait, which you will find in the choir near the altar, and which is "an ancient painting of the unhappy, beautiful prince, sitting in a chair of gold dressed in a vest of green, flowered with flowers of gold and the initial letters of his name, having on shoes of gold powdered with pearls, the whole robed in crimson lined with ermine, and the shoes spread with the same fastened under a collar of gold." It is valuable because it is the first portrait we have of an English king.

Richard rebuilt Westminster Hall, and built a fine porch called Solomon's Porch, where now stands the great north entrance; but of this porch not a trace remains.