Chapter XI.

The Hundred Years' War.

Edward III. (1327-1377.)

The young king, Edward III., was but fifteen years of age when he

was raised to the throne of his deposed father. The Parliament

appointed a council of Regency, composed of five prelates and six

great noblemen, and consigned the young monarch into the keeping

of the Earl of Lancaster. No power was formally vested in the

dowager queen; but her debts were discharged, and a large pension

was granted her, by means of which she was enabled to strengthen

her own influence and increase the authority of Mortimer.

While England had been engrossed in its internal dissensions and

struggles, Scotland, under the firm government of Robert Bruce,

had been recovering from the effects of its misfortunes. The

thirst for vengeance raged, however, in the hearts of all the

Scots; and respect for the truce was powerless to restrain them.

Hearing that King Edward II. had been dethroned, and that a

council of Regency had been appointed, they crossed the frontier

on the 3rd of February, 1327, and began to lay waste the northern

counties. Their army gradually increased in numbers.

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King Robert was ill, but his two faithful friends, James, earl of

Douglas, and Randolph, earl of Moray, were at the head of his

troops. The Scottish army consisted entirely of mounted soldiers,

whose light, robust steeds, steady as themselves, bore them with

the swiftness of the wind, without rest, and almost without

provender. No baggage, no tents,--a bag of oatmeal in front of

each horseman, under his saddle an iron plate, which served for

baking his cakes; the English farms and villages furnished the

rest.

Rumors of the ravages to which the northern counties had been

subjected, touched the feelings of the young king, and awakened

his martial ardor. In the beginning of July, the English troops,

supported by an army corps from Hainault, the members of which

had been brought with great difficulty to live at peace with

their English allies, arrived at Durham. The exact whereabouts of

the Scottish army was unknown; but the king pressed forward in

pursuit. Like his enemies, he had left the camp baggage behind

him. After a week of pursuit, the Scots were still invisible, and

the English, on the verge of starvation, were beginning to

murmur. The king promised the honor of knighthood and a pension

of a hundred pounds to whoever should bring tidings of the enemy.

They had crossed the Wear; on the fourth day a messenger galloped

up on horseback. "Sire," said Thomas Rokeby, "the Scots are

within three leagues of this spot, encamped upon a mountain. I

have been their prisoner for a week; but they liberated me that I

might come and inform you that they await your arrival." The king

immediately marched towards the enemy.

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They had arrived on the banks of the Wear; and this time the

Scots were perceived, encamped on the summit of a hill. They were

drawn up in battle array, but they did not stir. Edward

despatched a herald to them, with a proposal that they should

cross the river, in order that the combat might take place upon

the open plain. "I have not come here for the king's pleasure,"

said Douglas, "and I will not leave my post for love of him. If

he is not satisfied, let him cross the water and drive us before

him." The undertaking was too perilous, and the two armies

remained in their respective positions for two days. On the third

night, the Scots raised their camp, and were soon afterwards

perceived to have taken up a still stronger position, upon

another hill. The King of England broke up his camp likewise, and

followed them. For eighteen days the two armies had watched each

other without result, not a blow being struck; the English troops

were sleeping in their tents, when a loud cry was heard amid the

silence: "Douglas! Douglas! Death to the English robbers!" The

terrified soldiers rose in confusion, and in a half-sleeping

condition, and groped about in the dark for their weapons.

Meanwhile sounds of strife were heard, and suddenly the ropes

supporting the royal tent were cut, and by the side of the couch

whereon the young king was sleeping, Black Douglas, the most

valiant knight in Scotland, appeared like a threatening phantom.

The chamberlain and chaplain of the young king sprang forward to

protect their master. The youth had hidden himself within the

folds of the tent. Douglas, however, did not pursue his adventure

further; sounding the horn, he recalled the three hundred men who

had followed him. "What have you done?" asked Randolph, when the

Scots had regained their intrenchments. "We have shed a little

blood, my lord, that is all," said Douglas. "We should have

crossed over with the whole of our army," insisted his friend;

"our provisions are exhausted."

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On the following night, the Scots disappeared in silence,

carrying with them a rich booty, while King Edward, incensed and

humiliated, again marched towards York, whither his affianced

bride, Philippa of Hainault, was being conducted by John of

Hainault. The marriage was celebrated on St. Paul's day, 1328.

