much fruitless warfare, Henry Plantagenet appeared in England at the head of the nobles who espoused his rights, Albini had the happiness to achieve what may be justly considered greater than any victory; he prevented the effusion of blood. Henry’s army was then at Wallingford, where Stephen, at the head of his forces, was arranging the line of battle. The armies were drawn out in sight of each other; Stephen, attended by Albini, was reconnoitring the position of his opponent; when his charger becoming unmanageable, threw his rider[48]. He was again mounted; but a second and a third time a similar accident occurred, which did not fail to act as a dispiriting omen upon the minds of those who were witnesses of the occurrence. Taking advantage of the superstitious dread thus excited among the troops, Albini represented in emphatic terms to Stephen the weakness of his cause when opposed by right and justice, and how little he could calculate upon men whose resolution in his service had been already shaken by the incident which had just occurred. His counsel was taken in good part; Stephen and Henry, adds the historian, met in front of the two armies: an explanation ensued, reconciliation was effected; and in the course of the year a solemn treaty was ratified, by which Stephen adopted the young Plantagenet as his successor to the throne. Themost important affair in which Albini’s service was called for, was the splendid embassy to Rome, the object of which was to counteract the effect of à-Becket’s personal representations at the papal court. That mission failed in effecting the reconciliation intended, owing to the intemperate language of the prelates who were associated with Albini in the cause. His own speech, as recorded by Grafton, is characteristic of good sense and moderation:—“Although to me it is unknown, saith the Erle of Arundell, which am but unlettered and ignorant, what it is that these bishoppes here have sayde, (their speeches being in latin,) neyther am I in that tongue able to expresse my minde as they have done; yet, beyng sent and charged thereunto of my prince, neyther can, nor ought I but to declare, as well as I may, what the cause is of our sendyng hether; not to contende or strive with any person, nor to offer any iniury or harm unto any man, especially in this place, and in the presence here of such a one unto whose becke and authoritye all the worlde doth stoope and yelde. But for this intent in our Legacy hether directed, to present here before You and in the presence of the whole Church of Rome, the devocion and loue of our king and master, which ever he hath had and yet hath still toward You. And that the same may the better appere to yr. Excellencie, hee hath assigned and appointed to the furniture of this Legacy, not the least, but the greatest; not the worst, but the best and chiefest of all his subiects; both archbishoppes, bishoppes, erles, barons, with other potentates mo, of such worthinesse and parentage, that if he could have found greater in all his realme he would have sent them both for the reverence of Your Person and of the Holy Church of Rome,” &c.
But this oration, “although it was liked for the softnesse and moderation thereof, yet it failed of its object; it could not perswade the bishop of Rome to condescende to their sute and request, which was to have two legates or arbiters to be sent from him into England, to examine and to take up the controversie betwene the kinge and the archbishoppe.”
Subsequently to this, Albini was sent on a more agreeable mission, that of conducting the Princess Matilda into Germany, on the eve of her marriage with Henry, Duke of Saxony; and five years later was selected by the king as one of his “own trustees to the treaty of marriage between his son Prince John, and the daughter of Hubert, Count of Savoy.” Shortly afterwards hecommanded the royal forces at Fornham in Suffolk, and gained a complete victory over the rebellious sons of King Henry—in whose unnatural cause the disaffected at home had been joined by a numerous body of foreigners—and took prisoners the Earl of Leicester, with his Countess and all his retinue of knights. Albini was a great benefactor of the church; he built “the abbey of Buckenham; endowed various prebends in Winchester; founded the priory of Pynham, near Arundel; the chapel of St. Thomas at Wymundham,” and died at Waverley in Surrey.
To Albini’s son and grandson we have already adverted, but conclude with a brief incident in the life of William, the third earl of his family.
When the banner of the cross was waving under the walls of Damietta, and the chivalry of Christendom flew to the rescue, the gallant Albini was too keenly alive to the cause to resist the summons. In that severe
struggle, he hoped to acquire those laurels which would leave all other trophies in the shade; and with the flower of our English chivalry embarked for the Holy Land, and served at the siege of that fortress. Two years he remained a staunch supporter of the cross—a soldier whom no dangers could dismay, no difficulties intimidate; and long after his companions had returned to the white cliffs of Albion, the lion-standard of Albini shone in the van of the Christian army. On his way home, however, he had only strength to reach an obscure town in the neighbourhood of Civita Vecchia, near Rome, where he was taken ill and expired. His eldest son, the fourth earl, died without issue; and the short life of his successor, Hugh de Albini, appears to have passed without any remarkable event or incident, save latterly in active warfare in France, where, at the battle of Taillebourg, in Guienne, he displayed, though ineffectually, the hereditary valour of his family.
