St. Stephen the first martyr, he proceeded to court, arrayed as he was
in pontifical robes, and bearing in his hand the archiepiscopal cross.
As he entered, the King with the barons retired into a neighboring
apartment, and was soon after followed by the bishops. The Primate,
left alone with his clerks in the spacious hall, seated himself on a
bench, and with calm and intrepid dignity awaited their decision. The
courtiers, to please the prince, strove to distinguish themselves by
the intemperance of their language. Henry, in the vehemence of his
passion, inveighed, one while against the insolence of Becket, at
another against the pusillanimity and ingratitude of his favorites;
till even the most active of the prelates who had raised the storm
began to view with horror the probable consequences. Roger of York
contrived to retire; and as he passed through the hall, bade his
clerks follow him, that they might not witness the effusion of blood.
Next came the Bishop of Exeter, who threw himself at the feet of the
Primate, and conjured him to have pity on himself and the episcopal
order; for the King had threatened with death the first man who should
speak in his favor. "Flee, then," he replied; "thou canst not
understand the things that are of God." Soon afterward appeared the
rest of the bishops. Hilary of Chichester spoke in their name. "You
were," he said, "our primate; but by opposing the royal customs, you
have broken your oath of fealty to the King. A perjured archbishop has
no right to our obedience. From you, then, we appeal to the Pope, and
summon you to answer us before him." "I hear," was his only reply.
The bishops seated themselves along the opposite side of the hall, and
a solemn silence ensued. At length the door opened and the Earl of
Leicester at the head of the barons bade him hear his sentence. "My
sentence," interrupted the Archbishop; "son and earl, hear me first.
You know with what fidelity I served the King, how reluctantly, to
please him, I accepted my present office, and in what manner I was
declared by him free from all secular claims. For what happened before
my consecration I ought not to answer, nor will I. Know, moreover,
that you are my children in God. Neither law nor reason allows you to
judge your father. I therefore decline your tribunal, and refer my
quarrel to the decision of the Pope. To him I appeal and shall now,
under the protection of the Catholic Church and the apostolic see,
depart." As he walked along the hall, some of the courtiers threw at
him knots of straw, which they took from the floor. A voice called him
a traitor. At the word he stopped, and, hastily turning round,
rejoined, "Were it not that my order forbids me, that coward should
repent of his insolence." At the gate he was received with
acclamations of joy by the clergy and people, and was conducted in
triumph to his lodgings.
It was generally believed that if the Archbishop had remained at
Northampton, that night would have proved his last. Alarmed by
frequent hints from his friends, he petitioned to retire beyond the
sea, and was told that he might expect an answer the following
morning. This unnecessary delay increased his apprehensions. To
deceive the vigilance of the spies that beset him, he ordered a bed to
be prepared in the church, and in the dusk of the evening, accompanied
by two clerks and a servant on foot, escaped by the north gate. After
fifteen days of perils and adventures, Brother Christian (that was the
name he assumed) landed at Gravelines in Flanders.
His first visit was paid, November 3d, to the King of France, who
received him with marks of veneration; his second to Alexander, who
kept his court in the city of Sens.
He had been preceded by a magnificent embassy of English prelates and
barons, who had endeavored in vain to prejudice the Pontiff against
him, though by the distribution of presents they had purchased
advocates in the college of cardinals. The very lecture of the
constitutions closed the mouths of his adversaries. Alexander, having
condemned in express terms ten of the articles, recommended the
Archbishop to the care of the Abbot of Pontigny, and exhorted him to
bear with resignation the hardships of exile. When Thomas surrendered
his bishopric into the hands of the Pope, his resignation was hailed
by a part of the consistory as the readiest means of terminating a
vexatious and dangerous controversy, but Alexander preferred honor to
convenience, and refusing to abandon a prelate who had sacrificed the
friendship of a king for the interests of the Church, reinvested him
with the archiepiscopal dignity.
The eyes of the King were still fixed on the exile at Pontigny, and by
his order the punishment of treason was denounced against any person
who should presume to bring into England letters of excommunication or
interdict from either the Pontiff or the Archbishop. He confiscated
the estates of that prelate, commanded his name to be erased from the
liturgy, and seized the revenues of every clergyman who had followed
him into France or had sent him pecuniary assistance.