The king was sixteen years of age, while the queen was one year

younger. Peace had just been concluded with Scotland; the

independence of that kingdom had thereby been acknowledged; the

crown jewels, which had been seized by Edward I., had been

restored, and the little Princess Joan, who was betrothed to

David, the young son of Robert Bruce, had been taken to Berwick

and given up to the Scots. It seemed as though the deliverer of

Scotland had waited for this great triumph before going to his

last rest. He died in the following year, the fifty-fifth of his

age, leaving wise counsels to his countrymen; and to his faithful

friend, the good lord James Douglas, the task of carrying his

heart to Palestine, in order that his vow to visit the Holy Land

might be fulfilled. The evils of a minority threatened Scotland

at the very moment when England was escaping from that calamity.

The arrogance of Mortimer had increased with his power, and the

great noblemen were beginning to chafe under the yoke which he

imposed upon them. The Earl of Lancaster was the first to make an

attempt against the favorite; but he had been defeated,

notwithstanding that he obtained the temporary support of the

king's uncles, the Earl of Kent and the Earl of Norfolk. Mortimer

ravaged the possessions of Lancaster like a conqueror. A rumor

had been spread abroad that King Edward II. was not dead, and the

Earl of Kent had perhaps been encouraged in this illusion, which

was the cause of his ruin. He was accused of high treason, and

condemned for the strange crime of having endeavored to replace a

dead man upon the throne.

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The execution took place on the 19th of May, 1330, in spite of

the noble birth of the victim, and the public indignation reached

its climax. The young king had hitherto remained silent

concerning State matters, and had appeared as a docile instrument

in the hands of his mother and Mortimer, although he had kept

aloof from them since his marriage, not permitting his young wife

to frequent a corrupt and licentious court.

It was on the 13th of June, 1330, that a son was born to King

Edward, who was to achieve a mighty reputation as Prince of

Wales. The young king, already a father at eighteen years of age,

began to feel the disgrace of his situation, and to experience

some remorse for the wrongs which were perpetrated in his name.

Slowly and prudently, he communicated his opinions to Lord

Montacute, one of his advisers. A Parliament was convoked at

Nottingham, in the month of October, the king being then lodged

in the castle with Mortimer and his mother. On the night of the

19th, the keys of the fortress had been brought as usual to Queen

Isabel, when Lord Montacute, accompanied by several friends,

crept silently into the vaults of the castle, which had been

opened to him by the governor. The king awaited him with great

anxiety at the door of the great tower. The conspirators ascended

a dark staircase and found themselves at the door of the queen's

antechamber. Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, the voice

of Mortimer was heard discussing with some of his adherents.

Montacute and his friends broke open the door, and killed two

sentinels who endeavored to defend it. Hearing the commotion, the

queen ran forward, calling loudly upon her son, who had remained

behind the door, but whose presence she guessed. "My dear son,"

she cried, "spare the gentle Mortimer, my beloved cousin." The

favorite was, however, dragged out, and, at daybreak, he was

already on his way, under strong escort, to the Tower of London.

Nottingham rang with sounds of joy.

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The king had seized the reins of government; this he announced to

his subjects in dissolving the Parliament and convoking a new

representative assembly at Westminster. On the 26th of November,

1330, the favorite was cited before his judges, the king himself

being present at the trial. His crimes were notorious; and

consequently the decision did not long remain doubtful. As he had

put Hugh le Despencer to death without allowing him time to make

any defence, Mortimer was himself drawn to Tyburn and hanged,

with Sir Simon Beresford, one of his accomplices. His property,

however, was not confiscated, and his family retained the title

of Earl of March, which had been granted by the queen to her

favorite. Isabel was imprisoned in the castle of Rising, treated

with respect by her son, who paid a visit to her every year and

ministered liberally to all her necessities; but she never again

left the retreat, in which she lived for more than twenty-seven

years afterwards. The Regent of Scotland, the Earl of Moray, was

dead. The valiant Douglas had been slain in an expedition against

the Moors of Spain, the first episode in the crusade which he had

undertaken in company with the heart of Bruce. Scotland was now

governed by the Earl of Mar, a warrior far inferior to the great

champions of liberty, the friends and supporters of Robert Bruce.

The time had come when England was to be raised out of the

disgrace of the last treaty. The pretensions of Edward Baliol,

the son of the exiled king, were advanced by several English

peers who had been deprived of property pertaining to them in

Scotland. Baliol advanced into the northern counties, and a

certain number of Scottish malcontents crossed the frontier and

rallied round his standard.

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He then marched into Scotland, but soon confronted two armies

superior to his own; a skilful movement, however, placed the

invaders in an advantageous position; the Earl of Mar imprudently

gave battle in a defile on Duplin Heath, where he and many others

were defeated and killed. Baliol had had time to fortify himself

within Perth before the arrival of the Earl of Mar, and the

Scottish fleet was destroyed by the little squadron brought over

by the pretender. Baliol's forces were increasing day by day; he

was crowned at Scone on the 2nd of September, having secretly

renewed to King Edward III. the allegiance which his father had

rendered to Edward I.

