CHAPTER XIV.
henry of monmouth's character. — unfairness of modern writers. — walsingham examined. — testimony of his father — of hotspur — of the parliament — of the english and welsh counties — of contemporary chroniclers. — no one single act of immorality alleged against him. — no intimation of his extravagance, or injustice, or riot, or licentiousness, in wales, london, or calais. — direct testimony to the opposite virtues. — lydgate. — occleve.
The hour of his father's death having been fixed upon as the date of Henry's reputed conversion from a career of thoughtless dissipation and reckless profligacy to a life of religion and virtue, this may appear to be the most suitable place for a calm review of his previous character and conduct.
In the very threshold of our inquiry, perhaps the most remarkable circumstance to be observed is this, that whilst the charges now so unsparingly and unfeelingly brought against his character, rest solely on the vague, general, and indefinite assertions of writers, (many of whom appear to aim at exalting his repentance into somewhat approaching a miraculous conversion,) no one single act of violence,[296] intemperance, injustice, immorality, or even levity of any kind, religious or moral, is placed upon record. Either sweeping and railing accusations are alleged, unsubstantiated by proof or argument; or else his subsequent repentance is cited to bear testimony to his former misdoings. Thus one writer asserts;[297] "This monarch, in the former part of his life, was remarkable for dissipation and extravagance of conduct; in the latter, he became the slave of the popedom. Voluptuousness, ambition, superstition, each in their turn had the ascendant in this extraordinary character." Thus does another sum up the whole question in one short note:[298] "The assertions of his reformation are so express, that the fact cannot be justly questioned without doubting all history; and, if there were reformation, there must have been previous errors."[299]
The expressions of Walsingham, (being the same in his History, and in the work called "Ypodigma Neustriæ," or "A Sketch of Normandy," which he dedicated to Henry V. himself,) are considered by some persons to have laid an insurmountable barrier in the way of those who would remove from Henry's "brow," as Prince, "the stain" of "wildness, riot, and dishonour." And, doubtless, no one who would discharge the office of an upright judge or an honest witness, would either suppress or gloss over the passage which is supposed to present these formidable difficulties, or withdraw from the balance a particle of the full weight which might appear after examination to belong to that passage as its own. In our inquiry, however, we must be upon our guard against the fallacy in which too many writers, when handling this question, have indulged by arguing in a circle. We must not first say, Walsingham bears testimony to Henry's early depravity, therefore we must believe him to have been guilty; and then conclude, because tradition fixes delinquency on Henry's early days, therefore Walsingham's passage can admit only of that interpretation which fixes the guilt upon him. Let Walsingham's text be fairly sifted upon its own merits; and then, whatever shall appear to have been his meaning of an adverse nature, let that be added to the evidence against Henry; and let the whole be put into the scale, and weighed against whatever may be alleged in refutation of the charges with which his memory has been assailed. It would be the result then of a morbid deference to the opinions of others, rather than the judgment of his own reasoning, were the Author to withhold his persuasion that more importance has been assigned to Walsingham's words than a full and unbiassed scrutiny into their real bearing would sanction. To the judgment of each individually must this branch of evidence, no less than the entire question of Henry's moral character, be left. A transcript of Walsingham's words, as they appear in the printed editions of his History and in the "Ypodigma Neustriæ,"[300] will be found at the foot of the page.[301] The following is probably as close a rendering of the original, as the strangely metaphorical, and in some cases the obscure expressions of Walsingham will bear. "On which day [of Henry's coronation] there was a very severe storm of snow, all persons marvelling at the roughness of the weather. Some considered the disturbance of the atmosphere as portending the new King's destiny to be cold in action, severe in discipline and in the exercise of the royal functions; others, forming a milder estimate of the person of the King, interpreted this inclemency of the sky as the best omen, namely, that the King himself would cause the colds and snows of vices to fall in his reign, and the mild fruits of virtues to spring up; so that, with practical truth, it might be said by his subjects, 'The winter is past, the rain is over and gone.' For verily, as soon as he was initiated with the chaplet of royalty, he suddenly was changed into another man, studying rectitude, modesty, and gravity, [or propriety, moderation, and steadiness,] desiring to exercise every class of virtue without omitting any; whose manners and conduct were an example to persons of every condition in life, as well of the clergy as of the laity."