By a refinement of vengeance, he involved all who were connected with
him either by blood or friendship, and with them their families,
without distinction of rank or age or sex, in one promiscuous sentence
of banishment. Neither men, bowing under the weight of years, nor
infants still hanging at the breast, were excepted. The list of
proscription was swelled with four hundred names; and the misfortune
of the sufferers was aggravated by the obligation of an oath to visit
the Archbishop, and importune him with the history of their wrongs.
Day after day crowds of exiles besieged the door of his cell at
Pontigny. His heart was wrung with anguish; he implored the compassion
of his friends, and enjoyed at last the satisfaction of knowing that
the wants of these blameless victims had been amply relieved by the
benefactions of the King of France, the Queen of Sicily, and the Pope.
Still Henry's resentment was insatiable. Pontigny belonged to the
Cistercians; and he informed them that if they continued to afford an
asylum to the traitor, not one of their order should be permitted to
remain within his dominions. The Archbishop was compelled to quit his
retreat; but Louis immediately offered him the city of Sens for his
residence.
Here, as he had done at Pontigny, Becket led the solitary and
mortified life of a recluse. Withdrawing himself from company and
amusements, he divided the whole of his time between prayer and
reading. His choice of books was determined by a reference to the
circumstances in which he was placed; and in the canon law, the
histories of the martyrs, and the Holy Scriptures he sought for advice
and consolation. On a mind naturally firm and unbending, such studies
were likely to make a powerful impression; and his friends, dreading
the consequences, endeavored to divert his attention to other objects.
But their remonstrances were fruitless.
Gradually his opinions became tinged with enthusiasm: he identified
his cause with that of God and the Church; concession appeared to him
like apostasy, and his resolution was fixed to bear every privation,
and to sacrifice, if it was necessary, even his own life in so sacred
a contest. The violence of Henry nourished and strengthened these
sentiments; and at last, urged by the cries of the sufferers, the
Archbishop assumed a bolder tone, which terrified his enemies, and
compelled the court of Rome to come forward to his support. By a
sentence, promulgated with more than the usual solemnity, he cut off
from the society of the faithful such of the royal ministers as had
communicated with the antipope, those who had framed the Constitutions
of Clarendon, and all who had invaded the property of the Church. At
the same time he confirmed by frequent letters the wavering mind of
the Pontiff, checked by his remonstrances the opposition of the
cardinals who had been gained by his adversaries; and intimated to
Henry, in strong but affectionate language, the punishment which
awaited his impenitence.
This mighty monarch, the lord of so many nations, while he affected to
despise, secretly dreaded, the spiritual arms of his victim. The
strictest orders were issued that every passenger from beyond the sea
should be searched; that all letters from the Pope or the Archbishop
should be seized; that the bearers should suffer the most severe and
shameful punishments; and that all freemen, in the courts to which
they owed service, should promise upon oath not to obey any censure
published by ecclesiastical authority against the King or the kingdom.
But it was for his Continental dominions that he felt chiefly alarmed.
There the great barons, who hated his government, would gladly embrace
the opportunity to revolt; and the King of France, his natural
opponent, would instantly lend them his aid against the enemy of the
Church. Hence for some years the principal object of his policy was to
avert or at least to delay the blow which he so much dreaded.
As long as the Pope was a fugitive in France, dependent on the bounty
of his adherents, the King had hoped that his necessities would compel
him to abandon the Primate. But the antipope was now dead; and though
the Emperor had raised up a second in the person of Guido of Crema,
Alexander had returned to Italy, and recovered possession of Rome.
Henry therefore resolved to try the influence of terror, by
threatening to espouse the cause of Guido. He even opened a
correspondence with the Emperor; and in a general diet at Wuerzburg
his ambassadors made oath in the name of their master, that he would
reject Alexander, and obey the authority of his rival. Of this fact
there cannot be a doubt. It was announced to the German nations by an
imperial edict, and is attested by an eye-witness, who from the
council wrote to the Pope a full account of the transaction.
Henry, however, soon repented of his precipitancy. In 1167 his bishops
refused to disgrace themselves by transferring their obedience at the
nod of their prince; and he was unwilling to involve himself in a new
and apparently a hopeless quarrel. To disguise or excuse his conduct
he disavowed the act, attributed it to his envoys, and afterward
induced them also to deny it. John of Oxford was despatched to Rome,
who, in the presence of Alexander, swore that at Wuerzburg he had done
nothing contrary to the faith of the Church or to the honor and
service of the Pontiff.
