BOOK III. THE PERIOD FROM THE ACCESSION OF HENRY THE THIRD, TO THE END

OF THE REIGN OF RICHARD THE SECOND. A.D. 1216--1399.

CHAPTER THE FIRST. HENRY THE THIRD, SURNAMED OF WINCHESTER.

[Illustration: 146]

HENRY, the eldest son of John, was a child under ten years of age at

the time of his father's death, but his brother-in-law, the Earl of

Pembroke, brought him to Gloucester and got him crowned by Gualo, who

had always acted as a friend of the family. The coronation, which took

place on the 28th of October, 1216, was very indifferently got up, for

the crown had not come from the Wash, where it had been lying in soak

ever since John's unfortunate expedition across the water from Wisbeach.

Gualo therefore took a ring from his finger, and put it on the young

king's head, as a substitute for the missing diadem. The coronation

party consisted of three earls, three bishops, and four barons, with

a sprinkling of abbots and priors, comprising altogether a retinue of

about thirty individuals.

The clergy of Westminster and Canterbury complained bitterly of the

ceremony having been "scamped," by which their rights had been

invaded, or, in other words, by which they had been done out of their

perquisites. The first coronation was therefore treated as a mere

rehearsal, and a more regular performance afterwards took place, with

new machinery, dresses, decorations, and all the usual properties.

On the 11th of the following November, Pembroke was appointed _rector

Regis et Regni_--ruler of the king and kingdom--so that Henry the

Third was sovereign _de jure_ with a _de facto_ viceroy over him. This

arrangement was made at a great council held at Bristol, where Magna

Charta was revised with a view to the publication of a new and improved

edition.

Louis, on hearing of John's death, puffed himself up with a certainty of

success, but he only realised the old fable of the French frog and the

British bull; for, becoming inflated with pride, he was not long in

bursting like an empty bubble.

As Christmas, 1216, was close at hand, a truce was arranged, to enable

each party to enjoy the holidays. Louis took advantage of the vacation

to go to Paris to consult his father Philip, who, like a modern French

king of the same name, was remarkable for his tact in doing the best

for his own family. On his return to England, Louis encountered some

hostility from the hardy mariners of the Cinque Ports--the Deal and

Dover boatmen of that day--but reaching Sandwich, he got over the flats

with the usual facility. He however spitefully burned the town to the

ground, merely because it was one of the Cinque Ports, which had turned

crusty at his approach, though it was hardly fair of him to mull the

only port that did not prove too strong for him. Hostilities were

continued on both sides with varying success, until the Count de la

Perche, a French general, flushed with a recent triumph at Mount Sorel,

in Leicester, determined to attack the Castle of Lincoln. He would

probably have succeeded, but for the resistance of a woman, the widow

of the late keeper of the castle, who, with the obstinacy of her sex,

refused to surrender. The Count de la Perche, ashamed of being beaten by

one of the gentler sex, continued the attack, and refusing to quit the

town, found himself involved in a series of street rows of the most

alarming character.

Pembroke having collected a large force, sent part of it into the castle

by the back garden gate, and the other part into the town, so that poor

de la Perche found it impossible to move either one way or the other.

The English literally gave it him right and left till he died; and after

falling upon the almost defenceless French, they gave the name of "the

fair of Lincoln" to a battle about as unfair as any recorded in the

pages of history.

This event, which came off on the 20th of May, 1217, was followed in

June by a conference which, like Panton Square, led to nothing. Louis

made one more attempt upon Dover, but he had no means to carry on the

war, and he was obliged to raise the siege, as he could not raise the

money. He hastened to London, which he had no sooner entered than

the English shut the gates and locked him in; while the pope sent a

tremendous bull down upon him, to add to his annoyances. Louis began to

feel that he had had quite enough of it, and being anxious for a little

peace, he proposed one to Pembroke. The terms were soon agreed upon, but

Louis was detained in town some little time for want of the money to

pay his debts and his journey home again. The citizens of London forming

themselves into a loan society, advanced a few pounds to the French

prince, who deserves some credit for not having taken French leave of

his creditors. By the terms of the treaty he surrendered all his claims

upon the English crown, which seems to have been rather a superfluous

sacrifice, as he had been trying it on for some time, and found that the

cap never fitted.

As Louis went out of London at the East End, to embark for France,

Henry, who had been at Kingston, came in at Hyde Park Corner. Pembroke,

the regent, made him exceedingly popular by advising him to confirm

Magna Charta, and to add a clause or two for the purpose of freshening

it up, so that the new edition might repay perusal. Unfortunately for

the prospects of the kingdom, Pembroke died, in May, 1219, and was

buried in the Temple Church, where his tomb is still to be seen by

anyone who can obtain a bencher's order. The regent's authority was

now divided between Hubert de Burgh and Peter--or, as Rapin christens

him--William des Roches, the Bishop of Winchester. These two

individuals, though jealous of each other, agreed in the propriety of

another coronation, probably on account of the patronage it gave to

those who happened to be in power; and as the couple in question had

just taken office, they were anxious to realise some of the profits at

the earliest opportunity. In the quarrels between these two worthies,

Des Roches was getting rather the upper hand, when Hubert de Burgh, in

1223, got the pope to declare that the king, who was only sixteen years

of age, had attained his majority. Thus, like the dog in the manger,

Hubert determined that no one else should enjoy a position which he

himself was unable to profit by. This was an "artful dodge" of the

cunning Hubert, to get the game into his own hands, for Henry on being

pronounced "of age," having received a surrender of various castles

and fortified places from the barons, gave back those which he had

no occasion for to the wily minister. The barons, finding themselves

bamboozled, became exceedingly angry with the king and Hubert, but the

latter went on, alternately hanging and excommunicating, until he had

settled the obstreperous and quelled the turbulent.

The year 1225 must ever be remarkable for the refusal of Parliament--a

name that was then coming into use--to grant supplies without asking any

questions. This had formerly been the usual practice, but when Hubert

coolly proposed a grant of a fifteenth of all the movable property in

the kingdom for the use of the king, the Parliament said it was all very

well, but if the money was given there ought to be something to show for

it. Henry accordingly gave another ratification of Magna Charta, which

was a good deal like the old superfluous process of putting butter upon

bacon, for he had already twice ratified that important document. In

those days, however, there was no objection to giving the lily an extra

coat of paint, or treating the refined gold to an additional layer of

gilding.

In the year 1228, Henry had collected an army at Portsmouth to sail for

France, but Hubert de Burgh, who seems to have held the place of First

Lord of the Admiralty as well as his other offices, had not provided a

sufficient number of vessels. When the troops were about to embark it

was found impossible to stow them away even with the closest packing.

Henry flew into a violent passion with Hubert, accusing him of pocketing

the money he ought to have laid Goode out in ships, and the king had

drawn his sword, intending to run the minister through, when the Earl of

Chester ran between them, exclaiming "Hold!" with intense significance.

[Illustration: 149]

This fine dramatic situation told exceedingly well; for Hubert de Burgh

got off, though the king did not, and the expedition was postponed until

the year following. He passed over into Normandy, a.d. 1229, but he

preferred feasting to fighting, and the only advance he made was by

continually running away, which kept him constantly ahead of the

enemy. He, however, threw all the blame of the failure on Hubert, whose

shoulders must have been tolerably broad to have borne all that his

master chose to cast on to them.

The king returned to England very much out of pocket and completely out

of spirits. He applied to his old paymaster, the Parliament, but his

conduct had excited so much disgust, that instead of money, or as it was

then called, blunt, he got a blunt refusal. His majesty, whose tone

had hitherto been that of command, now assumed the humble air of the

mendicant, and he adopted the degraded clap-trap of his being "a

real case of distress," in order to obtain a subsidy. He declared his

inability to pay his way, but as his way was never to pay at all, this

argument availed him very little. He was, however, getting rapidly

shorter and shorter every day, when fearing that he would perhaps

compromise the dignity of the crown by pawning it, or sell the regalia

for the purpose of regaling himself, the Parliament agreed to let him

have a trifle for current expenses. This consisted of three marks for

every fief held immediately of the crown, * which was little enough to

give him an excuse for not paying his debts, and yet sufficient to allow

him to rush into fresh extravagances. In the year 1232, Henry, having of

course spent every shilling of his small supply, renewed his application

to Parliament, alleging that he was desirous of discharging the

liabilities incurred in his expedition to France, but the barons firmly,

and not very respectfully, refused any further pecuniary assistance.

They urged in effect, that they had already been doubly robbed of their

services and their cash, for they had never been paid for the one, and

had been almost drained of the other. The nobles, who had derived

nearly all they possessed from plunder, could not see the justice of the

principle, that as they had done to others they deserved to be done, and

they peremptorily refused to comply with the attempted exactions of the

sovereign.

* Rapin's _Histoire d'Angleterre_, tome ii., p. 386 of the

second edition where he turned in to the priory. The king at

first determined to have him out, dead or alive, and a mob

of upwards of twenty thousand people, says Rapin, were

about to start with the Mayor of London to take the ex-

minister into custody. How such a crowd was got together in

those days out of the mere superfluous idlers of the city,

is not known, ana we are equally in the dark how it happened

that this mob continued doing nothing, while the king

listened to remonstrances from various quarters against the

violence of his measures.

Having failed in his attack on the pockets of his Parliament, Henry

looked with an envious eye on the comfortably lined coffers of his

minister. Hubert de Burgh, though he enjoyed the reputation of a trusty

servant, had taken care to feather his nest, nor did the feathers lie

very heavily on his conscience, for in those days the greatest weight

that could be placed upon the mind was always portable. The tonnage of

Hubert's conscience appears to have been considerable, for though he

carried a good cargo of peculation, he seems never to have evinced any

disposition to sink under his burden. Henry became jealous of the good

fortune of his minister, and resolved, for the purpose of getting his

savings, to effect his ruin. Presuming Hubert to have been a dishonest

man, and granting that there is policy in the recommendation to "set

a thief to catch a thief," the king could not have done better than to

send for Des Boches, the Bishop of Winchester, to assist in cleaning

out the favourite. Poor De Burgh was in the first instance charged

with magic and enchantment; which may be considered equivalent to an

impeachment of the minister of the present day for phantasmagoria and

thimble-rig.

In these enlightened times we cannot conceive the Premier being sent to

the Tower on a suspicion of jack-a-lantern and blind hookey, though it

was for offences of this class that Hubert was at first arraigned on the

prosecution of his sovereign. These frivolous charges having fallen to

the ground, the king called upon him for an account of all the money

that had passed through his hands; when the minister having kept no

books and being wholly without vouchers, cut a very pretty figure. As

he had been in the habit of cutting figures all through his career, this

result was not to be wondered at. He, however, rummaged among his papers

and found an old patent, given him by John, absolving him from the

necessity of rendering any account, but his enemies replied, that this

was only a receipt in full up to the time of Henry's accession. Hubert

finding he could not get out of the scrape, determined, if possible,

to get out of the country; but he proceeded no further on the road

than Merton, London mobs must have been rather more tractable in the

thirteenth than in the nineteenth century, for the twenty thousand

people dispersed when it was understood, after considerable negotiation,

that their services would not be required. Indeed, according to a more

recent historian, they had actually started when a king's messenger was

despatched to call them back again.

Hubert, who had found the priory at Merton exceedingly slow, started off

to St. Edmund's Bury to see his wife, who resided there. He had got

as far as Brentwood, and had gone to bed, when he was roused by a loud

knocking at the door, which caused him to put his head out of the window

and inquire who or what was wanted. "Is there a person of the name of

Hubert de Burgh stopping here?" exclaimed the captain of the troop;

but the wily minister, for the sake of gaining time, pretended to

misunderstand the question. "Hubert de What?" he exclaimed, as he

slipped on a portion of his dress; but the soldier repeated the name

with a tremendous emphasis on the syllable Burgh, which caused a shudder

in the frame of Hubert. He, however, had the presence of mind to direct

them to the second door round the corner. Having got them away from

the front of the cottage by this manouvre, he ran downstairs into

the street, and made his way to the chapel. Here he was seized by his

pursuers, who placed him on a horse, and tied his feet together under

the animal's stomach. Hubert must have had legs of a most extraordinary

length, or the horse must have been a very genteel figure to have

permitted this arrangement, which we find recorded in all the histories.

