A great deal has been written of late years on Thomas Becket,
Archbishop of Canterbury in the reign of Henry II.,--some
historians writing him up, and others writing him down; some making
him a martyr to the Church, and others representing him as an
ambitious prelate who encroached on royal authority,--more of a
rebel than a patriot. His history has become interesting, in view
of this very discrepancy of opinion,--like that of Oliver Cromwell,
one of those historical puzzles which always have attraction to
critics. And there is abundant material for either side we choose
to take. An advocate can make a case in reference to Becket's
career with more plausibility than about any other great character
in English history,--with the exception of Queen Elizabeth,
Cromwell, and Archbishop Laud.
The cause of Becket was the cause of the Middle Ages. He was not
the advocate of fundamental principles, as were Burke and Bacon.
He fought either for himself, or for principles whose importance
has in a measure passed away. He was a high-churchman, who sought
to make the spiritual power independent of the temporal. He
appears in an interesting light only so far as the principles he
sought to establish were necessary for the elevation of society in
his ignorant and iron age. Moreover, it was his struggles which
give to his life its chief charm, and invest it with dramatic
interest. It was his energy, his audacity, his ability in
overcoming obstacles, which made him memorable,--one of the heroes
of history, like Ambrose and Hildebrand; an ecclesiastical warrior
who fought bravely, and died without seeing the fruits of his
bravery.
There seems to be some discrepancy among historians as to Becket's
birth and origin, some making him out a pure Norman, and others a
Saxon, and others again half Saracen. But that is, after all, a
small matter, although the critics make a great thing of it. They
always are inclined to wrangle over unimportant points. Michelet
thinks he was a Saxon, and that his mother was a Saracen lady of
rank, who had become enamored of the Saxon when taken prisoner
while on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and who returned with him
to England, embraced his religion, and was publicly baptized in
Saint Paul's Cathedral, her beauty and rank having won attention;
but Mr. Froude and Milman regard this as a late legend.
It would seem, however, that he was born in London about the year
1118 or 1119, and that his father, Gilbert Becket, was probably a
respectable merchant and sheriff, or portreeve, of London, and was
a Norman. His parents died young, leaving him not well provided
for; but being beautiful and bright he was sent to school in an
abbey, and afterwards to Oxford. From Oxford he went into a house
of business in London for three years, and contrived to attract the
notice of Theobald, Archbishop of Canterbury, who saw his talents,
sent him to Paris, and thence to Bologna to study the canon law,
which was necessary to a young man who would rise in the world. He
was afterwards employed by Theobald in confidential negotiations.
The question of the day in England was whether Stephen's son
(Eustace) or Matilda's son (Henry of Anjou) was the true heir to
the crown, it being settled that Stephen should continue to rule
during his lifetime, and that Henry should peaceably follow him;
which happened in a little more than a year. Becket had espoused
the side of Henry.
The reign of Henry II., during which Becket's memorable career took
place, was an important one. He united, through his mother
Matilda, the blood of the old Saxon kings with that of the Norman
dukes. He was the first truly English sovereign who had sat on the
throne since the Conquest. In his reign (1154-1189) the blending
of the Norman and Saxon races was effected. Villages and towns
rose around the castles of great Norman nobles and the cathedrals
and abbeys of Norman ecclesiastics. Ultimately these towns
obtained freedom. London became a great city with more than a
hundred churches. The castles, built during the disastrous civil
wars of Stephen's usurped reign, were demolished. Peace and order
were restored by a legitimate central power.
Between the young monarch of twenty-two and Thomas, as a favorite
of Theobald and as Archdeacon of Canterbury, an intimacy sprang up.
Henry II. was the most powerful sovereign of Western Europe, since
he was not only King of England, but had inherited in France Anjou
and Touraine from his father, and Normandy and Maine from his
mother. By his marriage with Eleanor of Aquitaine, he gained seven
other provinces as her dower. The dominions of Louis were not half
so great as his, even in France. And Henry was not only a powerful
sovereign by his great territorial possessions, but also for his
tact and ability. He saw the genius of Becket and made him his
chancellor, loading him with honors and perquisites and Church
benefices.
