Royalty, especially English royalty, was always a favorite subject of St. Nicholas, which published stories of kings and courtiers, dukes and damsels, and princes and knights with frequency. This nonfiction piece talks about some of the more obscure names in the royal household.First William the Norman, then William his son,
Henry, Stephen and Henry, then Richard and John;
Next Henry the third, Edwards one, two, and three,
And again, after Richard, three Henrys we see;
Two Edwards, third Richard, if rightly I guess,
Two Henrys, sixth Edward, Queen Mary, Queen Bess;
Then Jamie the Scotchman, then Charles whom they slew,
Yet received, after Cromwell, another Charles too;
Next James called the second ascended the throne.
Then good William and Mary together came on;
Till Anne, Georges four, and fourth William all past,
God sent Queen Victoria, may she long be the last!
What child studying English history has not committed to memory this useful little doggerel, in order to keep well in mind the sequence of Great Britain's rulers! Nowadays we should have to alter the last line, and add another couplet, to include Edward VII and the present monarch; but let any one who doubts its helpfulness try to run over the list without its assistance!
As we glibly enumerate these kings of England, we are very apt to take it for granted that they all acceded to their rights in good and regular order, and it is seldom that we give much heed to the fact that there were five innocent, helpless boys who had every just and legal right to reign, and who never came into their own. Crowded away in the dim background of history, it is only faintly, vaguely, and very briefly that their claims are touched upon. Yet sometimes they seem to beckon to us with their shadowy, childish hands, and beg us to render them at least the recognition of a thought, the "passing tribute of a sigh"!
The crown of England has been always supposed to descend to the monarch's eldest son, or, if he lack descendants, to a male relative descended from the next eldest line. There were not a few cases where serious complications ensued in the latter event, as after the death of Edward VI, when there were a number of female claimants and not one male claimant for the crown. Here the succession was indeed difficult to decide; but in the five instances of which we speak, there is no doubt. In every case it was a boy who was defrauded, and in three of the five instances it was a heartless and unscrupulous uncle who did the defrauding.
The first was a grandson of William the Conqueror, known as William Clito, William of Normandy, or William Fitz-Robert. William the Conqueror's eldest son, Robert Curthose, was of a hot-headed, though well-meaning, disposition, and quarreled unceasingly with his father during the Conqueror's latter years. Consequently, the great William felt in no mood to relinquish the succession to this unprofitable son. On his death, therefore, he took matters into his own hands and left England to his second son, William Rufus, a considerable sum of money to his third son, Henry, but to Robert he gave the Province of Normandy, then England's most important possession.
William Rufus reigned thirteen years and died by an accident. He left no son to succeed him. and his brother Robert was off in the Holy Land. Only Henry was on hand to snatch the prize, and we may be sure he lost no time in taking possession. But the grasping Henry was not to be satisfied until he had succeeded in annexing Normandy also to the crown. Slowly, but surely, he set about its acquisition, till at length, in a great battle, he defeated Robert, captured him, and kept him for twenty-eight years a prisoner in Cardiff Castle, Wales, where he finally died, eighty years old and totally blind.
But it is Robert's little son, William Fitz-Robert, who claims our deepest sympathy. Eldest son of an eldest son, his rank entitled him to a seat on the world's greatest throne! It was a pitiful little boy of seven that they led crying before his uncle Henry, who had robbed the child of even his Normandy domain. For once, Henry's conscience was a little troubled, and when he might have put this obstacle forever out of the way, he magnanimously confided him to the care of a faithful servant, Helie de St. Saen. His conscience, however, did not, we notice, carry him to the length of restoring what did not belong to him!
Helie de St. Saen secretly carried the little William to France, fearing, no doubt, the uncertainty of Henry's mood. Here the child was befriended by Louis VI, who promised to aid him in recovering at least the Province of Normandy. The promises of most kings being ever thinner than air, poor little William's affairs were speedily forgotten when, in 1115, Henry made a treaty with Louis VI, and was promised a great French princess to marry his own son, another Prince William. That settled all question about Normandy, not to speak of any greater claim, and William Fitz-Robert faded into oblivion. He was a brave and persistent little prince, however, and as he was now well on to manhood, made a bold stand for his rights.
But a swift and terrible vengeance was shortly to overtake Henry I. Prince William and his father had been in France on a visit to Louis VI. In returning to England, Henry embarked first and his son came later on the ill-fated White Ship. Late in the night the White Ship struck a hidden rock, and went down with all on board. But one soul, a butcher's son, escaped to tell the tale, and it was he who broke the dreadful tidings to Henry. The king never recovered from the blow, and died, years after, a broken-hearted man, leaving no son to succeed him. On the death of Prince William, hope again revived for William Fitz-Robert. Many disgruntled English barons rallied to his cause, and the French king, Louis VI, had his interest rekindled to such a degree that he gave William his sister-in-law for a wife. It was at this bright turn of his affairs that the young man received a pike wound in his hand, during some unimportant battle. Little attention being paid it, blood-poisoning set in soon after and caused his death, at the age of twenty-six. Thus perished the first defrauded claimant to England's throne, struggling bravely to the last for the place so unscrupulously denied him.