It is possible that the brute upon which De Burgh was secured may have

been a donkey, in which case the legs of the ex-favourite might have

been long enough to admit of their being tied in a double knot--and

perhaps even in a bow--under the animal's stomach. In this uncomfortable

position he was trotted off to the Tower; but the clergy being incensed

at the violation of sanctuary, Hubert was remounted in the same style,

and trotted back again. He was placed in the church as before, but all

communication with it was cut off, a trench dug round it, and Hubert

was left without any food but that which is always so plentiful under

similar circumstances--namely, food for reflection.

After "chewing the bitter cud" until there was nothing left to

masticate, he intimated from the steeple his desire to surrender. He had

remained forty days shut up without food, fire, or any other clothing

but the wrapper in which he had made his escape from his lodgings at

Brentwood. The once burly De Burgh had, of course, become dreadfully

thin, and the thread of existence seemed to be inclosed in a mere

thread-paper. In this state he was taken to the Tower; but he was soon

released to take his trial before his peers, who would have condemned

him to death, but the king, looking on the minister as a golden goose,

merely seized the accumulated eggs, and sent him to prison at the Castle

of Devizes, until some other means were devised of getting hold of the

remainder of his property.

Hubert had scarcely been in prison a year, when he took advantage of a

dark night to drop himself over one of the battlements. He however found

that one good drop deserved another, for he had fallen into a ditch

containing a good drop of water, in which he remained absorbed for

several seconds. Having crawled out, he commenced wringing his hands and

his clothes, but feeling there was no time to be lost, he made his

way to a country church, whither he was traced by the drippings of his

garments, which had left a mark something like that of a water-cart,

along the path he had taken. Though captured by one party, he was set

at liberty by another, with whom the king had become very unpopular, and

Hubert was carried off to Wales, where a sect of discontents, who, had

they lived in these days, would have been called the Welsh Whigs, had

long been gathering. Hubert in about a year and a half, obtained a

return of part of his estates, and was even restored to his honours;

but the king still kept him as a sort of nest-egg to plunder as occasion

required. Hubert finally compromised the claims of the sovereign by

surrendering four castles, in which Hollinshed is disposed to believe

that Jack Straw's and the Elephant could not have been included.

The Bishop of Winchester, or as he is termed in history, the Poictevin

bishop, succeeded to power on the downfall of Hubert, and Des Boches

soon filled the court with foreign adventurers. Two of a trade never

agree; and the nobility, who had originally been foreign adventurers

themselves, objected to the importation of any more scamps from abroad,

on the principle, perhaps, that England had got plenty of that sort

already. The Poictevin bishop was particularly hostile to the son of

the late regent, the young Earl of Pembroke, who inherited some of his

father's virtues, and what was far more interesting to old Des Boches,

the whole of his father's property. Young P. was in Ireland, where he

had large estates, which the Poictevin bishop desired the governors of

that country to confiscate. He promised them a slice, and the governors

being--as Rapin has it--_avides d'un si bon morceau_--(ravenous for such

a tit-bit) determined on getting hold of it. Treachery was accordingly

resorted to, and Pembroke was basely stabbed in the back whilst sitting

unsuspectingly at his own Pembroke table. This was more than the barons

could bear; and they told Henry very plainly, through Edmund, the new

Archbishop of Canterbury, that if Des Roches was not dismissed, the

sovereign himself would be sent forthwith about his business. The

Poictevin was ordered off to Winchester, with directions to limit his

views to his own see; and the patriotic Canterbury, who had of course

only been anxious for the good of his country, obtained the power from

which his predecessor had been cleverly ousted.

The Bishop of Winchester was soon afterwards called to Rome by the pope,

who pretended to require his advice, but really had an eye to his money.

Des Boches imagined that he was invited for protection, but he was in

fact wanted for pillage. The Poictevin was glad to escape from English

_surveillance_, and was quite content to eat his mutton under the pope's

eye, though he was hardly prepared for the process of picking to which

he was subjected. The predecessor of Urban * was, however, all urbanity,

and thus made some amends to Des Boches, who, like the majority of

mankind, found victimisation a comparatively painless operation when

performed by the gentle or light-fingered hands of an accomplished

swindler.

* According to some authorities Celestine was pope at this

period, and Urban did not reach the papal dignity till some

time afterwards.

In the year 1236, Henry married Eleanor of Provence, with immense pomp

and another coronation--a ceremony the frequent repetition of which

in former times was a proof of the uncertainty of regal power, for the

crown could not be very firm that so often required re-soldering. The

king's marriage formed, perhaps, a reasonable excuse for placing an

extra hod of cement between the monarch's poll and the hollow diadem.

The marriage festivities were followed by the summoning of a Parliament

at Merton, where Henry passed a series of statutes that became famous

under the name of the Statutes of Merton; and where he also pocketed, in

the shape of-subsidies, a considerable sum of money.

[Illustration: 154]

Eleanor, the new queen, brought with her to England a quantity of needy

and seedy foreigners, most of whom were immediately promoted. One of her

uncles, "named Boniface," says Matthew Paris, "from his extraordinary

quantity of cheek," was raised to the see of Canterbury. She invited

over from Provence a quantity of _demoiselles a marier_, whom she got

off by palming them upon rich young nobles, of whom her husband held the

wardship. The court was turned into a kind of matrimonial bazaar, where

the wealthy scions of English aristocracy were hooked by the portionless

but sometimes pretty spinsters of Provence. Nor was this all, for

Isabella, the queen mother, sent over her four boys, Guy, William,

Geoffrey, and Aymer, her sons, by the Count de la Marche, to be provided

for. England was in fact regarded as an enormous common, upon which any

foreign goose or jackass might be turned out to grass, provided he was

patronised by a member of the reigning family. Henry, who was the victim

of his poor relations, soon found himself short of cash, and he was

obliged to get money in driblets from the Parliament, who never allowed

him much at a time, and always exacted conditions which were invariably

broken as soon as the cash was granted.

Henry had been married about a year, when he had the coolness to ask the

nation for the expenses of his wedding. The barons declared that they

had never been consulted about the match, and that the king up to the

last hour of his remaining a single man had acted with great duplicity.

Finding it useless to command, he resorted to the old plan of humbug,

and fell back upon his old friend Magna Charta, which he confirmed once

more, for about the fifth or sixth time, and of course got the money

he required. This great Bill of Rights was to him a sort of stereotyped

bill of exchange, upon which he could always raise a sum of money by

going through the formality of a fresh acceptance.

The history of this reign for the next few years would furnish fitter

materials for the accountant than the historian, and Henry's career

would be better told in a balance-sheet than in the form of narrative.

Had his schedule been regularly filed it would have disclosed a series

of insolvencies, from which he was only relieved by taking the benefit

of some act of generosity and credulity on the part of his Parliament.

At one moment he was so fearfully hard up that he was advised to

sell all his plate and jewels. * "Who will buy them?" he

exclaimed;--"though," he added, glancing at his four awkward

half-brothers, "if anyone would give mo anything for that set of spoons,

I should be glad to take the offer." He was told that the citizens

of London would purchase plate to any amount, at which he burst into

violent invectives against "the clowns," as he termed them, probably

on account of the presumed capacity of their breeches pockets. He made

every effort to annoy the citizens, and showed his appreciation of their

superfluous cash by helping himself to ten thousand pounds of it by open

violence.

* Matthew Paris, Mat. West. Chron. Duncl.

In the year 1253, Henry was once more in a fix, and again the Parliament

had the folly to promise him a supply if he would go through another

confirmation of Magna Charta. On the 3rd of May he attended a general

meeting of the nobility at Westminster Hall where he found the

ecclesiastical dignitaries holding each a burning taper in his hand,

intending probably that the melting wax should make a deep impression on

the sovereign. Some are of opinion that this process was illustrative of

the necessity sometimes said to exist for holding a candle to a certain

individual. Henry took the usual quantity of oaths, and the priests

dashed to the ground their tapers, which went out in smoke, and were so

far typical of the king's promises. On receiving the money he went to

Guienne, from which he soon came back--as a popular vocalist used to

say by way of cue to his song--"without sixpence in his pocket, just

like--Love among the roses."

The pope now brought in a heavy bill of £100,000 for money lent, of

which Henry declared he had never enjoyed the benefit. The pope merely

observed, that he was clearing his books and must have the matter

settled. The king turned upon the clergy, upon whom he drew bills, one

of which was addressed to the Bishop of Worcester, who declared they

might take his mitre in execution for the amount, and the Bishop of

Gloucester said they might serve his the same; but if they did he

would wear a helmet. Richard, the king's brother, who was very wealthy,

hearing that the German empire was in the market for sale, made a bold

bid for it. There was another competitor for the lot in the person

of Alphonso, king of Castile, but Richard put down £700,000 and was

declared the purchaser. This liberality was of course at the expense of

poor England, which was so completely drained of cash that when Henry

met his Parliament on the 2nd of May, 1258, he found the barons in

full armour, rattling their swords, as much as to say, that these must

furnish a substitute for the precious metals.

Henry was alarmed at the menacing aspect of the assembly, but one of

his foreign half-brothers began vapouring, in a mixed _patois_ of bad

French, to the bent down, but not yet broken, English. The king himself

resorted to his old trick of promising, and pledged his word once more

with his usual success, though it was already pawned over and over again

for a hundred times its value. The barons, however, were still ready

to take it in; though they had got by them already an enormous stock of

similar articles, all unredeemed, and daily losing their interest. The

leader of the country party was at this time Simon de Montfort, Earl of

Leicester, a Frenchman, who had married Eleanor, the king's sister.

He had quarrelled and made it up with Henry once or twice, and the

following conversation is recorded to have taken place, in 1252, between

the earl and his sovereign:--

"You are a traitor," said the king.

"You are a liar!" replied the courtier.

After this brief and decisive dialogue Leicester went to France, but his

royal brother-in-law soon invited him back again.

On the 11th of June, 1258, there met, at Oxford, an assembly to which

the Royalists gave the name of the Mad Parliament. There was a good deal

of method in the madness of the members, for they appointed twenty-four

barons and bishops as a committee of government. There was some insanity

in the proposition to hold three sessions in a year, but it is doubtful

whether Dr. Winslow, or any other eminent physician would have found, in

the statutes passed at the time sufficient to form the foundation of

a statute of lunacy. Henry seems to have been most in want of Dr.

Winslow's care, for his majesty was exceedingly mad at the decisive

measures of the barons, and would have been glad of an asylum where he

would have been safe from their influence.

The Oxford Parliament, which was certainly an odd compound of good and

bad, or light and dark--the regular Oxford mixture--passed some measures

of a very miscellaneous character. The annual election of a new sheriff,

and the sending to Parliament of four knights, chosen by the freeholders

in each county, were judicious steps; but in some other respects the

barons abused their power, and got a good deal of abuse themselves in

consequence. The queen's relations and the king's half-brothers were

literally scared out of the kingdom; but only to make way for the

advancement of the friends and relatives of the Mad Parliament.