But the crown thus acquired in seven weeks was destined to be

lost in less than three months. On the night of the 16th of

December, the new king was taken by surprise at Annan, in the

county of Dumfries, by a Scottish corps under the command of the

young Earl of Moray and Sir Archibald Douglas. Baliol, in a

semi-naked condition, and mounted upon a barebacked horse, which,

for want of time, he had been unable to properly equip, contrived

to escape to the English frontier, leaving his father, Henry,

dead behind him. King Edward received him so amicably that the

Scottish people, indignant at the support accorded the pretender,

invaded the northern counties of England on several occasions,

carrying their ravages to such an extent that King Edward

determined to enter Scotland. In the month of May, 1333, he

joined Baliol, who, during two months, had been besieging the

town of Berwick. The garrison was preparing to surrender, when,

on the 19th of July, Archibald Douglas, now regent of Scotland,

appeared in sight of the town. The English army was posted on the

heights of Halidon Hill, protected by the marshes. The Scots were

excited by the peril threatening Berwick; they attacked the enemy

in spite of obstacles.

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Arrows fell thick in their midst during their passage across the

marshes, and disorder had already broken out in their ranks, when

they began their fierce onslaught on the hill. The assault was so

vigorous that for a moment victory seemed to incline in their

favor; but the regent fell, and with him and beside him his most

valiant knights. King Edward sprang forward in pursuit of the

Scots, who were beginning to fly. Lord Darcy, who was in command

of the Irish peasants who had joined as auxiliaries, slaughtered

the stragglers. Scotland had never suffered so lamentable a

defeat. King David and his wife took refuge in France, and spent

several years at Ch√¢teau-Gaillard. Baliol was reinstalled upon

the throne, not, however, without ceding to his powerful ally the

finest counties in the south of Scotland, to the general

indignation of the Scottish people. They soon compelled him to

take refuge in the territory which he had thus abandoned, and

there he maintained his position with great difficulty, although

supported from time to time by fresh troops from England. A more

ambitious project had been formed in the mind of the King of

England, and the war with Scotland languished while Edward was

dreaming of conquering France.

The King of France, Charles IV., surnamed the Fair, had died in

1328; and, a short time after his death, the queen his wife had

given birth to a daughter. The Salic law prohibiting the

accession of females to the throne, the peers of the kingdom and

the States-general had decreed that the crown belonged to the

cousin of the deceased king, Philip of Valois, grandson of Philip

the Bold, by his youngest son, Charles of Valois; and the new

sovereign had taken undisputed possession of the throne.

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King Edward III. was scarcely sixteen years of age, and, although

maintaining from that time forth, in England, that his right was

superior to that of Philip of Valois, his mother Isabel being the

daughter of Philip the Fair, he accepted the invitation of the

King of France to render fealty and homage to him for the Duchy

of Aquitaine, and again performed the same ceremony in 1331, when

he had attained his majority and was king _de facto_. But,

in 1336, the young King of England felt that he was securely

seated upon his throne, and being piqued by the support which

Philip of Valois openly gave to the Scotch, he publicly declared

that the peers of France and the States-general had acted as

rogues and robbers rather than as judges, and that for the future

he would not recognize their decisions, but would maintain his

own just rights. Thus began that disastrous war which has been

called the "Hundred Years' War," but which, in reality, was waged

from 1338 until 1453, during the reigns of five kings of

France--Philip VI., John the Good, Charles V., Charles VI., and

Charles VII.--and of as many kings of England--Edward III.,

Richard II., Henry IV., Henry V., and Henry VI. It cost the lives

of millions of men, brought plague and famine with it, and caused

unheard-of misery, without any result for the two nations other

than a feeling of international hatred which has scarcely died

out in our own time.

The preparations on both sides were gigantic. The English people

looked with favor upon the war against France, and, in spite of

the Magna Charta, the king was allowed to seize the Cornish tin

and all the wool grown during the year, although they had already

granted him all the subsidies and loans which he had demanded.

Edward embarked at Orwell on the 15th of July, 1338, and landed

four days afterwards at Antwerp. The Count of Flanders was an

ally of the King of France, but his towns scarcely obeyed him, as

they were then under the influence of a brewer of Ghent, named

Jacques van Arteveldt, who contracted a friendship with King

Edward.

