It is not in the exploits of its Kings but in the aspirations and
struggles of its people, that the true history of a nation is to be
sought. During the rule and misrule of the two sons, and grandson, of
the Conqueror, England was steadily growing toward its ultimate form.
As Society outgrew the simple ties of blood which bound it together in
old Saxon England, the people had sought a larger protection in
combinations among fellow freemen, based upon identity of occupation.
The "Frith-Gilds," or peace Clubs, came into existence in Europe during
the 9th and 10th Centuries. They were harshly repressed in Germany and
Gaul, but found kindly welcome from Alfred in England. In their mutual
responsibility, in their motto, "if any misdo, let all bear it," Alfred
saw simply {41} an enlarged conception of the "_family_," which was the
basis of the Saxon social structure; and the adoption of this idea of a
larger unity, in _combination_, was one of the first phases of an
expanding national life. So, after the conquest, while ambitious kings
were absorbing French and Irish territory or fighting with recalcitrant
barons, the _merchant, craft_, and _church_ "_gilds_" were creating a
great popular force, which was to accomplish more enduring conquests.
It was in the "boroughs" and in these "gilds" that the true life of the
nation consisted. It was the shopkeepers and artisans which brought
the right of free speech, and free meeting, and of equal justice across
the ages of tyranny. One freedom after another was being won, and the
battle with oppression was being fought, not by Knights and Barons, but
by the sturdy burghers and craftsmen. Silently as the coral insect,
the Anglo-Saxon was building an indestructible foundation for English
liberties.
The Conqueror had bequeathed England to his second son, William Rufus,
and {42} Normandy to his eldest son, Robert. In 1095 (eight years
after his death) commenced those extraordinary wars carried on by the
chivalry of Europe against the Saracens in the East. Robert, in order
to raise money to join the first crusade, mortgaged Normandy to his
brother, and an absorption of Western France had begun, which, by means
of conquest by arms and the more peaceful conquest by marriage, would
in fifty years extend English dominion from the Scottish border to the
Pyrenees.
William's son Henry (I.), who succeeded his older brother, William
Rufus, inherited enough of his father's administrative genius to
complete the details of government which he had outlined. He organized
the beginning of a judicial system, creating out of his secretaries and
Royal Ministers a Supreme Court, whose head bore the title of
Chancellor. He created also another tribunal, which represented the
body of royal vassals who had all hitherto been summoned together three
times a year. This "King's Court," as it was called, considered
everything relating to the revenues of the state. Its {43} meetings
were about a table with a top like a chessboard, which led to calling
the members who sat, "Barons of the Exchequer." He also wisely created
a class of lesser nobles, upon whom the old barons looked down with
scorn, but who served as a counterbalancing force against the arrogance
of an old nobility, and bridged the distance between them and the
people.
So, while the thirty-five years of Henry's reign advanced, and
developed the purposes of his father, his marriage with a Saxon
Princess did much to efface the memory of foreign conquest, in
restoring the old Saxon blood to the royal line. But the young Prince
who embodied this hope, went down with 140 young nobles in the "White
Ship," while returning from Normandy. It is said that his father never
smiled again, and upon his death, his nephew Stephen was king during
twenty unfruitful years.
But the succession returned through Matilda, daughter of Henry I. and
the Saxon princess. She married Geoffrey, Count of Anjou. This
Geoffrey, called "the handsome," always wore in his helmet a sprig of
{44} the broom-plant of Anjou (_Planta genista_), hence their son,
Henry II. of England, was known as Henry _Plante-a-genet_.
This first Plantagenet was a strong, coarse-fibred man; a practical
reformer, without sentiment, but really having good government
profoundly at heart.
He took the reins into his great, rough hands with a determination
first of all to curb the growing power of the clergy, by bringing it
under the jurisdiction of the civil courts. To this end he created his
friend and chancellor, Thomas a Becket, a primate of the Church to aid
the accomplishment of his purpose. But from the moment Becket became
Archbishop of Canterbury, he was transformed into the defender of the
organization he was intended to subdue. Henry was furious when he
found himself resisted and confronted by the very man he had created as
an instrument of his will. These were years of conflict. At last, in
a moment of exasperation, the king exclaimed, "Is there none brave
enough to rid me of this low-born priest!" This was construed into a
command. Four knights sped swiftly {45} to Canterbury Cathedral, and
murdered the Archbishop at the altar. Henry was stricken with remorse,
and caused himself to be beaten with rods like the vilest criminal,
kneeling upon the spot stained with the blood of his friend. It was a
brutal murder, which caused a thrill of horror throughout Christendom.
Becket was canonized; miracles were performed at his tomb, and for
hundreds of years a stream of bruised humanity flowed into Canterbury,
seeking surcease of sorrow, and cure for sickness and disease, by
contact with the bones of the murdered saint.