Unquestionably, from these expressions an inference may be drawn fairly, and without harshness or exaggeration, that the "changed man" had been in times past negligent of some important branches of moral duty; vehement, hasty, and impetuous in his general proceedings; and not considering in his pursuits their fitness for his station and place; in a word, guilty of moral delinquencies immediately opposed to the virtues enumerated. On the other hand, by specifying those three moral qualities, (in which this passage is interpreted to imply that Henry's life had undergone a sudden and total change,—rectitude, modesty, and steadiness,) Walsingham appears to have selected exactly those identical points, for Henry's full possession of which the parliament of England had felicitated his father; and which, either separately, or in combination with other excellencies, continued to be ascribed to him at various times, as occasion offered, even to a period within a few months of his accession to the throne. Never did a young man receive from his contemporaries more unequivocal testimony to the practical exercise in his person of propriety, modesty, and perseverance, than Henry of Monmouth received before he became King.
It may be said, and with perfect fairness, that the testimony of parliament to his virtues so early as the year 1406 leaves a most important chasm in a young man's life, during which he might have fallen from his integrity, and have rapidly formed habits of the opposite vices. But through that period no expressions occur in history which even by implication involve any degeneracy, any change from good to bad. On the contrary, to his zeal and steadiness, and perseverance and integrity, such incidental testimony is borne from time to time as would of itself leave a very different impression on the mind from that which Walsingham's words in their usual acceptation would convey; whilst no allusion whatever is discernible to any habits or practices contrary to the principles of religious and moral self-government. Indeed, it has been, not without reason, doubted whether, in the absence of more positive testimony, such sudden changes, first from good to bad, and then from bad to good, be not in themselves improbable.
On the whole, whilst each must be freely left to pronounce his own verdict, it is here humbly but sincerely suggested that Walsingham's words fairly admit of an interpretation more in accordance with the view of Henry's moral worth generally adopted in these Memoirs; namely, that his character rose suddenly with the occasion; that new energies were called into action by his new duties; that his moral and intellectual powers kept on a level with his elevation to so high a dignity, and with such an increase of power and influence; and that he continued to excite the admiration of the world by improving rapidly in every excellence, as his awful sense of the momentous responsibility he then for the first time felt imposed upon him grew in strength and intenseness. He became "another, a new man," by giving himself up with all his soul to his new duties as sovereign; and by cultivating with practical devotedness those virtues which might render him (and which, as Walsingham says, did actually render him) a bright and shining example to every class of his subjects.[302]
Undoubtedly most of the subsequent chroniclers not only speak of his reformation, but broadly state that he had given himself very great licence in self-gratification, and therefore needed to be reformed. Before Shakspeare's day, the reports adopted by our historiographers had fully justified him in his representation of Henry's early courses; and, since his time, few writers have considered it their duty to verify the exquisite traits of his pencil, or examine the evidence on which he rested.
"His addiction was to courses vain;
His companies unlettered, rude, and shallow;
His hours filled up with riots, banquets, sports;
And never noted in him any study,
Any retirement, any sequestration
From open haunts and popularity."
Let the investigator who is resolved not to yield an implicit and blind assent to vague assertion, however positive, and how often soever repeated, well and truly try for himself the issue by evidence, and trace Henry from his boyhood; let him search with unsparing diligence and jealous scrutiny through every authentic document relating to him; let his steps be followed into the marches, the towns, the valleys, and the mountains of Wales; let him be watched narrowly month after month during his residence in London, or wherever he happened to be staying with the court, or in Calais during his captaincy there; and not a single hint occurs of any one irregularity.[303] The research will bring to light no single expression savouring of impiety, dissoluteness, carelessness, or even levity.