Fifty-four years passed, and another child-king arose, the touching story of whose fate has stirred the world! King Henry II had three sons living, Richard, Geoffrey, and John. When Henry II died, Richard I came to the throne, and he is endeared to us in many a favorite book, under the title "Coeur de Lion" or "Lionhearted." Richard, however, died leaving no son, and the throne should have descended to the little son of his next younger brother Geoffrey. This boy, the famous Prince Arthur, was at the time a bonny lad of twelve. But here again, an uncle with neither heart nor conscience interposed; and being a man, older, stronger, and craftier, the throne of England fell easily into his grasp.
Again, as in the case of William Fitz-Robert, the French king, Philip, pretended to espouse the cause of the little English prince. But it is easy to see that Philip was only seeking for some pretext to oppose England, and here was a good and very opportune one. Philip made no move for two years, during which time the boy lived quietly with his mother in Brittany. Suddenly, however, Philip concluded that there might be something to gain by stirring up a fuss with England and England's abominable monarch, John. So he summoned Arthur to him and questioned him as to whether he would now like to claim his rights as sovereign. Poor little fellow!—dupe of two equally heartless rascals,—of course he would! Doubting nothing, and happy as though he already felt the crown's weight on his boyish brows, he gladly accepted the two hundred knights offered by Philip. Before he got them, however, he had to sign a little agreement in which he promised forever to acknowledge Philip as his superior lord and to allow him everything that he, Philip, might win from John. With these knights, and five hundred more sent by Brittany, and about five thousand foot-soldiers, the little lad started off gaily to attack the town of Mirabeau.
Can we not see him at the head of his troops, attired in glittering armor, fair curls flying and eyes alight with hope? How Philip must have laughed in his sleeve at the sight, and how John must have sneered as he prepared to meet him! Arthur had an object in besieging Mirabeau. There dwelt his grandmother, Elinor, and he imagined that, by capturing her, he could bring his Uncle John more easily to terms. The siege began, but had not advanced far when along came John, who speedily set about relieving his mother and capturing by stratagem the little prince. After that, the end was a foregone conclusion.
Arthur was confined in the castle of Falaise, and entrusted to the care of one Hubert de Burgh. The end of Arthur is shrouded in mystery. That he disappeared, was disposed of in some cruel manner, is certain; but just how, no one has ever known. Some think he was allowed to attempt to escape by leaping from the high castle walls and so met his end. Other circumstances point to a more horrible exit from his stormy little world. But one thing is sure: whatever was his fate, his miserable uncle was the cause of it. Somehow we cannot feel anything but satisfaction in knowing how supremely John was hated by the people over whom he reigned, and how they wrested from his unwilling hands the Magna Charta, that glorious treaty of English liberty. And we rather exult in the fact that he died from over-feeding himself with peaches and cider at Swinestead Abbey—a very appropriate name, by the way! Prince Arthur truly was avenged!
We now come to the most sensible, and certainly the happiest, of all the defrauded little monarchs. Richard II was, if anything, the most contemptible, idle, worthless, and utterly good-for-nothing sovereign under whom England ever suffered. Richard himself was a grandson of the great Edward III and son of the famous Black Prince, but was as little like either of these able men as could well be imagined. After he had administered the Government in the worst possible manner for twenty years, the people began to feel that they could endure it no longer. An insurrection arose, the idea being to depose Richard, who had no sons, and elevate to his place his cousin Henry Bolingbroke. Duke of Lancaster. Now this was all very well, had it not been that there was a little rightful heir to throne in the young Earl of March, then a child of nine. This boy was descended from an older son of Edward III than the one from whom Bolingbroke sprang, consequently his was the prior claim.
Well, the rebellion occurred, and poor Richard II, hounded from pillar to post, finally gave up the crown of his own accord, and was promptly rewarded by being clapped into the Tower, a despised and friendless prisoner. Now Henry Bolingbroke, who then became Henry IV, if he had acted properly, might have accepted the regency for this little nine-year-old Earl of March, who of course was not yet fitted to reign. But no such thought, apparently, occurred to Henry. Instead, he trumped up some absurd story about having been eldest descendant of Henry III, and therefore rightful heir to the throne—a claim patently unfounded and false, as everybody knew it to be, though they pretended they did n't!