The first of the Fitzalans who held the title and estates of Arundel was appointed one of the Lord Marchers, or Wardens of the Welsh Border; and found to his cost that the Ancient Britons did not submit to the daily encroachment made upon their rights and hereditary privileges, without having frequent and formidable recourse to arms. He maintained a high station at court, was admitted to the royal confidence, and had the “command of the Castle of Rochester when the approach of the King’s forces compelled the disaffected Barons to raise the siege.” At the battle of Lewes he distinguished himselfin the royal cause; but at the close of that disastrous field—along with the two princes, Edward and Henry—fell into the “hands of the victorious Barons.”
Of the battle of Lewes, we select the following graphic picture from Grafton:—“Upon Wednesday the 23rd of May, early in the morning, both the hostes met; where, after the Londoners had given the first assault, they were beaten back, so that they began to drawe from the sharpe shot and strokes, to the discomfort of the Barons’ hoste. But the Barons encouraged and comforted their men in such wise, that not all onely, the freshe and lustye knights fought eagerly, but also such as before were discomfited, gathered a newe courage unto them, and fought without feare, in so much that the King’s vaward lost their places. Then was the field covered with dead bodyes, and gasping and groning was heard on every syde; for eyther of them was desyrous to bring others out of lyfe. And the father spared not the sonne, neyther yet the sonne spared the father! Alliaunce at that time was bound to defiaunce, and Christian bloud that day was shed without pittie. Lastly the victory fell to the Barons; so that there was taken the King, and the King of Romaynes, Sir Edward the King’s sonne, with many other noblemen,” among whom was Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel, “to the number of fifteen barons and banerets; and of the common people, that were slain, about twenty thousand, as saith Fabian.”
This was Fitzalan’s last appearance in the field; and, as a security for his good behaviour, he was required “to surrender the Castle of Arundel or deliver his son as a hostage,” into the hands of the Earl of Leicester. “For their safe keeping, the prisoners were sente unto dyverse castellis and prysons, except the King, his brother the King of Almayne, and Sir Edwarde his sonne; the which the barons helde with them vntill they came to London.”
Richardthe third earl takes an eminent station in the family history. He first travelled in France and Italy, in compliance with the rules of his order[49]; then served in Wales, performed several exploits against Madoc; became distinguished among the chivalry of his day; held a command in the expedition organised for the subjugation of Scotland; fought at Falkirk; and subsequently took part at the siege of Caerlaverock Castle, where in the language of the minstrel, “who witnessed the fray,” he is complimented as—
“Richard le Conte de Aroundel,Beau chivalier, et bien aimé,I vi je richement armé;En rouge au lyon rampart de or—[50]”
“Richard le Conte de Aroundel,Beau chivalier, et bien aimé,I vi je richement armé;En rouge au lyon rampart de or—[50]”
“Richard le Conte de Aroundel,Beau chivalier, et bien aimé,I vi je richement armé;En rouge au lyon rampart de or—[50]”
and in various capacities appears to have done the state much acceptable service.
1306.During the life ofEdmund, the fourth Earl, the affairs of Scotland assumed a threatening aspect; and the King, exasperated by the murder of Comyn, resolved to march an army across the frontier. Great preparations were made to render the expedition, in all respects, worthy of the grand object in view. The royal armies were ordered from their cantonments, and hastened into the field under the command of Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke.
