and the folk‐motes; and he grants the citizens the right of electing
and appointing a sheriff of Middlesex. And in various charters and
other records we find traces of elections frequently occurring in
the city of London. These elections, too, were liable, as now, to be
disturbed by force of arms and menaces. Several of the great barons and
prelates had their palaces or castles in or near the city. Baynard’s
Castle, in the days of king John, was the stronghold of Robert
Fitzwalter, castellan of the city, who doubtless lacked neither the
will nor the power greatly “to disturb free elections.” Mobs, too,
were frequent and unruly in those days. Fitz‐Albert, called Longbeard,
in 1196, had more than fifty thousand of the people at his command,
and at last fortified himself in Bow Church, whence he was taken and
executed. Still more recently, indeed, just about the time of the
holding this parliament of Westminster, a feud broke out in the city,
concerning the election of a mayor. The candidate properly chosen was
Philip le Taylour, but the mob insisted on having Walter Harvey. The
king was obliged to interfere, and to appoint a _custos_ of the city
until an election of mayor could be well and properly holden. This
fact, occurring very shortly after Edward’s arrival and coronation, of
itself explains the insertion of this clause in the statute. Doubtless,
also, the elections of “knights of the shire,” an institution which
dates from the two preceding reigns, would give occasion to many
disorders. The great men of a county would often attempt to carry the
election “by force of arms;” the populace would resist;“menacing” would
be heard on both sides; and complaints would reach the ear of the king
and his chancellor. Now both Edward and his great minister were upright
and honourable men. Being therefore engaged in the great work of
establishing the dominion of wise and equal laws, they insert in this
statute, which, as Lord Campbell says, “rather deserves the name of a
code,” this brief but pithy declaration: “And because elections ought
to be free, the king commandeth, under great penalties, that no man
disturb such elections, either by menaces or by force of arms.”
One other curious circumstance connected with this first parliament
of England deserves a mention. Edward always regarded himself as the
rightful champion and protector of his people in all just quarrels.
The countess of Flanders, in Henry’s old age, had taken the violent
course, upon some quarrel, of confiscating all English property in the
warehouses of Flanders. Edward on his way home heard of this, and
sent immediate orders to stop the export of wool; thus reducing the
manufactories of Flanders to a state of paralysis. He then met the son
of the countess and concluded a treaty, by which the English merchants
received full restitution. This settlement of the quarrel was received
in England with great satisfaction, and the parliament of Westminster
at once granted to the king a customs’ duty of half a mark on every
sack of wool exported, and a mark on every bale of leather. These
duties were recorded, in the spirit in which Edward always acted, as
“granted by the archbishops, bishops, earls, barons, and communitates
of the kingdom of England.” Always and on all occasions does the king
associate with himself in public acts, “the commonalty of the realm,
the lowest as well as the highest.”
Footnotes:
[17] Hemingford.
[18] The extent of this homage became a matter of negociation, and
the question was not finally adjusted until some three or four
years after.
[19] Macaulay.
[20] “The first mention of the term, ‘parliament,’” says Blackstone,
“is in the preamble to the ‘Statute of Westminster,’ A.D. 1275.”
III.
THE FIRST SEVEN YEARS.
The key‐note struck by Bracton seems never to have ceased vibrating in
the minds of Edward and his chancellor. “Let the king render to the
law, what the law hath invested in him with regard to others, dominion
and power.” “The king hath a superior—namely, God—and also the law,
by which he was made a king.” Duty, the pressure of moral obligation,
is as constantly present in Edward’s mind as, six centuries after,
it was in the mind of Arthur Wellesley. We have seen it recognized
at Marlborough, in 1267, in his father’s day, when the Statute so
named is thus prefaced—“Our lord the king, providing for the better
estate of this realm, and for the more speedy administration of
justice, as _belongeth to the office of a king_,” etc. We find it
again in the opening of the Westminster Statute—“Because our lord the
king hath great desire to redress the state of the realm, in such
things as require amendment.” And a little later, in the “Statutes
of Gloucester,” we hear the same strain—“The king, providing for the
amendment of his realm, and for the fuller administration of justice,
as the _good of the kingly office requireth_,” etc.