The power of Becket as chancellor was very great, since he was
prime minister, and the civil administration of the kingdom was
chiefly intrusted to him, embracing nearly all the functions now
performed by the various members of the Cabinet. As chancellor he
rendered great services. He effected a decided improvement in the
state of the country; it was freed from robbers and bandits, and
brought under dominion of the law. He depressed the power of the
feudal nobles; he appointed the most deserving people to office; he
repaired the royal palaces, increased the royal revenues, and
promoted agricultural industry. He seems to have pursued a peace
policy. But he was headstrong and grasping. His style of life
when chancellor was for that age magnificent: Wolsey, in after
times, scarcely excelled him. His dress was as rich as barbaric
taste could make it,--for the more barbarous the age, the more
gorgeous is the attire of great dignitaries. "The hospitalities of
the chancellor were unbounded. He kept seven hundred horsemen
completely armed. The harnesses of his horses were embossed with
gold and silver. The most powerful nobles sent their sons to serve
in his household as pages; and nobles and knights waited in his
antechamber. There never passed a day when he did not make rich
presents." His expenditure was enormous. He rivalled the King in
magnificence. His sideboard was loaded with vessels of gold and
silver. He was doubtless ostentatious, but his hospitality was
free, and his person was as accessible as a primitive bishop. He
is accused of being light and frivolous; but this I doubt. He had
too many cares and duties for frivolity. He doubtless unbent. All
men loaded down with labors must unbend somewhere. It was nothing
against him that he told good stories at the royal table, or at his
own, surrounded by earls and barons. These relaxations preserved
in him elasticity of mind, without which the greatest genius soon
becomes a hack, a plodding piece of mechanism, a stupid lump of
learned dulness. But he was stained by no vices or excesses. He
was a man of indefatigable activity, and all his labors were in the
service of the Crown, to which, as chancellor, he was devoted, body
and soul.
Is it strange that such a man should have been offered the See of
Canterbury on the death of Theobald? He had been devoted to his
royal master and friend; he enjoyed rich livings, and was
Archdeacon of Canterbury; he had shown no opposition to the royal
will. Moreover Henry wanted an able man for that exalted post, in
order to carry out his schemes of making himself independent of
priestly influence and papal interference.
So Becket was made archbishop and primate of the English Church at
the age of forty-four, the clergy of the province acquiescing,--
perhaps with secret complaints, for he was not even priest; merely
deacon, and the minister of an unscrupulous king. He was ordained
priest only just before receiving the primacy, and for that
purpose.
Nothing in England could exceed the dignity of the See of
Canterbury. Even the archbishopric of York was subordinate.
Becket as metropolitan of the English Church was second in rank
only to the King himself. He could depose any ecclesiastic in the
realm. He had the exclusive privilege of crowning the king. His
decisions were final, except an appeal to Rome. No one dared
disobey his mandates, for the law of clerical obedience was one of
the fundamental ideas of the age. Through his clergy, over whom
his power was absolute, he controlled the people. His law courts
had cognizance of questions which the royal courts could not
interfere with. No ecclesiastical dignitary in Europe was his
superior, except the Pope.
The Archbishop of Canterbury had been a great personage under the
Saxon kings. Dunstan ruled England as the prime minister of Edward
the Martyr, but his influence would have been nearly as great had
he been merely primate of the Church. Nor was the power of the
archbishop reduced by the Norman kings. William the Conqueror
might have made the spiritual authority subordinate to the
temporal, if he had followed his inclinations. But he dared not
quarrel with the Pope,--the great Hildebrand, by whose favor he was
unmolested in the conquest of the Saxons. He was on very intimate
terms of friendship with Lanfranc, whom he made Archbishop of
Canterbury,--an able, ambitious Italian, who was devoted to the See
of Rome and his spiritual monarch. The influence of Hildebrand and
Lanfranc combined was too great to be resisted. Nor did he attempt
resistance; he acquiesced in the necessity of making a king of
Canterbury. His mind was so deeply absorbed with his conquest and
other state matters that he did not seem to comprehend the
difficulties which might arise under his successors, in yielding so
much power to the primate. Moreover Lanfranc, in the quiet
enjoyment of his ecclesiastical privileges, gave his powerful
assistance in imposing the Norman yoke. He filled the great sees
with Norman prelates. He does not seem to have had much sympathy
with the Saxons, or their bishops, who were not so refined or
intellectual as the bishops of France. The Normans were a superior
race to the Saxons in executive ability and military enthusiasm.
The chivalric element of English society, among the higher classes,
came from the Normans, not from the Saxons. In piety, in passive
virtues, in sustained industry, in patient toil, in love of
personal freedom, the Saxons doubtless furnished a finer material
for the basis of an agricultural, industrial, and commercial
nation. The sturdy yeomen of England were Saxons: the noble and
great administrators were Normans. In pride, in ambition, and in
executive ability the Normans bore a closer resemblance to the old
heroic Romans than did the Saxons.
The next archbishop after Lanfranc was Anselm, appointed by William
Rufus. Anselm was a great scholar, the profoundest of the early
Schoolmen; a man of meditative habits, who it was presumed would
not interfere with royal encroachments. William Rufus never
dreamed that the austere and learned monk, who had spent most of
his days in the abbey of Bec in devout meditations and scholastic
inquiries, would interfere with his rapacity. But, as we have
already seen, Anselm was conscientious, and became the champion of
the Papal authority in the West. He occupied two distinct
spheres,--he was absorbed in philosophical speculations, yet took
an interest in all mundane questions. His resolve to oppose the
king's usurpations in the spiritual realm caused the bitter quarrel
already described, which ended in a compromise.
