THE FRENCH CROWN
A famous scene in _Henry the Fifth_ represents two English prelates
consulting together how they may best put aside the imminent demand
of the Commons for a secularisation of a great part of the Church
revenues. The clergy were to be stripped of what would maintain fifteen
earls, fifteen hundred knights, and six thousand or more esquires,
besides lazar-houses and poor-houses, and still have a “thousand pounds
by the year” for the coffers of the King. Such a spoliation would not
only “drink deep,” as the Bishop of Ely says, but, as his brother of
Canterbury replies, “drink the cup and all.” The King’s new-born piety
would not be a sufficient protection against this danger. Nor would it
be averted even by the offer of a greater sum by way of contribution
than the clergy had ever offered to any one of his predecessors. A more
potent help would be found in the suggestion,
“Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms;
And, generally, to the crown and seat of France,
Derived from Edward, his great-grandfather.”
We are not called upon to discuss the historical foundation for this
story. The chroniclers of the sixteenth century probably put something
of the feelings which were dominant in their own times into their
narratives of the earlier age. But the movement which culminated in the
action of Henry the Eighth was then beginning. The wealth of the Church
was certainly overgrown and often ill-applied. Cupidity it was sure to
excite; but wise and honourable statesmen also regarded it with dislike
as an influence adverse to the national prosperity. But to suppose that
the ecclesiastical authorities could stifle these feelings by forcing,
so to speak, upon the nation a war to which it was averse or even
indifferent is to contradict all the analogies of history.
It would be equally erroneous to suppose that Henry himself was driven
to embark in war by a feeling of the insecurity of his position, and
by the desire to conceal by the glory of his military achievements the
weakness of his title to the throne. Still it is true that the claim
to the French crown was the heritage of the Plantagenets, and that
Henry was compelled to assert it if he would show himself the authentic
representative of the second Henry and the third Edward.
For some time after William of Normandy seized the English throne the
relations of the King of England to the King of France--it might be
more correct to say, the king who reigned at Paris--were those of an
over-powerful vassal to a weak suzerain. When Henry the Second actually
ruled over a larger part of France than the prince who was nominally
its sovereign, this reversal of the ordinary state of things, according
to which the lord was the superior, the vassal the inferior, was
complete. But the tendency of things was to strengthen the central
power at Paris, and to weaken the great feudatories. The English kings
could not retain a permanent hold on their continental possessions. In
the course of the forty-three years’ reign of Philip Augustus the vast
French territory held by Henry the Second was reduced to the provinces
of Gascony and Guienne, from more than a half to less than a tenth of
the whole country.
Without following in detail the events of the next hundred years, we
may say that their tendency was to separate the two countries more
and more completely, and to prepare the way for the change in their
relations which may be held to date from the year 1327. In that year
the last of the three sons of Philip the Fair died childless. Edward
the Third of England, as the son of Philip’s daughter Isabella, put
forward a claim to the succession as against Philip of Valois, who,
as descended from a common grandfather, Philip the Hardy, was his
first cousin.[5] This claim he attempted to enforce by the invasion
which began with the brilliant victories of Crecy and Poictiers, and
reached a certain measure of success in the Treaty of Bretigny (1360).
But before many years had passed, all but Calais was lost to England;
and when Henry the Fifth resolved to recover what he claimed as the
inheritance of his predecessors, he had to begin, it may be said, the
work of conquest over again.
Allies, however, he had whose assistance he was to find very useful.
The dynasty of De Montfort had been established in possession of the
dukedom of Britanny in a great measure by English help, and though
the relations between the two countries had not been invariably
friendly since that time, the sense of this obligation, and, still more
powerfully, a jealous fear of the French king, inclined Britanny to the
English alliance.
The Dukes of Burgundy, though they had no such motives of gratitude
towards England, felt a far stronger hostility towards France. The
feud between the rival factions which went by the names of Burgundians
and Armagnacs had now been raging for several years; and though the
attitude of the Burgundians varied--at the great struggle of Agincourt
they were allies, though lukewarm and even doubtful allies, of the
French--they ultimately ranked themselves decidedly on Henry’s side.
In 1414, then, Henry formally demanded, as the heir of Isabella, mother
of his great-grandfather Edward, the crown of France. This claim the
French princes wholly refused to consider. Henry then moderated his
demands so far, at least, as to allow Charles to remain in nominal
possession of his kingdom; but they were still conceived on a scale
such as to render their acceptance impossible. France was to cede to
England, no longer as a feudal superior making a grant to a vassal,
but in full sovereignty, the provinces of Normandy, Maine, and Anjou,
together with all that was comprised in the ancient duchy of Aquitaine.
Half, too, of Provence was claimed, and the arrears of the ransom of
King John, amounting to twelve hundred thousand crowns, were also to
be paid. Finally, the French king was to give his youngest daughter,
Katharine, in marriage to Henry, with a portion of two million
crowns.[6]
The French Ministers offered, in answer, to yield the duchy of
Aquitaine, comprising the provinces of Anjou, Gascony, Guienne, and
Poitou, and to give the hand of the Princess Katharine with a dowry of
six hundred thousand crowns, more, it was urged, than any daughter of
France had ever before received on the occasion of her marriage.