In preparation for the expedition, “proclamation was made, that a grand national fete would solemnise the movement; that the Prince of Wales
would be knighted on the Feast of Pentecost; and all the young nobility of the kingdom were summoned to appear at Westminster to receive that honour along with him. On the eve of the appointed day (the 22nd of May)270 noble youths, with their pages and retinues, assembled in the Gardens of the Temple, in which the trees were cut down that they might pitch their tents; they watched their arms all night, according to the usage of chivalry; the prince, and some of those of highest rank, in the Abbey of Westminster; the others in the Temple Church. On the morrow, Prince Edward was knighted by his father in the Hall of the Palace, and then proceeding to the Abbey, conferred the like honour on his companions. A magnificent feast followed, at which two swans covered with nets of gold being set on the table by the minstrels, the King rose, and made a solemn vow to God and to the swans, that he would avenge the death of Comyn and punish the perfidy of the Scottish rebels. Then, addressing his son and the rest of the company, he conjured them, in the event of his death, to keep his body unburied until his successor should have accomplished this vow. The next morning the prince, with his companions, departed for the Borders; Edward himself followed by slow journeys, being only able to travel in a litter.”
Such was the bright morning of Edmund Fitzalan’s life; and the annexed gives us the dark contrast in his tragical end.
1326.The citizens, says Froissart, seeing they had no other means of saving the town, their lives, and their fortunes, acceded to the Queen’s terms, and opened their gates to her. She entered the town attended by Sir John de Hainault, with all her barons, knights, and esquires, who took their lodging therein. The others, for want of accommodation, remained without. Sir Hugh Spencer and the Earl of Arundel were then delivered to the Queen to do with them according to her good pleasure. The Queen then ordered the elder Spencer and Arundel to be brought before her eldest son and the barons assembled, and said that she and her son would see that Justice should be done unto them according to their deeds. “Ah, madam,” said Spencer, “God grant us an upright judge and a just sentence; and that if we cannot find it in this world, we may find it in another.” The charges against them being read, an old knight was called upon to pass sentence; and her son, with the other barons and knights, pronounced the prisoners guilty. Their sentence was, that they, the said Earl of Arundel and Spencer, should be drawn in a hurdle to the place of execution, there to be beheaded, and afterwards to be hung on a gibbet. “The which was duly carried into effect on the feast of St, Denis,” at Bristol—or, according to others, at Hereford.
Richard, the son and successor of Edmund, became highly distinguished among the great men of his time. His life and exploits make no inconsiderable figure in the national annals.
When a fleet of cruisers, sent out by the French for the annoyance of British commerce in the Channel, had made prizes of many of our bestmerchant ships, pillaged several towns on the coast, and caused much consternation to all who were interested in the prosperity of commerce, Arundel
hoisted his flag on board the “Admiral,” and put to sea. Another fleet was ordered to co-operate with him in the eastern coast; the first cruise checked the audacity of the enemy, and re-established public confidence and good order.
1340.His next public service was off the harbour of Sluys, where, in an engagement with the French fleet, he was second in command under King Edward the Third, and gained a complete victory.
“When the king’s fleet,” says the chronicler, “was almost got to Sluys, they saw so many masts standing before it, that they looked like a wood. The king asked the commander of his ship what they could be, who answered that he imagined they must be that armament of Normans which the King of France kept at sea, and which had so frequently done him much damage, had burnt the good town of Southampton, and taken his large ship the ‘Christopher.’ The king replied, I have for a long time wished to meet with them, and now, please God and St. George, we will fight with them; for in truththey have done me so much mischief, that I will be revenged upon them if possible.”
The large ships under Lord Arundel, the bishop of Norwich, and others, now advanced, adds Froissart, and ran in among those of Flanders: but they had not any advantage; for the crossbow-men defended themselves gallantly under their commander Sir John de Bucque. He and his company were well armed in a ship equal in bulk to any they might meet, and had their cannons on board, which were of such a weight, that great mischief was done by them. This battle was very fierce and obstinate, for it continued three or four hours; and many of the vessels were sunk by the “large and sharply-pointed bolts of iron which were cast down from the maintops, and made large holes in their decks.” When night came on, they separated, and cast anchor to repair their damage and take care of the wounded. But at the next flow of the tide, they again set sail and renewed the combat; yet the English continually gained on the Flemings, and, having got between them and Blanquenberg and Sluys, drove them on Cadsand, where the defeat was completed.
So great was the disaster to the French monarch on this day, that none of his ministers would venture to communicate to him the amount of life and property which had been sacrificed. What the minister, however, durst not reveal, the king’s jester found means to divulge. “What arrant cowards are those English!” said the jester. “How so?” demanded Philip. “Because,” answered zany, “they had not courage to jump overboard, as the French and Normans did lately at Sluys[51].” This opened the king’s eyes, and prepared him for the disastrous tidings that were now poured in upon him.