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He had negotiated with even more illustrious allies; the Emperor

of Germany, the Dukes of Brabant and Gueldres, the Counts of

Hainault and Namur. All had received his money; but the troops

did not arrive, and when, on the 1st of July, 1339, the King of

England at length succeeded in crossing the French frontier, the

Counts of Namur and Hainault immediately abandoned him, and his

other confederates soon did likewise. The king was compelled to

return, after having, by the advice of Arteveldt, assumed the

title of King of France, and added to his coat of arms the lily

side by side with the lions of England. The Parliament, as ardent

in the cause of the war as the king himself, voted enormous

subsidies, and, on the 22nd of June, 1340, Edward again left

England, to attack the French vessels of war, huddled together in

the port of Sluys. Queen Philippa had accompanied her husband,

taking with her a great number of ladies in waiting. The French

and Genoese vessels hired by King Philip were numerous and very

large; when they sailed out of port, attached together by iron

chains and formed in four divisions, and advanced to dispute his

passage, Edward uttered a cry of joy. "Ah!" said he, "I have long

desired to fight with the French. So shall I meet some of them

to-day, by the grace of God and St. George." He began to gain the

offing; his adversaries already imagined that he declined an

engagement, but he was really desirous of avoiding the ardent

rays of the sun and of attacking briskly the first division of

the French fleet, of which he soon made himself master in spite

of a vigorous resistance.

[Image]

The Battle Of Sluys.

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A reinforcement arrived at the same time under the command of

Lord Morley; the victors thereupon assailed the three French

divisions at the same time. The French sailors became alarmed;

they could not manage their vessels nor disengage them to

facilitate a retreat. After having fought during several hours,

the French and Genoese sprang into the water, in order to escape

by swimming. Many of them were drowned, and the defeat was so

decisive that nobody was bold enough to communicate the news to

King Philip. His court jester presented himself before the French

monarch. "The English are cowards," he said. "Why so?" inquired

the king. "Because they had not the courage to spring into the

sea at Sluys as did the French and Normans." The king guessed the

sad truth. Edward had landed on French soil, surrounded by the

allies whom his victory had attracted toward him; he laid siege

to Saint-Omer and Tournay, sending thence a challenge to Philip

of Valois, proposing to arrange their quarrel by a singular

contest. He suggested that the fate of the two kingdoms should be

entrusted to a hundred combatants on each side, or that a day

should be fixed on which a pitched battle should be fought.

Philip answered with disdain; and, as in the preceding year, he

left his enemy free to exhaust his strength and resources on

insignificant places, without ever according him the opportunity

of a general engagement The coffers of the King of England soon

became empty, and his allies refused to fight; he was compelled

to consent to the armistice which Pope Benedict XII. advised, and

he returned to his kingdom infuriated by the ill-success of a

campaign which had begun under brilliant auspices. He

unexpectedly appeared in London, cast three judges into prison,

deposed the chancellor and the treasurer, who had not been able,

he said, to supply him with the subsidies necessary to his

requirements, and immediately engaged in a contention with the

Archbishop of Canterbury, president of the council.

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The archbishop exonerated himself before the Parliament, which,

according to its wise custom, refused the subsidies until the

king had promised to reform some existing abuses, and to give new

guarantees against others in the future.

Meanwhile King David Bruce had returned to Scotland; he was

eighteen years of age, was handsome, well shaped, and skilled in

all athletic exercises. The joy of his subjects, therefore, was

great at his arrival. Baliol had been driven back into England,

and, notwithstanding several attempts of the young Scottish king

upon the northern counties, Edward concluded an armistice with

him in 1342, at the same time entrusting him with the task of

defending the English frontier, so much was he absorbed in the

war with France, and in thoughts of revenge for his past checks.

A new opening had presented itself to him upon the French

territory. John III., duke of Brittany, had died without issue in

1341, and his brother, John de Montfort, had immediately seized

the treasury, as well as several important towns. But Joan of

Penthièvre, otherwise Joan the Lame, wife of Charles, Count of

Blois, claimed the duchy as the daughter of Guy de Montfort, a

younger brother of the deceased duke. The Count of Blois was the

nephew of Philip of Valois, and he had invoked the aid of his

uncle. Montfort had been summoned to Paris to render an account

of his claims. After having appeared before the king, he had fled

secretly, and his first care was to repair to London, there to do

homage to the King of England in respect to Brittany. Edward had

promised to support him, but already a French army had marched

into Brittany. John de Montfort had been captured at Nantes, and

his wife, Joan of Flanders, had with difficulty contrived to

escape with her son to the castle of Hennebon, where she was

besieged by the Duke of Normandy.