Soon after it met, Richard, who had emptied his pockets in Germany,

wanted to come to England to replenish them. He was met at St. Omer by a

messenger, stating that there would be no admittance unless he complied

with the new regulations made by the barons. To this he reluctantly

consented, and he joined his brother the king, with the full intention

of organising an opposition, which he found already commenced by the

Earl of Gloucester, who had grown jealous of Leicester's influence. Even

at that early period the struggles between the "Ins and the Outs," which

form the chief business of political life, had already commenced, and

there was the same sort of shuffling from side to side, and principle to

principle, which the observer of statesmanship at the present day cannot

fail to recognise.

There was among all parties a vast protestation of regard for Magna

Charta, which served the same purpose then as has since been answered

by the British Constitution and the British lion. Henry, seeing with

delight the divisions of the barons, got a bull from the pope to serve

as a piece of india-rubber for his conscience, by rubbing out all the

oaths he had taken at Oxford.

On the 2nd of February, 1261, he announced his intention of governing

without the aid of the committee, and immediately went to the Tower,

of which he took possession. He then dropped in at the Mint, where

he emptied every till, and even waited, according to some, while a

shilling, which was in the course of manufacture, got cool in the

crucible. The Mint authorities were of course exceedingly obsequious,

and may probably have offered to send him home a batch of new pennies

that were not quite done, if his majesty desired it. "No, thank you,"

would have been Henry's reply, "I'll take what you've got;" and so he

did, for off he marched with the whole of it.

The arbitrary conduct of the barons had somewhat disgusted the people,

many of whom had discovered that one tyrant was not quite so bad as

four-and-twenty. London declared for Henry, and Leicester ran away; but

the vacillating cockneys soon declared for Leicester, which brought him

back again. The king, who had been at such pains to secure the Tower,

had the mortification to find it secured him, for he was safely locked

up in it. Prince Edward, his son, flew to Windsor Castle, and the queen,

his mother, was going down to the stairs at London Bridge to take a boat

to follow him. She had shouted "Hi!" to the jack-in-the-water, and was

stepping into a wherry, when she was recognised by the mob, who called

after her as a witch, and pelted her with mud and missiles. The Lord

Mayor, who happened to be passing, gallantly offered her his arm, walked

with her to St. Paul's, and left her in the care of the doorkeeper. This

anecdote is circumstantially given by all the chroniclers, among whom we

need only mention Wykes, West, and Trivet--the correctness of the last

being so remarkable that "right as a Trivet" is to this day a proverb.

After a prodigious quantity of quarrelling between Henry and Son on one

part, and Leicester and Co. on the other, the matters in dispute were

referred to the arbitration of the French king, Louis the Ninth, who

made an award in favour of Henry, which the barons of course refused to

abide by. A civil war broke out with great fury, in which the Jews

were victimised by both parties, though opposed to neither. They were

slaughtered by the barons for being attached to the king, and were also

slaughtered by the king's party for being attached to the barons.

If they were attached to either it certainly was one of the most

unfortunate attachments we ever heard of, and the strength of the

attachment must have been great which could have survived such horrible

treatment.

On the 14th of May, 1264, the king's party and that of Leicester met in

battle. His majesty was at Lewes, in a hollow, where he thought himself

deep enough to have got into a position of safety. The earl was upon

the Downs, which Wykes calls a "downy move," for the spot was raised and

commanded a view of the movements of the sovereign.

Leicester commenced the attack, which soon became general. Prince Edward

charged the London militia, who could have charged pretty well in return

if they been behind their counters; but they had no idea of selling

their lives at any price. They accordingly fled in all directions and

the prince paid them off all he owed them for the manner in which they

had served his mother. Leicester concentrated his force upon the king to

whom he gave personally a sound thrashing.

Having cudgelle the king to his heart's content, he took him into

custody. Prince Edward was seized, but the latter escaped on the

Thursday in Whitsun week, 1265, and raised a powerful force, with which

he marched to Evesham against his father's enemies.

Leicester had formed a camp near Kenilworth, and having got the king

still in his possession, he encased the poor old man in armour, put him

on a horse, and turned him into the field on the morning of the battle.

The veteran was soon dismounted, and was on the point of being killed,

when he roared out "Hollo! stop! I am Henry of Winchester!" His son

recognising his voice, seized him and literally bundled him into a place

of safety. "What do you do here?" muttered Edward, somewhat annoyed, but

the aged Henry could not explain a circumstance which might have played

old Harry with the cause of the Royalists. Leicester's horse fell

under him, but the earl bounding to his feet, continued to fight, until

finding the matter getting serious, he paused to inquire whether the

Royalists gave quarter. "There is no quarter for traitors," was the only

reply he received, followed by a poke in the shape of a home-thrust from

the sword of one of the enemy. Deprived of their leader, Leicester's

followers had nothing to follow, and the Royalists obtained a victory.

The king was now restored to power, but there were still a few rebels

in the forest of Hampshire, one of whom, named Adam Gourdon, came to a

personal contest with Prince Edward, who got him down, placed his

foot on his chest, and generously restored him to liberty. Gourdon was

introduced to the queen the same night as a sort of prize rebel, and

became a faithful adherent to the royal family.

Henry was now left at home all by himself, his son Edward having gone to

Palestine. The old man often wrote to request the prince to return, for

his majesty found himself unequal to the bother of ruling a people still

disposed to be occasionally turbulent. A sedition had broken out at

Norwich, which Henry had gone to quell, and he was on his way back to

London, when he was laid up at St. Edmund's Bury by indisposition. Being

considered a slight illness, it was at first slighted, but the royal

patient became worse, and he died on the 16th of November, 1272, at the

respectable age of sixty-eight, according to one historian, * sixty-four

according to a second, ** and sixty-six according to a third. *** The

last seems to be the nearest to the truth, for Henry had been a king

about fifty-six years, and he was about ten when he came to the throne.

He was buried at Westminster Abbey, where for nothing on Sundays and for

twopence on week days, posterity may see his tomb.

* Macfarlane.

** Hume.

***Rapin.

The character of Henry the Third was an odd compound, a species of

physiological grog, a mixture of generous spirit and weak water, the

latter predominating over the former in a very considerable degree.

He was exceedingly fond of money, of which he extracted such enormous

quantities from his subjects, that if the heart and the pocket were

synonymous, as they have sometimes been called, Henry would have had

the fullest possession of the hearts of his people. His manner must have

been rather persuasive; for if the Parliament refused a subsidy at first

they were always talked over by his majesty, and made to relax their

purse-strings before the sitting closed. Some gratitude may perhaps be

due to him on account of his patronage of literature, for he started

the practice of keeping a poet, in an age when poets found considerable

difficulty in keeping themselves. The bard alluded to was one Master

Henry, who received on one occasion a hundred shillings, * and was

subsequently "ordered ten pounds;" but, considering the unpunctuality

of the king in money matters, it was doubtful whether the order for ten

pounds was ever honoured. The persecution of the Jews was among the

most remarkable features of the career of the king, who used to demand

enormous sums of them, and threatened to hang them if they refused

compliance. In this he only followed the example of his father, John,

who, it is said, demanded ten thousand marks of an unfortunate Jew, one

of whose teeth was pulled out every day, until he paid the money. It is

said by Matthew Paris ** that seven were extracted before the cash was

forthcoming. This was undoubtedly the fact, but it is not generally

known, that, with the cunning of his race, the Jew contrived to get some

advantage out of the treatment to which he was subjected. It is said

that he exclaimed, after the last operation had been performed, "They

don't know it, but them teeth was all decayed. There's not a shound

von among the lot, so I've done 'em nicely;" and with this piece of

consolation, he paid the money.

* Madox, p. 208.

** Page 160.

To his reign has also been attributed the origin of the custom of

sending deputies to Parliament to represent the commons, a practice that

we find from looking over the list of the lower house, is liable to be

in some cases greatly abused. "Take him for all in all," as the poet

says, "we shall never"--that is to say, we hope we shall never--"look up

on his like again."

CHAPTER THE SECOND. EDWARD THE FIRST, SURNAMED LONGSHANKS.

[Illustration: 160]

EDWARD was the first king who came to the throne like a gentle-man,

without any of that indecent clutching of the crown and sacking of

the treasury which had been practised by almost every one of his

predecessors. Perhaps his absence from England was the chief cause of

this forbearance; but it is at all events refreshing to meet with a

sovereign whose accession was not marked by a burglary upon the premises

where the public treasure happened to be deposited.

On the 20th of November, 1272, four days after his father's death,

Edward was proclaimed king by the barons at the New Temple. It was

probably under the shade of the old fig-tree in Fig-Tree Court, that

they read his titles of King of England, Lord of Ireland, and Duke of

Aquitaine. Edward had been engaged in the crusades, as one of those

fighting missionaries who conveyed "sermons in stones" through the

medium of slings, and knocked unbelief literally upon the head with the

Christian battle-axe. One day he nearly lost his life, by the hands

of an assassin, disguised as a postman from the Emir of Jaffa, who,

feigning a wish to be converted, had opened a correspondence with

Edward.

The English prince was lying in his _robe-de-chambre_ on a couch, when

the usual salaam--the emir's postman's knock--was made at the door of

his apartment. The messenger had brought a letter, of which Edward had

scarcely broken the wax, when his doom was nearly sealed by a blow from

a dagger, hidden in the postman's sleeve. The prince parried the attack

with his arms, which were his only weapons, until, wresting the dirk

from his assailant's hands, he used it to put a period to the existence

of the would-be murderer, by a process of punctuation which no

grammarian has attempted to describe.

Edward's wound was not deep, but his enemies had been deep enough to

introduce some venom into it. When he heard the fact he gave himself

up to despair, for he considered that his existence was irretrievably

poisoned. A romantic story is told of Queen Eleanor having sucked the

poison from her husband's arm, but it is quite certain that such succour

was never afforded him, and the anecdote is therefore not worth the

straw that the operation would have required.

[Illustration: 162]

The prince owed his recovery to the prompt attendance of an English

surgeon, who happened to be settled at Acre, and to some drugs supplied

by the Grand Master of the Templars, who opened his heart and his

chest--of medicine--for the relief of the suffering Edward. There is

no doubt that Eleanor had sufficient affection for her husband, to have

prompted her to draw the poison into her mouth had it ever entered her

head; but the fact appears to be that the remedy was never thought of

until a century after the infliction of the wound, which was a little

too late to be of service to the patient, though nothing is ever too

late to be made use of by the chroniclers. The notion was too good to

be rejected by these very credulous gentlemen, who are easily induced to

convert might have been, into has been, when the latter course is better

adapted for exciting an agreeable interest.

Feeling tolerably secure of the throne, he was in no hurry to take

possession, but enjoyed an agreeable tour before returning to England.

He paid a visit to the new pope, his old friend Theobald, though there

was some difficulty in getting into Theobald's road, for his holiness

had left Rome for Civita Vecchia. Edward spent some time in Italy, for

among the many irons he had in the fire were two or three Italian irons,

which he desired to look after before arriving in his own country.

He next visited Paris, and instead of coming straight home with the

diligence that might have been expected, he turned back to Guienne,

where he was invited by the Count of Chalons to a tournament.

"'Twas in the merry month of May," in the year 1274, "When bees from

flower to flower did hum," exactly as they do in the present day, that

the parties met lance to lance, each attended by a host of champions.

Edward brought one thousand with him, but the Count of Chalons came

with two thousand, an incident which at once raised a suspicion that

the chivalrous knight intended foul play towards his royal antagonist.

A tournament in sport soon became a battle in earnest, and the count

rushed upon Edward, grasping him by the neck to embrace the opportunity

of unhorsing him. Nothing, however, could make him resign his seat, and

the Count of Chalons was soon licking the dust, or rather, the saw-dust

spread over the arena in which the tournament was given. Edward was so

angry at the trick which had been played, that he hit his antagonist

several times while down, and kept hammering at the armour of the count

like a smith at an anvil. The Count of Chalons roared out lustily for

mercy, but Edward refusing to grant it, continued to "give it him"

in another sense for several minutes. At length the count offered to

surrender his sword, which was igno-miniously rejected by the English

king, who called up a common foot soldier to take away the dishonoured

weapon.