His next expedient was one which had been prohibited by the
Constitutions of Clarendon. He repeatedly authorized his bishops to
appeal in their name and his own from the judgment of the Archbishop
to that of the Pope. By this means the authority of that prelate was
provisionally suspended; and though his friends maintained that these
appeals were not vested with the conditions required by the canons,
they were always admitted by Alexander. The King improved the delay to
purchase friends. By the Pontiff his presents were indignantly
refused: they were accepted by some of the cardinals, by the free
states in Italy, and by several princes and barons supposed to possess
influence in the papal councils.
On some occasions Henry threw himself and his cause on the equity of
Alexander; at others he demanded and obtained legates to decide the
controversy in France. Twice he condescended to receive the Primate,
and to confer with him on the subject. To avoid altercation, it was
agreed that no mention should be made of the "customs"; but each
mistrusted the other. Henry was willing to preserve the liberties of
the Church "saving the dignity of his crown"; and the Archbishop was
equally willing to obey the King, "saving the rights of the Church."
In the second conference these cautionary clauses were omitted; the
terms were satisfactorily adjusted, and the Primate, as he was about
to depart, requested of his sovereign the kiss of peace. It was the
usual termination of such discussions, the bond by which the
contending parties sealed their reconciliation. But Henry coldly
replied that he had formerly sworn never to give it him; and that he
was unwilling to incur the guilt of perjury. So flimsy an evasion
could deceive no one; and the Primate departed in the full conviction
that no reliance could be placed on the King's sincerity.
He had now in view the coronation of his son Henry, a measure the
policy of which has been amply but unsatisfactorily discussed by
modern historians. The performance of the ceremony belonged of right
to the Archbishop of Canterbury; and Becket had obtained from the Pope
a letter forbidding any of the English bishops to usurp an office
which was the privilege of his see. But it was impossible for him to
transmit this prohibition to those to whom it was addressed; and his
enemies, to remove the scruples of the prelates, exhibited a pretended
letter from the Pontiff empowering the Archbishop of York to crown the
prince. He was knighted early in the morning of June 14th; the
coronation was performed with the usual solemnities in Westminster
Abbey; and at table the King waited on his son with his own hands. The
next day William, King of Scotland, David his brother, and the English
barons and free tenants did homage and swore fealty to the young King.
Why the wife of the Prince was not crowned with her husband we are not
informed; but Louis took to himself the insult offered to his
daughter, and entered the borders of Normandy with his army. Henry
hastened to defend his dominions; the two monarchs had a private
conference; the former treaty was renewed; and a promise was given of
an immediate reconciliation with the Primate.
Every attempt to undermine the integrity of the Pontiff had now
failed; and Henry saw with alarm that the thunder, which he had so
long feared, was about to burst on his dominions. A plan of adjustment
had been arranged between his envoys and Alexander; and to defeat the
chicanery of his advisers, it was accompanied with the threat of an
interdict if it were not executed within the space of forty days. He
consented to see the Archbishop, and awaited his arrival in a spacious
meadow near the town of Freitville on the borders of Touraine (July
22d). As soon as Becket appeared, the King, spurring forward his horse
with his cap in his hand, prevented his salutation; and, as if no
dissension had ever divided them, discoursed with him apart, with all
that easy familiarity which had distinguished their former friendship.
In the course of their conversation, Henry exclaimed, "As for the men
who have betrayed both you and me, I will make them such return as the
deserts of traitors require." At these words the Archbishop alighted
from his horse, and threw himself at the feet of his sovereign, but
the King laid hold of the stirrup, and insisted that he should
remount, saying: "In short, my Lord Archbishop, let us renew our
ancient affection for each other; only show me honor before those who
are now viewing our behavior." Then returning to his attendants, he
observed: "I find the Archbishop in the best disposition toward me:
were I otherwise toward him, I should be the worst of men." Becket
followed him, and by the mouth of the Archbishop of Sens presented his
petition. He prayed that the King would graciously admit him to the
royal favor, would grant peace and security to him and his, would
restore the possessions of the See of Canterbury, and would, in his
mercy, make amends to that Church for the injury it had sustained in
the late coronation of his son. In return he promised him love, honor,
and every service which an archbishop could render in the Lord to his
king and his sovereign. To these demands Henry assented: they again
conversed apart for a considerable time; and at their separation it
was mutually understood that the Archbishop, after he had arranged his
affairs in France, should return to the court, and remain there for
some days, that the public might be convinced of the renewal and
solidity of their friendship.
