Death of the Black Prince.
For the moment the people's cause had triumphed in Parliament. Meanwhile
the people's friend was slowly passing away.
The Black Prince had been afflicted for five years with a grievous
malady; but he had never been heard to murmur against the will of God.
His sufferings had been very great; he was often so ill that his servant
took him for dead. He had rallied his last strength that he might give
Parliament his support in its struggle against the Duke of Lancaster.
For this purpose he had, as we have seen, moved to the royal palace of
Westminster. There he lay in his father's great chamber, and felt that
his end was drawing very near.
Two contemporary chroniclers have given us an account of his death, so
that we are able to form a tolerably accurate picture of the scene
around his death-bed.
He bade them open the door of his room, that all his followers might
come in. When all those who had served him were gathered round his bed,
he said to them, "Sirs, pardon me that I cannot give you, who have so
loyally served me, a reward fitting your services; but God and His
saints will render it to you." They all wept bitterly; for every one of
them loved him tenderly. Then he gave them all rich gifts, and prayed
the King that he would ratify these gifts; and calling his little son to
his bedside, he bade him never change or take away the gifts which he
had given to his servants. Then turning again to the earls and barons,
and all his other followers who stood around his bedside, he said to
them in a clear voice, "I commend to you my son, who is yet but young
and small, and pray that as you have served me, so from your heart you
would serve him."
He called also his father, and his brother the Duke of Lancaster, and
commended to them his wife and his son. All promised him truly that they
would comfort his son, and maintain him in his right.
Soon his sufferings became too great for him to see any one; and it was
forbidden that any more should enter the room, where he lay prostrate in
the pangs of death. One man, Richard Stury, a political opponent of the
Prince's, is said to have forced his way in; for what end we can hardly
tell; perhaps to ask his forgiveness. But the Prince roused himself in
the midst of his sufferings to upbraid him, saying, "Now you see what
you have long desired; but I pray God that He will make an end of your
evil deeds." After this outburst, the Prince sank back half fainting.
Then the Bishop of Bangor approached, and bade him forgive all those who
had offended him, and ask God for forgiveness of his own sins, praying
also all those whom he had offended for forgiveness; but the only answer
he could get from the Prince was, "I will."
The good old Bishop thought there must be some evil spirits present, who
prevented him saying more, and so he began sprinkling the four corners
of the room with holy water. Suddenly the Prince lifted up his eyes to
heaven, and said, "God, I give Thee thanks for all Thy benefits. In all
my prayers I beg Thy pity, and that Thou wouldest grant me pardon for
those sins which against Thee I have wickedly wrought. Moreover also,
from all men whom knowingly or unknowingly I have offended, I beg with
my whole heart the favour of forgiveness." With these words he fell back
and died; and with him, says the chronicler, all hope of Englishmen
departed.
Bitter was the lamentation for his death. An old chronicler who lived in
the Prince's days says: "Him being present, they feared not the
incursions of any enemies, nor the forcible meeting in battle.... Truly
unless God holde under His blessed hand that the miserable Englishman be
not trodden down, it is to be feared that our enemies, who compasse us
on every side, will rage upon us, even unto our utter destruction, and
will take our place and country. Arise, Lord! help us and defend us for
Thy name's sake."
Only the day before his death the Prince had signed his will. In it he
appointed William of Wykeham one of his executors, which shows us what
confidence he placed in the Bishop. His will contains the most minute
directions as to his funeral. It was his express desire that he should
be buried in the great cathedral of Canterbury, near the famous English
saint, Thomas of Canterbury.
His body was therefore carried from the palace at Westminster, where he
died, to Canterbury. There, as it entered the gates, it was met by a
warrior, mounted on a prancing steed. He was armed for war, and bore the
Prince's arms quartered. Then came four men carrying banners, each of
whom wore on his head a cap with the Prince's arms. A few steps further
on the funeral procession was met by a second knight. He also rode a
stately steed; but he was armed for peace, and bore the Prince's badge
of ostrich feathers. Preceded by these warriors, the funeral procession
advanced through the city till it reached the cathedral. Then the body
of the brave Prince was laid before the high altar, and vigils and
masses were said in honour of it till the time came when it must be
carried to its last resting-place in the Lady Chapel. There it was
buried at a distance of ten feet from the shrine of the martyr St.
Thomas, whom the Prince, when alive, had always delighted to honour.
Over it soon rose the noble monument which still marks the spot where
lie the remains of the great warrior. Respecting his tomb also he had
left minute directions.
The tomb was of marble, sculptured all round with twelve shields, each a
foot high. On six of the shields were his arms, and on the other six his
badge of ostrich feathers. On the top lay his recumbent figure, worked
in relief in copper gilt. He was represented in full armour, wearing his
helmet with his crest of a leopard engraved upon it. He himself composed
the epitaph which is graven on his tomb; and it gives us a faithful
picture of the mind of the man who wrote it.
It was written in French, and may be thus translated:
All ye that pass with closed mouth
By where this body reposes,
Hear this that I shall tell you,
Just as I know to say it.