Six years later, Arundel was appointed admiral of the king’s fleet, and conveyed the great military expedition from Southampton to Normandy. When the troops were disembarked at La Hogue, he was created constable of the forces; and with Northampton and other noblemen commanded the second division at the battle of Cressy[52].
During the heat of the combat, when Prince Edward was surrounded by the enemy and in personal jeopardy, Arundel and Northampton hastened to his support; ordered their division forward, and closed with the enemy. The English rushed upon their assailants with renewed ardour; the French line was charged, broken, and dispersed; “earls, knights, squires, and men-at-arms, continuing the struggle in confused masses, were mingled in one promiscuous slaughter.” When night closed, King Philip, with a retinue of only five barons and sixty knights, fled in dismay before the cry of “St. Georgefor England!” Eleven princes, twelve hundred knights, and thirty thousand soldiers, had fallen on the side of the French.
On another occasion, but on a different element, Arundel was present with the king, in his “chivalrous engagement with the French fleet, off Winchelsea;” and four years later was deputed to the court of Pope Innocent, then at Avignon, in the fruitless attempt to arrange the articles of a permanent reconciliation between the Crowns of England and France.
Arundel survived these brilliant events many years; and during the leisure secured to him by his great public services, appears to have found occupation for his active mind and munificent taste in repairing and embellishing his ancestral[53]Castle, where he died at an advanced age, and bequeathed immense possessions to his family.
The contrast presented in the life and destinies of his son forms a melancholy page in the family history. He was a brave man, and had performed several gallant exploits. But it was his misfortune to fall upon evil times, of which intrigue, disaffection, private revenge, and outward violence were leading characteristics. Associating with the turbulent spirits who surrounded an imbecile and capricious monarch, his character took the complexion of the age.
1397.He is said to have been at the head of a conspiracy already mentioned in this work, page 39, and which is thus recorded by Holinshed, Grafton, and others of the old chroniclers[54]. The Earls of Arundel, Derby, Marshal, and Warwick; the Archbishop of Canterbury, Arundel’s brother; the Abbot of St. Alban’s, and the Prior of Westminster, met the Duke of Gloucester[55]in Arundel Castle, where, receiving first the sacrament by the hands of the Archbishop, they resolved to seize the person of King Richard the Second, and his brothers the Dukes of Lancaster and York, to commit them to prison, and cause the lords of the King’s Council to be drawn and hanged. This plot, however, was divulged, it is said, by the Earl Marshal, and the apprehension of Arundel led to the family catastrophe, which with some little abridgment of the original authors is related as follows:—
Apprehended under assurances of personal security, he was hurried to the Tower, and finally tried and condemned by the Parliament at Westminster.
On the feast of St. Matthew, Richard Fitz Alaine, Earl of Arundel, was brought forth to swear before the King and whole Parliament to such articles as he was charged with.[56]And as he stood at the bar, the Lord Neville was commanded by the Duke of Lancaster, which sat that day as High Steward of England, to take the hood from his neck, and the girdle from his waist. Then the Duke of Lancaster declared unto him that for his manifold rebellions and treasons against the king’s majesty, he had been arrested, and hitherto kept in ward, and now at the petitions of the lords and commons, he was called to answer such crimes as were there to be objected against him, and so to purge himself, or else to suffer for his offences, such punishment as the law appointed.
First he charged him that he had ridden in armour against the King in company of the Duke of Gloucester, and of the Earl of Warwick, to the breach of peace and disquieting of the realm.
His answer hereunto was, that he did not this upon any evil meaning towards the King’s person, but rather for the benefit of the King and realm, if it were interpreted aright and taken as it ought to be.
It was further demanded of him, why he procured letters of pardon from the King, if he knew himself guiltless. He answered he did not purchase them for any fear he had of faults committed by him, but to stay the malicious speech of them that neither loved the King nor him.
He was again asked whether he would deny that he had made any such rade with the persons before named, and that in company of them he entered not armed unto the King’s presence against the King’s will and pleasure. To this he answered he could not deny it, but that he so did.