[Illustration: 164]

It was not till the year 1274 that Edward thought of returning to

England, and he sent over to order his coronation dinner on a scale that

would have done honour to a mayoral banquet. The bill of fare included

so many heads of cattle, that the shortest way to get through the

cooking would have been to light a fire under Leadenhall Market, and

roast the whole of the contents by a single operation. If such a feast

had really taken place, it was enough to put the times out of joint for

a twelvemonth afterwards. On the 2nd of August, 1274, Edward arrived at

Dover, and on the 19th of the same month he was crowned at Westminster

Abbey, with his wife, Eleanor. This was the wonderful woman who was

erroneously alleged to have sucked the poison from her husband's arm,

a feat that has had no parallel in modern times, if we except the

individual who undertook to swallow liquid lead and arsenic before a

generous British public, and who, by surviving the operation, gave great

offence to a portion of the enlightened audience. Edward, on coming to

England, found plenty of loyalty, but very little cash; and though

he had no objection to reign in the hearts of his people, he felt

the necessity of making himself also master of their pockets. A crown

without money would have been a mere tin kettle, tied to the head,

instead of the tail, of the unlucky dog who might be compelled to wear

it.

The king turned his attention to the unfortunate Jews, who seemed to be

tolerated in England as human bees, employed in collecting the sweets

of wealth only for the purpose of having it taken away from them. Edward

literally emptied them out of the kingdom, for the purpose of plundering

their hives more effectually. He allowed some of them their travelling

expenses out of England, but even this was more than they required in

many cases, for the inhabitants of the ports saved the Jews the cost of

their journey by most inhumanly drowning them.

Edward, however unjust himself, disliked injustice in others; and

indeed, with the common jealousy of dealers on a very large scale, he

seemed to desire a monopoly of all the robbery and oppression practised

within his own dominions. In the year 1289, the judicial bench was

disgraced by a set of extortioners whose existence we can scarcely

comprehend in the present age, when a corrupt judge would be as

difficult to find as the philosopher's stone, or as that desirable but

impossible boon to the briefless barrister, perpetual motion. The Chief

Justice of the King's Bench had actually encouraged his own servants

to commit murder, for the sake of the fees that would accrue upon the

trial, and, of course, the acquittal of the culprits. The Chief Baron

of-the Exchequer had kept all the money paid into court upon every

action that had been tried, and was even discovered going disgraceful

snacks with the usher in illegal charges upon suitors. As to the

puisnes, they had been detected in selling their judgments _in banco_ at

so much a folio, and even hiring pickpockets to rob the leading

counsel as they went out of court with their fees in their pockets. The

Chancellor had spent the money of nearly all his wards, and would never

fix a day for a decree until he was positively forced, when he would

pronounce a decision unintelligible to all parties. These disgraceful

proceedings were made a pretext by the king for taking eighty thousand

marks from the judges, his majesty observing, that if he took from them

all the marks they possessed, he could not remove the stains from their

characters. This shallow sophism, though it might have satisfied the

king himself, was not consolatory to the judges, nor was it calculated

to reimburse the people for the losses sustained by judicial

delinquency. It is said that the first clock placed opposite the gate of

Westminster Hall was purchased with a fine of eight hundred marks upon

the Chief Justice of the King's Bench, and the popular saying "that's

your time of day" is supposed to have arisen from a sarcasm that used to

be addressed by the crowd outside to the judicial delinquent.

As a measure of further extortion, Edward became suddenly very

particular as to the titles by which the nobles held their estates, and

sent round commissioners to demand the production of the deeds by which

the barons acquired their property. Earl de Warenne was called upon

among the rest, and desired that the commissioners might be politely

shown in to him. "So, gentlemen," he mildly observed, "you wish to see

the title by which I hold my property."

"Exactly so," was the reply, which was followed by a commonplace

expression of sorrow at being obliged to trouble him, "It is no trouble

in the least," rejoined Earl de Warenne, drawing a tremendous sword,

which he brandished before the eyes of the commissioners, and begged

their close inspection of the title by which his ancestors had acquired

his possessions.

[Illustration: 166]

"You see, gentlemen," he continued, "there is no flaw to be detected,

and if after looking at my title you want a specimen of my deeds, I can

very speedily give you the satisfaction you require." The historian need

scarcely add that the commissioners backed out, with an observation,

"that a mere abstract of the title--a drawing of the sword out of its

scabbard--was all that could possibly be required." Edward having other

fish to fry, had hitherto neglected Wales, but that land of mountains

was a scene of frequent risings, which he now determined to "put down"

with promptitude and vigour. Llewellyn, the Prince of North Wales, was

summoned to London to do homage as a tributary to the English crown, but

his ambition having been fired by some prophecies of the famous Merlin,

the fiery Welshman sent word that he would not come so far to see

Edward, which was equivalent to a declaration that he would see him

further. The English king having resolved to punish so much insolence,

about Easter, 1277, crossed the Dee--not the sea, as some historians

have alleged--with a large army and blocked poor Llewellyn up in his own

principality. His brother David having been made an English baron, and

married to the daughter of an English earl, was at first devoted to

the English, but his native breezes fanned the still dormant flame of

patriotism, and he joined his brother in resisting the foreign enemy.

Edward occupied Anglesey, but in crossing over to the mainland he found

himself in the most dreadful straits at the Menai. He lost several

hundred men, and was obliged to fly for protection to one of his

castles, but a king in those days could make every Englishman's house

his castle, by unceremoniously walking into it. Llewellyn was somewhat

emboldened by partial success, and foolishly advanced to the valley of

the Wye, without anyone knowing wherefore. Roger, the savage Earl of

Mortimer, was immediately down upon him, and sacrificed him before he

had time even to put on his armour, in which he was only half encased

when he was cruelly set upon by the enemy. He had buckled on his

greaves, and was in the act of putting on his breast-plate over his head

when he was decapitated with the usual disregard which was at that

time continually shown to the heads of families. His brother David kept

cutting about the country with his sword in his hand for at least six

months, until he was basely betrayed into the hands of the English. He

was condemned to die the death of traitors, which included a series

of barbarities too revolting to mention. This sentence, which formed a

precedent in the punishment of high treason for many ages, is one of

the most disgraceful facts of our history. It casts a stigma upon every

Parliament and every generation of the people in whose time this fearful

penalty either was or might have been inflicted.

The leek of Wales was now entwined with the rose of England, and Edward

endeavoured to propitiate his newly acquired subjects by becoming a

resident in the conquered country. His wife Eleanor gave birth to a son

in the castle of Caernarvon, and he availed himself of the circumstance

to introduce the infant as a native production, giving him the title of

Prince of Wales, which has ever since been held by the eldest son of the

English sovereign.

[Illustration: 168]

After remaining about a year in Wales, Edward was enabled by the

tranquillity of the kingdom to take a Continental tour, in the course of

which he was often appealed to as a mutual friend by sovereigns between

whom there was any difference. He acted as arbitrator in the celebrated

cause of Anjou against Aragon; but while settling the affairs of others,

his own were getting rather embarrassed, and he was compelled in the

year 1289 to return to England.

Upon reaching home he found that Scotland was in that state of weakness

which offered an eligible opportunity to a royal plunderer. The king,

Alexander the Third, had died, leaving a little grandchild of the name

of Margaret, as his successor. This young lady was the daughter of Eric,

king of Norway, who wrote over to Edward, requesting he would do what

he could for her in case of her title being disputed. The English

sovereign, with a cunning worthy of a certain French old gentleman whom

we need not name, recommended a marriage with his son as the best mode

of protecting the royal damsel. The preliminaries were all arranged, and

Eric had agreed to forward the little Margaret, who was only eight years

of age, by the first boat from Norway to Britain. The child had been

shipped and regularly invoiced, when she fell ill, and being put ashore

at one of the Orkney Islands, she unfortunately died.

On the death of the queen being made known, claimants to the Scottish

crown started up in all directions, and it was necessary to find the

heir by hunting among the descendants of David of Huntingdon. John

Baliol was the grandson of David's eldest daughter, and John's

grandmother therefore gave Baliol a right to the crown, which was

disputed by Bruce and Hastings, the sons of the youngest daughters

of Huntingdon senior, whose only son, Huntingdon junior, died without

issue. An opening was thus left to the female tranches, and the

introduction of those charming elements of discord--the ladies--into

the question of succession, created, of course, all the confusion that

arose.

Edward, having advanced to Norham, a small town on the English side of

the Tweed, which, as everyone knows, forms a kind of Tweedish wrapper

for Scotland, appointed a conference, which took place on the 10th of

May, 1291, at which he distinctly stated that he intended regulating the

succession to the Scotch throne. At this meeting Edward himself proposed

the first resolution, which pledged the assembly to a recognition of the

right of the English king not only to do what he liked with his own, but

to do what he liked with Scotland also, which did not belong to him. One

gentleman, in the body of the assembly, who remains anonymous to this

day, ventured to suggest by way of amendment, that no answer could be

made while the throne was vacant, and an adjournment until the next

morning was agreed upon. No business was, however, done on the morrow,

but a further postponement till the 2nd of June was eventually

carried. When that day arrived the attendance was numerous and highly

respectable, for on the platform we might have observed no less

than eight competitors for the crown. Robert Bruce, who was there in

excellent health and spirits, publicly declared his readiness to refer

his claims to Edward's arbitration, and all the other claimants did

the same. On the next day, Baliol made his appearance and followed

the example of the others, and it was agreed that one hundred and

four commissioners should be appointed to inquire and report to Edward

previous to his giving his final award. There is little doubt that

this enormous number of commissioners could only have been intended to

mystify the case, and to leave Edward at liberty to settle it his own

way; a suspicion that is still further justified by his having reserved

the right to add, without any limit or restriction, to the number

of commissioners, and thus make "confusion worse confounded" should

occasion require.

The wily Edward, pretending that it was necessary to the performance of

his duty as arbitrator, got the kingdom, the castles, and other property

surrendered into his hands on the 11th of June; though the Earl of Angus

refused to give up Dundee and Forfar without an indemnity, which he

stoutly stuck up for, and eventually obtained. None of the clergy joined

in this disgraceful concession but the Bishop of Sodor, who ought to

have been the very first to effervesce. The king himself went to the

principal towns in Scotland with the rolls of homage, which were

allowed to lie for signature, and he sent attorneys, empowered to take

affidavits, into the various villages.

At length, on the 3rd of August, the commissioners met for the despatch

of business, and, of course, came to no decision. In the year following

they tackled the subject again, but it was found that the more they

talked about it, the more they differed. Edward, by way of complicating

the affair still further, summoned a Parliament to meet at Berwick on

the 15th of October, 1292, at which Bruce and Baliol were fully heard,

when the assembly laid down a general proposition that the lineal

descendant of the eldest sister, however remote in degree, was

preferable to the nearer in degree, if descended from a younger sister.

This decision left everything undecided, and accordingly Edward gave

judgment that Baliol should be king of Scotland, with the simple proviso

that Edward should be king of Baliol. The whole affair having been "a

sell" got up between the English sovereign and the Scottish claimant,

there was no demur on the part of the latter, who swore fealty, as he

would have sworn that black was white, had such been the purport of the

oath that his master required.

Edward took every opportunity of bullying Baliol, and even ordered him

to come all the way to Westminster to defend an action brought against

him for money due from Alexander the Third, his greatgrandfather. He was

also served with process in the paltry suit of self _ats_ Macduff;

and other writs, to which he was forced to appear in person, were

continually served upon him. For the smallest pecuniary claim the Scotch

king was compelled to come to England to plead, until his patience at

last gave way, and he turned refractory.