When Henry I. came to the throne, he appointed Theobald, a feeble
but good man, to the See of Canterbury,--less ambitious than
Lanfranc, more inoffensive than Anselm; a Norman disinclined to
quarrel with his sovereign. He died during the reign of Henry II.,
and this great monarch, as we have seen, appointed Becket to the
vacant See, thinking that in the double capacity of chancellor and
archbishop he would be a very powerful ally. But he was amazingly
deceived in the character of his Chancellor. Becket had not sought
the office,--the office had sought him. It would seem that he
accepted it unwillingly. He knew that new responsibilities and
duties would be imposed upon him, which, if he discharged
conscientiously like Anselm, would in all probability alienate his
friend the King, and provoke a desperate contest. And when the
courtly and luxurious Chancellor held out, in Normandy, the skirts
of his gilded and embroidered garments to show how unfit he was for
an archbishop, Henry ought to have perceived that a future
estrangement was a probability.
Better for Henry had Becket remained in the civil service. But
Henry, with all his penetration, had not fathomed the mind of his
favorite. Becket was not one to dissemble, but a great change
may have been wrought in his character. Probably the new
responsibilities imposed upon him as Primate of the English Church
pressed upon his conscience. He knew that supreme allegiance was
due to the Pope as head of the Church, and that if compelled to
choose between the Pope and the King, he must obey the Pope. He was
ambitious, doubtless; but his subsequent career shows that he
preferred the liberties of his Church to the temporal interests of
the sovereign. He was not a theologian, like Lanfranc and Anselm.
Of all the great characters who preceded him, he most resembles
Ambrose. Ambrose the governor, and a layman, became Archbishop of
Milan. Becket the minister of a king, and only deacon, became
Archbishop of Canterbury. The character of both these great men
changed on their elevation to high ecclesiastical position. They
both became high-churchmen, and defended the prerogatives of the
clergy. But Ambrose was superior to Becket in his zeal to defend
the doctrines of the Church. It does not appear that Becket took
much interest in doctrines. In his age there was no dissent.
Everybody, outwardly at least, was orthodox. In England, certainly,
there were no heretics. Had Becket remained chancellor, in all
probability he would not have quarrelled with Henry. As archbishop
he knew what was expected of him; and he knew also the infamy in
store for him should he betray his cause. I do not believe he was a
hypocrite. Every subsequent act of his life shows his sincerity and
his devotion to his Church against his own interests.
Becket was no sooner ordained priest and consecrated as archbishop
than he changed his habits. He became as austere as Lanfranc. He
laid aside his former ostentation. He clothed himself in
sackcloth; he mortified his body with fasts and laceration; he
associated only with the pious and the learned; he frequented the
cloisters and places of meditation; he received into his palace the
needy and the miserable; he washed the feet of thirteen beggars
every day; he conformed to the standard of piety in his age; he
called forth the admiration of his attendants by his devotion to
clerical duties. "He was," says James Stephen, "a second Moses
entering the tabernacle at the accepted time for the contemplation
of his God, and going out from it in order to perform some work of
piety to his neighbor. He was like one of God's angels on the
ladder, whose top reached the heavens, now descending to lighten
the wants of men, now ascending to behold the divine majesty and
the splendor of the Heavenly One. His prime councillor was reason,
which ruled his passions as a mistress guides her servants. Under
her guidance he was conducted to virtue, which, wrapped up in
itself, and embracing everything within itself, never looks forward
for anything additional."
This is the testimony of his biographer, and has not been explained
away or denied, although it is probably true that Becket did not
purge the corruptions of the Church, or punish the disorders and
vices of the clergy, as Hildebrand did. But I only speak of his
private character. I admit that he was no reformer. He was simply
the high-churchman aiming to secure the ascendency of the spiritual
power. Becket is not immortal for his reforms, or his theological
attainments, but for his intrepidity, his courage, his devotion to
his cause,--a hero, and not a man of progress; a man who fought a
fight. It should be the aim of an historian to show for what he
was distinguished; to describe his warfare, not to abuse him
because he was not a philosopher and reformer. He lived in the
twelfth century.
One of the first things which opened the eyes of the King was the
resignation of the Chancellor. The King doubtless made him primate
of the English hierarchy in order that he might combine both
offices. But they were incompatible, unless Becket was willing to
be the unscrupulous tool of the King in everything. Of course
Henry could not long remain the friend of the man who he thought
had duped him. Before a year had passed, his friendship was turned
to secret but bitter enmity. Nor was it long before an event
occurred,--a small matter,--which brought the King and the Prelate
into open collision.