Then the speaker, Sir John Bushie, with open mouth besought that judgment might be had against such a traitor; and “your faithful commons,” said he to the King, “ask and require that so it may be done.” The Earl, turning his head aside, quietly said to him, “Not the King’s faithful commons” require this, “but thou, and what thou art I know.” Then the eight appellants standing on the other side, cast their gloves at him, and in prosecuting their appeal—which already had been read—offered to fight with him, man to man, to justify the same. “Then,” said the Earl, “if I were at libertie, and that it might so stande with the pleasure of my sovereign, I would not refuse to prove you all liars in this behalfe.”
Then spake the Duke of Lancaster, saying to him, “What have you further to say to the points laid before you?” He answered, that of the King’s grace he had his letters of general pardon, which he required to have allowed. Then the duke told him that the pardon was revoked by the prelates and noblemen in Parliament; and therefore willed him to make some other answer.
The Earl told him again that he had another pardon under the King’s great seal, granted him long after the King’s own motion, which also he required to have allowed. The Duke told him that the same was likewise revoked. After this, when the Earl had nothing more to say for himself, the Duke pronounced judgment against him as in cases of treason is used.
But after he had made an end, and paused a little, he said, “The King our sovereign lord of his mercy and grace, because thou art of his blood, and one of the Peers of the realm, hath remitted all other pains, saving the last that is to say, the beheading, and so thou shalt only lose thy head;”—and forthwith he was had away, and led through London, unto the Tower-hill. There went with him to see the execution done, six great lords, of whom there were three earls, Nottingham, that had married his daughter; Kent, that was his daughter’s son; and Huntington, being mounted on great horses, with a great company of armed men, and the fierce bands of the Cheshiremen, furnished with axes, swords, bows and arrows, marching before and behind him, who only in this parliament had licence to bear weapon, as some have written. When he should depart the palace, he desired that his hands might be loosed to dispose of such money as he had in his purse, betwixt that place and Charing Cross. This was permitted; and so he gave such money as he had in alms with his own hands, but his arms were still bound behind him.
When he came to the Tower-hill, the noblemen that were about him moved him right earnestly to acknowledge his treason against the king. But he in no wise would do so; but maintained that he was never traitor in word nor deed; and herewith perceiving the Earls of Nottingham and Kent, that stood by with other noblemen, busy to further the execution, and being, as ye have heard, of kin, and allied to him, he spake to them, and said, “Truly it would have beseemed you rather to have been absent, than here at this business. But the time will come ere it be long, when as many shall marvel at your misfortune as do now at mine.” After this, forgiving the executioner, he besought him not to torment him long, but to strike off his head at one blow, and feeling the edge of the sword, whether it was sharp enough or not, he said, “It is very well, do that thou hast to do quickly,”—and so kneeling down, the executioner with one stroke, strake off his head. “Then returned they that were at the execution and shewed the kinge merily of the death of the erle; but although the kinge was then merry and glad that the dede was done, yet after exceedingly vexed was he in his dremes.” The Earl’s body was buried, together with his head, in the church of the Augustine Friars in Bread-street, within the city of London.
The death of this earl[57]was much lamented among the people, considering his sudden fall and miserable end, whereas, not long before among all the noblemen of this land, there was none more esteemed; so noble and valiant he was that all men spake honour of him.
After his death, as the fame went, the king was sore vexed in his sleep with horrible dreams, imagining that he saw this earl appear unto him, threatening him, and putting him in horrible fear, as if he had said with the poet to King Richard—
“Nunc quoque factorum venio memor umbra tuorum,In sequor et vultus ossea forma tuos.”—
“Nunc quoque factorum venio memor umbra tuorum,In sequor et vultus ossea forma tuos.”—
“Nunc quoque factorum venio memor umbra tuorum,In sequor et vultus ossea forma tuos.”—
With which visions being sore troubled in sleep, he cursed the day that ever he knew the earl. And he was the more unquiet, because he heard it reported that the common people took the earl for a martyr, insomuch that some came to visit the place of his sepulture, for the opinion they had conceived of his holiness. And, when it was bruited abroad, as for a miracle, that his head should be grown to his body again, the tenth day after his burial; the king sent about ten of the clock in the night certain of the nobility to see his body taken up, that he might be certified of the truth. Which done, and perceiving it was a fable, he commanded the friars to take down his arms, that were set up about the place of his burial, and to cover the grave, so as it should not be perceived where he was buried.