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The countess "had indeed the heart of a man and a lion," says

Froissart, and she valiantly encouraged her partisans, while

waiting the succor which she had demanded from England. The wind

was unfavorable; the English vessels did not arrive, and

treachery began to do its work in the town, when Joan, leaning on

her casement, perceived sails in the horizon. "Behold there!

behold there!" she cried, "the succor which I have so long

desired." The rising tide brought to her Gautier de Manny, a

valiant knight of Hainault, who had become a faithful servant to

the King of England, and one of the most illustrious amongst his

warriors. He was accompanied by a goodly number of knights and

men-at-arms, and soon caused the siege to be raised. But the war

continued in Lower Brittany. With singular inconsistency, the

King of France, who owed his elevation to the throne to the Salic

law, was maintaining in Brittany the cause of female succession,

while Edward was defending the rights of the male sex, which he

had refused to recognize in the case of Philip of Valois. An

armistice enabled the Countess de Montfort to cross over to

England to obtain reinforcements. When she returned to Brittany,

she was accompanied by Robert of Artois, brother-in-law of King

Philip and his mortal enemy. The town of Vannes was captured and

recaptured. Robert of Artois, wounded, succeeded, although not

without great difficulty, in escaping to England, there to die at

the very moment when Edward was setting sail with the resolution

of directing the war in Brittany in person. He landed in the

month of October, 1343, at Hennebon, with twelve thousand men,

and immediately laid siege to Vannes, Rennes, and Nantes, with no

other result than the devastation of the country, already overrun

by so many enemies, and the retreat of Charles of Blois, whose

forces had been greatly reduced.

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The arrival of the Duke of Normandy, the eldest son of King

Philip, soon enabled the French troops to act once more upon the

aggressive by besieging Edward, encamped before Vannes. The two

armies were suffering severely from the inclemency of the

weather. The Duke of Normandy dreaded the reinforcements which

were expected by the English. Edward foresaw that his provisions

would shortly be exhausted, when the legates of the Pope arrived,

and, by dint of their exertions, a truce of three years was

arranged; the siege of Vannes was then raised.

Notwithstanding the truce, the war still raged in Brittany. King

Philip of Valois aroused a widespread feeling of indignation by

arresting, at a tournament, several Breton nobleman, Oliver de

Clisson, among others, and by causing them to be beheaded without

trial, as guilty of relations with the English. The head of

Clisson was sent to Nantes; but the king had created an

implacable foe in the person of Joan of Belville, the widow of

Clisson, who immediately armed all her vassals and soon vied with

Joan de Montfort herself in courage and intrepidity. The Countess

had recently had the satisfaction of seeing her husband, who had

escaped from prison, where he had been incarcerated for six

years. He brought with him, from England, a small body of troops,

which he landed at Hennebon in the middle of September, 1345; but

his health was impaired, and he died on the 26th of the same

month, naming King Edward guardian of his son.

[Image]

Van Artevelde At His Door.

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Hostilities recommenced openly. During the truce the two kings

had made preparations for a desperate struggle. Among the means

which King Philip had devised for the purpose of filling his

coffers, was the monopoly of salt. "It is indeed by the

_Salic_ law that Philip of Valois reigns," said Edward. "The

King of England is but a wool merchant," was the reply at the

court of France. The parliament had granted fresh subsidies,

recommending merely to the king that he should put an end to the

war promptly either by battle or by treaty.

The Earl of Derby was already in Guienne, retaking, one by one,

all the places which had been captured by the enemy, when King

Edward landed in Flanders, on the 26th of June, 1345, in order to

obtain an interview with the deputies of the great towns of

Flanders. The citizens, under the command of Jacques van

Arteveldt, had by degrees deprived their ruler of his power, and

King Edward had conceived the hope of substituting his son, the

Prince of Wales, for Count Louis of Flanders, who refused to

renounce his alliance with the King of France. But when he

unfolded his plans before the deputies of the cities, and

although ardently supported by Arteveldt, the Flemings eyed each

other, and asked that they might be allowed to consult their

fellow-citizens. "Yes," said the King of England, "by all means;"

and he waited at Sluys while Arteveldt proceeded to Bruges and to

Yprès, there to plead the cause of his patron and ally. He placed

too much reliance, however, upon his good city of Ghent; there

the disaffection on his return was general. "They began to murmur

and _bouter trois têtes en un chaperon_ (says the

_Chronicle_,) saying, 'Here is a man who is too much the

master, and who would compel the county of Flanders to do his

behest, which cannot be tolerated.'" "As Jacques van Arteveldt

rode through the streets he soon perceived that there was some

change in the feeling towards him, and returning quickly to his

residence, he caused the doors thereof to be closed."