Testimony, on the other hand, ample and repeated, as we have already seen in these pages, is borne to his valour, and unremitting exertions and industry; to his firmness of purpose, his integrity his filial duty and affection; his high-mindedness (in the best sense of the word), his generous spirit, his humanity, his habits of mind, so unsuspecting as to expose him often to the over-reaching designs of the crafty and the unprincipled, his pious trust in Providence, and habitual piety and devotion. To these, and other excellences in his moral compound, his father,[304] and his father's antagonist, Hotspur, the assembled parliament of England, the common people of Wales, the gentlemen of distant counties, contemporary chroniclers, (combined with the public records of the kingdom and the internal evidence of his own letters,) bear direct and unstinted witness. From the first despatch of Hotspur to the last vote of thanks in parliament, there is a chain of testimonies (detailed in their chronological order in previous chapters of this work) very seldom equalled in the case of so young a man, and, through so long a period, perhaps never surpassed. And yet, though he was through the whole of that time the constant object of observation, and the subject of men's thoughts and words, no complaint of any neglect of duty arrests our notice, nor is there even an insinuation thrown out of any excess, indiscretion, or extravagance whatever. Not a word from the tongue of friend or foe, of accuser or apologist, would induce us to suspect that anything wrong was stifled or kept back. There are complaints of the extravagant expenditure of his father, and recommendations of retrenchment and economy in the King's household; but never on any occasion, (even when the Prince is most urgent and importunate for supplies of money, offering the most favourable and inviting opportunity for remonstrance or remark), is there the slightest innuendo either from the King, the Lords of the council, or the Commons in parliament, that he expended the least sum unnecessarily.[305] No improper channel of expense, public or private, domestic or personal, is glanced at; nothing is objected to in his establishment; no item is recommended to be abolished or curtailed; no change of conduct is hinted at as desirable. And yet subsequent writers speak with one accord of his reformation; "and reformation implies previous errors." After examining whatever documents concerning him the most diligent research could discover, the Author is compelled to report as his unbiassed and deliberate judgment, that the character with which Henry of Monmouth's name has been stamped for profligacy and dissipation, is founded, not on the evidence of facts, but on the vagueness of tradition. Still such is the tradition, and it must stand for its due value. And if we allow tradition to tell us of his faults, we must in common fairness receive from the same tradition the fullness of his reformation; if we give credence to one who reports both his guilt and his penitence, we must record both accounts or neither. Before, however, we repeat what tradition has delivered down as to Henry's conduct and behaviour immediately upon his father's death, it may be well for us to review some of those testimonies to his character, his principles, and his conduct, which incidentally (but not on that account less acceptably or less satisfactorily) offer themselves to our notice, scattered up and down through the pages of former days.
Were we to draw an inference from the summary way in which many modern authors have cut short the question with regard to Henry of Monmouth's character as Prince of Wales, we should conclude that all the evidence was on one side; that, whilst "it is unfair to distinguished merit to dwell on the blemishes which it has regretted and reformed," still no doubt can be entertained of his having, "from a too early initiation into military life, stooped to practise irregularities between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five."[306] Whereas the fact is, that no allusion to such irregularities is made where we might have expected to find it; and that, independently of those more formal proofs to the contrary which are embodied in these pages, and to which we have above briefly referred, contemporary writers and undisputed documents supply us with materials for judging of his temper of mind and early habit,—the character, in short, with which those who had the best opportunities of knowing him, were wont to associate his name.
All accounts agree in reporting him to have been devotedly fond of music. As the household expenses of his father informed us, he played upon the harp before he was ten years old; nor does he seem ever to have lost the habit of deriving gratification from the same art. It were easy to represent him prostituting this love of minstrelsy in the haunts of Eastcheap, and enjoying "through the sweetest morsel of the night" the songs of impurity in reckless Bacchanalian revels, self-condemned indeed, and therefore to be judged by others leniently:
"I feel me much to blame
So idly to profane the precious time:"[307]
but nevertheless guilty of profaning the sacred art of music in the midst of worthless companions, and in the very sinks of low and dissolute profligacy. This it were easy to do, and this has been done. But history lends no countenance to such representations. The chroniclers, who refer again and again to his fondness for music, tell us that it showed itself in him under very different associations. "He delighted (as Stowe records) in songs, metres, and musical instruments; insomuch that in his chapel, among his private prayers he used our Lord's prayer, certain psalms of David, with divers hymns and canticles, all which I have seen translated into English metre by John Lydgate, Monk of Bury." In this view we are strongly confirmed by several items of expense specified in the Pell Rolls, which record sums paid to organists and singers sent over for the use of Henry's chapel whilst he was in France; but this, being subsequent to his supposed conversion, cannot be alleged in evidence on the point at issue.[308] It only shows that his early acquired love of music never deserted him.
In this place, moreover, we cannot refrain from anticipating, what might perhaps have been reserved with equal propriety to a subsequent page, that the same dry details of the Pell Rolls[309] enable us to infer with satisfaction that Henry made his love of minstrelsy contribute to the gratification of himself and the partner of his joys and cares, supplying an intimation of domestic habits and conjugal satisfaction, without which a life passed in the splendour of royalty must be irksome, and blessed with which the cottage of the poor man possesses the most enviable treasure. Whether in their home at Windsor, or during their happy progress through England in the halls of York and Chester, or in the tented ground on the banks of the Seine before Melun, our imagination has solid foundation to build upon when we picture to ourselves Henry and his beloved princess passing innocently and happily, in minstrelsy and song, some of the hours spared from the appeals of justice, the exigencies of the state, or the marshalling of the battle-field.