In less than two years, however, King Richard himself was a captive in the hands of his subjects. Young Arundel and the son of the late Duke of Gloucester were appointed his keepers. “Here,” said Lancaster, as he delivered[58]Richard into their custody[59], “here is the king; he was the murderer of your fathers; I expect you to be answerable for his safety.”
During the first five years of Henry the Fourth, young Arundel, among other services, shared with his sovereign the reverses which attended his invasion of the Welsh frontier, and his campaign against Owen Glendower.—But at length the scenes of the camp gave place to domestic festivities; and his approaching marriage with Donna Béatrice, daughter of John the First, king of Portugal, was publicly announced. Great preparations were made to receive the bride with all the honours due to her beauty and station; the royal palace and the earl’s ancestral castle were sumptuously fitted up for her reception. She left Portugal with a splendid retinue, made a prosperous voyage, and arrived in London in the middle of November. On the twenty-sixth of the same month the solemnity took place in the Royal Chapel, where, in the presence of the King and Queen, Donna Béatrice gave her hand to the young Earl of Arundel.
Their subsequent arrival at Arundel, and the rejoicings which there met the royal bride, may be better imagined than described. All that could add to the splendour of the gala was ingeniously arranged and displayed; and on her triumphant entry under the old Norman gateway of her husband’s castle, Donna Béatrice might well confess that “the castled heights of Algarva were not so beautiful as the verdant hills, and embattled towers, of Arundel.”
Among the personal exploits by which his brief career was subsequently distinguished, is the following.—During the excitement which prevailed in France in consequence of the murder of the Duke of Orleans, “the author of that assassination, Charles Duke of Burgundy, now taking the alarm, applied to the English monarch for assistance.” His request was instantly complied with; for Henry had “private motives which prompted him in this instance.”
1411.Arundel, at the head of a strong body of archers and men-at-arms, was despatched to join the Burgundian leader, whom he met at Arras; and thence directing their march upon the capital, arrived on the twenty-third of October. The first point of attack was St. Cloud, where Arundel took charge of the assault, and marching his men to the bridge which here crosses the Seine, carried it by storm; took possession of the town with severe loss to the enemy, and returned with numerous prisoners, immense booty, and the thanks of the Burgundian chief.
The same Earl was also present at the siege of Harfleur, in the subsequent reign; and under both sovereigns held many distinguished posts of high trust and honour. But returning from the last campaign in ill health, he died at his paternal seat of Arundel, where a magnificent monument, quartered with the royal arms of Portugal, attests his virtues and patriotic services.
Of John Fitzalan, the eighth Earl, the public services and achievements, “during the French wars,” are not sufficiently prominent to demand any special notice in these pages; but John Fitzalan, the ninth Earl, is justly celebrated for his abilities both as a soldier and a senator.
In the grand tournament[60]which took place in the French capital in honour of the coronation of Henry the Fifth, the English monarch, there was a brilliant display of all that was most dazzling to the eye, and daring to the imagination. But at the close of the scenes in which the pride and prowess of chivalry were never more strikingly exemplified, Arundel[61]and the Comte de St. Pol, grand master of the household, were acknowledged to have carried away the prize from every competitor[62].
Four years later, an event occurred which was destined to close his military career and carry him off in “the blaze of his fame.” This happened in an attack upon the old castle of Gerberoi, near Beauvais, during the operations of the English army in Picardy.
Leaving Gournay at midnight, the Earl arrived in eight hours with the advanced guard in sight of the towers of Gerberoi. But in his impatience to reduce the fortress, he had miscalculated the strength of its walls and garrison, with the experience of its veteran commandant La Hire, and his own diminutive force. “The enemy,” says Holinshed, “perceiving that his horses were weary and his archers not yet come up, determined to set upon him before the arrival of his footmen, which they knew to be a mile behind.” As soon as he came in sight the gates were suddenly thrown open, and three thousand troops rushing upon the handful of men under his command, threw them into confusion. An unequal conflict ensued—struck with panic, and pressed by an overwhelming majority, the rout of the English became general. Arundel, with a few undaunted followers, who had sworn to share his glory or his grave, took up his position in “a little close” or corner of a field, where his rear was under cover of a strong hedge, threw up a hasty fortification of pointed stakes, and thus protected, kept the enemy at bay. But other and more powerful means of annoyance were at hand. La Hire ordered three culverins to be brought from the castle, and planted in front of the “forlorn hope.” The first shot told sadly upon the members of this intrepid band;but in the presence of their chief, nothing could damp their fortitude, nothing could paralyse their exertions. The first discharge was received with a shout of triumph and defiance. But the third striking Arundel in the knee, shattered the bone and threw him to the ground. This shot was the loss of the day. The French commander, seizing the favourable moment, rushed upon the entrenchment—and while Arundel, though faint with loss of blood and racked with pain, still continued to cheer on his men—effected a breach and took captive the gallant earl and his companions.