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This precaution was not taken too soon; a furious crowd already

surrounded the house, demanding the public treasure of Flanders,

which had been sent, they said, to England by Arteveldt. "He

therefore replied very meekly, 'Verily, gentlemen, as to the

treasures of Flanders, I have not taken one single penny.' 'No,

no,' they cried, 'we know the truth, that you have emptied the

public coffers and sent the contents to England secretly, for

which act you must suffer death.' When Arteveldt heard these

words, he clasped his hands and burst into tears, saying at the

same time, 'Gentlemen, such as I am so have you made me, and you

formerly swore that you would defend and protect me. Do you not

know how trade languished in this country? I restored it to you.

And then I governed you so peacefully that you have had

everything at will: wheat, wool, and every species of commodity

with which you have been clothed and become fat.' But the people

cried out, 'Come down, and do not preach to us from so great a

height.' (Arteveldt was at a window.) Thereupon Arteveldt closed

the shutter of the window, and determined to go out at the rear

and take refuge in a church which adjoined his residence; but

already the doors had been burst open, admitting more than four

hundred persons, all eager to capture him. Finally, he was

captured among them and slain on the spot without mercy. Thus

ended the career of Arteveldt, who in his time was so great a

ruler in Flanders. To the poorer classes he owed his princely

elevation, and at the hands of the malignant populace he came to

his end."

When the news of the death of Arteveldt reached King Edward at

Sluys, he was irritated and despondent; all his schemes were

frustrated through the loss of his faithful ally, and he

therefore set sail for England, vowing to be avenged on the

Flemings. The latter greatly feared his resentment; the wool

which was so necessary in their manufactures was imported almost

exclusively from England.

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They despatched an embassy to London for the purpose of

exonerating themselves, and in order to hint at the possibility

of a marriage between the daughter of King Edward and the young

_damoiseau_, the heir of Flanders. "Thus would the county of

Flanders always remain to one of your children." These

representations, together with others, softened greatly the

resentment of King Edward, who finally declared himself well

pleased with the Flemings, as were the Flemings with him; and

thus by degrees was the death of Jaques van Arteveldt forgotten

on both sides.

Meanwhile the preparations for the passage to France were

completed. The army was numerous and spirited; the project openly

announced was to pass into Gascony, there to sustain the Earl of

Derby, who was hemmed in by the Duke of Normandy; but Godefroy

d'Harcourt, a French baron in exile in England, urged Edward to

attack Normandy, a rich and undefended country. The king resolved

to adopt the course proposed, and, on the 12th of July, 1346, he

disembarked at La Hogue; immediately on landing his foot slipped,

and he fell. "Come hither into our ship, _cher sire_," said

the English knights, "for behold a little omen for you;" to which

the king replied pointedly and without hesitation, "Why so? It is

a very good sign, for the land evidently wishes for me." At which

all the barons were greatly rejoiced.

The soil of Normandy was unwise to wish for King Edward, for he

pillaged and burnt down everything before him. Barfleur,

Carentan, and Saint-Lô had already succumbed when he appeared

before Caen. The burghers had mustered all their forces, and the

Count d'Eu, the Constable of France, with the Count de

Tancarville, was there, supported by gallant knights.

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"But as soon as the burghers beheld the English, who were

approaching in three lines, close and compact, and saw their

banners and pennants flying and streaming in the wind, and heard

the cries of archers whom they were not accustomed to see or

hear, they were so alarmed and discomfitted that nothing in the

world could have hindered their taking to flight; accordingly

they dispersed towards their town in disorder, without consulting

the Constable of France in the matter."

When the knights found that they were no longer supported by the

burghers they surrendered to Sir Thomas Holland, and the King of

England commanded that no harm should be done in the city of

Caen, where "the English remained during three days, and therein

captured such magnificent booty, marvellous to think of, which

they immediately despatched to England, while the king was riding

towards Paris;" taking Louviers, Vernon, and Verneuil, they

arrived at Poissy. The quarter-masters of the English army even

advanced as far as Saint-Germain, Montjoie, Saint-Cloud,

Boulogne, and Bourg-la-Reine, "whereat the inhabitants of Paris

were grievously disquieted."

King Philip had convoked all his followers, and a large army was

beginning to assemble round him; the French endeavored to gain

time, in order to muster in numbers and overwhelm their enemies

by superior forces. The depredations committed around Paris had

meanwhile spread uneasiness at the court, and the king proceeded

to St. Denis, where his allies were assembled, "the King of

Bohemia, John of Hainault, who had become French; the Duke of

Lorraine, the Count of Flanders, the Count of Blois, and a great

number of barons and knights. When the inhabitants of Paris saw

that their sovereign was leaving them, they were more alarmed

than before, and came and knelt down before him.