If Henry felt as he pretended, his conduct in this interview will
deserve the praise of magnanimity, but his skill in the art of
dissimulation may fairly justify a suspicion of his sincerity. The man
who that very morning had again bound himself by oath in the presence
of his courtiers to refuse the kiss of peace, could not be animated
with very friendly sentiments toward the Archbishop; and the mind of
that prelate, though his hopes suggested brighter prospects, was still
darkened with doubt and perplexity. Months were suffered to elapse
before the royal engagements were executed; and when at last, with the
terrors of another interdict hanging over his head (November 12th),
the King restored the archiepiscopal lands, the rents had been
previously levied, the corn and cattle had been carried off, and the
buildings were left in a dilapidated state.
The remonstrances of the Primate and his two visits to the court
obtained nothing but deceitful promises; his enemies publicly
threatened his life, and his friends harassed him with the most gloomy
presages; yet, as the road was at last open, he resolved to return to
his diocese, and at his departure wrote to the King an eloquent and
affecting letter. "It was my wish," he concludes, "to have waited on
you once more, but necessity compels me, in the lowly state to which I
am reduced, to revisit my afflicted church. I go, sir, with your
permission, perhaps to perish for its security, unless you protect me.
But whether I live, or die, yours I am, and yours I shall ever be in
the Lord. Whatever may befall me or mine, may the blessing of God rest
on you and your children." Henry had promised him money to pay his
debts and defray the expenses of his journey. Having waited for it in
vain, he borrowed three hundred pounds of the Archbishop of Rouen, and
set out in the company, or rather in the custody, of his ancient
enemy, John of Oxford.
Alexander, before he heard of the reconciliation at Freitville, had
issued letters of suspension or excommunication against the bishops
who had officiated at the late coronation; he had afterward renewed
them against Roger of York (September 26th), Gilbert of London, and
Joscelin of Salisbury, to whose misrepresentations was attributed the
delay of the King to fulfil his engagements. For the sake of peace the
Archbishop had wisely resolved to suppress these letters; but the
three prelates, who knew that he brought them with him, had assembled
at Canterbury, and sent to the coast Ranulf de Broc, with a party of
soldiers, to search him on his landing, and take them from him.
Information of the design reached him at Whitsand; and in a moment of
irritation he despatched them before himself by a trusty messenger, by
whom, or by whose means, they were publicly delivered to the bishops
in the presence of their attendants. It was a precipitate and
unfortunate measure, and probably the occasion of the catastrophe
which followed. The prelates, caught in their own snare, burst into
loud complaints against his love of power and thirst of revenge; they
accused him to the young King of violating the royal privileges, and
wishing to tear the crown from his head; and they hastened to Normandy
to demand redress from the justice or the resentment of Henry.
Under the protection of his conductor the Primate reached Canterbury,
December 3d, where he was joyfully received by the clergy and people.
Thence he prepared to visit Woodstock, the residence of the young
Henry, to pay his respects to the Prince and to justify his late
conduct. But the courtiers, who dreaded his influence over the mind of
his former pupil, procured a peremptory order, December 15th, for him
to return, and confine himself to his own diocese. He obeyed, and
spent the following days in prayer and the functions of his station.
Yet they were days of distress and anxiety. The menaces of his enemies
seemed to derive importance from each succeeding event. His provisions
were hourly intercepted; his property was plundered; his servants were
beaten and insulted.
