KING JOHN
On the 27th of May, 1199, the Abbey of Westminster was the scene of an
impressive ceremony. On that day, and in that edifice, a man of
thirty-two years of age was solemnly crowned King of England, and took
the oaths to govern justly. He had seen much of life, enjoyed
considerable experience in affairs of state, and was not deficient in
intellectual culture. Moreover, he had the advantage of a healthy and
vigorous frame, and of a countenance sufficiently well formed to be
thought handsome. But on his face there appeared an expression, now of
dissolute audacity, now of sullen temper, which might have made an
intelligent spectator presage that, ere long, the cry of “Long live the
king!” would give way to the stern shout of “Death to the tyrant!”
The personage who had the distinction of being on that memorable
occasion “the observed of all observers” was John of Anjou, the youngest
of the five sons who sprang from the marriage of the second Henry and
Eleanor of Guienne. Of the five sons, four had gone the way of all
flesh. William died in childhood; Henry died of fever while in rebellion
against his father; Geoffrey was trampled to death while taking part in
a tournament at Paris; Richard expired of a mortal wound inflicted by
the arrow of Bertrand de Gordon, while he was besieging the castle of
Chalus; and John, as the survivor, claimed not only the kingdom of
England, but that vast Continental empire which the first of our
Plantagenet kings had extended from the Channel to the Pyrenees.
Matters, however, did not go quite smoothly; nor was John without a
rival. Some months after his elder brother, Geoffrey, was killed in the
tournament at Paris, Geoffrey’s widow, Constance of Brittany, gave birth
to a son, to whom the Bretons, in honour of the memory of their mythical
hero, gave the name of Arthur. King Richard was well inclined towards
his nephew, and anxious to educate the boy to succeed him. But
Constance, a weak and somewhat vicious woman, refused to place her son
in the custody of Cœur de Lion, who, in consequence, recognised John
as his heir. Nevertheless, on Richard’s death, the people of Anjou and
Brittany proclaimed young Arthur as their sovereign; and Constance,
carrying him to the court of Paris, placed him under the protection of
Philip Augustus. But Philip, after making great professions, and
promising to give Arthur one of his daughters in marriage, concluded a
treaty with John in 1200, and, without scruple, sacrificed all the boy’s
interests.
And now John’s throne seemed secure; and both the crown of England and
the coronal of golden roses--the diadem of Normandy--sat easily on his
brow; but at this juncture his indiscretion hurried him into a
matrimonial project which cost him dear.
It was the summer of 1200, and John made a progress through Guienne to
receive the homage of that province. In Angoulême, at a great festival
given in his honour, his eye was attracted and his imagination
captivated by Isabel, daughter of the count of that beautiful
district--a lovely nymph not more than sixteen. John became passionately
enamoured; and as “maidens, like moths, are caught by glare,” Isabel to
be “a crowned queen” was “nothing coy.” It is true that there were
serious obstacles in the way of a matrimonial union. John had previously
been married to a daughter of the Earl of Gloucester, and Isabel
affianced to Count Hugh de la Marche. But the obstacles were not deemed
insuperable; for the Church had forbidden John to take home his bride,
on account of their nearness of kin; and he, as sovereign of Angoulême,
had power to break the link which bound the fair heiress to the man to
whom she had been betrothed. Moreover, the parents of the young lady
encouraged John’s passion; and, all difficulties having been got over
for the time being, John and Isabel were united at Bordeaux, and sailed
for England. On their arrival a grand council was held at Westminster;
and Isabel of Angoulême, having been acknowledged as queen, was formally
crowned by the Archbishop of Canterbury.
So far all went smoothly. But, ere a year elapsed, the royal pair were
alarmed with rumours of a formidable confederacy. Hugh de la Marche, who
had, not without indignation, learned that his affianced bride was
handed over to another, first challenged John to mortal combat, and, on
the challenge being declined, took up arms to avenge the wrong he had
sustained. Accompanied by his tender spouse, John repaired to the
Continent to defend his dominions, and visited the court of Paris.
