The Last Plantagenets (24 page)

During these years of peace and bounty no effort was made by the king to pardon his early advisers who had gone into exile. Michael de la Pole died abroad. Robert de Vere, existing on the bounty of relatives, left the Low Countries and lived for some time in Paris. In 1392 he went boar hunting and received a wound from one of the tuskers which caused his death. If Richard grieved for his friend, he showed no outward evidence of it. It was not until three years later that he gave permission for de Vere’s body to be brought back to England and buried with his ancestors in Earls Colne priory. The king was present at the services and allowed the official mask he had been wearing for so long to drop at the last moment. Requesting that the coffin be opened, he gazed in silence at the embalmed body of his one-time friend. Then with moist eyes he leaned over and lightly touched the hand of the dead man.

During these good years the king’s old enemies continued to sit in the council. Later events were to prove he had not forgiven them, that
whenever he found it necessary to face them directly he felt a stirring of deep animosity, remembering no doubt the fatal morning when the queen went down on her knees to beg in vain for the life of Sir Simon Burley. The Earl of Arundel seems to have been the one who bore the brunt of the king’s dislike. Although he sat on the council, Arundel was never again employed in any administrative capacity.

This did not apply to Arundel’s younger brother, Thomas, the churchman. The character of the latter has been a subject of much dispute. He was a handsome and able man who could win friends easily and who undoubtedly was of an amiable bent. The part he was to play later makes it clear, however, that he never lost sight of the main chance and that he allowed himself to consider above everything the ambitious path he had elected to tread. The part he would play during the first years of the reign of Henry IV in the matter of the first burnings for heresy brought to a close a contradictory career. Historians who favored him point out that he tried to be generous and forgiving to the Lollards, but the fact remains that the flames of bigotry were first kindled during his term as Archbishop of Canterbury (for, of course, he attained that highest of posts) and that he watched while William Sawtree and John Badby, the first to die for religous beliefs, were burned at the stake.

As he belonged to one of the greatest families in England, Thomas Arundel’s rise in the church was spectacular and rapid. At the age of twenty-one he was made Archdeacon of Taunton and a year later he became the Bishop of Ely. Being of a generous turn, and having the wealth to gratify it, he was always profuse in his almsgiving. Having a liking for show, he celebrated his elevation to the bishopric of Ely by changing the rather modest episcopal house at Holborn into a stately mansion, with a stone wall enclosing twenty acres of beautiful gardens. He presented to his cathedral, among other costly gifts, a gold tablet which had been in the royal family. It was encrusted with pearls, rubies, and sapphires and contained relics of the saints. He liked those who walked in his train to dress in accordance with his own sense of dignity, and so he saw to it that their albs of red velvet were embroidered in gold with figures of griffins.

When Archbishop Neville was dismissed from his see at York, the post was given almost automatically to Thomas Arundel. Richard used him as chancellor later, finding him always amiable and diplomatic. In 1396 Archbishop Courtenay of Canterbury died and, for reasons which will be explained later, the king had Arundel transferred from York to Canterbury, the first time this had occurred in the history of the church in England.

In thus outlining briefly the chain of events which brought Thomas of Arundel to the highest peak, it becomes necessary to speak of another figure whose career became curiously tangled with his. Roger Walden, a man of humble birth, had risen in the world rapidly because he had many of the same qualities as had Arundel. He was an agreeable and handsome man, with a gift for getting things done, and with an ease of manner which made friends for him. Sent to the Isle of Jersey from the church of Kirkby Overblow in Yorkshire, he rose rapidly from one post to another, until he was bailiff of Guisnes and treasurer of Calais. Richard heard reports of this pliable and capable man and had him brought back to England to act as his personal secretary. Walden polished up the handle of the big front door so industriously that his rise was nothing short of spectacular. He succeeded the Bishop of Salisbury as treasurer of England, thus remaining close to the king and having ready access to the royal ear.

The story of the intertwining of the careers of these two birds of a feather will have to be left, to be told in some detail later.