Henry IV was not by any means a bad king. On the contrary, apart from having taken as his own a throne he had no business to occupy, he tried to rule wisely and justly, keeping his subjects' welfare always before his eyes. One of the first things he did was to put the little Earl of March in honorable confinement in Windsor Castle. This imprisonment was not rigorous, and Henry gave the little earl into the charge and companionship of his own son, afterward Henry V, one of the most attractive monarchs England ever had. To his credit it must be said that Henry IV never sought to harm the innocent child, and only kept him confined as a political measure.
For the way of the usurper is hard! Again and again was Henry obliged to meet and rush insurrections led by dissatisfied nobles, who wished to reinstate the rightful heir. Never was he allowed to feel that his throne was secure. At length he died. His last days had been harrowed by failing health, and a very much disturbed conscience (we hope!) on the subject of his usurpation. He passed away, gladly relinquishing a burdensome crown to his son.
The first act of the new king was gracious and magnanimous to a degree. He set free the Earl of March from his long imprisonment and bade him go his way in peace. These two young men had grown up together—theirs was a friendship reaching high above the ambitions even of a throne. Well did Henry know that not one move would be made by this lifelong companion to snatch away the coveted crown. And he was not mistaken. The Earl of March, besides having now not the slightest desire to reign, would have been too stanchly true to Henry ever to have made the attempt, even had that ambition still lurked in him.
The Earl of March became the firmest supporter of Henry's throne, and through all their lifetime not one instance occurred to mar the beauty of their mutual affection. At the marriage and coronation of Henry's queen, Katharine of Valois, the earl knelt on one side of her throne and held her scepter. Could regal dignity have further abased itself! The Earl of March outlived his kingly friend, but even then he made no effort to recover his own, and died at last unthroned, uncrowned.
The fourth and perhaps best known of our list is Edward V. When his father, Edward IV, died, he left two sons, aged thirteen and eleven. The former, the new little king, was at the time with his maternal uncle, Lord Rivers, at Ludlow Castle. Of course they started at once to London for the coronation. The younger, the little Duke of York, was with his mother elsewhere. But another uncle, the famous Duke of Gloucester, afterward Richard III, who at the death of the king was proclaimed Protector and Defender of the Kingdom, had his own ideas and schemes on the subject of the succession. The Duke of Gloucester and his nephew, Edward V, met on their way to London, at Stoney-Stratford. Richard immediately took the boy from the kindly charge of Lord Rivers, conducted him to London, and placed him in the Tower. Next he sent for the little Duke of York, whose distracted mother, fearing some evil, could scarcely be persuaded to relinquish him. The Duke of York was immediately sent to join his brother in the Tower. Then Richard doubtless rubbed his hands and chuckled wickedly to himself, for had he not now the whole line of succession secure!
Meanwhile, the people of England were patiently waiting for the coronation of the new little king, and wondering why it did not take place. Next, by an incomprehensible system of juggling with the poor ignorant multitude's muddled ideas, Richard proceeded to convince them that neither of these children had any right to reign, and that he was their only legal sovereign, anyhow! And as the wavering minds in any mob are willing to be swayed by the most absurd arguments, he somehow got the populace to shout, "Long live Richard III!" Of course that settled it, and he straightway went off and had himself crowned! Not a word was spoken in favor of the rightful king; but even so, the presence of these two children mightily troubled Richard. At any time the popular favor might veer again and return to its rightful allegiance. What was to be done? Oh, that was simple and easy to a conscience as hardened as Richard's! The pitiful story of the two friendless princes in the Tower, and how they are supposed to have perished, is known to the youngest reader of historical tales.
But Richard did not go unpunished. His only son, Edward, a boy of eleven, on whom the king built every hope of future succession, died suddenly at Middleham Castle, and the blow completely staggered his father. Popular favor, too, had long since deserted him, and the people wearied for a new and more acceptable monarch. This monarch they declared they had found in Henry Tudor, Earl of Richmond, a son of the rival house of Lancaster. Sick to death of the fear and treason in the midst of which he existed, Richard III met the Duke of Richmond in the great battle of Bosworth. He was utterly defeated and struck from his horse, but perished fighting fiercely to the end. His golden crown was snatched from his head, and there, on the battle-field, placed upon the brow of Richmond, who became Henry VII. Thus was the throne of the usurper usurped!