Thus, from time to time, we hear from Edward’s lips the frank
confession, “I hold an office, and that office has its duties; let me
look to it that those duties are rightly discharged.” He proceeds,
after the great “Parliament of Westminster, 1275,” to enter in earnest
on the important work of regulation, organization, and the removal
of abuses and disorders. Just as the owner of a large estate, on
coming into full possession after a long minority, sets to work, if
he rightly comprehends his position, first to examine and then to
regulate every portion of his inheritance, so does Edward give the
earlier years of his reign to a similar though larger work. He shows
his consciousness that the weakness of a long period of misrule had
filled the land with disorders, and that “the kingly office requireth”
that he should, in a variety of particulars, introduce new laws and
a purer administration. He had seen and regretted, in his father’s
reign, the fearful weakening of the royal authority which accompanied a
system of pecuniary improvidence. At once, therefore, without waiting
for the assembling of his parliament, he issued a royal commission to
inquire into, and ascertain, the royalties and revenues appertaining
to the crown, the state and particulars of the crown‐lands, with the
names of the tenants and the terms of their tenure.[21] He rightly
judged that on this point—the regulation of the royal revenues—largely
depended the just fulfilment of “the office of a king.” He soon made
himself acquainted with the extent and particulars of his possessions;
and so well were these administered, throughout his whole reign, that
his applications to parliament were few, and always based upon public
grounds,—the acknowledged requirements of the state. Yet he was never
wanting in a truly royal munificence; exhibiting liberality on all
fitting occasions, and a never‐ceasing kindness to the poor.
In the course of these investigations, touching the royalties and
revenues belonging to the crown, it would naturally happen that legal
questions and doubts would arise, as to the respective boundaries of
possessions belonging to the crown, and those belonging to the great
barons who had received grants from former sovereigns. The king soon
came to the conclusion that, rightly to define these limits, it would
be necessary to refer, in all cases, to the original grants. He issued,
therefore, after the lapse of two or three years, which the first
investigation must have required, another order or commission, that all
parties who were in possession of any estates of doubtful title, should
lay their grants or charters before the judges, that their validity
might be ascertained by competent authority.
In taking this step, Edward was actuated by those motives of frankness
and rectitude which were never absent from his mind. He evidently
thought that the same sort of investigation to which he had submitted
the rights of the crown might fairly be applied to the grants under it;
but he soon found that he was likely to involve himself in a serious
peril. During such disorderly times as those of Stephen and John, many
of the great barons had seized upon estates, the owners of which had
perished in the field or on the scaffold. Those great proprietors would
very naturally shrink from any sort of legal examination or inquiry.
They would have been prompt to combine in a league of resistance to any
such investigation. One of the greatest of them, the earl of Surrey,
John de Warenne, who had fought at Edward’s side at Lewes, and had
entertained him in 1274 at Reigate, on his landing,—took an early and
a very peremptory position of resistance. He doubtless was one of the
first to whom the royal commissioners addressed their inquiries. His
answer was that of a rough, bold, and impetuous soldier. He unsheathed
an ancient sword, exclaiming, “It was by _this_ that my forefathers won
these lands, and it is by _this_ that I mean to maintain my title.”
Edward was wise, as well as frank and noble. A little reflection
would enable him to perceive, that if he pressed his demand upon this
irascible and powerful soldier‐baron, he might soon discover that
there were hundreds of other land‐owners who felt a sympathy with the
earl, and that thus he might be engaged in a strife of a very serious
character. His object and his motives had been pure, but prudence
evidently dictated a moderate and cautious course. The resistance of
this great earl materially affected the whole inquiry. The intended
investigation was, for a time at least, suspended. On this, as well
as in two or three other passages of his life, Edward showed that
even when his first determination had been just and reasonable, he
could exercise a thoughtful self‐control—that he knew how to waive his
rights, when prudence so counselled, as well as how to assert them on
all fitting occasions.[22]
One of the chief matters, however, on which Edward had evidently set
his heart, was that of bringing the relations of England and Wales into
a better condition. It was on the Welsh border that the first years of
his public life had been spent. As early as in his eighteenth year,
his father had given him the charge of “the Welsh Marches;” and he had
had the grief of witnessing, again and again, inroads of the Welsh
into Cheshire and Herefordshire, in which maraudings whole districts
were desolated, and the poor English farmers of those counties reduced
to beggary. Matthew Paris says: “The Welsh carried fire and slaughter
into the border counties. They gave themselves up to incendiarism and
pillage, till they had reduced the whole border to an uninhabitable
desert.” Edward had seen these things with pain and with resentment,
and he had evidently resolved to bring the relations of the two
countries into a more satisfactory state.
