Failure in Aquitaine.
Though crowned with success, the Spanish expedition was most fatal in
its consequences to the Black Prince. His victory in Spain had caused
him to be esteemed as the greatest among the princes and generals of
Europe. The news of it had been received in England with enthusiastic
joy; bonfires, rejoicings, and thanksgivings in the churches had
celebrated it all over the country. But what was the result? The Prince
had restored for a moment a bloodthirsty tyrant to the throne, and in
return for that had impoverished his exchequer and shattered his health.
He returned to Bordeaux a disappointed man. Don Pedro had failed in all
his promises, and the only results of this expedition to the Prince were
broken health and crippled resources. A change seems to have come over
the Prince's character after this. He lost his bright confidence and
cheerful fearlessness, and became morose and discontented. He was
pressed by the want of the necessary money to keep up the expenses of
his extravagant court, and this and his illness weighed down his
spirits. To his enemies, who had so long trembled before him, it seemed
that the hour had come when they might safely attack him.
By the treaty of Bretigny, Edward III. had promised to renounce for ever
his claim to the French crown; and in return, the French king had
promised to renounce his sovereignty over the English provinces in
France, which were henceforth to be held as independent possessions
owing no right of allegiance to the French crown. Time had passed on,
and for one reason or another the formal renunciation of these claims
had never been made. It was perhaps only natural that both sides should
put off as long as possible the moment when they must definitely give up
what they had so long clung to.
Charles V., King of France, had probably never really intended to
conform to the peace of Bretigny. It had been concluded in his father's
lifetime, and had been wrung from him only by the miserable condition of
France, after the battle of Poitiers. For the moment he was ready to
agree to anything, and wait for the time when he might be able to win
back what he had lost. Part of the ransom of King John was still unpaid.
With characteristic generosity, Edward had allowed many of the hostages
to go to France, on giving their word that they would come back. But
most of them never returned, and his demands to Charles for payment of
the rest of the money passed unheeded.
Charles, who was quietly gathering strength whilst he waited a
favourable moment for attacking the Black Prince, must have seen with
delight the false step which his enemy took in aiding Pedro the Cruel.
It soon became clear how fruitless the Spanish expedition had been. The
Prince had hardly reached Bordeaux, when Henry of Trastamare, who had
been attacking the frontiers of Aquitaine, withdrew his army thence, and
crossed the Pyrenees into Arragon, to prepare for a second invasion of
Castile. He was anxious to have again the aid of Du Guesclin; but Du
Guesclin unfortunately was still a prisoner in the Black Prince's hands,
and knew not how to raise the money wanted for his ransom.
One day, when the Prince was in good humour, he called Du Guesclin to
him, and asked him how he was.
"I was never better, my lord," was the answer; "I cannot be otherwise
than well, for I am, though in prison, the most honoured knight in the
world."
"How so?" asked the Prince.
"They say in France, as well as in other countries," answered Du
Guesclin, "that you are so much afraid of me, and have such a dread of
my gaining my liberty, that you dare not set me free; and this is my
reason for thinking myself so much valued and honoured."
The Prince did not like this, for he knew that it was partly the truth.
He at once offered Du Guesclin his liberty, for a much smaller sum than
had been asked before. His council tried to dissuade him from keeping
this agreement; but the Prince, speaking like a good and loyal knight,
said, "Since we have granted it, we will keep it, and not act in any way
contrary."
It was not long before Du Guesclin was able to pay the money, and
hastened to join Henry, who was already successfully invading Castile.
Most of the towns opened their gates to him, and he defeated Pedro in
battle, and pursued him to the fortress of Montiel. Here, by some means
or other, Pedro and Henry met face to face. So great was their hatred
for one another, that Pedro immediately threw himself upon his brother,
and being the stronger, threw him down upon the ground under himself;
but Henry managed to draw his long Spanish knife, and plunging it into
Pedro, killed him on the spot. After this he was secure in his
possession of the throne of Castile, and had no longer to fear any
rival.