But that Henry had also imbibed a real love of literature, and valued it highly, we possess evidence which well deserves attention. He was so much enamoured of the "Tale of Troy divine," that he directed John Lydgate, Monk of Bury St. Edmund's, to translate two poems, "The Death of Hector," and "The Fall of Troy," into English verse, that his own countrymen might not be behind the rest of Europe in their knowledge of the works of antiquity. The testimony borne by this author to the character of Henry for perseverance and stedfastness of purpose; for sound practical wisdom, and, at the same time, for a ready and ardent desire of the counsel of the wise; for mercy mingled with high and princely resolve and love of justice; for all those qualities which can adorn a Christian prince,—is so full in itself, and so direct, and (if honest) is so conclusive, that any memoirs of Henry's life and character would be culpably defective which should exclude it. The circumstance, also, of that testimony being couched in the vernacular language of the times, affords another point of interest to the English antiquary. Sometimes, indeed, we cannot help suspecting that the poem has undergone some verbal and grammatical alterations in the course of the four centuries which have elapsed since it was penned; but that circumstance does not affect its credibility.
We may be fully aware that the evidence of a poet dedicating a work to his patron is open to the suspicion of partiality and flattery, and we may be willing that as much should be deducted on that score from the weight of the Monk of Bury's testimony as the reader may impartially pronounce just; still the naked fact remains unimpeached, that the poet was importuned by Henry, when Prince, to translate two works for the use of his countrymen. Lydgate, it must not be forgotten, expressly declares that he undertook the work at the "high command of Henry Prince of Wales," and that he entered upon it in the autumn of 1412; the exact time when some would have us believe that he was in the mid-career of his profligacy, and at open variance with his father. However, let Lydgate's testimony be valued at a fair price; no one has ever impeached his character for honesty, or accused him of flattery. Still he may be guilty in both respects. And yet, in a work published at that very time, we can scarcely believe that any one would have addressed a wild profligate and noted prodigal in such verses; and it is very questionable whether, had he done so, any one who delighted in libertinism and boasted of his follies would have been gratified by the ascription to himself of a character in all points so directly the reverse. If his patron were an example of irregularities and licentiousness, it is beyond the reach of ill-nature and credulity combined to hold it probable that he would have extolled him for self-restraint, for steady moral and mental discipline, for manliness at once and virtue, for delighting in ancient lore, and promoting its free circulation far and wide with the sole purpose and intent of sowing virtue and discountenancing vice. Such an effusion would have savoured rather of irony and bitter sarcasm, than of a desire to write what would be acceptable to the individual addressed. Lydgate's is the testimony, we confess, of a poet and a friend, but it is the testimony of a contemporary; of one who saw Henry in his daily walks, conversed with him often, had a personal knowledge of his habits and predilections; at all events, he was one who, by recording the fact that Henry, when Prince, urged him to translate for his countrymen two poems which he had himself delighted to read in the original, records at the same time the fact that Henry was himself a scholar, and the patron of ingenuous learning.
The testimony borne to the character of Henry of Monmouth by the poet Occleve[310] is more indirect than Lydgate's, but not on that account less valuable or satisfactory. Occleve represents himself as walking pensive and sad, in sorrow of heart, pressed down by poverty, when he is met by a poor old man who accosts him with kindness. The poet then details their conversation. He communicates to the aged man, whom he calls father, his worldly wants and anxiety; who, addressing him by the endearing name of son, endeavours to suggest to him some means of procuring a remedy for his distress. His advice is, to write a poem or two with great pains, and present them to the Prince, with the full assurance that he would graciously accept them, and relieve his wants. They must be written, he says, with especial care, because of the Prince's great skill and judgment; whilst of their welcome the Prince's gentle and benign bearing towards all worthy suitors gives a most certain pledge. If Occleve deserves our confidence, Henry, in the estimation of his contemporaries, even whilst he was yet Prince of Wales, had the character of a gentle and kind-hearted man; one whose "heart was full applied to grant," and not to send a petitioner empty away. Instead of his revelling amidst loose companions at the Boar in East-Cheap, his contemporaries thought they should best meet his humour, if they supplied him with a "tale fresh and gay,"[311] for his study when he was in his own chamber, and was still. So far from thinking that an author would suit his taste by furnishing any of those works which minister what is grateful to a depraved mind, their admonition was, to write nothing which could sow the seeds of vice. They deemed him, if any one, able to set the true value on a literary work; and felt that, if they purposed to present any production of their own for his perusal and gratification, they must take especial pains to make it really good. They had formed, moreover, such an opinion of his high excellence, and his abhorrence of flattery, that they thought a man had better undertake a pilgrimage to Jerusalem than be guilty of any indiscretion in this particular. Let any impartial person meditate on these things; let him carefully read the extracts from Lydgate and Occleve which will be found in the Appendix; and remembering on the one hand that they were poets anxious to obtain the favour of the court, and on the other that no single act or word of vice, or insolence, or levity, is recorded of Henry by any one of his contemporaries, let him then, like an honest days-man, pronounce his verdict.