It has suited the purposes of those who wished to represent Edward as
an ambitious and designing man, to assume, throughout, that Edward’s
object, from the beginning, was the conquest of Wales. But the facts
of the case, if patiently examined, tell a very different tale. They
rather justify our old chronicler Fabyan’s description of him. Writing
more than three hundred years ago, and conveying down to us the old
English belief and tradition, he says: “This prince was slow to all
manner of strife, discreet and wise, and true of his worde.” And,
assuredly, the plain facts of this Welsh controversy justify entirely
Fabyan’s words.
That Llewellyn owed homage to Edward as his superior lord—just as
Edward, for his French possessions, owed homage to the king of
France—has never been questioned. Llewellyn himself never denied the
obligation. Yet, at Edward’s coronation, while the king of Scotland was
present and paid his homage, there was no attendance, either personally
or by deputy, of the prince of Snowdon.
The Welsh prince pleaded, in excuse, that there was so much enmity
between him and some of the lords of the Marches, that he could not
safely visit London. Edward met these excuses with forbearance, and
even offered to take a journey to Shrewsbury to receive the homage
there. But Llewellyn still raised new difficulties. Had Edward been
the ambitious and designing man that he is often represented, he might
now, without further parley, have peremptorily summoned Llewellyn, and
on his non‐appearance, might have declared him contumacious, and his
fief a forfeiture. Such had been the course taken by Philip of France,
when in 1202 he summoned John, pronounced him contumacious, and at once
took possession of Normandy.
Edward’s course was equally clear. There was nothing to prevent the
immediate annexation of Wales, except the single let or hindrance of
the English king’s conscientiousness. But Edward would take no hasty or
violent step. He reserved the question for his parliament, and at one
of the sessions of 1275 it was decided that the Welsh prince should be
summoned a third time, and that now the king should even go to Chester
to meet him; that being the nearest point to Llewellyn’s home.
“Slow to all manner of strife” was written on all these proceedings.
Edward knew well that there were precedents in abundance which would
have justified him in declaring the Welsh prince a rebel, and in
entering into possession of his fief. He was also, we cannot doubt,
fully alive to the great advantage which would result from the union of
the two countries.
He earnestly desired to terminate the wretched border‐warfare which
had so long continued. But a leading principle of his whole life was,
a constant respect for the rights of others. Again and again shall we
meet with this rule of conduct in his after‐life. In the present case
he remitted to Llewellyn not only the summons to appear at Chester,
which the parliament had directed to be sent, but also a safe‐conduct
for his coming, abiding, and return—a guarantee which the Welshman
might know would be strictly fulfilled. But Llewellyn now raised his
demands. He would give no attendance until the king should send to him,
as hostages, his own son, the chancellor of England, and the earl of
Gloucester!—a demand which the old chronicler justly terms “an insolent
one,” and which must have been intended to terminate the negociation.
About this time Eleanor de Montfort, Llewellyn’s intended bride, was
met with at sea, and brought into Bristol by an English vessel. As the
prince was in contumacy, Edward ordered that the young Eleanor should
be conveyed to Windsor, there to remain in the queen’s charge until the
dispute between England and Wales had been terminated. But the year
1276 had now opened, and parliaments were held, in the course of that
year, at Westminster and at Winchester. A fifth and a sixth summons had
been remitted to the prince of Snowdon. Some of the bishops now offered
to mediate, and they were allowed to send the archdeacon of Canterbury
into Wales, personally to confer with Llewellyn. But the Welsh prince
merely advanced new claims; requiring now guarantees from two prelates,
and from four of the greatest earls in the realm.