Edward was now at war with Philip of France, whom Baliol agreed to serve

by harassing their mutual enemy. The Scotch king, who was at heart a

humbug and a coward to the core, became exceedingly insolent, from the

belief that Edward was somewhat down, and the proper time had arrived

for hitting him. The English sovereign, who had been harassed at

first by the Scotch cur, soon brought him howling for mercy, which was

accorded on condition of his resigning the kingly office, a proposition

which Baliol basely submitted to. Edward made a triumphal progress

through Scotland, and taking a fancy to an old stone, upon which the

kings had sat to be crowned at Scone, caused the very uncomfortable

coronation chair to be removed to Westminster. * The people of Scotland

had always considered this block to be the corner-stone of their

liberties, and its removal seemed to take away the only foundation that

their hopes of regaining their independence were built upon. As long as

it was in their country, they believed it would bring them good fortune;

but they dreaded the reverse if the stone should be removed even so far

as a stone's throw from the borders of Scotland. Edward having appointed

the Earl de Warenne governor of the vanquished kingdom, and given away

all the appointments that were vacant to creatures of his own, returned

in triumph to England.

* Hemingford.

In the year 1297 William Wallace, commonly known as the hero of

Scotland, made his first appearance on the stage of history as a

supernumerary, carrying a banner, for we find him engaged in unfurling

the standard of liberty. He was at first merely the captain of a small

band of outlaws--a sort of first robber--in the great drama in which he

was soon to sustain a principal character. He was the second son of

Sir William Wallace, of Ellerslie, and had all the qualities of a

melodramatic hero, so far at least as we are enabled to judge by a

description of him written a hundred years after his death with that

minuteness which the old chroniclers were so fond of adopting when they

knew that no one had the power of contradicting them. The celebrated

Bower, who continued the Scotichronicon of Fordun, tells us that Wallace

was "broad-shouldered, big-boned, and proportionately corpulent," so

that his shoulders were broad enough to bear the burden he undertook;

and his being corpulent gave him this advantage over his enemies, that

if they had fifty thousand lives, he had undoubtedly "stomach for them

all."

[Illustration: 171]

Mr. Tytler, who will perhaps excuse us for venturing on Tytler's ground,

informs us in his History of Scotland that "Wallace had an iron frame,"

so that we have the picture of the man at once before us. For a quarrel

with an English officer he had been banished from his home, and by

living in fastnesses he acquired some of those loosenesses which are

inseparable from a roving character. His followers comprised a few men

of desperate fortunes and bad reputation, who had turned patriots, as

gentlemen in difficulties generally do; for it is a remarkable fact,

that the men who endeavour to discharge a debt to their country are

those who never think of discharging the debts which they owe to their

creditors. Success, however, covers a multitude of sins, and Wallace

with his little band of outlaws, having achieved one or two small

triumphs, soon found out the fact that the world which sneers at the

very noblest cause in its early struggles, will always be ready to

join it in the moment of victory. Wallace having been fortunate in his

efforts, soon had the co-operation of Sir William Douglas and all his

vassals; just as Mr. Cobden and the Anti-Corn-Law League, after

having been denounced as turbulent demagogues, and threatened with

prosecution, were assisted on the eve of the fulfilment of their object

by the leaders of the Opposition and the principal members of the

Government.

Edward, who had been in Flanders during the commencement of the Scotch

rebellion, now returned to England, and by way of propitiating his

subjects, he summoned a Parliament, at which Magna Charta was again

voluntarily confirmed. It is true he made a cunning effort to insert at

the end of it the words "saving always the rights of our crown," * which

would have been almost equivalent to striking out all the other clauses

of the document. The Parliament hotly opposed the crafty suggestion,

which was accordingly withdrawn, and supplies for carrying on the war

against the Scotch insurgents were readily granted. In the summer of

1298, Edward came in person to Scotland at the head of a large army.

Wallace, instead of waiting for a battle, retired slowly before the

forces of the English king, clearing off all the provisions on the

way, and thus aiming a blow at the stomach of the enemy. The invaders

advanced, but there was nothing to eat; or as Mr. Tyler well expresses

it, "they found an inhospitable desert" where--he might have added--they

had occasion for a hospitable dinner. Wallace was now at Falkirk, from

which he meditated an attack upon the king, but Edward, having been

apprised of his intention, reflected that it was a game at which two

could play, and he thought it as well to secure the first innings.

The English king accordingly, finding the ball at his foot, took it up

immediately, and at once bowled out the Scottish hero. The battle of

Falkirk, was fought on the 22nd of July, 1298, and the Scotch loss is

variously stated at ten, fifteen, and sixty thousand men. In ordinary

matters it is sometimes safe to believe half that we hear, but it would

be more judicious to limit one's trust to ten per cent, in the records

of history.

* Rapin, vol. iii., p. 72, second edition, quarto, 1727.

The Scotch war had of course been a very expensive business, and Edward

had been sponging upon his subjects to an alarming extent during its

continuance. In 1294 he had taken from the clergy half their incomes and

nearly all their eatables. His purveyors first emptied their granaries,

then robbed their farm-yards and ultimately pillaged their pantries;

so that the king having already ransacked their pockets, the "reverend

fathers," as he insultingly termed them, were in a very pretty

predicament. Their larders were laid waste, their safes were no longer

safe, they could not preserve their jam, their corn was instantly

sacked, and even their joints of meat, from the leg to the loin, were

walked off or pur-loined by the order of the sovereign. The pope, who

had been applied to for protection when they were being deprived of

their cattle, sent over a bull, which proved of very little use, for

he soon despatched a second, by which the first was recalled in all its

most important provisions.

The trading classes were not so easily robbed, for when the king began

to deal with them in his own peculiar fashion, he found them rather

awkward customers. Some wool had been prepared for shipping by the

London merchants, when the king's agents came woolgathering to

the wharfs, and carried it off with a high hand for the use of the

sovereign. It is true they promised to pay, and ordered the owners to

put it down to the bill; but the traders determined that they could not

do business in that manner. They were joined by some of the nobles, and

among others by Hereford, the constable, and Norfolk, the marshal of

England, who had a joint audience of his majesty, who threatened to hang

them if they did not do his bidding. "I will neither do so, nor hang,

sir king," was Norfolk's reply, in which Hereford acquiesced; so that it

was evident Edward could neither trample on the marshal, nor any longer

overrun the constable. Thirty bannerets and fifteen hundred gentlemen

whom the king had dubbed knights joined the two nobles in their refusal

to dub up, * and Edward was left almost alone. In this dilemma he

appealed to the people by the old trick of an effective speech,

interlarded with those clap-traps which he knew so well how to employ.

He caused a platform to be erected at the door of Westminster Hall,

and appeared upon it, supported by his son Edward, the Archbishop of

Canterbury, and the Earl of Warwick. Like the schoolmaster who never

administered a flogging without saying it hurt him a great deal more

than the boy, the king told the people that it was more grievous to him

to exact taxes from his dear people than it could be to them to bear the

burden. "I am going," he exclaimed, "to expose myself to all the dangers

of war for your sakes," and here he pulled out his pocket-handkerchief,

behind which he winked at the Archbishop of Canterbury, who thrust his

tongue into his cheek to show the prelate's relish for his master's

hypocrisy.

* Heming.

"If I return alive," continued the royal humbug, "I will make you amends

for the past; but if I fall, here is my dear son (step this way, Ned),

place him on the throne (hold your head up, stupid), and his gratitude

(bow, you blockhead) will be the reward of your fidelity." Here he

fairly swamped his face in tears, while the archbishop turned on a

couple of fountains, which came gushing through his eyes, and the

meeting was literally dissolved by the practice of this piece of crying

injustice towards the people. Not only had he melted the hearts of

the traders by this manouvre, but he drew streams of coin for the

liquidation of his debts from their pockets. With the cash thus

collected he started to join Guy, Earl of Flanders, against Philip le

Bel, a very pretty sort of fellow, between whom and Edward there was

a contest for the possession of the daughter of the Guy, the fair

Philippa. The English king had, as early as 1294, contracted a marriage

for the Prince of Wales with this young lady, who was only nine when

the match was agreed upon. The happiness of the Flemish infant of course

went for nothing in the game of craft and ambition which was being

played by the intriguing French king, who had no other object but the

extension of his personal influence. Though he may have been the first,

he was certainly not the last Philip on the throne of France to force

the inclinations of royal children on the subject of marriage for his

own purposes.

Edward the Fourth had expended a large amount of English money in

purchasing the support of foreign mercenaries, who had no sooner spent

their wages than they discontinued their services. The English king,

finding he was likely to get the worst of it, concluded a truce in the

spring of 1298, and left the unfortunate Guy to fight his own battles.

[Illustration: 174]

Before Edward's return home, the London citizens refused to pay the

taxes, on the ground of their not having been imposed by the consent of

Parliament. Many a tax-gatherer lost his time and his temper in going

from door to door, and was told, tauntingly, to collect himself, when

he sought to collect money for the royal treasury. The king, who was

at Ghent, tried the never-failing experiment of another confirmation of

Magna Charta, with the addition of what he called--in a private letter

to his son--"a little one in," namely, a confirmation of the Statute _de

Tallagio non concedendo_, which was an act declaring that no talliage or

aid should be levied without the consent of the Parliament. This was the

first occasion upon which the nation was formally invested with the sole

right of raising the supplies, but the investment, after all, was not

particularly eligible, as the sole right of raising the supplies

carries with it the sole duty of finding the money. Not content with his

confirmation of the charter, Edward, in May, 1298, was called upon

to ratify, at York, the confirmation itself, and thus spread with

additional butter the constitutional bacon. This he for some time

evaded by a series of paltry excuses, in which "head-ache," "previous

engagement," and "out of town," were pleaded from time to time, until

the barons, by following him up, got him into a _cul de sac_ from which

there was no escaping. He consented at last to ratify, but, in the most

dishonourable manner, he contrived while signing to smuggle in a clause

at the end, which, by saving the right of the Crown, rendered the whole

document a wretched nullity. This was a trick he was much addicted

to, for he had tried the paltry subterfuge on a previous occasion. The

barons, when they saw the addition, merely shook their heads, murmured

something about "a do," and returned to their homes; but Edward thought

he should find no difficulty in coming over the citizens. He accordingly

called a meeting in St. Paul's Churchyard, when the confirmation was

read over, amid cheers, and cries of "Hear" at the end of every clause,

until the last, when the shouts of "Shame!" "No, no!" "It's a dead

swindle!" and "Don't you wish you may get it?" became truly terrible.

Edward retained his usual self-possession during the meeting, but

expressed, in side speeches to his attendants, his fears that the

citizens were not such fools as he had taken them for. Making a virtue

of necessity--though, by the way, virtues made out of that material very

seldom appear to fit, but sit very awkwardly on the wearer--he withdrew

the offensive clause at a Parliament that was held soon after Easter.

Edward and Philip, finding it convenient to make up their differences,

threw overboard their respective allies, the French king giving up the

Scots, and the English sovereign completely sacrificing the poor old

Guy of Flanders. This earl has got the name of the Unfortunate, but he

better deserves the title of the soft Guy, the silly Guy, or the Guy

that, if there happened to be a difficulty within his reach, was sure to

blunder into it. He had twice been fool enough to accept an invitation

from Philip, and had twice been detained as a prisoner. We therefore

have little sympathy with him when we hear of his being deserted by

Edward; for "the man who" will continually run his head into a noose,

must expect to find the stringency of the string at some time or

another.