The matter was this: A young nobleman, who held a clerical office,
committed a murder. As an ecclesiastic, he was brought before the
court of the Bishop of Lincoln, and was sentenced to pay a small
fine. But public justice was not satisfied, and the sheriff
summoned the canon, who refused to plead before him. The matter
was referred to the King, who insisted that the murderer should be
tried in the civil court,--that a sacred profession should not
screen a man who had committed a crime against society. While the
King had, as we think, justice on his side, yet in this matter he
interfered with the jurisdiction of the spiritual courts, which had
been in force since Constantine. Theodosius and Justinian had
confirmed the privilege of the Church, on the ground that the
irregularities of a body of men devoted to the offices of religion
should be veiled from the common eye; so that ecclesiastics were
sometimes protected when they should be punished. But if the
ecclesiastical courts had abuses, they were generally presided over
by good and wise men,--more learned than the officers of the civil
courts, and very popular in the Middle Ages; and justice in them
was generally administered. So much were they valued in a dark
age, when the clergy were the most learned men of their times, that
much business came gradually to be transacted in them which
previously had been settled in the civil courts,--as tithes,
testaments, breaches of contract, perjuries, and questions
pertaining to marriage. But Henry did not like these courts, and
was determined to weaken their jurisdiction, and transfer their
power to his own courts, in order to strengthen the royal
authority. Enlightened jurists and historians in our times here
sympathize with Henry. High-Church ecclesiastics defend the
jurisdiction of the spiritual courts, since they upheld the power
of the Church, so useful in the Middle Ages. The King began the
attack where the spiritual courts were weakest,--protection
afforded to clergymen accused of crime. So he assembled a council
of bishops and barons to meet him at Westminster. The bishops at
first were inclined to yield to the King, but Becket gained them
over, and would make no concession. He stood up for the privileges
of his order. In this he was contending for justice and he
defended his Church, at all hazards,--not her doctrines, but her
prerogatives. He would present a barrier against royal
encroachments, even if they were for the welfare of the realm. He
would defend the independence of the clergy, and their power,--
perhaps as an offset to royal power. In his rigid defence of the
privileges of the clergy we see the churchman, not the statesman;
we see the antagonist, not the ally, of the King. Henry was of
course enraged. Who can wonder? He was bearded by his former
favorite,--by one of his subjects.
If Becket was narrow, he no doubt was conscientious. He may have
been ambitious of wielding unlimited spiritual authority. But it
should be noted that, had he not quarrelled with the King, he could
have been both archbishop and chancellor, and in that double
capacity wielded more power; and had he been disposed to serve his
royal master, had he been more gentle, the King might not have
pushed out his policy of crippling the spiritual courts,--might
have waived, delayed, or made concessions. But now these two great
potentates were in open opposition, and a deadly warfare was at
hand. It is this fight which gives to Becket all his historical
importance. It is not for me to settle the merits of the case, if
I could, only to describe the battle. The lawyers would probably
take one side, and Catholic priests would take the other, and
perhaps all high-churchmen. Even men like Mr. Froude and Mr.
Freeman, both very learned and able, are totally at issue, not
merely as to the merits of the case, but even as to the facts. Mr.
Froude seems to hate Becket and all other churchmen as much as Mr.
Freeman loves them. I think one reason why Mr. Froude exalts so
highly Henry VIII. is because he put his foot on the clergy and
took away their revenues. But with the war of partisans I have
nothing to do, except the war between Henry II. and Thomas Becket.
This war waxed hot when a second council of bishops and barons was
assembled at Clarendon, near Winchester, to give their assent to
certain resolutions which the King's judges had prepared in
reference to the questions at issue, and other things tending to
increase the royal authority. They are called in history "The
Constitutions of Clarendon." The gist and substance of them were,
that during the vacancy of any bishopric or abbey of royal
foundation, the estates were to be in the custody of the Crown;
that all disputes between laymen and clergymen should be tried in
the civil courts; that clergymen accused of crime should, if the
judges decided, be tried in the King's court, and, if found guilty,
be handed over to the secular arm for punishment; that no officer
or tenant of the King should be excommunicated without the King's
consent; that no peasant's son should be ordained without
permission of his feudal lord; that great ecclesiastical personages
should not leave the kingdom without the King's consent.
"Anybody must see that these articles were nothing more nor less
than the surrender of the most important and vital privileges of
the Church into the hands of the King: not merely her properties,
but her liberties; even a surrender of the only weapon with which
she defended herself in extreme cases,--that of excommunication."
It was the virtual confiscation of the Church in favor of an
aggressive and unscrupulous monarch. Could we expect Becket to
sign such an agreement, to part with his powers, to betray the
Church of which he was the first dignitary in England? When have
men parted with their privileges, except upon compulsion? He never
would have given up his prerogatives; he never meant for a moment
to do so. He was not the man for such a base submission. Yet he
was so worried and threatened by the King, who had taken away from
him the government of the Prince, his son, and the custody of
certain castles; he was so importuned by the bishops themselves,
for fear that the peace of the country would be endangered,--that
in a weak moment he promised to sign the articles, reserving this
phrase: "Saving the honor of his order." With this reservation, he
thought he could sign the agreement, for he could include under
such a phrase whatever he pleased.
But when really called to fulfil his promise and sign with his own
hand those constitutions, he wavered. He burst out in passionate
self-reproaches for having made a promise so fatal to his position.
"Never, never!" he said; "I will never do it so long as breath is
in my body." In his repentance he mortified himself with new self-
expiations. He suspended himself from the service of the altar.
He was overwhelmed with grief, shame, rage, and penitence. He
resolved he would not yield up the privileges of his order, come
what might,--not even if the Pope gave him authority to sign.