The English parliament finally, on the 12th of November, 1276, declared
Llewellyn contumacious, and recommended that the military tenants of
the crown should be summoned in the spring for the invasion of Wales.
Meanwhile the archbishop made one more attempt at mediation, writing to
the Welsh prince an earnest but fruitless letter. Another parliament
was held, in which “a twelfth” was granted to the king for the expenses
of the war. In the spring the royal forces began to assemble, and Roger
Mortimer was appointed to the command. The chief men of South Wales
sent in their submission, and were “received to the king’s grace.”
David and Roderick, brothers to Llewellyn, joined the king, and were
honourably received by him. Meanwhile, Llewellyn believed that his
mountain‐heights were inaccessible, and that he could never be brought
to submission. Edward, however, was a different sort of leader from
his father, who in 1257 had led an expedition into Wales, and had
miserably failed. With the skill and foresight of a general, Edward
had prepared a naval force, which sailed from the Cinque Ports, made a
descent upon Anglesea, and took possession of that island. Llewellyn
was now enclosed, and it was easy to prevent all supplies from reaching
him. He remained obstinate for several weeks; but as the winter drew on
he saw the probability of ultimate starvation, and asked for terms of
surrender.
Again we see that Edward was not that ruthless and ambitious man which
he is often represented. The Welsh prince had been formally declared
contumacious, and the forfeiture of his fief was the ordinary penalty.
There was no way of escape for him; Edward had only to maintain his
blockade, and the surrender and banishment of the Welsh prince, and the
entire conquest of the principality, were inevitable and close at hand.
But Edward’s guiding principle in all such cases was that which we have
already cited from his own lips, “_May_ show mercy!—why, I will do that
for a dog, if he seeks my grace!” Llewellyn had no sooner asked for
mercy than it was granted to him. His offence had been great; to make
war upon a superior lord was treason; and the king showed his sense of
the offence by imposing hard conditions of peace.
Llewellyn must pay a fine of 50,000 marks for the heavy expenses he
had caused the king; must cede to England the four “cantreds” lying
between Chester and the Conway; must hold Anglesea of the king at an
annual rent of 2000 marks; must do homage to the king, and deliver
ten hostages for his fidelity. This was a just sentence, and Edward
merely vindicated the majesty of the law by pronouncing it; but the
natural generosity of his mind very quickly cancelled the hardest of
the conditions. The very next day the fine was remitted. Soon after
the rent to be paid for Anglesea was cancelled, and the ten hostages
returned. And now that the Welsh prince had submitted, all was grace
and favour on Edward’s part. The young Eleanor de Montfort, who had
been detained in the queen’s household, was sent for, and in Worcester
Cathedral, in the presence of the king and queen, Llewellyn received
his bride. In another respect, the king conferred on the Welsh prince
a very substantial benefit. David, Llewellyn’s brother, had often been
at variance with him. On one occasion the two brothers met on the
battle‐field, and David was taken prisoner. To remove David from Wales
was to confer on Llewellyn a favour of a very important kind. The king
took this hostile brother with him to England, gave him £1000 a year
in land (equal to £15,000 a year at the present time), and married him
to an earl’s daughter. “Thus,” says Lingard, “Edward flattered himself
that what he had begun by force he had completed by kindness. To
Llewellyn he had behaved rather with the affection of a friend than the
severity of an enemy, and his letters to that prince breathe a spirit
of moderation which does honour to his heart. To David he had been
a bounteous protector. He had granted him the honour of knighthood,
extensive estates in both countries, and the hand of the daughter of
the earl of Derby.”
Surely the prejudice must be of an extraordinary kind which can see in
this first war in Wales, and in the manner in which it was terminated,
any signs of an ambitious or overreaching disposition in the
conqueror. He had voluntarily given away an opportunity of making Wales
his own; he had preferred to endeavour to make the two Welsh princes
his friends, by heaping kindnesses and benefits upon them.