Peace was made between the French and English kings by means of two

marriages; but it seems rash to calculate upon matrimony as a source of

quietude. Edward, who was a widower, married Philip's sister, Margaret,

and the Prince of Wales was affianced to little Isabella, aged only

six years, the daughter of the French sovereign. A treaty was concluded

between the two countries on the 20th of May, 1303, by which Edward

took Guienne, and gave up Flanders. The unhappy Guy was sent thither to

negotiate a peace with his own subjects, but, like everything else he

undertook, the poor old man made a sad mess of it. Returning to Philip

with the news of his failure, he was committed to prison, which really,

considering all things, seems to have been the best place for him. He

was, at all events, out of harm's way, and prevented from doing mischief

to himself and others by his provoking stupidity. He remained in custody

till he died, but it was said of him by a contemporary that he was never

known to "look alive" during the whole of his existence.

Edward, having settled his dispute with France, had time to turn his

attention to Scotland, which had always been his "great difficulty," as

Ireland became the "great difficulty" to England at a later period. The

English king advanced against the Scotch in a sort of hop-scotch style,

first making for the North, then returning to the South, or going to

the East, in a zig-zag direction. The Scots soon surrendered, and were

allowed to go scot-free, with a very few exceptions. Stirling Castle

proved itself possessed of sterling qualities. It held out against the

besiegers with determined obstinacy, and Edward himself came to assist

by throwing stones, which caused the remark to be made that the king had

been brought to a very pretty pitch through the audacity of the Scotch

rebels. When the provisions were exhausted, the garrison made an

unprovisional surrender, and the governor gave out that he gave in, with

all his companions. Wallace, having been betrayed into Edward's power,

was cruelly murdered; but within six months of his death, Liberty, like

a new-born infant, was in arms once more in Scotland. Robert Bruce,

the grandson of old Bruce, was the new champion of his native land, and

intrusted his scheme to Comyn. The latter proved treacherous, and Bruce,

seeing what was Comyn, or rather, what Comyn was, killed him right off

out of the way, in a convent at Dumfries. Young Bruce having mustered

a party of about a dozen friends, took an excursion with them to Scone,

where, in the course of a kind of picnic party, he was crowned on the

27th of March, 1306, with some solemnity. Edward was at Winchester when

he heard the news, and, though very far from well, he determined on

being carried to Scotland. Like John, who had been dragged about the

country in a horse-box till within a few hours of his death, Edward was

packed on a litter and conveyed with care to Carlisle, whence he wished

to be forwarded to Scotland. Making a desperate effort, he mounted his

horse, and went six miles in four days, a pace which could only have

been performed by an equestrian prodigy; for the slowest animal, unless

he were a determined jibber, could scarcely have accomplished a task so

difficult. * This anything but "rapid act of horsemanship" was the last

act of Edward's reign, for having got to Burgh upon the Sands, he found

the sand of his existence had run out, on the 7th of July, 1307. He had

lived sixty-eight years, and had reigned during half that time; so that

for him the stream of life had been a sort of half and half--an equal

mixture--crowned by a frothy, foamy diadem. His remains were, some short

time afterwards, sent to Westminster, _via_ Waltham, and were buried on

the 8th of October, with those of his father Henry.

* It is possible that the horse hired by the king on this

occasion may have been accustomed to draw a fly, the owner

of which may have been in the habit of charging by the hour.

The character of Edward has been generally praised, but we are compelled

to tender a bill of exceptions to the report of previous historians.

He certainly added to his dominions, but if this is a merit, it may

be claimed for any man who, by fraud or violence, increases his own

property at the expense of his neighbours. The improvements effected in

his reign were rather in spite of him than owing to his sense of justice

or his liberality. He had the talent of talking people out of

their money, but this quality he has only shared with many equally

accomplished, but less exalted, swindlers. His attempt to smuggle a

clause into Magna Charta, before the face of the citizens, was an act

calculated to ruin him in the City, where putting one's hand to paper

is a proceeding that must not be trifled with. His treatment of Wallace

proves him to have been a cruel and vindictive enemy; his abandonment of

the poor Earl of Flanders shows that he was an insincere and treacherous

friend: he was constant to his hatreds, and fickle in his likings:

his animosity had the strength of fire, but in him the milk of human

kindness was greatly diluted with water. He made some good laws, such as

the statute of mortmain, which was first passed in his reign, but so far

from there being any truth in the proverb, _necessitas non habet legem_,

it is certain that necessity produced nearly every good law that Edward

gave to his people.

In person, he was a head taller than the ordinary size, with black hair

that curled naturally, and eyes that matched the hair in colour. *

His legs were too long in proportion to his body, which gained him the

nickname of Longshanks, though it would have been more respectful to

have called him Daddy Long-legs, in allusion to his being the father of

his people.

He observed the outward decencies of life, but in this he evinced the

strength of his hypocrisy rather than the extent of his morality. It may

be worthy of remark, that the title of baron, which had hitherto been

common to all gentlemen who held lands of the crown, was in this reign

restricted to those whom the king called to Parliament. ** During the

monarchy of Edward, Roger Bacon lived and died; but as we have already

expressed our antipathy to putting butter upon Bacon, we refrain from

any eulogy upon that illustrious character.

* Rapin, vol. iii., p. 88.

** The last of the Non-Parliamentary barons is the well-

known Baron Nathan of Kennington. He still claims a seat

among the Piers of Gravesend and Rosherrille.

CHAPTER THE THIRD. EDWARD THE SECOND, SURNAMED OF CAERNARVON.

[Illustration: 177]

EDWARD the Second was, in common phraseology, a very nice young man when

he came to the throne, being twenty-three years of age, and tolerably

good-looking, though he turned out eventually, according to one of the

chroniclers of the times, "a very ugly customer." His first step on

coming to the throne was to send for a scamp named Piers Gaveston, a

Gascon youth who was full of gasconade, and had been sent out of England

by the late king as an improper character. Young Edward, who had been

much attached to this early specimen of the gent., recalled Piers

Gaveston, and made him a nobleman by creating him Duke of Cornwall,

but never succeeded in making him a gentleman. This step was in direct

violation of a solemn promise to Edward the First, who had warned his

son against Gaveston, as a bad young man and by no means a desirable

acquaintance for an English sovereign. Directly Piers arrived, he

and his young master began to play all sorts of tricks and, by way

of change, dismissed the Chancellor, the Treasurer, the Barons of the

Exchequer, and all the Judges. The whole of the judicial staff of the

kingdom being thrown out of employ, a panic was created in all the

courts, and some of their lordships, being unable to meet the demands

upon them, were compelled to go to prison. Many were stripped of all

their property by the king, at the instigation of Gaveston, and the

Chancellor not only lost the seals, but nis watch, and a number of other

articles of value. Edward and his friend were determined to pay off

those who had been instrumental to the latter's disgrace, ana among

others, Langton, the Bishop of Lichfield, was put into solitary

confinement, no one being allowed to speak to him, so that the

unfortunate Lichfield found him-self literally sent to Coventry.

Gaveston, who was a dashing young spark, nearly sent England in a blaze

by his return, for he was very far from popular. He could dance and

sing, was passionately fond of bagatelle, and as to wine, when he took

it into his head he could always drink his bottle.

Edward went over to Boulogne, in January, 1308, to get married to

Isabella, the daughter of the king of France, and left Gaveston regent

of the kingdom. His majesty soon got tired of a French watering-place,

and returned to England for his coronation, which took place on the

24th of February, at Westminster. All the honours were showered upon

Gaveston, and instead of giving the perquisites to the proper officers,

the king handed them over, one by one, to the favourite. "Put that in

your pocket, Piers, my boy," exclaimed Edward, as he transferred to his

disreputable friend each article that some officer of state was entitled

to. The English nobility, as they saw everything passing into the hands

of the Gascon, could only murmur to each other, "What a shame!"

"That's mine, by rights!" and "Well, I never! Did you ever?" But the

Bishop of Winchester gave his majesty a dose, by mixing up a pretty

strong oath and making him swallow every word of it. He undertook of

course to confirm the Charter, which really becomes quite a bore to the

historian, who cannot help feeling something of the satiety induced by

_toujours perdrix_, and he draws the humiliating conclusion that his

countrymen, having got hold of a good thing, never knew when they had

had enough of it. Gaveston's conduct became so overbearing, that a

regular British cry of "Turn him out!" resounded from one end of the

kingdom to the other. Englishmen seldom do things by halves, and having

once raised a shout, they did not desist from it, but to the howl of

"Turn him out," they added a demand for the sovereign to "Throw him

over!" With this requisition Edward reluctantly complied, and Gaveston

was expelled from England; but only to be made Governor of Ireland,

until the king could get the permission of the barons to allow the

favourite to come back again. This, with their usual imbecility, they

speedily agreed to, and Piers soon returned to the court, which he

filled with buffoons and parasites. Any mountebank who could make a

fool of himself was sure of an engagement at the palace. The king's

horse-collars were worn out with being grinned through, and the family

circle of royalty was never without a clown to the ring, under the

management of Piers Gaveston. The favourite himself became so arrogant

that he would dress himself up in the royal jewels, * wearing the crown

instead of his own hat, and turning the sceptre into a walking-stick.

* _Il joignoit à cela une vanité ridicule, en effectant de

porter sur sa personne les joyaux du Roi et delà couronne me

me_.--Rapin, vol. iii., p. 94.

[Illustration: 179]

Edward, being in want of supplies, called a Parliament in 1309, but the

Parliament would not come, which caused him to call again; and the more

he kept on calling the more they kept on not coming, until the month of

March, 1310, when they came in arms, for they were determined no longer

to submit to Gaveston's insolence. He had offended their order by giving

them all sorts of nicknames, which are less remarkable for their wit

than their coarseness. He called the Earl of Lancaster an old hog, or,

perhaps, a dreadful bore; to Warwick he gave the name of the Black Dog,

in reply, perhaps, to an insinuation that he, Gaveston, was a puppy; and

the Earl of Pembroke was alliteratively alluded to as "Joe the Jew," *

by the abusive but not very facetious favourite.

In August, 1311, Edward met the barons at Westminster. Their lordships

would seem to have all got out of bed on the wrong side on the morning

of the assembly, for their surliness and ill-temper were utterly

unparalleled. They prepared forty-one articles, to which they insisted

on having the consent of his majesty. Of course, in the catalogue of

claims our old friend Magna Charta was not forgotten. This glorious

instrument of our early liberties, was once more touched up, and a new

clause introduced, which imparted freshness to the document. It provided

"that the king should hold a Parliament once a year, or twice if need

be," as if the barons had been impressed with the idea that "the more

the merrier" was a sound maxim of politics. The banishment of Gaveston

was, however, the grand desideratum, and this was at length consented

to by Edward, who on the 1st of November, 1311, took leave of

the favourite. His majesty retired to York, but soon began to ask

himself--"What's this dull town to me?" in the absence of Piers, who,

in less than two months, was again sharing the dissipations of his

sovereign. The royal party had gone for a change to Newcastle, when

the cry of "somebody coming" disturbed the revels of the king and

his courtiers. This unwelcome "somebody" was no less a personage than

Edward's cousin, the Earl of Lancaster, who had arrived with a few

barons for the purpose of, as they said, "giving it" to Gaveston. The

king and the favourite escaped from Newcastle in a ship--probably a

collier--but the sovereign was heartless enough to leave his wife behind

him with the utmost indifference. It was _sauve qui peut_ with the whole

court, and the queen was lost in the general scamper. The favourite,

after running as hard as he could, threw himself, quite out of breath,

into Scarborough Castle, which was strong in everything but eatables,

for the supply of provisions was perfectly contemptible. Piers Gaveston,

who had never been accustomed to short commons, went to the window of

the castle, and calling out to the Earl of Pembroke, who was waiting

outside, proposed to capitulate. "Can we come to any terms?" cried

Piers; but the earl would at first hear of nothing short of an

unconditional surrender.

[Illustration: 181]

After some parleying, Pembroke exclaimed, "I'll tell you what I'll do

for you. If you choose to place yourself in my hands, I'll promise to

take you to your own castle at Wallingford."