The dejected and humbled metropolitan advanced to the royal throne
with downcast eye but unfaltering voice; accused himself of
weakness and folly, and firmly refused to sign the articles.
"Miserable wretch that I am," cried he, with bitter tears coursing
down his cheeks, "I see the English Church enslaved, in punishment
for my sins. But it is all right. I was taken from the court, not
the cloister, to fill this station; from the palace of Caesar, not
the school of the Saviour. I was a feeder of birds, but suddenly
made a feeder of men; a patron of stage-players, a follower of
hounds, and I became a shepherd over so many souls. Surely I am
rightly abandoned by God."
He then took his departure for Canterbury, but was soon summoned to
a grand council at Northampton, to answer serious charges. He was
called to account for the sums he had spent as chancellor, and for
various alleged injustices. He was found guilty by a court
controlled by the King, and sentenced to pay a heavy fine, which he
paid. The next day new charges were preferred, and he was
condemned to a still heavier fine, which he was unable to pay; but
he found sureties. On the next day still heavier charges were
made, and new fines inflicted, which would have embarrassed the
temporalities of his See. He now perceived that the King was bent
on his ruin; that the more he yielded the more he would be expected
to yield. He therefore resolved to yield no further, but to stand
on his rights.
But before he made his final resistance he armed himself with his
crozier, and sought counsel from the bishops assembled in another
chamber of the royal castle. The bishops were divided: some for
him, some against him. Gilbert Foliot of London put him in mind of
the benefits he had received from Henry, and the humble condition
from which he was raised, and advised him to resign for sake of
peace. Henry of Winchester, a relative of the King, bade him
resign. Roger of Worcester was non-committal. "If I advise to
resist the King, I shall be put out of the synagogue" said he. "I
counsel nothing." The Bishop of Chichester declared that Becket
was primate no longer, as he had gone against the laws of the
realm. In the midst of this conference the Earl of Leicester
entered, and announced the sentence of the peers. Then gathering
himself up to his full height, the Primate, with austere dignity,
addressed the Earl and the Bishops: "My brethren, our enemies are
pressing hard upon us, and the whole world is against us; but I now
enjoin you, in virtue of your obedience, and in peril of your
orders, not to be present in any cause which may be made against my
person; and I appeal to that refuge of the distressed, the Holy
See. And I command you as your Primate, and in the name of the
Pope, to put forth the censures of the Church in behalf of your
Archbishop, should the secular arm lay violent hands upon me; for,
be assured, though this frail body may yield to persecution,--since
all flesh is weak,--yet shall my spirit never yield."
Then pushing his way, he swept through the chamber, reached the
quadrangle of the palace, mounted his horse, reached his lodgings,
gave a banquet to some beggars, stole away in disguise and fled,
reaching the coast in safety, and succeeding in crossing over to
Flanders. He was now out of the King's power, who doubtless would
have imprisoned him and perhaps killed him, for he hated him with
the intensest hatred. Becket had deceived him, having trifled with
him by taking an oath to sign the Constitutions of Clarendon, and
then broken his oath and defied his authority, appealing to the
Pope, and perhaps involving the King in a quarrel with the supreme
spiritual power of Christendom. Finally he had deserted his post
and fled the kingdom. He had defeated the King in his most darling
schemes.
But although Becket was an exile, a fugitive, and a wanderer, he
was still Archbishop of Canterbury. He was the head of the English
Church, and all the clergy of the kingdom owed him spiritual
obedience. He still had the power of excommunicating the King, and
the sole right of crowning his successor. If the Pope should take
his side, and the King of France, and other temporal powers, Becket
would be no unequal match for the King. It was a grand crisis
which Henry comprehended, and he therefore sent some of his most
powerful barons and prelates to the Continent to advance his cause
and secure the papal interposition.
Becket did not remain long in Flanders, since the Count was cold
and did not take his side. He escaped, and sought shelter and aid
from the King of France.
Louis VII. was a feeble monarch, but he hated Henry II. and admired
Becket. He took him under his protection, and wrote a letter to
the Pope in his behalf.
That Pope was Alexander III.,--himself an exile, living in Sens,
and placed in a situation of great difficulty, struggling as he was
with an anti-pope, and the great Frederic Barbarossa; Emperor of
Germany. Moreover he was a personal friend of Henry, to whom he
had been indebted for his elevation to the papal throne. His
course, therefore, was non-committal and dilatory and vacillating,
although he doubtless was on the side of the prelate who exalted
ecclesiastical authority. But he was obliged from policy to be
prudent and conciliatory. He patiently heard both sides, but
decided nothing. All he consented to do was to send cardinal
legates to England, but intrusted to none but himself the
prerogatives of final judgment.