The marriage of Llewellyn and Eleanor took place on the 3rd of October,
1278, and the bride and bridegroom spent the following Christmas with
the king and queen at Westminster. As this year was the seventh of
Edward’s reign, and affords an opportunity of a pause in the story, we
will briefly notice, before we close the chapter, a few events which
occurred at various intervals between the coronation in 1275 and the
Welsh prince’s marriage in 1278.
In the autumn of 1276, to encourage his nobility and gentry in the
practices and usages of chivalry, the king held in Cheapside a grand
tournament, when such an assemblage of young nobles and gallant knights
was seen as England had never before witnessed.
In Advent, 1278, the king and queen were present at the consecration of
the new cathedral of Norwich. This ancient church had been destroyed
by fire in a riot towards the close of king Henry’s reign, and nearly
seven years had been occupied in its restoration. A great gathering of
prelates, earls, and barons attended Edward and Eleanor on occasion of
this ceremony. A few weeks later, on Easter Sunday, the king and queen
visited the renowned abbey of Glastonbury, where they remained several
days. On the Wednesday of Easter week there was a solemn opening, in
the king’s presence, of the tomb which was deemed to be that of king
Arthur. Edward deposited in the tomb, which was immediately reclosed, a
record of his visit and inspection.
In the autumn, this revival of the memories and traditions of the
famous British king bore fruit in an attempt, on the part of Roger
Mortimer, to imitate the far‐famed “Round Table.” In Kenilworth castle,
the king and queen were entertained for ten successive days, while a
hundred knights and their ladies graced the tournament in the morning
and the feast in the afternoon. The loyal host was greeted, before
Edward had departed, with the title of “earl of March.”
The remaining history of these three or four years is of a less
pleasing character. It is evident, from the records of the first
seven years of this reign, that foremost among all the disorders and
grievances of the time, stood the extortions of the Jews. Again and
again do we meet with inquiries and regulations intended to check these
evil practices. Florence of Worcester tells us, under the date of 1275,
that “the Jews throughout the realm were forbidden to lend money on
usury; but were in future to gain their living by commerce, under the
same rules and laws as Christian merchants. They were also ordered to
pay to the king an annual capitation‐tax of threepence for each person.”
But we see various tokens of the uneasiness caused by the extortions of
these people. In October, 1274, only two months after his coronation,
we find Edward issuing an order concerning the Jews; in December, 1276,
another; in May, 1277, a third; and in July, 1278, a fourth. All these
mandates, we may be assured, were framed by his great chancellor—a man
of a just and upright purpose. But it appears as if these restraints
placed upon the open practice of usury, drove the Jews to secret
devices of a still more nefarious kind. In the seventh year of Edward’s
reign the deteriorated state of the coinage had grown to be an
intolerable evil. “The nation,” says Carte, “had suffered for some time
from the clipping of the coin; which had raised the price of all the
necessaries of life, and had almost ruined its foreign commerce. The
king saw the necessity of a great reform in this direction, and his
measures were such as we might have expected from the decision which
marked his character. To have merely ordered a new coinage, while these
nefarious practices went on, would have been useless. The first thing
to be done was to strike a blow at those who were depraving the coin—a
blow which should inspire terror and crush the evil at once and for
ever. On one evening in November, 1276, the houses of all the Jewish
money‐changers were visited and their private chambers searched. On a
second evening all the goldsmiths received a similar visitation. Large
sums of clipped money were found, with the tools and implements used
in these evil works.” The criminals thus detected and apprehended were
very numerous. A Special Commission was issued for the trial of these
malefactors; and its sittings, commencing after the Christmas holidays,
were continued until Lent, and were resumed after Easter. Between two
and three hundred were convicted and sent to execution, most of whom
were Jews.[23] A terrible example was necessary to eradicate so serious
an evil. When this severe check had been given to this sort of crime,
immediate measures were taken for the issue of a new coinage. Exchanges
were opened in various places, at which the old coin was taken in at
its value, and new money issued. “Edward,” says Rapin, “is supposed to
be the first king that perfectly fixed the standard of our coin.”