Joanna, called the Fair Maid of Kent, was cousin of
the Black Prince, whom she married. John of Gaunt was
suspected of aiming at the crown in the beginning of
Richard’s minority, which, increasing the hatred of
the people against him for favouring the sect of
Wickliffe, excited them to demolish his house and to
demand his impeachment.
Joanna. How is this, my cousin, that you are besieged in your own house by the citizens of London? I thought you were their idol.
Gaunt. If their idol, madam, I am one which they may tread on as they list when down; but which, by my soul and knighthood! the ten best battle-axes among them shall find it hard work to unshrine.
Pardon me: I have no right, perhaps, to take or touch this hand; yet, my sister, bricks and stones and arrows are not presents fit for you. Let me conduct you some paces hence.
Joanna. I will speak to those below in the street. Quit my hand: they shall obey me.
Gaunt. If you intend to order my death, madam, your guards who have entered my court, and whose spurs and halberts I hear upon the staircase, may overpower my domestics; and, seeing no such escape as becomes my dignity, I submit to you. Behold my sword and gauntlet at your feet! Some formalities, I trust, will be used in the proceedings against me. Entitle me, in my attainder, not John of Gaunt, not Duke of Lancaster, not King of Castile; nor commemorate my father, the most glorious of princes, the vanquisher and pardoner of the most powerful; nor style me, what those who loved or who flattered me did when I was happier, cousin to the Fair Maid of Kent. Joanna, those days are over! But no enemy, no law, no eternity can take away from me, or move further off, my affinity in blood to the conqueror in the field of Crecy, of Poitiers, and Najera. Edward was my brother when he was but your cousin; and the edge of my shield has clinked on his in many a battle. Yes, we were ever near — if not in worth, in danger. She weeps.
Joanna. Attainder! God avert it! Duke of Lancaster, what dark thought — alas! that the Regency should have known it! I came hither, sir, for no such purpose as to ensnare or incriminate or alarm you.
These weeds might surely have protected me from the fresh tears you have drawn forth.
Gaunt. Sister, be comforted! this visor, too, has felt them.
Joanna. O my Edward! my own so lately! Thy memory — thy beloved image — which never hath abandoned me, makes me bold: I dare not say ‘generous’; for in saying it I should cease to be so — and who could be called generous by the side of thee? I will rescue from perdition the enemy of my son.
Cousin, you loved your brother. Love, then, what was dearer to him than his life: protect what he, valiant as you have seen him, cannot! The father, who foiled so many, hath left no enemies; the innocent child, who can injure no one, finds them!
Why have you unlaced and laid aside your visor? Do not expose your body to those missiles. Hold your shield before yourself, and step aside. I need it not. I am resolved ——
Gaunt. On what, my cousin? Speak, and, by the saints! it shall be done. This breast is your shield; this arm is mine.
Joanna. Heavens! who could have hurled those masses of stone from below? they stunned me. Did they descend all of them together; or did they split into fragments on hitting the pavement?
Gaunt. Truly, I was not looking that way: they came, I must believe, while you were speaking.
Joanna. Aside, aside! further back! disregard me! Look! that last arrow sticks half its head deep in the wainscot. It shook so violently I did not see the feather at first.
No, no, Lancaster! I will not permit it. Take your shield up again; and keep it all before you. Now step aside: I am resolved to prove whether the people will hear me.
Gaunt. Then, madam, by your leave ——
Gaunt. Villains! take back to your kitchens those spits and skewers that you, forsooth, would fain call swords and arrows; and keep your bricks and stones for your graves!
Joanna. Imprudent man! who can save you? I shall be frightened: I must speak at once.
O good kind people! ye who so greatly loved me, when I am sure I had done nothing to deserve it, have I (unhappy me!) no merit with you now, when I would assuage your anger, protect your fair fame, and send you home contented with yourselves and me? Who is he, worthy citizens, whom ye would drag to slaughter?
True, indeed, he did revile someone. Neither I nor you can say whom — some feaster and rioter, it seems, who had little right (he thought) to carry sword or bow, and who, to show it, hath slunk away. And then another raised his anger: he was indignant that, under his roof, a woman should be exposed to stoning. Which of you would not be as choleric in a like affront? In the house of which among you should I not be protected as resolutely?
No, no: I never can believe those angry cries. Let none ever tell me again he is the enemy of my son, of his king, your darling child, Richard. Are your fears more lively than a poor weak female’s? than a mother’s? yours, whom he hath so often led to victory, and praised to his father, naming each — he, John of Gaunt, the defender of the helpless, the comforter of the desolate, the rallying signal of the desperately brave!
Retire, Duke of Lancaster! This is no time ——
Gaunt. Madam, I obey; but not through terror of that puddle at the house door, which my handful of dust would dry up. Deign to command me!
Joanna. In the name of my son, then, retire!
Gaunt. Angelic goodness! I must fairly win it.
Joanna. I think I know his voice that crieth out: ‘Who will answer for him?’ An honest and loyal man’s, one who would counsel and save me in any difficulty and danger. With what pleasure and satisfaction, with what perfect joy and confidence, do I answer our right-trusty and well-judging friend!
‘Let Lancaster bring his sureties,’ say you, ‘and we separate.’ A moment yet before we separate; if I might delay you so long, to receive your sanction of those securities: for, in such grave matters, it would ill become us to be over-hasty. I could bring fifty, I could bring a hundred, not from among soldiers, not from among courtiers; but selected from yourselves, were it equitable and fair to show such partialities, or decorous in the parent and guardian of a king to offer any other than herself.
Raised by the hand of the Almighty from amidst you, but still one of you, if the mother of a family is a part of it, here I stand surety for John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, for his loyalty and allegiance.
Gaunt. [Running back toward Joanna.] Are the rioters, then, bursting into the chamber through the windows?
Joanna. The windows and doors of this solid edifice rattled and shook at the people’s acclamation. My word is given for you: this was theirs in return. Lancaster! what a voice have the people when they speak out! It shakes me with astonishment, almost with consternation, while it establishes the throne: what must it be when it is lifted up in vengeance!
Gaunt. Wind; vapour ——
Joanna. Which none can wield nor hold. Need I say this to my cousin of Lancaster?
Gaunt. Rather say, madam, that there is always one star above which can tranquillize and control them.
Joanna. Go, cousin! another time more sincerity!
Gaunt. You have this day saved my life from the people; for I now see my danger better, when it is no longer close before me. My Christ! if ever I forget ——
Joanna. Swear not: every man in England hath sworn what you would swear. But if you abandon my Richard, my brave and beautiful child, may — Oh! I could never curse, nor wish an evil; but, if you desert him in the hour of need, you will think of those who have not deserted you, and your own great heart will lie heavy on you, Lancaster!
Am I graver than I ought to be, that you look dejected? Come, then, gentle cousin, lead me to my horse, and accompany me home. Richard will embrace us tenderly. Every one is dear to every other upon rising out fresh from peril; affectionately then will he look, sweet boy, upon his mother and his uncle! Never mind how many questions he may ask you, nor how strange ones. His only displeasure, if he has any, will be that he stood not against the rioters or among them.
Gaunt. Older than he have been as fond of mischief, and as fickle in the choice of a party.
I shall tell him that, coming to blows, the assailant is often in the right; that the assailed is always.
Last updated Monday, December 22, 2014 at 10:52