There has been little tendency on the part of history to allow credit to Richard for enduring contributions of any kind. This attitude can be traced to impatience with his unstable character and the delusions which led to his downfall. The eight years during which he played creditably the role of a constitutional monarch offer, surely, some evidence of accomplishment. But it is in an almost forgotten demonstration of fairness that a more just claim can be allowed him.

Geoffrey Chaucer, born close to the year 1340 and married to Philippa de Roet, a sister of Katharine Swynford, the beautiful third wife of John of Gaunt, had been in high favor during the last years of the reign of Edward III. His poetry had attracted wide attention and he was given pensions and annuities and many remunerative posts, such as comptroller of the customs, and a subsidy on wools, hides, and woodfalls. Among his honors was the rather vague title of king’s laureate (the first poet laureate in the full modern sense was Ben Jonson), which carried with it the gift of a pitcher of wine every day, a gift to be collected from the king’s butler. Feeling very secure, he had taken a lease for life on a substantial house at Aldgate.

It was a bad day for Chaucer when Richard fell foul of the appellant barons and had to submit to their authority. Poetry meant nothing to men of the stamp of Thomas of Woodstock and the Earl of Arundel. They
were completely materialistic and, moreover, contemptuous of anyone of low degree. One can imagine them looking over the list of annuities and asking, Who is this fellow, this baseborn scribbler of verses, that he should have a pension of ten pounds a year? Why should he hold positions for which he is in no way fitted—and which, moreover, we could give to others to much better advantage? The name of Chaucer, at any rate, was struck from the bounty lists and his comptrollerships were taken from him. His wife had died and so her annuity also was lost. The middle-aged bard, the first to write rich and enduring verse in the English tongue, fell upon evil days.

When Richard, with a lift of the hand and a few terse statements, took back his royal authority and made himself free from the heavy thumbs of the appellants, he proceeded at once to reinstate Geoffrey Chaucer in the service of the Crown. Being a reader, he was familiar with the work of this vigorous bard who had been raised in London, in the Vintry. A congenial post was found for him, that of clerk of the works at most of the royal palaces, including the Tower of London, Shene, Eltham, Kennington, and many others of lesser importance. This carried a yearly stipend of £31, which meant that Chaucer could again live in comfort and with some degree of decent dignity. Soon after he was made commissioner of maintenance of the river Thames between Woolwich and Greenwich, with permission to assign the work to a deputy. Finally, and this was the post which pleased Chaucer the most, he was assigned on July 12, 1390, to take charge of much needed repairs at St. George’s Chapel in Windsor.

Geoffrey Chaucer was neither an architect nor builder but he had been at Windsor a great deal, particularly when his wife was serving there as an attendant of the queen. He knew every foot of the ground, every turret, every groin point, every twist and turn of stairway, every stone conceit or fancy of the great builders who had contributed to the rise of that stately pile. He had for Windsor, and particularly for St. George’s Chapel, the admiration that an artist in words can conceive for artistry in stone. He approached his task there with enthusiasm and, no doubt with a sense of relief that his days of want were at an end.

St. George’s Chapel was sadly in need of repair. Although it had been standing no more than thirty-four years, it had already fallen into a ruinous condition. This was due in some degree to the fact that Windsor, once much used by the royal family, had been visited very little since Edward III had fallen into senility, and because his young successor had no family to send there. In some degree it had also come about through the precarious nature of the ledge of chalk on which it
had been built. The roof was falling in, the walls were cracking, the floors were in dire need of repair. In fact, this beautiful chapel which Edward III had designed as the meeting place for a chivalrous order of knights of a new round table, was in such condition that great haste was demanded of the new custodian.

The chapel inside was still beautiful, with its oaken ceilings plated with gold and its four elaborately designed altars, which carried the names of the Cross, the Thorn, St. Edward’s, and St. George’s. The interior decorations had, of course, suffered some, but the part to which legend clung most, the altar of the Cross, was still lovely to the eye. It was generally called the Negt because it contained a piece of the cross of Calvary, a fragment of Syrian wood which a Welshman of that name had found on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Edward I had carried it with him on all his travels and it was natural that his grandson had planned an altar for it at Windsor.