On Christmas Day he ascended the pulpit. His sermon was distinguished
by the earnestness and animation with which he spoke. At the
conclusion he observed that those who thirsted for his blood would
soon be satisfied, but that he would first avenge the wrongs of his
Church by excommunicating Ranulf and Robert de Broc, who for seven
years had not ceased to inflict every injury in their power on him, on
his clergy, and on his monks. On the following Tuesday (December 28th)
arrived secretly in the neighborhood four knights, Reginald Fitzurse,
William Tracy, Hugh de Moreville, and Richard Brito. They had been
present in Normandy when the King, irritated by the representations of
the three bishops, had exclaimed, "Of the cowards who eat my bread, is
there not one who will free me from this turbulent priest?" and
mistaking this passionate expression for the royal license, had bound
themselves by oath to return to England and either carry off or murder
the Primate. They assembled at Saltwood, the residence of the Brocs,
to arrange their operations.
The next day (December 29th), about two in the afternoon the knights
abruptly entered the Archbishop's apartment, and, neglecting his
salutation, seated themselves on the floor. It seems to have been
their wish to begin by intimidation; but if they hoped to succeed,
they knew little of the intrepid spirit of their opponent. Pretending
to have received their commission from Henry, they ordered the Primate
to absolve the excommunicated prelates. He replied with firmness, and
occasionally with warmth, that if he had published the papal letters,
it was with the royal permission; that the case of the Archbishop of
York had been reserved to the Pontiff; but that he was willing to
absolve the others on condition that they previously took the
accustomed oath of submitting to the determination of the Church. It
was singular that of the four knights, three had, in the days of his
prosperity, spontaneously sworn fealty to him. Alluding to this
circumstance he said, as they were quitting the room, "Knowing what
formerly passed between us, I am surprised you should come to threaten
me in my own house."
"We will do more than threaten," was their reply.
When they were gone, his attendants loudly expressed their alarm: he
alone remained cool and collected, and neither in his tone nor gesture
betrayed the slightest symptom of apprehension. In this moment of
suspense the voices of the monks singing vespers in the choir struck
their ears; and it occurred to someone that the church was a place of
greater security than the palace. The Archbishop, though he hesitated,
was borne along by the pious importunity of his friends; but when he
heard the gates close behind him he instantly ordered them to be
reopened, saying that the temple of God was not to be fortified like a
castle.
He had passed through the north transept, and was ascending the steps
of the choir, when the knights with twelve companions, all in complete
armor, burst into the church. As it was almost dark, he might, if he
had pleased, have concealed himself among the crypts or under the
roof; but he turned to meet them, followed by Edward Grim, his
cross-bearer, the only one of his attendants who had not fled. To the
vociferations of Hugh of Horsea, a military subdeacon, "Where is the
traitor?" no answer was returned; but when Fitzurse asked, "Where is
the Archbishop?" he replied: "Here I am, the Archbishop, but no
traitor. Reginald, I have granted thee many favors. What is thy object
now? If you seek my life, I command you in the name of God not to
touch one of my people." When he was told that he must instantly
absolve the bishops he answered, "Till they offer satisfaction I will
not!"
"Then die!" exclaimed the assassin, aiming a blow at his head.
Grim interposed his arm, which was broken, but the force of the stroke
bore away the Primate's cap and wounded him on the crown. As he felt
the blood trickling down his face he joined his hands and bowed his
head saying, "In the name of Christ and for the defence of his Church
I am ready to die." In this posture, turned toward his murderers,
without a groan and without a motion, he awaited a second stroke,
which threw him on his knees; the third laid him on the floor at the
foot of St. Bennet's altar. The upper part of his skull was broken in
pieces, and Hugh of Horsea, planting his foot on the Archbishop's
neck, with the point of his sword drew out the brains and strewed them
over the pavement![30]
Thus at the age of fifty-three perished this extraordinary man, a
martyr to what he deemed to be his duty, the preservation of the
immunities of the Church. The moment of his death was the triumph of
his cause. His personal virtues and exalted station, the dignity and
composure with which he met his fate, the sacredness of the place
where the murder was perpetrated, all contributed to inspire men with
horror for his enemies and veneration for his character. The advocates
of the "customs" were silenced. Those who had been eager to condemn,
were now the foremost to applaud, his conduct; and his bitterest foes
sought to remove from themselves the odium of having been his
persecutors. The cause of the Church again flourished: its liberties
seemed to derive new life and additional vigor from the blood of their
champion.
THE PEACE OF CONSTANCE SECURES THE LIBERTIES OF THE LOMBARD CITIES
A.D. 1183
ERNEST F. HENDERSON