Arundel survived the disaster for some time, but died at last of his wound, and was buried in the church of the Grey Friars—the Frères Mineurs—of Beauvais.
In the collegiate church of Arundel, where he had previously selected his own place of interment, a cenotaph of beautiful design and elaborate workmanship still marks the spot; but, owing to some unknown cause, as Mr. Tierney informs us, “his executor neglected this last injunction;” and the soldier was not permitted to find rest in the sepulchre of his fathers.
1304.Humphrey, his son, became heir to his titles and estates; but, not surviving his father more than three years, they again passed to his uncle, William Fitzalan, then in his twenty-first year. The events of his life, however, are not of a character to interest the reader by any bright displays of moral excellence, which could be handed down as examples to posterity.
“Obsequious—veering round with every change,Now to the liege professing homage fervent;Then as the sceptre dropp’d, could it seem strangeThat faction found him its most humble servant!”
“Obsequious—veering round with every change,Now to the liege professing homage fervent;Then as the sceptre dropp’d, could it seem strangeThat faction found him its most humble servant!”
“Obsequious—veering round with every change,Now to the liege professing homage fervent;Then as the sceptre dropp’d, could it seem strangeThat faction found him its most humble servant!”
Yet with all his political faults, there was much in his private life and conversation—much in his munificence to the church—and still more in his encouragement of learning, to rescue his name from oblivion. He died at Arundel, and was buried with his ancestors in the Chapel, where a splendid altar-tomb attests his love and patronage of the fine arts.
In the preface to Caxton’s Golden Legende, honourable mention is made of the puissant, “noble and vertuous lorde, Willyam, Erle of Arundelle.” Dallaway quoting Vincent says—“William Earle of Arundell, a very father of nurture and courtesy, died at a great age at Arundell, and there triumphantly lieth buried.”
His successor, Thomas Fitzalan, was a man whose address and accomplishments found ready acceptance at court, and secured the good-will and approbation of more than one sovereign.
1543.Henry Fitzalan, on succeeding his father this year, returned from Calais to England, and at Arundel kept the Christmas festivities in such stylewith his neighbours, that it is known, says the MS. Life quoted by Mr. Dallaway, as “the great Xmas of Arundel.”
1544.At the siege of Boulogne, in the following year, he was nominated by King Henry as marshal of the field. The siege on this occasion proved tedious; the town and garrison were resolute in their defence, and day after day the besiegers were baffled in their efforts to force them to a capitulation. At last, however, a mine, which had been successfully worked beneath the castle, was sprung at midnight; the explosion shook the whole citadel, and
general confusion ensued. Seizing the favourable moment, Arundel ordered the battering ordnance to play with redoubled fury upon the walls; and heading at the same time a resolute detachment, took his station in the entrenchments. There, while the shot and shell struck and exploded in the ramparts over his head, he waited till a breach in the masonry was effected; and then throwing himself into the gap, cheered on his men to the assault. Inspired by their leader’s example, every soldier did his duty; the besieged were driven from the works; their guns were turned against themselves, the ramparts were cleared; capitulation was effected, and before morning the flag of England floated in triumph from the Castle of Boulogne.[63]
But neither prowess in the field nor wisdom in the cabinet could exempt Arundel from the trials, calumnies, and persecutions of those who only saw, in the royal favour extended to him, a grand obstacle to their own advancement. After the demise of Henry, charges were accordingly brought against him, which—although never proved—formed the ground of his exclusion from the council, were attended with a heavy fine, and aggravated by imprisonment. The false evidence, however, on which these penalties were inflicted, being speedily detected, his confinement was very brief. A large portion of the fine was remitted, but the remembrance of such unmerited treatment was never to be effaced. Subsequently, on the exhibition of further charges against him, he was again sent to the Tower, where he was detained a close prisoner during thirteen months, and was then enlarged on payment of a heavy fine, and admonished to “behave himself according to the duty of a nobleman, and to prove in deeds what he professed in words.”