{303}

'Ah! sire and noble king, what would you do? Would you thus

depart and leave the good city of Paris? Here your enemies are

but two leagues distant and soon will be in this city, where we

have not and shall not have any one to defend us against

them!'--'Fear nothing, my good folk,' said the king, 'the English

will not come to you, for I shall march against them and attack

them, howsoever they may be.'"

King Edward had left Poissy on the 16th of August, 1346, taking

the road to Picardy; he was expecting a reinforcement of the

Flemings, who had promised to invade the French territory, and he

was anxious to be nearer his auxiliaries. King Philip followed

closely upon his steps. The army of the French monarch increased

day by day, and he hoped to overtake his enemies, in order to

give battle to them before they could cross the Somme. The

English were vainly seeking a ford, and tidings had been received

that Philip had arrived at Amiens. Edward had caused all the

prisoners who had been taken in the county of Ponthieu to be

brought to Oisemont, where he was encamped, and said to them,

"very courteously, 'Is there a man among you who knows of a

passage which should be below Abbeville, where we and our army

may cross without danger? If there is any one who will inform us

of this, we will release him from prison, as well as twenty of

his comrades, in gratitude to him.' Whereupon a fellow named

Gobin Agace, who had been born and bred near the passage of the

Blanche-Tache, advanced and said to the king, 'Sire, yes, in the

name of God, I know it and will conduct you to it' When the King

of England heard these words, he was rejoiced, and orders were

given to his soldiery to be in readiness by sunrise; for the salt

tide flowed as high as the Blanche-Tache, and it was desirable to

take advantage of the ebb for crossing over."

{304}

On arriving before the ford, they there saw a noble knight named

Godemar de Fay, who bravely defended the passage, "but he was

defeated with all his men," and the English found themselves on

the other side, whither King Philip was eager to follow them,

when he heard the news; but the flood tide had already returned

and it was necessary to wait until the morrow, while King Edward,

who was still riding forward, had taken possession of Le Crotoy,

and had arrived at the county of Ponthieu.

He was in the open country not far from Crécy, when he said to

his men, "Let us halt here for awhile. I will go no further until

I have seen our enemies, for I stand upon the rightful

inheritance of that noble lady my mother, which was given to her

on her marriage; so will I defend it against my adversary, Philip

of Valois!" And the king and his followers encamped on the open

plain, the king superintending all its labors; for his army was

small in comparison with that of the King of France, who was

constantly being joined by fresh barons and allies, who were

unable to find quarters in the good town of Abbeville, but were

encamped in the surrounding neighborhood.

It was on the morning of the 26th of August. King Edward had

attended mass and taken the communion, as had also his son, the

Prince of Wales; and he had drawn up his men in three battle

corps, entrusting the first to the command of the young prince,

supported by the Earls of Warwick and Oxford; Northampton and

Arundel were placed at the head of the second, while the third he

reserved for himself. "When the three divisions were arranged,

and every earl, baron and knight knew what he had to do, the King

of England, seated upon a small white palfrey, and staff in his

hand, marched slowly from line to line, admonishing and exhorting

the earls, the barons, and the knights to understand and reflect

that for his honor they must guard and defend his right; and he

said these things to them smiling so pleasantly and with so

joyous a manner, that whoever had been previously quite dejected

began to take comfort on hearing and beholding him.

{305}

He then commanded that all the men should eat at their ease and

drink a draught; after which they sat down upon the ground with

their casques and crossbows in front of them, in order to be more

fresh and better prepared on the arrival of their enemies, for it

was the intention of the King of England to await his enemy, the

King of France, upon that spot, and there to oppose him and his

power."

Meanwhile King Philip had marched forward with all his forces,

despatching before him four of his best knights to examine the

position of the English. "Sire," said the most renowned among

them, on his return, called the Monk of Basèle, "the English are

drawn up and arranged in good order, and await you. Therefore it

is well that your men should halt in the fields and rest for the

remainder of this day, for they are fatigued. It is late, and

tomorrow you will be able with more leisure to consider on which

side you can attack your enemies, for you may rest assured that

they will await your coming."

The king perceived the wisdom of the advice, and the

quarter-masters of the army rode on, one in front and the other

in the rear, exclaiming, "Halt, banners! in the name of the Lord

and of his Highness St. Denis." The foremost among them obeyed at

once and drew up; but not so those in the rear, who still urged

their horses forward, saying they would not stop until they had

gone as far as those in advance of them. Whereupon the front

ranks recommenced their onward march, "and through their great

pride and vanity, neither the king nor his quarter-masters could

exact obedience from them, for there were such distinguished

warriors and such a large number of great noblemen, that each

desired on this occasion to show his power."