This event of course entirely destroyed any hopes the Black Prince might
still have of getting the money due from Pedro. He had not enough money
himself to pay more than half of what was due to the Companies which had
fought under his banner. They, on being disbanded, went off to ravage
the French territory, which did not tend to make the French feel more
friendly to the Black Prince's rule. In truth it is impossible to deny
that he showed little talent as an administrator in his position as
ruler of Aquitaine.
His subjects were rapidly growing more and more discontented, and many
of the chief nobles, who had at first crowded to swear allegiance to him
through mere terror of his name, now began secretly to draw near to
France. By a fatal mistake of policy he managed to estrange his subjects
still further. He was deeply in debt, and had no money either to defray
the expenses of his court, or to prepare for a new struggle with France,
which he felt must soon be inevitable. He felt, therefore, that it was
necessary to impose a tax upon his subjects; and he hit upon the most
burdensome tax he could have discovered. He proposed to the Assembly of
the States of his Duchy that a hearth tax should be levied for five
years; that is, that for every fire upon the hearth an annual duty
should be paid. This kind of tax was particularly oppressive, as it fell
unequally; the poor pay more in proportion to their small means than do
the rich. Hence the tax caused great discontent, especially amongst the
Gascon barons, the lords of Armagnac, d'Albret, Cominges, and many
others.
The whole duchy seemed to weary of the English rule. The people
resented, naturally enough, the ravages and extortions of the Free
Companies, and complained that the English nobles were arrogant and
overbearing. The King of France watched eagerly this growing discontent;
but He remained quiet until he had concluded an offensive and defensive
alliance with Henry of Trastamare. The Gascon lords, in their
discontent at the new tax, claimed to have a right of appeal to the King
of France, as if he had still been the feudal superior of the duchy, to
whom the vassals might carry their complaints against their lord. This
claim of appeal greatly angered the Black Prince; for in the treaty of
Bretigny the King of France had agreed to renounce all rights over
Aquitaine, and therefore could receive no appeals. But the Gascons said
that it was not in the power of the King of France to renounce these
rights without the consent of the barons and cities of Aquitaine; and
this consent had never been given, and would never be given. The
dispute, as was natural, only increased the ill-will between the Prince
and his subjects.
From all sides the King of France was advised to seize this favourable
moment for attacking the Prince. He was told that, as soon as he
declared war, all the barons and cities of Aquitaine would turn to his
side; for all were discontented with the English rule. At last, on the
25th January, 1369, he summoned the Black Prince to appear before the
court of his peers at Paris, and answer the complaints brought against
him by his vassals. This proceeding was, of course, entirely contrary to
the treaty of Bretigny. It was treating the Prince as if he were a
vassal of France; whereas, according to the treaty, the King of France
had entirely renounced his claim to the allegiance of Aquitaine. By
treating the Black Prince as a vassal, he therefore distinctly threw
down the gauntlet of war.
Great was the anger of the Prince when this summons reached him. When
the commissioners who had brought the letter had read it to him, he
looked at them for a moment in silence, and then burst forth in rage.
"We will willingly come to Paris on the day appointed," he said; "but it
will be with our helmet on our head, and sixty thousand men at our
back."
He would give no other answer to the commissioners; and after they had
gone, his anger burnt so hot against them that he sent some of his
knights after them, to seize them and bring them back to prison.
"Let them not," he said, "go and tell their prattle to the Duke of
Anjou, who loves us little, and say how they have summoned us personally
in our own palace."
The King of France was indignant when he heard of the answer of the
Black Prince, and of the treatment which his commissioners had met with.
He made immediate preparations for war. He sent a challenge to the King
of England by a common valet, a kitchen-boy, that he might make it as
insulting as possible.
Both England and its King were sunk in the enjoyments of peace. The King
was growing old, and loved ease and luxury. The country was weary of
war, and absorbed in trade and manufacture. Still the challenge of the
King of France stung their pride, and threw Edward III. into a mighty
passion. He determined to reassert his claim to the crown of France, and
opened the war with vigour. He sent the Duke of Lancaster with an army
to Calais to invade the north of France, and his son Edmund, Duke of
Cambridge, with troops to assist the Black Prince in Aquitaine. The
Black Prince established his camp at Angoulême. The services of the
various Free Companies were eagerly bid for by both the combatants, and
many were engaged on either side.