When he came to Windsor on this urgent errand, Chaucer was a plump man of fresh complexion with thinning white hair and a small pointed beard, still exercising a curious puckish charm. He had been given the power to hire such help as he needed, at a fixed wage, and to assemble his materials wherever he could find them. No craftsman could refuse the summons to help in the work of restoration and no contractor could withhold supplies demanded of him. The injunction placed on Chaucer’s own shoulders was even more pressing. He must make haste, haste, more haste, lest the great conception of the old king subside into rubble.

Taking up his quarters in Winchester Tower, and having it pretty much to himself, Chaucer set to work with greater industry than he had ever displayed in the various governmental posts he had held or, even, in the finding of rhymes, in the seeking of chiseled phrase, the perfect simile which went into his immortal verse. He remained at Windsor for a year and a half and in that time he succeeded in checking the disintegration. He must be given at least a share of the credit for saving the chapel.

While he was thus industriously engaged on the king’s business, Chaucer had little time for writing, but it is generally believed that while he labored at Windsor or surveyed the work being done on the banks of the Thames, he was gathering material for his great masterpiece, the
Canterbury Tales
. The pilgrims from the west came down the river paths near Windsor and it was there perhaps that he saw the curious individuals who later were brought to life in his rich and resounding verse: the Squire, the Prioress, the Wife of Bath, the Pardoner, the Friar, and the Oxford Clerk. His ears were filled with the accents of the
native tongue and the colloquialisms which he later used to such realistic effect.

King Richard had no part in making the
Canterbury Tales
possible beyond this, but certainly, if the poet had not been taken again under the wing of royal patronage, he might have found it impossible to give further rein to his robust imagination.

A
N EVENT which occurred on June 7, 1394, can be accepted as the forerunner of a second period of strife. On that day Queen Anne died suddenly.

The love between the king and his consort had been deep and free of any connubial stress. Anne had always been at his side and her influence had been for peace and order. It is not likely that she held any brief for the lords who had been responsible for the deaths of their friends, but she undoubtedly encouraged Richard to be forgiving, on the surface at least. The urge to revenge himself was always at the back of his mind and it seems almost certain that he would have taken steps against the appellants earlier if she had not been there to counsel moderation.

It was due to her, certainly, that during the previous year Richard had taken steps to heal the breach between himself and the city of London. He had asked the city for a loan of £1000 and had been refused. For some reason the citizens resented it bitterly when a Lombardy banker had offered to accommodate the king. He was dragged from his counting-house and torn to pieces in the streets. In a rage Richard removed the courts of law from London to York and announced his intention of making the latter city the seat of Parliament. London soon felt the pinch of these measures and begged the queen to intercede on their behalf. Anne promised to do so and was able finally to persuade the king to grant the city his pardon.

It was decided to make a great event of the reconciliation. The royal couple rode together through the city, the queen wearing her crown and a gown studded with precious stones. The king was presented with a
pair of white horses, accoutered with cloth of gold and hung with silver bells, the queen with a handsome white palfrey. As they passed under Temple Bar, the king was sufficiently moved to declare: “Peace to this city! For the sake of Christ, his mother and my patron St. John, I forgive every offense.” During the great state banquet at Westminster which followed, the lord mayor was assured of the king’s forgiveness. “Take back the keys and sword,” said Richard. “Keep my peace in your city, rule its inhabitants as formerly, and be among them my representative.”

Little is known of the circumstances of Queen Anne’s death. She became suddenly ill and succumbed in two days. There was no great sweep of the plague at this particular moment but the country was never entirely free of it. The germ could be picked up at any time, particularly in London and during the summer months. The symptoms, and the suddenness of her death, seem to indicate that she was one of the victims.