After Henry's ambassadors had left, Becket appeared with a splendid
train of three hundred horsemen, the Archbishop of Rheims, the
brothers of the King of France, and a long array of bishops. The
Pope dared not receive him with the warmth he felt, but was
courteous, more so than his cardinals; and Becket unfolded and
discussed the Constitutions of Clarendon, which of course found no
favor with the Pope. He rebuked Becket for his weakness in
promising to sign a paper which curtailed so fundamentally the
privileges of the Church. Some historians affirm he did not extend
to him the protection he deserved, although he confirmed him in his
office. He sent him to the hospitable care of the Abbot of
Pontigny. "Go now," he said, "and learn what privation is; and in
the company of Christ's humblest servants subdue the flesh to the
spirit."
In this Cistercian abbey it would seem that Becket lived in great
austerity, tearing his flesh with his nails, and inflicting on
himself severe flagellations; so that his health suffered, and his
dreams haunted him. He was protected, but he could not escape
annoyances and persecutions. Henry, in his wrath, sequestrated the
estates of the archbishopric; the incumbents of his benefices were
expelled; all his relatives and dependents were banished,--some
four hundred people; men, women, and children. The bishops sent
him ironical letters, and hoped his fasts would benefit his soul.
The quarrel now was of great interest to all Europe. It was
nothing less than a battle between the spiritual and temporal
powers, like that, a century before, between Hildebrand and the
Emperor of Germany. Although the Pope was obliged from motives of
policy,--for fear of being deposed,--to seem neutral and attempt to
conciliate, still the war really was carried on in his behalf.
"The great, the terrible, the magnificent in the fate of Becket,"
says Michelet, "arises from his being charged, weak and unassisted,
with the interests of the Church Universal,--a post which belonged
to the Pope himself." He was still Archbishop; but his revenues
were cut off, and had it not been for the bounty of Louis the King
of France, who admired him and respected his cause, he might have
fared as a simple monk. The Pope allowed him to excommunicate the
persons who occupied his estates, but not the King himself. He
feared a revolt of the English Church from papal authority, since
Henry was supreme in England, and had won over to his cause the
English bishops. The whole question became complicated and
interesting. It was the common topic of discourse in all the
castles and convents of Europe. The Pope, timid and calculating,
began to fear he had supported Becket too far, and pressed upon him
a reconciliation with Henry, much to the disgust of Becket, who
seemed to comprehend the issue better than did the Pope; for the
Pope had, in his desire to patch up the quarrel, permitted the son
of Henry to be crowned by the Archbishop of York, which was not
only an infringement of the privileges of the Primate, but was a
blow against the spiritual power. So long as the Archbishop of
Canterbury had the exclusive privilege of crowning a king, the King
was dependent in a measure on the Primate, and, through him, on the
Pope. At this suicidal act on the part of Alexander, Becket lost
all patience, and wrote to him a letter of blended indignation and
reproach. "Why," said he, "lay in my path a stumbling-block? How
can you blind yourself to the wrong which Christ suffers in me and
yourself? And yet you call on me, like a hireling, to be silent.
I might flourish in power and riches and pleasures, and be feared
and honored of all; but since the Lord hath called me, weak and
unworthy as I am, to the oversight of the English Church, I prefer
proscription, exile, poverty, misery, and death, rather than
traffic with the liberties of the Church."
What language to a Pope! What a reproof from a subordinate! How
grandly the character of Becket looms up here! I say nothing of
his cause. It may have been a right or a wrong one. Who shall
settle whether spiritual or temporal power should have the
ascendency in the Middle Ages? I speak only of his heroism, his
fidelity to his cause, his undoubted sincerity. Men do not become
exiles and martyrs voluntarily, unless they are backed by a great
cause. Becket may have been haughty, irascible, ambitious. Very
likely. But what then? The more personal faults he had, the
greater does his devotion to the interests of the Church appear,
fighting as it were alone and unassisted. Undaunted, against the
advice of his friends, unsupported by the Pope, he now hurls his
anathemas from his retreat in France. He excommunicates the Bishop
of Salisbury, and John of Oxford, and the Arch deacon of Ilchester,
and the Lord Chief-Justice de Luci, and everybody who adhered to
the Constitutions of Clarendon. The bishops of England remonstrate
with him, and remind him of his plebeian origin and his obligations
to the King. To whom he replies: "I am not indeed sprung from
noble ancestors, but I would rather be the man to whom nobility of
mind gives the advantages of birth than to be the degenerate issue
of an illustrious family. David was taken from the sheep-fold to
be a ruler of God's people, and Peter was taken from fishing to be
the head of the Church. I was born under a humble roof, yet,
nevertheless, God has intrusted me with the liberties of the
Church, which I will guard with my latest breath."
Henry now threatens to confiscate the property of all the
Cistercian convents in England; and the Abbot of Pontigny, at the
command of his general, is forced to drive Becket away from his
sanctuary. Becket retires to Sens, sad at heart and grieved that
the excommunications which he had inflicted should have been
removed by the Pope. Then Louis, the King of France, made war on
Henry, and took Becket under his protection. The Pope rebuked
Louis for the war; but Louis retorted by telling Alexander that it
was a shame for him not to give up his time-serving policy. In so
doing, Louis spoke out the heart of Christendom. The Pope, at last
aroused, excommunicated the Archbishop of York for crowning the son
of Henry, and threatened Henry himself with an interdict, and
recalled his legates. Becket also fulminated his excommunications.