The last of the little defrauded monarchs is strangely connected in fate with that of the previous one. Richard III had an older brother, the Duke of Clarence, whom he had sometime before, and for reasons best known to himself, disposed of by the new and entirely original method of drowning him in a cask of Malmsey wine! Clarence, however, left a surviving son, Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick. How his existence ever escaped the vigilant eye of Richard is a thousand wonders, but we find no record of its greatly troubling the unscrupulous usurper. At the time of Henry VII's coronation, this boy was fifteen years of age. As the first act of his reign, Henry had the child transferred from the castle of Sheriffe-Sutton (where he had been virtually a prisoner since his father's death) to the Tower of London. But this king was inclined to be merciful, and only intended to keep the lad a prisoner. The young earl, about whom very little is known and who was never more than a pale shadow across the page of history, passed the entire remainder of his life in this confinement. He was destined, however, to be the center of two singular conspiracies, and his life was curiously and fatally linked with those of .the two little princes who perished by the hand of Richard.
Henry VII had not been reigning more than fifteen months when strange rumors were wafted over from Ireland. It was there declared that the Earl of Warwick had escaped from the Tower.
To support this, a handsome youth, who certainly bore a strange resemblance to the uncrowned king, was exhibited to the people. This youth was better known as Lambert Simnel, a baker's son and a rank impostor. The credulous Irish received him, notwithstanding, with open arms, declaring that they would support his cause, and he set about entering England. Meanwhile, Henry VII had had the real Edward Plantagenet exhibited in all parts of London, for of course he had never for one moment escaped from the well-guarded Tower. When the pretender landed at Furness, the populace did not rise for him as he had hoped, and Henry met and easily defeated him in a battle at Stoke. Lambert Simnel, for he was no other after all, was placed in the king's kitchen as a scullery-boy, where he seemed heartily content to remain!
That ended the first conspiracy.
But another was treading fast upon its heels. Once more a pretended claimant for the crown arose, and again Ireland was first to be duped into belief in the impostor. This time the personage declared that he was no other than the Duke of York, brother of the little murdered Edward V, who, so he said, had escaped a like fate and had been wandering about unknown for seven years. Now this Perkin Warbeck, as he really was, proved to be a far more audacious and resourceful impostor than his predecessor. Moreover, he claimed to be some one whom all thought dead, and whose death would be very hard to prove. Therefore he quickly gained to himself supporters, and not a few important ones at that. The Duchess of Burgundy pretended that she recognized him as her nephew, and solemnly proclaimed him Duke of York, rightful heir to the throne. Many English malcontents joyfully embraced his cause, and also a goodly number of eminent men became concerned in the conspiracy—for which indiscretion they presently lost their heads!
Warbeck first advanced into Scotland, where the Scotch king, James IV, was so befooled as to believe in him, and give him the charming Lady Katharine Gordon for his wife. Then Warbeck made his great blunder—he determined to cross the frontier into England. He advanced boldly till he was obliged to confront the royal army, when courage forsook him and he took refuge in ignominious and precipitate flight. He was captured at length, hiding in a church, led to London, and exhibited to the people as a fraud.
But Perkin Warbeck must have been a rather likable fellow, on the whole, for Henry decided to keep him right there at court, albeit rather closely watched. But Warbeck made the mistake of attempting to escape from this pleasant surveillance, was recaptured, and thrown this time into the Tower.
Here it was that this pretender became the companion of poor Edward Plantagenet, who was no doubt glad of any diversion to while away the dreary hours, and whose unworldly mind was easily deceived by Warbeck's clever pretensions. At any rate, Warbeck gained such a hold over the luckless youth that together they planned to escape and incite a fresh rebellion. But even the first step of the plot was not taken before all was discovered. Perkin Warbeck had exhausted Henry's last atom of patience, and the monarch felt that there was nothing for it now but to be rid of him, which was speedily accomplished. But poor Edward Plantagenet, whose innocent feet had become entangled in the wily rascal's net, was destined to pay all too dear for his complicity, and his life was also forfeited on the twenty-third of November, 1499, at the age of twenty-nine.
Thus perished the last of the legitimate and much-wronged claimants to England's throne. What differences might not have been effected had any one of these children been elevated to the position to which he was rightly entitled! Certain it is that the whole face of England's history, perhaps the history of the world, would have been altered. We wonder vainly would it have been for better or for worse. Of all the five young lives, but one was happy and peaceful and useful, and that one only so because, like a sensible person, he early renounced all ambition to sit upon an unstable throne. Truly has Shakespeare said: "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown!" And perhaps it is better that these unfortunate young monarchs should have been spared that greater misery of reigning in sorrow over a perhaps fickle and ungrateful people.
So they pass before us, wan, pathetic little shadows out of the tumultuous long ago. We sigh for their misfortune in that they were born to the purple, when they might, in some lesser sphere, have been entitled to happy childhoods and well-spent lives. But as they fade again into the misty past, we let them go, whispering perhaps in our thoughts, "Ill-fated young uncrowned monarchs, you are not wholly forgotten!"
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