Philip Augustus received and entertained the King and Queen of England
with royal magnificence, and professed the strongest friendship. But no
sooner had they turned their backs than Philip, who was a master of
kingcraft, resolved on John’s ruin, and allied himself closely with
John’s foes.
It would seem that the darling object of Philip Augustus was to make
France the great monarchy of Europe; and he was bent, therefore, on
humbling the pride and appropriating the Continental territory of the
Plantagenets. In the days of Henry and of Richard, Philip’s efforts had
been almost barren of results. But against an adversary like John he had
little doubt of achieving substantial successes, and of being able to
seize the territory which had gone from the kings of France with Eleanor
of Guienne. While John, under the impression that Philip was his stanch
friend, was parading, with indiscreet bravado, before the eyes of his
Continental subjects, Philip recalled Arthur of Brittany, now fifteen
years of age, to the French court, and again espoused his cause.
“You know your rights,” said Philip, “and you would like to be a king?”
“Assuredly I would,” answered the boy.
“Well,” said Philip, “I place two hundred knights under your command.
Lead them into the provinces which are your birthright, and I will aid
you by invading Normandy.”
At the head of a little army Arthur raised his banner, and, marching
into Guienne, boldly attacked Mirabeau, where his grandmother, Queen
Eleanor, was then residing, and succeeded in taking the town. But
Eleanor, retreating to the citadel, defied the besiegers, and sent to
inform John of her peril.
At that time John was in Normandy, and, without loss of a day, he
marched to his mother’s rescue, entered Mirabeau in the night, totally
routed his enemies, and, having taken Arthur prisoner, conveyed him to
Falaise. From Falaise he was removed to Rouen, and soon after the body
of a youth was seen by some fishermen of the Seine, ever and anon
rising, as it seemed, out of the water, as if supplicating Christian
burial. On being brought ashore the body was recognised to be that of
Arthur of Brittany, and it was secretly interred in the Abbey of Bec.
Whether Arthur had been killed by King John and flung into the Seine, or
whether he had fallen into the river and been drowned while attempting
to escape from the castle of Rouen, remains an historic mystery. But
neither the Bretons nor Philip Augustus expressed any doubt on the
subject. Within a week after the tragical event the Bretons demanded
justice on the head of the murderer; and Philip summoned John, as one of
his vassals, to appear before the Twelve Peers of France, and answer to
the charge. Without denying the jurisdiction of the court, John declined
to appear unless granted a safe conduct; and, the Twelve Peers having
pronounced sentence of death and confiscation, Philip took up arms to
execute the sentence, and seized cities and castles in such numbers,
that, ere long, John retained little or nothing of the Continental
empire of the Plantagenets, save Bordeaux, and a nominal authority in
Guienne. One effort he did make to redeem his fortunes. But, losing
heart and hope, he abandoned the struggle, and, returning to England,
entered on that contest with the Church which was destined to involve
him in ruin.
In the year 1205, Hubert, Archbishop of Canterbury, departed this life,
and in his place the monks of Canterbury elected Reginald, their prior,
to the vacant see. The king, however, far from sanctioning their choice,
insisted on elevating John Grey, Bishop of Norfolk, to the primacy; and
the dispute between the monks and the crown was referred to Innocent
III., one of those popes who, like Hildebrand and Boniface VIII., deemed
it their mission “to pull down the pride of kings.” In order at once to
show his impartiality and his power, Innocent set aside the man
nominated by the monks and the man nominated by the king, and gave the
archbishopric to Stephen Langton, a cardinal of English birth, who was
then at Rome. The monks, in consequence, found themselves in an awkward
predicament. However, they were under the necessity of doing as the Pope
ordered. In vain they talked of their scruples and fears, and protested
that they could do nothing without the royal sanction. When urged, only
one monk stood firm; all the others, out of deference to the head of the
Church, confirmed the nomination of Stephen Langton.
When John learned what steps had been taken in contravention to his
authority, his rage knew no bounds; and, in his excitement, he bethought
him of punishing the monks for their servility to the Pope. Accordingly
he sent two knights to seize the convent and drive the monks out of
their cloisters; and the unfortunate men were expelled at the point of
the sword. But the king soon discovered that this had been rashly done.