There was hardly a prelate or royal chaplain in England who was not
under ecclesiastical censure. The bishops began to waver. Henry
had reason to fear he might lose the support of his English
subjects, and Norman likewise. He could do nothing with the whole
Church against him.
The King was therefore obliged to compromise. Several times
before, he had sought reconciliation with his dreadful enemy; but
Becket always, in his promises, fell back on the phrase, "Saving
the honor of his order," or "Saving the honor of God." But now,
amid the fire of excommunications, Henry was compelled to make his
peace with the man he detested. He himself did not much care for
the priestly thunderbolts, but his clergy and his subjects did.
The penalty of eternal fire was a dreadful fear to those who
believed, as everybody then did, in the hell of which the clergy
were supposed to hold the keys. This fear sustained the empire of
the popes; it was the basis of sacerdotal rule in the Middle Ages.
Hence Becket was so powerful, even in exile. His greatness was in
his character; his power was in his spiritual weapons.
In the hollow reconciliation at last effected between the King and
the Prelate, Henry promised to confirm Becket in his powers and
dignities, and molest him no more. But he haughtily refused the
customary kiss of peace. Becket saw the omen; so did the King of
France. The peace was inconclusive. It was a truce, not a treaty.
Both parties distrusted each other.
But Henry was weary with the struggle, and Becket was tired of
exile,--never pleasant, even if voluntary. Moreover, the Prelate
had gained the moral victory, even as Hildebrand did when the
Emperor of Germany stooped as a suppliant in the fortress of
Canossa. The King of England had virtually yielded to the
Archbishop of Canterbury. Perhaps Becket felt that his mission was
accomplished; that he had done the work for which he was raised up.
Wearied, sickened with the world, disgusted with the Pope,
despising his bishops, perhaps he was willing to die. He had a
presentiment that he should die as a martyr. So had the French
king and his prelates. But Becket longed to return to his church
and celebrate the festivities of Christmas. So he made up his mind
to return to England, "although I know, of a truth," he said, "I
shall meet my passion there." Before embarking he made a friendly
and parting visit to the King of France, and then rode to the coast
with an escort of one hundred horsemen. As Dover was guarded by
the King's retainers, who might harm him, he landed at Sandwich,
his own town. The next day he set out for Canterbury, after an
absence of seven years. The whole population lined the road,
strewed it with flowers, and rent the air with songs. Their
beloved Archbishop had returned. On reaching Canterbury he went
directly to his cathedral and seated himself on his throne, and the
monks came and kissed him, with tears in their eyes. One Herbert
said, "Christ has conquered; Christ is now King!"
From Canterbury Becket made a sort of triumphal progress through
the kingdom, with the pretence of paying a visit to the young king
at Woodstock,--exciting rather than allaying the causes of discord,
scattering his excommunications, still haughty, restless,
implacable; so that the Court became alarmed, and ordered him to
return to his diocese. He obeyed, as he wished to celebrate
Christmas at home; and ascending his long-neglected pulpit
preached, according to Michelet, from this singular text: "I am
come to die in the midst of you."
Henry at this time was on the Continent, and was greatly annoyed at
the reports of Becket's conduct which reached him. Then there
arrived three bishops whom the Primate had excommunicated, with
renewed complaints and grievances, assuring him there would be no
peace so long as Becket lived. Henry was almost wild with rage
and perplexity. What could he do? He dared not execute the
Archbishop, as Henry VIII. would have done. In his age the Prelate
was almost as powerful as the King. Violence to his person was the
last thing to do, for this would have involved the King in war
with the adherents of the Pope, and would have entailed an
excommunication. Still, the supremest desire of Henry's soul was
to get Becket out of the way. So, yielding to an impulse of
passion, he said to his attendants, "Is there no one to relieve
me from the insults of this low-born and turbulent priest?"
Among these attendants were four courtiers or knights, of high
birth and large estates, who, hearing these reproachful words, left
the court at once, crossed the channel, and repaired to the castle
of Sir Ranulf de Broc, the great enemy of Becket, who had molested
him in innumerable ways. Some friendly person contrived to
acquaint Becket with his danger, to whom he paid no heed, knowing
it very well himself. He knew he was to die; and resolved to die
bravely.
The four armed knights, meanwhile, on the 29th of December, rode
with an escort to Canterbury, dined at the Augustinian abbey, and
entered the court-yard of the Archbishop's palace as Becket had
finished his mid-day meal and had retired to an inner room with his
chaplain and a few intimate friends. They then entered the hall
and sought the Archbishop, who received them in silence. Sir
Reginald Fitzurst then broke the silence with these words: "We
bring you the commands of the King beyond the sea, that you repair
without delay to the young King's presence and swear allegiance.
And further, he commands you to absolve the bishops you have
excommunicated." On Becket's refusal, the knight continued: "Since
you will not obey, the royal command is that you and your clergy
forthwith depart from the realm, never more to return." Becket
angrily declared he would never again leave England. The knights
then sprang to their feet and departed, enjoining the attendants to
prevent the escape of Becket, who exclaimed: "Do you think I shall
fly, then? Neither for the King nor any living man will I fly.