Such as thou art, such was I:
You shall be such as I am;
Of death I never thought,
So long as I had life.
On earth I had great riches,
Of which I made great nobleness,
Land, houses, and great wealth,
Clothes, horses, silver, and gold:
But now I am poor and wretched;
Deep in the earth I lie;
My great beauty is all gone;
My flesh is all wasted;
Right narrow is my house;
With me nought but truth remains.
And if now ye should see me,
I do not think that you would say
That ever I had been a man,
So totally am I changed.
For God's sake pray the heavenly King
That He have mercy on my soul.
All they who pray for me,
Or make accord to God for me,
God give them His paradise,
Where no men are wretched.
We need find no difficulty in reading aright the character of the Black
Prince. There are no contradictions to be accounted for; all is plain
and straightforward. He was a simple God-fearing man, who did his duty,
and led a life in accordance with the highest ideal of his times. He was
not in advance of his day. We owe no great reforms, no marked steps in
our national progress, to him. But he is the type of the noblest spirit
of his times; he shows us the stuff of which Englishmen were made in
those days. Friend and foe alike counted him the bravest warrior of that
age. In battle he knew no fear, and had that kind of courage and energy
which inspired the meanest man in his ranks to fight boldly like his
Prince. He was not only brave, but was a skilful general, and knew how
to dispose his troops to the best advantage. In each of his three great
victories he fought against fearful odds; and his success was due quite
as much to the skilful grouping of his troops as to his bravery.
In the treatment of his prisoners he shows the beautiful courtesy of a
true knight. Though we must blame him severely for his cruelty in the
massacre of Limoges, we must remember that he only showed himself to be
on a level with the morality of his day; moreover, he was aggravated by
ill-health and suffering, and by the treachery of his subjects. In
private life he seems to have shown great kindliness and consideration
for others. He was beloved by all who came in contact with him. The
noblest of English knights, Chandos, Felton, and many others,
accompanied him on all his campaigns, and clung to him with a devotion
which only personal love can have prompted. He forgot none of his
servants, either on his death-bed or in his will. When in his last days
he saw that the English people were suffering from misgovernment, and
from the tyranny of his brother, moved with noble pity, he gathered his
last strength that he might show himself their friend, and save them
from oppression. As far as we can judge from the scanty records of the
chroniclers, he seems to have been much beloved by his wife, the fair
maid of Kent, and to have lived with her in great happiness. He was a
sincerely religious man; his special devotion to the Holy Trinity is
repeatedly mentioned by the chroniclers, and we have seen how he never
engaged in battle without earnest prayer. His good qualities are
throughout those of a simple warrior. He had the genius of a soldier,
not the genius of a ruler. When he first became ruler of Aquitaine, he
seemed to be all-powerful. His name inspired such fear that no one would
have ventured to attack him. It seemed an easy task to attach his
subjects to himself, and form a well-consolidated principality which
might safely resist the attacks of his enemies. But he lacked the
qualities which would have enabled him to do this. He was no politician.
He did not understand how to govern with economy, and develop his
resources. Before a wise and crafty man like Charles V. of France he was
powerless. He engaged in the fatal Spanish expedition, which ruined his
health and drained his coffers. His dominions crumbled away; they were
lost one by one without any battles, whilst he looked on helplessly at
the ruin.
In reality his great victories were fruitless, and the wonderful success
of the first half of Edward III.'s reign brought no lasting result.
Edward III. was no more of a politician than his son. Instead of being
content with what he had won, and making it secure, he indulged in wild
schemes of ambition; and whilst dreaming about the French crown, he lost
the Duchy of Aquitaine. It seems impossible to doubt that if Edward III.
and his son had set about it in the right way, they might have secured
for themselves the possession of Aquitaine. As it was, they not only
lost what they had gained, but with it also what had come down to them
from their fathers. Yet we need not deplore this. For the progress of
England it was far better that she should not be hampered with external
possessions. The most important thing was, that England herself should
grow strong before she thought of extending her dominions. Edward III.'s
wars were useful to the progress of England, not because of the glory
which they shed round his name, but because the great outlay which they
involved drove him to call frequent Parliaments that he might raise
supplies.
Thus a marked increase in the power and importance of Parliament is the
only beneficial result of this war. In the main its results were most
disastrous, and no wise and far-sighted ruler would ever have engaged in
it. It caused the best energies of the country to be devoted to the
pursuit of a chimerical object--the crown of France. For this object the
resources of the country were drained, and the interests of the people
were disregarded; whilst heavy taxes were laid upon them, which crippled
their commerce and their industries. The bright promise of the opening
of Edward III.'s reign found no fulfilment in the end. The chief legacy
he left to his successors was enmity with France, and a restless desire
to win back what he had lost. So whilst we admire the valour and energy
of the Black Prince in the conduct of the wars, we cannot praise his
father's wisdom in engaging in them. But we must remember that though in
wisdom he was not before his age, in valour he surpassed his countrymen
of all ages.