Indeed, the Pope no sooner became aware of his wishes being treated with
such disrespect than he sent three bishops to threaten John and his
kingdom with an interdict if he did not yield; and all the other bishops
coming to the king, implored him on their bended knees to save himself
from the evil that was threatened by accepting Stephen Langton as
primate, and allowing their monks to return to their convent and take
possession of their property. John stood upon his dignity, and refused
to bend an inch. In vain Innocent demanded redress, and indulged in
threats of bringing spiritual artillery into play. The king, who
believed he had justice and law on his side, and who believed also that,
if supported by his subjects, he had little to fear in a contest with
the court of Rome, boldly answered with defiance; and at length, in
1208, Innocent laid the kingdom under interdict, preparatory to
excommunicating the king, in the event of his continuing refractory.
The papal interdict plunged England in gloom, and caused the utmost
consternation. The churches were closed; no bell was tolled in their
steeples; no services were performed within their walls; and the
sacraments were administered to none but infants and the dying.
Marriages and churchings took place in the porches of churches; sermons
were preached on Sundays in the churchyards; and the bodies of the dead
were interred silently and in unconsecrated ground. No bells summoned
the living to their religious devotions, and no mass or prayer was
offered for the souls of the departed. After this had continued for some
time, Innocent finding that John gave no indications of a desire to
yield, formally excommunicated the king, absolved his subjects from
their allegiance, and exhorted all Christian princes to aid in
dethroning him. Philip Augustus did not require much prompting.
Willingly and readily he assembled a fleet at the mouth of the Seine,
and mustered an army to invade England. John was exceedingly nervous
about the future. Indeed, it is said that, in his alarm, he sent
ambassadors to ask the aid of the Moorish King of Granada. If so, the
mission came to nought. However, an English fleet crossed the Channel,
and, after destroying the French squadrons in the Seine, burned the town
of Dieppe, and swept the coast of Normandy. Even at that early period of
our history, the naval power of England was not to be resisted.
It was, no doubt, regarded as a great triumph over the Pope and the King
of France. Nevertheless, John was in no enviable frame of mind; for
Innocent was bent on vengeance, and Philip Augustus showed the utmost
eagerness to be the instrument of inflicting it. At the same time an
enthusiast, known as Peter the Hermit, who fancied he had the gift of
prophecy, predicted that, ere the Feast of Ascension, John should cease
to reign; and the king, menaced by his barons, gave way to doubt and
dread, and began to entertain the idea of saving himself by submitting.
A way of reconciliation was soon opened.
It was the month of May, 1213, and John, then suffering from anxiety and
ill health, was residing at Ewell, near Dover, when Pandolph, the papal
legate, arrived in England, and sent two Knights of the Temple to ask a
private interview with the king. “Let him come,” replied John; and
Pandolph, coming accordingly, made such representations that the king
promised to obey the Pope in all things, to receive Stephen Langton as
primate, and to give complete satisfaction for the past. Of course,
Pandolph expressed his gratification at the turn affairs were taking;
and, after John had, in the Temple Church, at Dover, surrendered his
kingdom to the Pope, and agreed to hold it as a fief of the Holy See,
the legate passed over to France, and intimated to Philip Augustus that
the King of England was under the special protection of the Church, and
that he was not to be meddled with. In fact, it now appeared that John
had, by yielding to the papal power, freed himself from his troubles;
and perhaps he flattered himself that he should henceforth govern in
peace, and have everything his own way. If so, he was very much
mistaken. Between the Plantagenet kings and the Anglo-Norman barons
there had never existed much good feeling; and between John and the
barons, in particular, there existed a strong feeling of hostility. Even
when he was engaged in his contest with the Pope, the great feudal
magnates of England gave indications of their determination to set the
royal authority at defiance; and, ere the inglorious close of that
contest, they had made up their minds either to rule England as they
liked, or to plunge the country into a civil war. Affairs were rapidly
approaching a crisis at the Christmas of 1214--that Christmas when Hugh
de Moreville conducted Oliver Icingla as a hostage to the Tower of
London.