But Henry had accomplished his end. The clergy was under the
jurisdiction of the King's Court during his reign. He also continued
the judicial reorganization commenced by Henry I. He divided the
kingdom into judicial districts. This completely effaced the legal
jurisdiction of the nobles. The Circuits thus defined correspond
roughly with those existing to-day; and from the Court of Appeals,
which was also his creation, came into existence tribunal after
tribunal in the future, including the "Star Chamber" and "Privy
Council."
{46}
But of all the blows aimed at the barons none told more effectually
than the restoration of a national militia, which freed the crown from
dependence upon feudal retainers for military service.
In a fierce quarrel between two Irish chieftains, Henry was called upon
to interfere; and when the quarrel was adjusted, Ireland found herself
annexed to the English crown, and ruled by a viceroy appointed by the
king. The drama of the Saxons defending the Britons from the Picts and
Scots, was repeated.
This first Plantagenet, with fiery face, bull-neck, bowed legs, keen,
rough, obstinate, passionate, left England greater and freer, and yet
with more of a personal despotism than he had found her. The trouble
with such triumphs is that they presuppose the wisdom and goodness of
succeeding tyrants.
Henry's heart broke when he learned that his favorite son, John, was
conspiring against him. He turned his face to the wall and died
(1189), the practical hard-headed old king leaving his throne to a
romantic {47} dreamer, who could not even speak the language of his
country.
Richard (Coeur de Lion) was a hero of romance, but not of history. The
practical concerns of his kingdom had no charm for him. His eye was
fixed upon Jerusalem, not England, and he spent almost the entire ten
years of his reign in the Holy Land.
The Crusades, had fired the old spirit of Norse adventure left by the
Danes, and England shared the general madness of the time. As a result
for the treasure spent and blood spilled in Palestine, she received a
few architectural devices and the science of Heraldry. But to Europe,
the benefits were incalculable. The barons were impoverished, their
great estates mortgaged to thrifty burghers, who extorted from their
poverty charters of freedom, which unlocked the fetters and broke the
spell of the dark ages.
Richard the Lion-Hearted died as he had lived, not as a king, but as a
romantic adventurer. He was shot by an arrow while trying to secure
fabulous hidden treasure in France, with which to continue his wars in
Palestine.
{48}
His brother John, in 1199, ascended the throne. His name has come down
as a type of baseness, cruelty, and treachery. His brother Geoffrey
had married Constance of Brittany, and their son Arthur, named after
the Keltic hero, had been urged as a rival claimant for the English
throne. Shakespeare has not exaggerated the cruel fate of this boy,
whose monstrous uncle really purposed having his eyes burnt out, being
sure that if he were blind he would no longer be eligible for king.
But death is surer even than blindness, and Hubert, his merciful
protector from one fate, was powerless to avert the other. Some one
was found with "heart as hard as hammered iron," who put an end to the
young life (1203) at the Castle of Rouen.
But the King of England, was vassal to the King of France, and Philip
summoned John to account to him for this deed. When John refused to
appear, the French provinces were torn from him. In 1204 he saw an
Empire stretching from the English Channel to the Pyrenees vanish from
his grasp, and was at one blow reduced to the realm of England.
{49}
When we see on the map, England as she was in that day, sprawling in
unwieldy fashion over the western half of France, we realize how much
stronger she has been on "that snug little island, that right little,
tight little island," and we can see that John's wickedness helped her
to be invincible.
The destinies of England in fact rested with her worst king. His
tyranny, brutality, and disregard of his subjects' rights, induced a
crisis which laid the corner-stone of England's future, and buttressed
her liberties for all time.
At a similar crisis in France, two centuries later, the king (Charles
VII.) made common cause with the people against the barons or dukes.
In England, in the 13th Century, the barons and people were drawn
together against the King. They framed a Charter, its provisions
securing protection and justice to every freeman in England. On Easter
Day, 1215, the barons, attended by two thousand armed knights, met the
King near Oxford, and demanded his signature to the paper. John was
awed, and asked them to {50} name a day and place. "Let the day be the
15th of June, and the place Runnymede," was the reply.
A brown, shrivelled piece of parchment in the British Museum to-day,
attests to the keeping of this appointment. That old Oak at Runnymede,
under whose spreading branches the name of John was affixed to the
Magna Charta, was for centuries held the most sacred spot in England.
It is an impressive picture we get of John, "the Lord's Anointed," when
this scene was over, in a burst of rage rolling on the floor, biting
straw, and gnawing a stick! "They have placed twenty-five kings over
me," he shouted in a fury; meaning the twenty-five barons who were
entrusted with the duty of seeing that the provisions of the Charter
were fulfilled.
Whether his death, one year later (1216), was the result of vexation of
spirit or surfeit of peaches and cider, or poison, history does not
positively say. But England shed no tears for the King to whom she
owes her liberties in the Magna Charta.
{51}