"You're not joking?" cried Gaveston, as he looked through the rusty bars

of the fortress. "Honour bright," was the substance of the earl's

reply, and Piers put himself at once into the hands of Pembroke. It was

arranged that the king should meet the favourite at Wallingford; but one

morning, on the road, he was ordered out of bed at an unusually early

hour, when whom should he see, upon going downstairs, but the grim Earl

of Warwick! Gaveston began to feel that it was all up with him. Putting

him on a mule, they conveyed him to Warwick Castle, where a hurried

council was got up--the Duke of Lancaster in the chair--for his trial.

He was, of course, condemned, when he threw himself for pardon at the

feet of Lancaster, who kicked him aside, and all the rest gave him a

lesson on the Lancastrian system by a similar indignity. A proposition

was made in the body of the hall to spare his life, but somebody

exclaimed that "Gaveston had been the cause of all their difficulties,

and that, when a difficulty came in the way, the best plan was to

break the neck of it." The stem justice of this remark was instantly

acknowledged, and amid savage cries of "Bring him along!" they dragged

the favourite off to Blacklow Hill, where, by removing his head from his

shoulders, they made what may be called short work of him. Upon hearing

the news, the king cried for grief and then cried for vengeance. After

reconciling himself to his loss, he reconciled himself to the barons,

and the double reconciliation was greatly assisted by the barons

having given up to him (a.d. 1313) the plate and jewels of the deceased

favourite.

Edward, on looking round him, found that the "Scots whom Bruce had often

led" were making considerable progress. The English king at once ordered

an army to meet him at Berwick, and by a given day one hundred thousand

men had assembled. Bruce had got scarcely forty thousand, so that the

chances were more than two to one against him. He took them into a field

near Bannockburn, and spread them out so as to make the very most of

them. On Sunday, the 23rd of June, 1314, Edward and his army came

in sight. After some desultory fighting, the monotony of the day's

proceedings was relieved by a somewhat curious incident. Bruce, who

seems to have been rather eccentric in his turn-out, was riding on a

little bit of a pony, quite under the duty imposed upon it, in front of

his troops. He wore upon his head a skullcap, over that a steel helmet,

and over that a crown of gold, while in his hand he carried an enormous

battle-axe. He and his Shetland were frisking about, when an English

knight, one Henry de Bohun, or Boone, came galloping down, armed at all

points, upon a magnificent British dray-horse. Bruce, instead of getting

out of the way, entered into the unequal combat amid cries of "Go it,

Bob!" from his own followers. He instantly fell upon and felled to

the earth the English knight, amid the acclamations of the surrounding

soldiers. The battle was very vigorously fought on both sides, and

victory seemed doubtful, when suddenly there appeared on a hill, at the

back of the Scotch, an immense crowd that looked like a new army.

The group, in reality, consisted of nothing but a mob of suttlers

and camp-followers, who had been kept back by Bruce to look like a

tremendous reserve, and who might be called the heavy scarecrows of the

Scotch army. The plan succeeded admirably, for although the English did

not receive a single blow, they were completely panic-struck, which had

the same effect as the severest beating. They fled in all directions,

with the Scotch in hot pursuit; and it is said that Edward himself had

to run for it as far as Dunbar, a distance of sixty miles, with the

enemy after him.

According to the Scotch historians, the results of this victory were

truly marvellous, for the number of prisoners alleged to have been taken

is actually greater than the number of the combatants. The chariots and

waggons, it is also said, would have extended for many leagues, if drawn

up into a line; but this is merely one of those lengths which are too

frequently gone to by the old chroniclers. Though it is impossible that

the Scotch could have killed fifty thousand, and made double the number

of prisoners out of one hundred thousand men (unless they manufactured

fifty thousand additional foes as readily as Vauxhall can put forth its

fifty thousand additional lamps), it is, nevertheless, certain that on

this occasion England experienced the severest defeat it had encountered

since the establishment of the monarchy. Such was the effect created by

the battle of Bannockburn, that for some time after three Scotchmen were

considered equivalent to a hundred Englishmen. There is every reason

to believe that the Scotch were exceedingly vigorous in coming to the

scratch at that early period.

Encouraged by the success of his brother Robert in Scotland, Edward

Bruce thought that the crown of Ireland was a little matter that would

just suit him, and he accordingly passed over to the Green Isle, in the

hope of finding it green enough to accept him as its sovereign. He

was, for a time, successful in his project, and was actually crowned

at Carrickfergus on the 2nd of May, 1316. But after knocking about the

country, and being knocked about in the country, for a year and a half,

he got a decisive blow from the English on the 5th of October, 1318,

at Fagher, near Dundalk. Though he had landed in Ireland with only five

hundred Scotchmen, he was left dead in the field with two thousand of

his fellow-countrymen. He had been joined, no doubt, by several after

his first arrival, but if he had not, it would have been all the same

to the chroniclers, who would not have scrupled to kill the same

individuals four times over to make a total sufficiently imposing for

historical purposes. The historians would have been invaluable to a

minister of finance, for they could always create an enormous surplus

out of a vast deficiency.

The Scotch continued their successes until a truce was agreed upon for

two years, and thus Edward had leisure to look after domestic affairs,

which had been fearfully neglected. Since the death of Gaveston, the

royal favourite, there had been just room for one in the not very

capacious heart of the English sovereign. A certain Hugh Spencer had

been introduced to the court by the barons, as a sort of page, to act

as a spy upon the king, and it is a curious fact, that the spencer, or

jacket, has been the characteristic of the page from that time to the

present. Hugh Spencer had a shrewd father, who advised his son to care

no more for the barons, who had got him his place, but to work it to his

own advantage, and make the most of the perquisites.

Young Hugh, taking the parental hint, determined on booking himself for

the inside place in Edward's heart, which has been already alluded to as

vacant. Not only did he succeed in his design, but contrived to take

up his old father, and carry him along as a sort of outside passenger.

Riches and promotion were showered on the Spencers, who adopted a coat

of arms, and made themselves Despencers, by prefixing the syllable

_de_, which can impart a particle of aristocracy to the most plebeian

of patronymics. The Despencers had obtained such influence over the king

that he allowed them to do as they pleased; and as they took all the

good things to themselves, the nobles--who were getting nothing--began

to evince considerable anxiety for the public interest.

The Earl of Lancaster, a prince of the blood, felt his order insulted

by the promotion of the two plebeians, and he one day energetically

exclaimed, "that Spencers could not have anything in tail, though the

king might try to fasten it on to them." Lancaster marched upon London,

and pitched his tent in Holborn, among the hills that abound in that

locality. He gave out jocularly, that "he had come to baste a couple of

Spencers, by trimming their jackets," but he was saved the trouble by

a Parliament, which met armed at Westminster, and passed on the two

Despencers a sentence of banishment.

They were accordingly exiled in August, but came back in October,

presenting an instance of a quick return without the smallest profit.

Lancaster retired to the north, and was met at Boroughbridge by Sir

Simon Ward and Sir Andrew Barclay, a couple of stout English knights,

who stopped up the passage. Lancaster endeavoured to swim across the

river, but the tide had turned against him, and he was taken prisoner.

The unfortunate earl having been tried, was condemned to an ignominious

death, and the mob were allowed to pelt him with mud on his way to

execution,--a privilege of which a generous public took the fullest

advantage.

Edward had now to encounter opposition from a new quarter, or rather

from two quarters, for his better half, Isabella, the sister of Charles

le Bel, was now plotting against him. She left him under the pretence

of going to settle some business for him in France, and then refused to

return to him. Some ambassadors volunteered to bring her back, but the

ambassadors never came back themselves, for they had been in league with

the queen, and only wanted an opportunity of joining her.

Their conduct brings to mind the anecdote of a scene that once passed

in the shop of a shoemaker. A stranger had tried on a pair of shoes, and

another stranger had been trying on a pair of boots at the same moment.

Suddenly the shoes decamped without payment, when the boots standing

upon their professed swiftness, offered to go in pursuit of the

unprincipled shoes; and as neither shoes nor boots were ever seen again

by the tradesman, it is probable that the "false fleeting perjured

Clarences" are still being pursued by the immortal Wellingtons. Thus the

Earl of Kent, the king's own brother, the Earl of Richmond, his cousin,

and others, who had undertaken to go after the queen to bring her back,

remained with her, until she returned as an enemy to her own husband.

Edward was now compelled to run away in his turn from his angry wife;

and rather than encounter the fury of a domestic storm, he got into

a ship with young Despencer, to brave the elements. Old Despencer was

taken and hanged, without the ceremony of a trial.

The Prince of Wales was appointed guardian of the kingdom on account of

the absence of his father, who had been regularly advertised, but

had declined to come forward lest he should hear of something to his

disadvantage. Having been tossed about upon the waves for several days,

he came ashore on the coast of Wales, and hid himself for some weeks,

with young Despencer and another, in the mountains of Glamorganshire.

His two companions were one day startled by a cry of "We've got you!"

and were instantly seized, upon which, Edward exclaiming, "It's no use:

you've got the two birds in the hand, and may as well have the one in

the bush," rolled out of a hedge and gave himself up to his pursuers.

Young Despencer was taken to Hereford, and hanged at once, upon a

gallows fifty feet high; but why severity was carried to such a height

is a question we have no means of answering. It has been brutally said

by an annotator that the culprit had been accustomed to the high ropes

during his life, and it was therefore determined that they should

accompany him even to the gibbet.

The king was sent in custody to Kenilworth Castle, and Parliament met on

the 7th of January, 1327, to consider what should be done with him. His

deposition was a preliminary step; for it was the custom in those days

to punish first and try the culprit afterwards. It was determined to

place his son upon the throne in his stead, and on the 20th of January,

1327, a deputation went to Kenilworth to receive his abdication, if he

liked to give it, or take it by force if he should prove refractory.

The king, seeing Sir William Trussel, the Speaker, at the head of his

enemies, observed calmly, but sadly, "Alas! the Trussel I depended upon

for support has joined in dropping me." He renounced the regal dignity,

and on the 24th of January, Edward the Third was proclaimed king, and

crowned on the 29th at Westminster.

[Illustration: 186]

This proceeding is on many accounts remarkable, and of the utmost value,

as settling a point of constitutional practice, which had never before

been recognised. It established a precedent for dissolving under

extraordinary circumstances the compact between the king and the people.

It negatived the alleged "right divine of kings to govern wrong,"

and proved that it was not always necessary to take violent means for

ridding a country of a tyrant. It showed that the crown might be removed

from the head without taking off the head and all, which had been

hitherto the recognised mode of effecting a transfer of the royal

diadem.

The unhappy Edward was kept for a time at Kenilworth; but ultimately by

command of Lord Mortimer, who had entire influence over the queen, the

deposed king was removed to Berkeley Castle. Here it is believed he was

most cruelly murdered, though it was given out by his keepers that his

death was perfectly natural. He died on the 21st of September, 1327,

in the forty-third year of his age, and the nineteenth of his reign. No

inquiry took place, and although no coroner's inquest was held, "Wilful

Murder against some person or persons unknown" is the almost unanimous

verdict of posterity.

The character of this king has been said to have been chiefly disfigured

by feebleness of judgment, which prevented him from knowing what was

good for him. He managed, nevertheless, to find out what was bad for his

subjects, and he was never at a loss to secure the means of enjoyment

for himself and his favourites, at the expense of his people.

In the reign of Edward the Second the order of Knights Templars was

abolished, a circumstance which arose from the king of France being

short of cash, and casting a longing eye upon the rich possessions of

the order. In France they were put to the torture to force them into

confessions of crimes they had never committed; but in England the same

effect was produced by imprisonment; for instruments of cruelty were

never recognised by English laws, or encouraged as articles of British

manufacture. The Archbishop of York finding nothing of the kind in the

country, wished to send abroad for a pattern, * but it must be spoken

to the credit of our ancestors, that though, in a pecuniary sense, they

were famous for applying the screw, the thumb-screw was never popular.

