THE WINDSOR OF KING JOHN
“Whether,” says an old writer, speaking of Windsor, “you regard the
wholesomeness of the air, the natural beauty and strength of the
situation of the place, the pleasant pastime ministered out of the
forest, chases, and parks that are annexed unto it, the good
neighbourhood of that noble river which runneth by it, or the respective
commodity of that most flourishing city, that is not past half-a-day’s
journey removed from it, you will find it comparable to any prince’s
palace that is abroad, and far surmounting any that we have at home.”
But this was written long after Windsor was rebuilt and extended by
William of Wykeham, at the command of the third Edward, when it stood
regal in situation and aspect, with the standard of England waving from
its battlements--a monument--and no unworthy monument--of the pride of
the Plantagenets in peace, and of their prowess in war.
It was a very much less splendid edifice, however--as the reader may
suppose--which, at the opening of the thirteenth century, stood on the
brow of the hill looking over twelve fair counties, and with the Thames
flowing at its feet; and it lacked even such means and appliances for
rendering mediæval life comfortable and convenient as had come into
fashion when, some sixty years later, Eleanor of Castile kept house
almost constantly within its walls, and when the conqueror, of Evesham
and Kakhow, in the midst of his grand projects of policy and war, was
in the habit, on festive occasions, of making merry in the hall, and, as
his people liked well to hear, playing “blindman’s-buff” with his
children more readily and as heartily as he played a deeper, but
somewhat similar, game with Boniface VIII. and Philip the Fair.
No doubt, even in the time of Edward and Eleanor, Windsor was rather a
gloomy building for a palace, according to modern ideas, and utterly
unlike the regal pile which now occupies the ground--recalling the
shadowy past, with a host of memories gratifying to the national pride.
For it carries the mind, through five eventful centuries, to that era of
English chivalry which could boast of the Black Prince, and which was
marked by the institution of the Order of the Garter, and rendered
glorious not only by Cressy, and Poictiers, and Navaretta, but by great
naval victories over France and Spain, which, even at that early period,
made England mistress of the sea. Still, before the reign of John,
Windsor, originally founded by the Conqueror as a hunting seat, had
witnessed right royal marriages and high feudal ceremonies--especially
the marriage of Henry Beauclerc to his second wife, Adelicia of
Louvaine, and the homage of the King of Scots and of the Norman barons
to the Empress Maude--and had been so enlarged by succeeding kings,
that, among the royal fortresses, it was regarded as second in
importance only to the Tower of London when the Plantagenets began to
rule England, and was determinedly fought for by the various
personages--whether prelates or princes--whose quarrels disturbed
England during the crusade and captivity of Cœur-de-Lion--Prince John
among the number. Imagine an old Norman stronghold on the brow of the
hill, with towers, and turrets, and battlements, grey walls, penetrated
by loopholes to admit the light, gloomy halls, with huge chimneys and
oaken rafters, long, straggling chambers, a garden and a vineyard, a
chapel dedicated to Edward the Confessor, and parks stretching away into
the forest abounding with wild cattle and beasts of game, and you will
have a notion of what Windsor was when King John removed thither from
the great metropolitan stronghold before meeting the Anglo-Norman barons
at Runnymede, with the intention of granting their demands.
It was not on this occasion John’s fortune to be very magnificently
attended. In fact, he was every day becoming more unpopular; and many
men who might otherwise have been inclined to arm in his behalf were
awed into neutrality by the hostile bearing and the menacing attitude
which the confederate barons assumed towards all who would not support
their cause. Several men of consideration, however, were sufficiently
under the influence of loyal memories to adhere steadfastly to the regal
standard, though not much enamoured of a king who had brought his crown
into such jeopardy; and the royal party, besides the Earls of Pembroke
and Salisbury, and Warren, and Lord Hugh Neville, included eight bishops
and about seventy knights. Besides, the papal legate accompanied John,
and gave him the whole benefit of his influence, which, in spite of the
counteracting influence of the primate, was not slight, nor to be
lightly regarded, as both the primate and the barons well knew.
Nevertheless, in spite of the presence of the legate and bishops, even
the most steadfast of his partisans looked grave; and on the evening of
Thursday, the 14th of June, John sat at supper in the gloomy great hall
of Windsor with the expression of a man who saw the handwriting on the
wall, and whose crown and sceptre were about to pass away.
At a late hour, when the Earl of Pembroke, and the legate, and the eight
bishops had quaffed the “poculum charitatis,” and been ceremoniously
conducted to the apartments appropriated to their use, Hugh Neville, who
was Keeper of the Great Seal, and one of the staunchest of the king’s
adherents, reached Windsor and was admitted to the presence of the king,
whom he found pacing his chamber restlessly. Many a time, in seasons of
depression, John had drawn consolation for the present and hope for the
future from Neville’s counsels; but now the Norman baron had a weight of
care on his brow, and looked liker a man to need than to administer
consolation and hope.
“Welcome, Hugh Neville,” exclaimed John, endeavouring to be gay, “I am
right glad to see your face, though it is somewhat longer than I could
wish--as glad as if you had brought the philosopher’s stone in your
pocket.”
Hugh Neville bowed in acknowledgment of the royal courtesy, and remained
silent, that John might pursue the subject without interruption.
“I mean the stone which is said to turn everything into gold,” continued
John, “and beshrew me if gold would now come amiss. Had I but treasure,
methinks I could not fail speedily to better my position.”
“Sire,” said Neville, gravely, “the best treasures of a king are the
hearts of his people.”
John looked angrily, supposing that the words conveyed some reproach;
but seeing that none was intended he calmed himself, smoothed his
ruffled brow, and answered--
“By my faith, Neville, it is too late to speak in such a strain now,
when everything, almost even hope, is lost. Beshrew me if I feel not
strongly at times that I would rather be laid to-morrow by the side of
my father and mother in the abbey of Fontevraud than endure the
humiliation of submitting to the triumph of my foes.”
“Sire,” replied Neville, “in this life we must take the thorn with the
rose, the sweet with the bitter. But life is life after all; and a live
dog is better than a dead lion.”
“And yet,” said John, sorrowfully, “you know full well that if
Fitzwalter and his confederates are henceforth to have their own way,
and to do what they list in England, I am like to lead a life compared
to which that of a dog is comfort and dignity. By St. Wulstan! I am like
to be no better than a slave in mine own realm; and no being on earth is
so contemptible as a despised king.”
Hugh Neville was silent.
“Why speak you not?” asked John, sternly. “I want to hear what you would
counsel me to do.”
“Sire,” replied Neville, frankly, “I was thinking that, if any quality
would stand you in good stead in the present situation of affairs, it
would be that which the Arabs say is the price of all felicity--I mean
patience.”
John’s brow darkened, and his lip curled. It was not the advice which he
wished his minister to give, and, being against the grain, was not well
taken.