The tradition with regard to Henry's conduct immediately upon his father's dissolution, as we gather it from various writers who lived near that time, is one as to the full admission of which even an eulogist of Henry of Monmouth needs not be jealous; much less will the candid enquirer be apprehensive of its effect upon the character which he is investigating. The tradition then is, that Prince Henry was attending the sick-bed of his father, who, rousing from a slumber into which he had sunk for a while, asked him what the person was doing whom he observed in the room. "My father," replied Henry, "it is the priest, who has just now consecrated the body of our Lord; lift up your heart in all holy devotion to God!" His father then most affectionately and fervently blessed him, and resigned his soul into the hands of his Redeemer. No sooner had the King breathed his last, than Henry, under an awful sense of his own unworthiness, and of the vanity of all worldly objects of desire, conscious also of the necessity of an abundant supply of divine grace to fit him for the discharge of the high duties of the kindly office, to which the voice of Providence then called him, retired forthwith into an inner oratory. There, prostrate in body and soul, and humbled to the dust before the majesty of his Creator, he made a full confession of his past life. Whether the words put into his mouth were the fruits of his biographer's imagination, or were committed to writing by Henry himself, (a supposition thought by some by no means improbable,) they are the words of a sincere Christian penitent. Henry, as we have frequently been reminded in these Memoirs, seems to have made much progress in the knowledge of sacred things, and to have become familiarly acquainted with the Holy Scriptures; and his confessional prayer breathes the aspirations of one who had made the divine word his study. He earnestly implores "his most loving Father to have mercy upon him, not suffering the miserable creature of his hand to perish, but making him as one of his hired servants." After he had thus poured out his soul to God in his secret chamber, he went under cover of the night to a minister of eminent piety, who lived near at hand at Westminster. To this servant of Christ he opened all his mind, and received by his kind and holy offices, the consolations and counsels, the strengthenings and refreshings, which true religion alone can give, and which it never withholds from any one, prince or peasant, who seeks them with sincere purpose of heart, and applies for them in earnest prayer.
Between his accession and his coronation, Henry of Monmouth was much engaged in exercises of devotion; and various acts of self-humiliation are recorded of him. Even in the midst of the splendid banquet of his coronation, (as persons, says Elmham, worthy of credit can testify,) he neither ate nor drank; his whole mind and soul seemed to be absorbed by the thought of the solemn and deep responsibility under which he then lay. For three days he never suffered himself to indulge in repose on any soft couch; but with fasting, watching, and prayer, fervently and perseveringly implored the heavenly aid of the King of kings for the good government of his people. Doubtless, some may see in every penitential prayer an additional proof of his former licentiousness and dissipation: others, it is presumed, may not so interpret these scenes. Perhaps candour and experience may combine in suggesting to many Christians that the self-abasement of Henry should be interpreted, not as a criterion of his former delinquencies in comparison with the principles and conduct of others, but as an index rather of the standard of religious and moral excellence by which he tried his own life; that the rule with reference to which a practical knowledge of his own deficiency filled him with so great compunction and sorrow of heart, was not the tone and fashion of the world, but the pure and holy law of God; and that, consequently, his degree of contrition does not imply in him any extraordinary sense of immorality in his past days, but rather the profound reverence which he had formed of the divine law, and a consciousness of the lamentable instances in which he had failed to fulfil it.[312] Be this as it may, a calm review of all the intimations with regard to his principles, his conduct, and his feelings, which history and tradition offer, seems to suggest to our thoughts the expressions of the Psalmist as words in which Prince Henry might well and sincerely have addressed the throne of grace. "I have gone astray, like a sheep that is lost. O! seek thy servant, for I do not forget thy commandments!"