Now
it
was
Henry's
turn
to
speak:
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, I, Henry of Lancaster, challenge this Realm of England, and the Crown, with all its members and appurtenances, in that I am descen
ded by right line of the blood,
coming from the good lord Henry Third, and through that right that God of His grace hath sent me, with help of my kin and of my friends to recover it; the which Realm was in point to be undone for default of governance and undoing of the good laws.
The words were deliberately vague, but they served their purpose. The entire assembly - bishops, lords and citizens - acclaimed Henry as the nation's lawful King, and he held up the signet ring which, he declared, Richard had given him on the previous day. Archbishop Arundel then led him up to the throne, from which he made another short speech of thanks, most notable, perhaps, for the following words:
It is not my will that any man think that by way of conquest I would disinherit any man of his heritage, franchise, or other rights that he ought to have, nor put him out of that that he has and has had by the good laws and customs of the Realm, except those persons that have been against the good purpose and the common profit of the Realm.
Thus, while the precise nature of his claim remained undefined, he had been careful to remind his hearers both of his descent from Henry III and of his status as conqueror; and nowhere had he referred to the authority of Parliament.
Henry's coronation followed less than a fortnight later, on St Edward's Day, Monday
13
October - the anniversary of his departure from London into exile. He was anointed with oil from a miraculous phial said to have been presented to St Thomas a Becket by the Virgin Mary and afterwards hidden at Poitiers, where it had been found by the then Duke of Lancaster, the King's grandfather. The Duke had given it to the Black Prince; and he had left it in the Tower of London, where Richard Hhad found it in his turn, though unfortunately too late for his own coronation. Clearly it was hoped that the use of this oil would somehow lend additional sanctity to the ceremony, emphasizing still further Henry's right to the throne.
There were recriminations, but not many. The Dukes of Albemarle, Surrey and Exeter, accused of complicity in the murder of Gloucester, pleaded
force majeure
and were merely deprived of their dukedoms, reverting to their former
tides as Earls of Rutl
and, Kent and Huntingdon; the Bishop of Carlisle, similarly charged (though he pleaded innocent),
lost
his
bishopric.
For
the
rest,
the
new
King
proved
surprisingly merciful:
both
Rutl
and
and
Huntingdon
were
members
of
the
council again
before
the
end
of
the
year.
For
impeccable
dramatic
reasons
Shakespeare
runs
together
various separate
incidents
-
including
the
ceremonies
of
both
the
abdication and
the
accession
-
in
the
single
scene
of
Act
IV,
set
in
Westminster Hall.
The
scene
begins
with
Sir
William
Bagot
and
others
accusing Albemarle
(Aumerle)
of
the
murder
of
the
Duke
of
Gloucester,
and the
angry
challenges
by
which
he
rejects
the
charges.
(All
this
in
fact occurred
over
two
weeks
later,
in
parliament
on
16
and
18
October.) It
continues
with
the
report
by
the
Bishop
of
Carlisle
-
in
nine
lines which
are
among
the
most
beautiful
in
all
Shakespeare
1
—
of
the
death in
Venice
of
Thomas
Mowbray,
Duke
of
Norfolk:
2
Many a time hath banished Norfolk fought
For Jesu Christ in glorious Christian field,
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross
Against black pagans, Turks, and Saracens;
And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself
To Italy; and there at Venice gave
His body to that pleasant country's earth,
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,
Under whose colours he had fought so long.
The
Bishop
then
launches
into
the
furious
diatribe
against
Bolingbroke's
actions
3
which
results
in
his
own
arrest.
Only
then
does
Richard enter,
to
hand
the
crown
to
his
cousin
and
to
make
his
great
abdication speech:
Inevitably, the legal aspects involved over both this and the accession are simplified or ignored altogether: Shakespeare is far more interested in Richard's character, and in his reactions to his deposition. All the anger has left him, all the arrogance and bombast. There remains only his own majestic self-pity: an unedifying emotion, but never - surely — more heartbreakingly expressed. The sce
ne ends with the Abbot of Westm
inster giving Albemarle and the Bishop of Carlisle the first intimation of a plot - prematurely as it happens, since the first meeting of the conspirators did not take place until
17
December.