The French soon began their inroads upon the Prince's territory. He lay
at Angoulême helpless from illness, and almost wild with vexation at
hearing of the advances of his enemies. A desultory warfare began, in
which neither side gained any considerable advantage; but the French
seemed to be pressing on further, whilst the disaffection of the chief
nobles and the illness of the Prince tended more and more to break up
the unity of the English provinces.
In the north the Duke of Lancaster did nothing but burn and ravage the
enemy's country. The French army, which had been sent against him, had
been expressly ordered not to engage battle; the remembrance of the
English victories was still too vivid in the minds of the French.
The death, in a chance skirmish, of his valued friend and wise
counsellor, Sir John Chandos, was a serious blow to the Prince. He was
seneschal of Poitou, and was very anxious to drive back the French, who
had taken some strong places there. He attacked a body of the enemy much
superior in number to his own force, and fell upon them with scoffs and
jeers. But as he was advancing on foot, he slipped on the ground, made
slippery by the frost. He was entangled in the long robe of white
samite, which he wore under his armour according to the fashion of those
days, and stumbled. A French squire seized this opportunity to make a
thrust at him; Sir John had lost an eye five years before, and the
thrust being made on his blind side, he could not see to ward it off. To
the dismay of his followers, he fell back rolling in death-agony on the
ground. They fought desperately, eager to revenge his fall, but owing to
their small number were obliged to surrender to the French. Soon after
they were released by the arrival of a large body of English troops, to
whom the French in their turn had to yield. Chandos was discovered lying
so severely wounded that he was unable to speak. Great were the
lamentations of the English; for all loved and revered him. There was no
knight more valiant or courteous than he. His servants gently disarmed
him, and he was laid on a litter made of shields and targets, and so was
slowly carried at a foot-pace to Mortemer, the nearest fort. He only
lived one day and night, and was buried by his friends at Mortemer. On
his tomb was written this epitaph in French:
I, John Chandos, an English knight,
Seneschal of all Poitou,
Against the French king oft did fight,
On foot and horseback many slew.
Bertrand du Guesclin prisoner too
By me was taken in a vale,
At Lensac did the foe prevail;
My body then at Mortemer
In a fair tomb did my friends inter,
In the year of grace divine,
Thirteen hundred sixty-nine.
Froissart says of Chandos, that never since a hundred years did there
exist one more courteous, nor fuller of every virtue and good quality.
What the English cause lost by his death can hardly be estimated. His
valour and wisdom might have prevented the loss of Aquitaine.
It was early in 1370 that Chandos was slain. That year Charles V.
determined to strike a decisive blow. Two armies, under his brothers the
Dukes of Anjou and Berry, the former assisted by the great General Du
Guesclin, were to invade Aquitaine at the same time. They advanced with
great success, taking one city after another. Limoges, the capital of
Limousin, was surrendered into their hands by its bishop, who turned
traitor. News of the loss of this important city was brought to the
Black Prince as he lay upon his bed of sickness. In a frenzy of rage he
sat up in his bed, and exclaimed, "The French hold me dead; but if God
give me relief, and I can once leave this bed, I will again make them
feel."
Now that it was too late to gain the affections of his people, he had
at the advice of Edward III. remitted the hearth tax; but this seemed to
the people only a sign of weakness. He also offered in the name of his
father the royal pardon to all those who had revolted, if they would
return to their allegiance. The Duke of Lancaster had arrived in
Aquitaine to aid him in the conduct of affairs, on account of his broken
health. The Black Prince's authority in Aquitaine seemed to be gone; but
the French successes, the loss of Limoges, and the treachery of its
bishop, roused him to make a last effort. He swore by the soul of his
father that he would have Limoges back again, and would make the
inhabitants pay dearly for their treachery. He mustered his forces at
Cognac, and prepared to march towards Limoges. When he took the field,
and all his men-at-arms were drawn out in battle array, the whole
country was filled with fear: his name had not yet lost its terror. He
could not mount on horseback, but was obliged to be carried in a litter.