These offers were refused. On September 17th (1414) writs were
issued calling together a new Parliament to meet on November 19th at
Westminster. The King was present, but what we should call the Royal
Speech was delivered by Henry Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester and Lord
Chancellor. In this the speaker declared, not only that the King was
resolved to govern his realm wisely, but that he would prosecute even
to death his claim to the rightful inheritance, so long withheld from
him and his predecessors, of the crown of France. That he might do this
with success, the Commons were exhorted to grant a liberal subsidy.
They voted, with the assent of the peers and the clergy, two-tenths and
two-fifteenths.[7]
The scrupulous side of Henry’s character, which seems to have been
not less developed than what may be described as the ambitious side,
would not be satisfied without another attempt at negotiation. His
uncle, the Earl of Dorset, afterwards Duke of Exeter, accompanied by
the Bishops of Durham and Norwich, and a retinue so splendidly equipped
as to excite the astonishment of the French, visited Paris with a new
offer. Normandy and Maine were no longer to be claimed: the dowry of
the Princess was to be reduced from two to one million crowns; but the
duchy of Aquitaine and a portion of Provence were still demanded. The
French Ministers declined to yield in the matter of the territory, but
were willing to raise their offer of a dowry from six to eight hundred
thousand crowns. These terms were, of course, unacceptable, and the
ambassadors returned to England.
One more effort for peace was made, and this time the overture came
from France. It may be conveniently mentioned in this place, though it
was not made till the preparations for war were considerably advanced,
and indeed was called forth by the alarming report of the fleet and
army which the English king was mustering that had been carried across
the Channel.
On the 29th of June the King, being present in a council held at
Winchester, granted seven safe-conducts to the ambassadors of “our
adversary of France [for so, in view of his own claim, he now styles
the French king] about to come into the realm on account of certain
matters manifestly concerning the honour of God and the staying of
the shedding of human blood.” The principal ambassador was Thomas,
Archbishop of Bruges. Another high ecclesiastic, three nobles, and two
lawyers accompanied him. The mission was on a splendid scale, for the
united retinues numbered three hundred and fifty. Henry received them
at Winchester.
The Archbishop of Bruges set forth his mission in a long and eloquent
oration. After a preliminary dissuasion of war and praise of peace, he
proceeded to offer terms: Limoges and its dependencies were to be ceded
to the English crown, and another hundred thousand crowns to be added
to the Princess’s dowry.
On the question of money a compromise had been nearly reached. The
English demand had been reduced to a million crowns, and the French
offer raised to nine hundred thousand. As to territory, the difference
was hopelessly wide. Limoges and its dependencies was a poor country,
which it would not be worth while to accept. The Archbishop of
Canterbury, the accomplished Chicheley, was spokesman for the King. He
made no mention of dowry, but declared that if the French king would
not give with his daughter Aquitaine, Anjou, and all that had ever
appertained to the ancestors of the King of England, the said King
would in no wise “retire his army nor break his journey, but would with
all diligence enter into France, and destroy the people, waste the
country, and subvert the towns with blood, sword, and fire, and never
cease till he had recovered his ancient right and lawful patrimony.”
When Chicheley sat down, the King stood up and declared his assent to
what he had said, and promised on the word of a prince to perform it to
the uttermost.
It was evident that he was bent on war. The concessions made by his
own ambassadors had been taken back, and the conditions now demanded
amounted to nothing less than a partition of France. At the beginning
of the negotiations these had been put forward, in a not uncommon
fashion of diplomacy, as a maximum from which it might be convenient
to make large deductions; as an _ultimatum_, delivered by a sovereign
whose army was almost ready to sail, they meant nothing less than war.
And so the Archbishop of Bruges took them. Casting aside diplomatic
forms, he broke forth into an angry denunciation of English arrogance
and injustice, and warned the King of the danger into which he was
running. Finally, he demanded a safe-conduct to return; a mere form of
speech, as such a safe-conduct was included in that already given to
him and his colleagues.
English chroniclers call him “a proud and presumptuous prelate,” yet
his anger was nothing but natural. Henry did not resent it, though
he did not retreat one whit from his position. The safe-conduct
he granted, and then added (I quote the speech as it is given by
Hollingshead):
“I little esteem your French brass, and less set by your power and
strength; I know perfectly my right to my reign which you usurp;
and except you deny the apparent truth, so do yourselves also; if
you neither do nor will know it, yet God and the world knoweth it.
The power of your master you see, but my puissance ye have not yet
tasted. If he have loving subjects, I am (I thank God) not unstored
of the same; and I say this unto you, that before one year pass, I
trust to make the highest crown of your country to stoop, and the
proudest mitre to have his humiliation. In the meantime tell this
to the usurper your master, that within three months I will enter
into France, as into mine own true and lawful patrimony, appointing
to acquire the same, not with bray of words, but with deeds of men
and dint of sword, by the aid of God, in whom is my whole trust and
confidence. Further matter at this present I impart not unto you,
saving that with warrant you may depart safely and surely into your
own country, where I trust sooner to visit you than you shall have
cause to bid me welcome.”
We can hardly suppose that we have here Henry’s very words. The speech
has a certain rhetorical, antithetical cast that inclines us to
attribute it to the pen of a chronicler who, we may conjecture further,
was writing in Latin. But it probably represents the substance of the
King’s reply with sufficient accuracy.
Nothing more in the way of negotiation could be done. It only remained
to press forward the preparations for war.