Mention of the plot leads us into Act V, where another of Shakespeare's sources assumes importance for the first time: Samuel Daniel, whose
First Fowre Bookes of the civ
ile wanes between the two houses of Lancaster and Yorke
bears the date
1595
on its
title
page. There are echoes of this long epic poem earlier in the play, but they are for the most part insignificant; only in this final act does the connection between the two become unmistakable. Daniel - who was born in
1562
and is, at his best, one of the most dazzling of all Elizabethan poets - was no more pledged to historical accuracy than was Shakespeare himself; and it may well have been he who originated the idea both of making Richard's Queen Isabelle a mature young woman rather than the girl of eleven that she in fact was, and of giving her an emotional farewell scene with her husband. The first scene of Act V is in any case sheer invention, as is York's moving comparison of Henry's and Richard's processional entries into London in the scene that follows. Henry -who, as Adam of Usk puts it, had 'within fifty days, conquered both king and kingdom' — certainly made such an entry: Holinshed describes the vast crowds that lined the streets, and the rapturousness of their welcome. But Froissart, unreliable as he may be,
1
specifically emphasizes
1.
At this time over sixty years
old, he had not visited England for thirty years, apart from a brief visit to the court at Eltham in
1395.
that
Richard
was
not
forced
into
any
such
procession;
indeed,
the
new King's
primary
concern
seems
to
have
been
to
deal
with
him
as
quickly and
discreetly
as
possible.
He
did,
however,
take
careful
and
considered
advice
from
many
of his
counsellors
before
deciding
the
ex-King's
fate.
On
23
October, through
the
Earl
of
Northumberland,
he
consulted
a
full
assembly
of the
House
of
Lords;
fifty-eight
of
those
present
recommended
that Richard
should
be
removed
to
some
secret
place
from
which
no
mob could
attempt
a
rescue.
Four
days
later
parliament
was
officially
informed that
he
had
been
sentenced
to
imprisonment
for
life;
the
place
of
his captivity
was
not
revealed.
On
28
October
he
was
taken
in
disguise from
the
Tower,
and
carried
first
to
Gravesend
and
then
to
Leeds
Castle in
Kent.
A
few
days
later
he
was
transferred
from
Leeds
to
‘
Pomfret’
— the
Lancastrian
castle
of
Pontefract
in
Yorkshire.
He
never
saw
the outside
world
again.
Pontefract
may
have
been
safe
from
mob
violence;
but
Richard's incarceration
did
not
prevent
the
former
Bishop
of
Carlisle
—
now removed
from
his
see
-
and
a
number
of
his
friends,
including
Huntingdon,
Kent,
Rutland
and
Salisbury,
from
plotting
the
assassination
of Henry
IV
and
his
sons
during
the
Epiphany
celebrations
at
Windsor on
6
January
1400.
The
plan
might
actually
have
succeeded
had
not Rutl
and
unaccountably
revealed
the
details
to
his
father
the
Duke
of York
-
Shakespeare,
with
Holinshed,
has
York
catching
sight
of
an incriminating
letter
and
demanding
to
read
it
1
-
who
naturally
informed the
King.
Henry
left
Windsor
immediately
with
his
family
for
London but
was
unable
to
halt
the
rebels,
who
seized
the
castle
-
simultaneously spreading
the
rumour
that
Richard
had
escaped
and
was
even
then gathering
an
army
in
the
valley
of
the
upper
Thames.
The
Londoners, however,
refused
to
be
intimidated,
and
within
two
days
the
King
had a
force
of
some
20,000
men.
An
encounter
near
Maidenhead
was inconclusive
but
the
insurgents
were
finally
caught
at
Cirencester, where
Kent
and
Salisbury
were
beheaded
on
8
January.
Huntingdon escaped
to
Shoeburyness
in
Essex,
but
was
soon
captured
and
executed in
his
turn;
the
ever-slippery
Rutland
turned
his
coat
just
in
time.
The triumphant
King
returned
to
Westminster
on
the
15th,
preceded
by
a forest
of
long
poles
bearing
the
heads
of
his
enemies.