You cannot be more ready to kill me than I am to die."
He sought, however, the shelter of his cathedral, as the vesper
bell summoned him to prayers,--followed by the armed knights, with
a company of men-at-arms, driving before them a crowd of monks.
The Archbishop was standing on the steps of the choir, beyond the
central pillar, which reached to the roof of the cathedral, in the
dim light shed by the candles of the altars, so that only the
outline of his noble figure could be seen, when the knights closed
around him, and Fitzurst seized him,--perhaps meaning to drag him
away as a prisoner to the King, or outside the church before
despatching him. Becket cried, "Touch me not, thou abominable
wretch!" at the same time hurling Tracy, another of the knights, to
the ground, who, rising, wounded him in the head with his sword.
The Archbishop then bent his neck to the assassins, exclaiming, "I
am prepared to die for Christ and His Church."
Such was the murder of Becket,--a martyr, as he has been generally
regarded, for the liberties of the Church; but, according to some,
justly punished for presumptuous opposition to his sovereign.
The assassination was a shock to Christendom. The most intrepid
churchman of his age was slain at his post for doing, as he
believed, his duty. No one felt the shock more than the King
himself, who knew he would be held responsible for the murder. He
dreaded the consequences, and shut himself up for three days in his
chamber, refusing food, issuing orders for the arrest of the
murderers, and sending ambassadors to the Pope to exculpate
himself. Fearing an excommunication and an interdict, he swore on
the Gospel, in one of the Norman cathedrals, that he had not
commanded nor desired the death of the Archbishop; and stipulated
to maintain at his own cost two hundred knights in the Holy Land,
to abrogate the Constitutions of Clarendon, to reinvest the See of
Canterbury with all he had wrested away, and even to undertake a
crusade against the Saracens of Spain if the Pope desired. Amid
the calamities which saddened his latter days, he felt that all
were the judgments of God for his persecution of the martyr, and
did penance at his tomb.
So Becket slew more by his death than he did by his life. His
cause was gained by his blood: it arrested the encroachments of the
Norman kings for more than three hundred years. He gained the
gratitude of the Church and a martyr's crown. He was canonized as
a saint. His shrine was enriched with princely offerings beyond
any other object of popular veneration in the Middle Ages. Till
the time of the Reformation a pilgrimage to that shrine was a
common form of penance for people of all conditions, the nobility
as well as the common people. Even miracles were reputed to be
wrought at that shrine, while a drop of Becket's blood would
purchase a domain!
Whatever may be said about the cause of Becket, to which there are
two sides, there is no doubt about his popularity. Even the
Reformation, and the changes made in the English Constitution, have
not obliterated the veneration in which he was held for five
hundred years. You cannot destroy respect for a man who is willing
to be a martyr, whether his cause is right or wrong. If
enlightened judgments declare that he was "a martyr of sacerdotal
power, not of Christianity; of a caste, and not of mankind;" that
he struggled for the authority and privileges of the clergy rather
than for the good of his country,--still it will be conceded that
he fought bravely and died with dignity. All people love heroism.
They are inclined to worship heroes; and especially when an unarmed
priest dares to resist an unscrupulous and rapacious king, as Henry
is well known to have been, and succeeds in tearing from his hands
the spoils he has seized, there must be admiration. You cannot
extinguish the tribute of the soul for heroism, any more than that
of the mind for genius. The historian who seeks to pull down a
hero from the pedestal on which he has been seated for ages plays a
losing game. No brilliancy in sophistical pleadings can make men
long prefer what is NEW to that which is TRUE. Becket is enshrined
in the hearts of his countrymen, even as Cromwell is among the
descendants of the Puritans; and substantially for the same
reason,--because they both fought bravely for their respective
causes,--the cause of the people in their respective ages. Both
recognized God Almighty, and both contended against the despotism
of kings seeking to be absolute, and in behalf of the people who,
were ground down by military power. In the twelfth century the
people looked up to the clergy as their deliverers and friends; in
the seventeenth century to parliaments and lawyers. Becket was the
champion of the clergy, even as Cromwell was the champion--at least
at first--of the Parliament. Carlyle eulogizes Cromwell as much as
Froude abuses Becket; but Becket, if more haughty and defiant than
Cromwell in his private character, yet was truer to his principles.
He was a great hero, faithful to a great cause, as he regarded it,
however averse this age may justly be to priestly domination. He
must be judged by the standard which good and enlightened people
adopted seven hundred years ago,--not in semi-barbarous England
alone, but throughout the continent of Europe. This is not the
standard which reason accepts to-day, I grant; but it is the
standard by which Becket must be judged,--even as the standard
which justified the encroachments of Leo the Great, or the rigorous
rule of Tiberius and Marcus Aurelius, is not that which en-thrones
Gustavus Adolphus and William of Orange in the heart of the
civilized world.