He found Limoges well defended, but he made his army encamp all round
it, and swore he would never leave the place till he had taken it.
Limoges was too well garrisoned to be taken by assault, and the English
therefore prepared to lay siege to it. They had with them a large body
of miners, and the Prince gave orders that the walls should be mined.
After a month all was ready. The garrison of the town tried by
countermining to destroy the work of the Prince's miners, but failed;
and the miners having filled their mines with combustibles, set fire to
them. The explosion threw down a large piece of the wall. The English,
who were all ready and waiting for the right moment, rushed in through
the breach, whilst others attacked the gates. So quickly was it done
that the French had no time to resist. Then the Prince, borne on his
litter, and John of Gaunt, and the other nobles, rushed into the town
with their men. The soldiers, eager for booty, ran through the town,
killing men, women, and children, according to the orders given by the
Prince from his litter. "It was a most melancholy business," says
Froissart; "for all ranks, ages, and sexes cast themselves on their
knees before the Prince, begging for mercy; but he was so inflamed with
passion and revenge that he listened to none, but all were put to the
sword wherever they could be found."
The garrison meanwhile had drawn themselves up in a body, and stood with
their backs to an old wall, determined to fight to the last. The Duke of
Lancaster and the Earl of Cambridge advanced to attack them, and in
order to be on an equality with them, dismounted from their horses
before they begun the fight. The English were greatly superior in
number; but the French fought so bravely that they were able to hold
their own for some little time. The Prince watched the combat with deep
interest. The sight of the bravery of the knights at last roused again
his nobler and more generous emotions, and he shouted out that the
lives of those French knights who would surrender should be spared.
Whereupon the French gave up their swords and yielded themselves
prisoners. The Bishop was also taken prisoner. The whole town was burnt
and pillaged, and utterly destroyed. The Black Prince, worn out with
suffering and disease, seemed to wish to revenge himself by one act of
relentless cruelty for the loss of all his power and authority in
France.
The sack of Limoges shows us the dark side of chivalry. We must not
blame the Black Prince too severely for it. In sacrificing the innocent
inhabitants of a whole city to his revenge, he was only acting in
accordance with the spirit of the age in which he lived. The views of
life in which he had been educated had taught him no respect for human
life as such. His generous emotions were not called out by the piteous
suffering of women and children, but by the brave fighting of
men-at-arms. This was what chivalry led to, and all its bright features
cannot make us forgive its disregard of human suffering. Doubtless this
terrible sack is a blot upon the Black Prince's character; but we could
hardly have hoped to find him superior to his age. In this as much as in
his nobler deeds he is a true type of chivalry, and shows us how very
partial and one-sided was its civilizing effect. We must remember also,
in his excuse, that he was at that time suffering from a severe and
painful illness, and suffering even more bitterly in mind at the loss
of his proud position, and the break up of his dominions. But whilst
trying to see what may be said in his excuse, we must not shut our eyes
to the enormity of the crime. The massacre of this innocent population
could do no good, and could have no beneficial result. What the Black
Prince did was to sacrifice all the inhabitants of a prosperous city to
his own thirst for revenge.
After the sack he returned to Cognac, where he had left the Princess.
There he disbanded his forces, feeling too ill for any further
enterprise. This one exertion seems to have had a bad effect upon him;
for he became rapidly worse, to the great alarm of all around him. His
physicians ordered him to return at once to England, and in sadness of
heart he prepared to leave his Duchy.
Just before he left he had the misfortune also to lose his eldest son,
the little Prince Edward. He left his authority in Aquitaine to his
brother, John of Gaunt, and sailed from Bordeaux with his wife and his
son Richard in the beginning of the year 1371.
The voyage was prosperous. He soon reached England, and went to Windsor
to meet the King. He had left his country full of hope and confidence;
he returned broken down in health and spirits. The tide of English
prosperity had turned, and it is melancholy to compare the bright
beginning of Edward III.'s power with the last sad years of his reign.