But events were now fast hastening to a crisis. The demise of the royal minor, the elevation of Lady Jane Grey, the ebullitions of party violence—all spread universal excitement and alarm throughout the country.
Arundel, who had long fostered a spirit of secret enmity and revenge against Northumberland, as the author of his misfortunes, now perceived that the moment of retaliation was at hand. He invited and promised the full weight of his support to the Princess Mary in private; but in public he zealously espoused the cause of her rival, the Lady Jane; and was among the first who offered her homage, and swelled the magnificence of her entry into London.
1544.Northumberland was blinded by so much apparent devotion to the cause; and when he reluctantly quitted London to stem the torrent that was now rapidly setting in from the east, Arundel, says Stow, took leave of him in these specious and hollow terms: “Farewell, my lord; and I pray God be with your grace. Sorry indeed am I, that it is not my chance to go with you, and bear you company, in whose presence I could find in my heartto shed my blood, even at your feet.” But as soon as Northumberland was gone, Arundel changed his tone; denounced him as a traitor; declared his sentiments; and boldly asserted the sovereign right of the eldest daughter of Henry the Eighth. His fervid eloquence and appeal to the nobles present made a deep and visible impression. Pembroke[64], infected by the enthusiasm of the speaker, starting up, and grasping the hilt of his sword, exclaimed, “Either this sword shall make Mary queen, or I will die in her quarrel!” The result needs not be told. In an instant the whole aspect of affairs was changed. That very night Mary was proclaimed in every street of the city—banquets, bonfires, riots, and illuminations, were called to attest the fact.
The news of the revolution were scattered in all points of the compass, and at Cambridge reached the Duke of Northumberland, who was astounded at what had happened, and felt all the paralysing influence of his critical position.
When Arundel, whose revenge was now secure, arrived with the warrant for his apprehension, the duke threw himself upon his mercy, and implored him, says the Chronicler, “to be good to him for the love of God!” But Arundel coldly replied that his grace should have sought for mercy sooner, and then committing him to safe custody, ordered him off to the Tower.
During the reign of Mary, Arundel had many honours heaped upon him, and filled several important offices of state; nor did court favour desert him on the accession of Elizabeth, who even made him her familiar companion, and became his frequent guest. She visited him at her splendid palace of Nonsuch, of which he was keeper; joined in all the revels in celebration of her visit; accepted at her departure a “cupboard of plate” and repaid him with assurances of cordial regard and unlimited confidence.
Flattered by such manifestations of royal favour, Arundel went so far in his loyal attachment as to become one of her Majesty’s impassioned suitors. He was a Catholic indeed, but love and loyalty were divinities to which religion had been often known to bend; and having given his vote and influence to all her state measures—and not weighing the “queen’s sincerity by his own”—he looked forward with bright anticipations of the future. But Elizabeth was as much an adept in manœuvring as the earl; her chief object had now been accomplished; she no longer required his services—she remembered his support of her sister Mary; and when Arundel ventured to address her as the royal Chloë of his admiration, the queen threw off the mask, and insteadof receiving the homage thus tendered, in the sense it was meant, ordered the noble earl to be placed under arrest. Well might he exclaim—
“Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ?”
“Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ?”
“Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ?”
The arrest however was soon removed; and with his enlargement a more rational course presented itself for his choice. His health requiring change of climate, he went abroad; and after spending fourteen months in travel beyond seas, he returned to London in a style that resembled the triumphant progress of a sovereign, and to present, as a peace-offering to her Majesty, “a pair of the first silk stockings[65]ever seen in England.”
Once more restored to favour, he did not long maintain his position; but again lapsing into unlawful practices, by tampering in the question respecting Mary, Queen of Scotland, and the Duke of Norfolk, his son-in-law; he finally lost the queen’s countenance, and was recommitted as a prisoner to the palace of Nonsuch. The dreams of ambition were now past. On his liberation, he retired from the political world to spend the remainder of his days in study and domestic seclusion, where he could moralise on the mad projects of ambition, the vexations and vanities of court life.