* _Vide_ Rapin, vol. iii., p. 95, and also a Note in Lingard

Rapin mentions among the great events of this reign, a tremendous

earthquake, but it can have been no great shakes, for we do not find any

details of its destructive effects in the old chronicles. It occurred

on the 14th of November, 1320, to the unspeakable terror of all classes;

but it did not swallow up half as much as is swallowed up annually on

the 9th of November at the Mansion House in London.

CHAPTER THE FOURTH. EDWARD THE THIRD.

The young king did not upon his father's death come to the throne, for

he had taken his seat upon the imperial cushion eight months before the

decease of his by no means lamented parent. Mortimer had caused a medal

to be struck in celebration of the accession of Edward the Third, in

which he was represented receiving the crown, with the motto, "_Non

rapit sed recipit_," which we need scarcely translate into "He did not

snatch it, but got it honestly." * A council of regency was appointed,

to which Mortimer, with affected modesty, declined to belong, but he

and the queen did as they pleased with the affairs of government.

Her majesty got an enormous grant to pay her debts, but knowing the

extravagant and dishonest character of the woman, we have reason to

believe that she pocketed the money and never satisfied the demands of

her creditors. She obtained, also, an allowance of twenty thousand a

year, which was better than two-thirds of the revenues of the crown; so

that a paltry six-and-eightpence in the pound was the utmost that young

Edward could have to live upon. The Earl of Lancaster was appointed

guardian, and began doing the best for himself, after the approved

fashion of the period. The attainders against the great Earl of

Lancaster were of course reversed, and the confiscation of the estates

of the Despencer, afforded some very pretty pickings to the party that

was now dominant.

* It is a curious fact that Mortimer should bare been in

the medal line, a business in which his namesake of the

house of Store and Mortimer has since become so illustrious.

Though the king was too young to govern, his admirers persuaded him that

he was quite old enough to fight, and he was recommended to try his

hand against Bruce, who was getting old; so that, in the language of

the ring, the British pet was not very ill matched against the Scottish

veteran. The Caledonian Slasher, as Bruce might justly have been called,

had broken the truce agreed upon with Edward the Second, and had sent an

army into Yorkshire, which plundered as it went every town and village.

The stealing of sheep and oxen was carried on to such an extent by the

Scotch troops that their camp resembled Smithfield market, or a prize

cattle show. Sixty thousand men gathered round the standard of Edward,

but the foreign and native troops quarrelled with such fury among

themselves that they had little energy left to be expended on the enemy.

Fortunately for the English king the vastness of his army made up for

its want of discipline. Bruce, directly he saw the foe, waited only to

take their number, and retired with the utmost rapidity, amusing himself

with the Scotch favourite Burns, by setting fire to all the villages.

The English, instead of following the enemy, waited a night upon the

road for some provisions expected by the Parcels Delivery, which had

been delayed by some accident. The Scotch were thus allowed to get

ahead, and Edward sent a crier through his camp, offering a hundred a

year with the honour of knighthood, to anyone who would apprise him of

the place where he should find the opposing army. Thomas of Rokeby, so

called from his habit of rokeing about, was successful in the search,

and came galloping into the English camp with a loud cry of Eureka,

and a demand of "money down," with knighthood on the spot, before

he divulged his secret. "You're very particular, sir," said Edward,

flinging him a purse, containing his annuity for the first year, and

dubbing him a knight by a blow on the head from the flat of the sword,

administered with unusual vehemence.

[Illustration: 188]

Thomas of Rokeby having pocketed the money, and secured the dignity,

pointed to a hill three leagues off, observing, "There they are!" an

observation which caused a general exclamation of "Well, it's very

funny! To think that they should have been so near us all the while

and we not aware of it!" The English having made for the spot, sent a

challenge, inviting the Scotch to meet them in a fair open field, but

the proposition was declined, with thanks and compliments. The English,

on the return of the herald, went to sleep, for the presence of the

herald always had a soporiferous influence. Edward was exceedingly

severe upon the occasion, and commented upon the herald's news, which

the king declared was always most unsatisfactory. For three days and

three nights, the English lay by the side of the river, having been

thrown by the herald into a state of dreamy inactivity. At length, on

the fourth day, they woke from their transient trance, when they found

that the Scotch had once more changed their position. Edward moved

higher up, keeping opposite to the foe, and the two armies lay facing

each other for eighteen days and nights, like two great cowardly boys,

both afraid of "coming on," but each assuming a menacing attitude. There

is every reason to believe that the herald had mesmerised the whole of

the English troops, for they allowed the Scotch to go away in the dead

of the night for want of proper vigilance. The probability, however, is

that both armies were illustrating the proverb, that "none are so blind

an those who won't see," and that their aversion to "come on," was

mutual.

A truce was concluded, and Edward, according to Froissart, returned

"right pensive" to London; but his "right pensiveness" may have been

accounted for by the fact that he was on the eve of marriage. His mother

had, during her visit to the Continent, arranged to wed him to Philippa

of Hainault, a lady who, to judge from her portrait on her tomb in

Westminster Abbey, was one of those monsters commonly called a

"fine woman." This fineness in the female form consists of excessive

coarseness, which is better adapted to the laundry than the domestic

circle. She, however, made Edward an excellent better half--or perhaps

a better two-thirds is a more suitable term to indicate the relative

proportions of the royal couple. She was brought to London by her uncle

John, surnamed of Hainault, and, it being Christmas-time, she was

taken out to enjoy all the amusements of the festive season. Jousts and

tournaments, balls and dinnerparties, were given in her honour during

her stay in town; and on the 24th of January, 1328, the nuptial ceremony

was performed with great solemnity.

Edward being now married, was desirous of avoiding that roving life

which the constant pursuit of Bruce had rendered necessary. The English

king thought it better to settle down into the domestic habits of a

family man, which was impossible as long as he was compelled to be out

all night, watching the foe and bivouacking with his soldiers. Bruce,

who had grown old and gouty, was also eager for peace, which was

concluded on the condition of his little boy, David, aged five, being

married to Edward's little sister Joanna, aged seven. The English king

gave up all claim to the sovereignty of Scotland, causing even the

insignia of Scotch royalty to be carefully packed and forwarded to

Bruce, who, on opening the parcel, was delighted to find himself in

possession of the crown and sceptre of his predecessors. He did not,

however, get quite the best of the bargain, for he undertook to pay

thirty thousand marks into Edward's court as compensation, in the form

of liquidated damages, for the mischief that the Scotch invaders had

committed. Bruce had obtained a sort of letter of licence, allowing

him to take three years for the payment of the sum agreed upon. A more

formidable creditor, however, took him in execution, for he was called

upon to pay the debt of nature within the ensuing twelvemonth. Mortimer,

who had advised the peace with Scotland, which was by no means popular,

got himself created Earl of March, for it is the policy of crafty

politicians to obtain rewards for their most objectionable measures.

It will be remembered that the Earl of Lancaster had been appointed

guardian of the young king, but no scapegrace in a comedy ever made such

an undutiful ward as the youthful Edward. He remained with his mother

and Mortimer, the latter of whom was particularly distasteful to

Lancaster, who endeavoured to get up a party to oppose the favourite.

This association was joined by the Earls of Kent and Norfolk, two of the

king's uncles, as well as by some other gentlemen, who set forth in

an advertisement the reason of their having combined. The statement of

grievances was drawn up with the usual tact of red-hot patriots, who

always put down a few impossibilities in the list of things to be

achieved, for the impracticability of their objects prevents their trade

from being suddenly brought to a dead stand-still. There were eight

articles in the Lancastrian manifesto, which chiefly aimed at Mortimer

and the queen, who soon persuaded Edward that the real object of the

advertisers was to deprive him of his crown. "I thought you were the

parties pointed at," said the young king to his mother and her paramour;

but the latter merely observing, "My dear fellow, they mean you, as sure

as my name's Mortimer," soon taught Edward to believe that he was the

object of the hostility of the rebellious nobles. Preparations were

being made to chastise them, when Kent and Norfolk abandoned Lancaster,

who justly complained of having been trifled with. The humiliated

and humbugged Lancaster was glad to accept a pardon, and pay down

a considerable sum towards the expenses which had been incurred in

preparing for his own discomfiture. Mortimer did not forgive the parties

who had contemplated his overthrow, but formed a determination to get

hold of them when a good opportunity offered.

He received a number of anonymous letters, informing him that his

brother, the late king, was alive in Corfe Castle. "Pooh, pooh," said

Kent to himself, as he perused the first three or four epistles; "I'm not

quite such a fool as to be taken in upon that point. I'm not going to

believe my brother is alive, when I happen to have been present as chief

mourner at his funeral." Every post, however, brought such a pile of

correspondence upon the subject that he first began to believe that half

of what he was told might possibly be true; and when credulity admits

one half of a story, the other half soon forces an entrance. Kent's

anonymous correspondents, not content with declaring the late king to be

alive, gave the circumstantiality to their statement which is generally

resorted to in the absence of truth, and indicated Corfe Castle as the

place where the second Edward was "hanging out" at that very moment. The

credulous Kent, being in doubt as to the fate of his brother, wrote at

once to ask him whether he was really dead or alive, saying to himself,

as he put the epistle into the post, "There! I've written to him now,

and so we shall soon settle that question one way or the other."

The party being deceased, the letter came back to the dead-letter

office, and fell into the clutches of Mortimer. Everything was done to

humour the delusion of poor Kent, who, having been told that his brother

was confined in Corfe Castle, sent a confidential messenger to make

inquiries in the neighbourhood. It is even said that a sort of optical

illusion, a jack-o'-lantern, or phantasmagoria, or dissolving-view, had

been resorted to, for the purpose of showing a representation of Edward

the Second sitting in Corfe Castle at his luncheon, * with a waiter or

two in attendance, as a mark of respect to the unhappy sovereign.

* Rapin, tom. iii., p. 152.

The messenger returned with the news to Edmund, who determined to use

his own eyes, by going to Corfe Castle and judging for himself. When he

arrived and saw the governor, that wily official pretended to be much

surprised at the secret having been divulged. He did not deny that

Edward was at the castle, but merely remarked that the captive could

not be seen. "At all events, you can give him this letter," said Edmund,

putting into the governor's hands a _douceur_ and a communication

directed to the deceased monarch, offering to aid him in his escape from

captivity.

The governor took the _billet_ to the queen, and Edmund was arrested on

a charge of endeavouring to raise a deceased individual to the throne.

Poor Kent was put upon his trial, and his own letter having been

produced, with witnesses to prove his handwriting, the case against him

was complete. The whole proceeding was disposed of with the rapidity of

an undefended cause; speedy execution was asked for and granted, but the

headsman was nowhere to be found, though persons were sent to look for

him all over Winchester. A delay of four hours was occasioned, and

the generous British public began to expect that they should lose the

spectacle they had assembled to witness, when a convicted felon came

forward in the handsomest manner, at a moment's notice, to prevent

disappointment, by undertaking the part of headsman. Thus, at the early

age of twenty-eight, perished Prince Edmund, on the charge of having

sought to put a sceptre in the hands of a spectre, and raise a phantom

to the throne. He left two sons and two daughters, one of whom was a

beauty whom we will not attempt to paint, for our inkstand is not a

rouge-pot, and if it were we should be sorry to apply its contents to so

fair a countenance. She married eventually the eldest son of Edward the

Third, who became so celebrated as the Black Prince, and who was born

at about the period (1330) to which our history has arrived. The king

finding himself a father, determined to be no longer a child in the

hands of a tyrannical mother, and he longed for some assistance from

his subjects, to enable him to throw off the maternal yoke as soon as

possible.