{306}

This marching soon brought them within sight of the English. When

the French knights in the front ranks first saw them, they were

smitten with shame at their disorderly appearance, and fell back

a few steps; those who were behind thought that an engagement had

taken place, and that they had been defeated, and pressed forward

with all the citizens and inhabitants of Abbeville who had

followed the army. When they saw the enemy, they cried, "Death to

them! Death to them!" drawing and brandishing at the same time

their swords. The confusion increased every minute.

King Philip had seen the enemy, as well as his soldiers, "and his

blood was stirred, for he hated them." He forgot all; the prudent

advice of the Monk of Basèle, the fatigue of his troops and their

disorder; and he exclaimed, "Send our Genoese troops in front,

and let us begin the battle in the name of God and of His

Highness St. Denis."

The Genoese soldiers were weary after their long march; they

murmured; at the same instant a violent tempest arose; the rain

fell in torrents. They were in the presence of the English

troops, who had risen in "very good order, and without any

alarm," and had taken up the positions assigned to them. When the

sky became clear again the sun shone in the faces of the French

soldiers; the Genoese shouted as they marched to the combat, "so

very loud that it was marvellous, in order to terrify the

English; but they kept quite quiet and made no show." The

crossbow-men began to shoot; but in the midst of their compact

numbers the redoubtable English arrows were pouring down like

hail, and the Genoese, "who had not learnt to encounter such

archers as those from England, when they felt these bolts and

arrows which pierced their arms, heads, and lips, were

immediately discomfited, and fell back upon the bulk of the

army."

{307}

The knights were ready, lance in hand, awaiting their turn. King

Philip became incensed on beholding the rout of the Genoese, who

impeded his progress. "Now then," he cried, "kill all this rabble

who bar the way to no purpose." And the unhappy Genoese fell by

the swords of their allies as they had previously fallen by the

arrows of their enemies. The French horsemen waded through their

blood to approach the English.

The mêlée commenced, terrible and confused; the old King of

Bohemia, blind and surrounded by his followers, inquired how

matters were progressing. This was at the moment when the Genoese

were being slaughtered. "They fall back upon each other, and

prevent our advancing," said his knights. "Ah!" replied the king,

"this is the signal for us; therefore, I beg you, my men, friends

and comrades, to lead me so far forward that I may wield a sword

against the enemy." And they, fearing to lose the king in the

confusion, bound their horses together by the bridles, and

"placed the king their lord in front, and thus fell upon the

enemy; on whom the king inflicted blows one after the other, and

all remained there and not one stirred," for all the knights were

on the morrow found dead around their master.

Meanwhile the king of England did not fight; he had not even

donned his helmet, while watching the battle from a little

eminence. The French cavalry were closely pressing the Prince of

Wales; the Earl of Northampton demanded reinforcements from the

king. "Is my son dead or overthrown, or so wounded that he cannot

help himself?" asked Edward of the messenger. "No, my lord, but

he is in the thick of the fray and is in great need of your

assistance." "Return to those who sent you," retorted the king,

"and tell them not to send a request again while my son is still

alive, but to let the youth win his spurs; for I intend, if it

please God, that this day may be his." And thus was it done.

{308}

The French were exhausting themselves in vain; their numbers and

their valor had not been able to triumph over the disorder and

the unskilful arrangement of the troops. Their best warriors lay

stretched upon the field of battle, and nightfall approached.

John of Hainault seized the bridle of the horse upon which the

King of France was seated, and dragged him away from the

struggle. They rode along in silence; five horsemen only followed

the king. They arrived at the gate of a castle, but the

drawbridge was raised. "Open," said Philip, "it is the

unfortunate King of France who entreats you." After resting for a

while he resumed his journey towards Amiens, while the English,

who had not pursued the enemy, were gathering together by

torchlight around the tent of King Edward. The latter had just

left the hill and advanced towards the prince, whom he embraced.

"My gallant son," he said, "God has endowed you with great

perseverance; you are my son, and have loyally justified your

title; you are worthy to hold land." The dead being interred,

King Edward marched towards Calais, to which he laid siege on the

31st of August. The town was strong, and the garrison was known

to be resolute. The English proceeded to build a town of wood

around the ramparts. King Philip had recalled from Guienne the

Duke of Normandy, thus relieving the Earl of Derby, who was

closely besieged in Bordeaux, and Sir Walter de Manny, who was

defending Aiguillon. These two knights had nothing more at

present to do than to rejoin King Edward before Calais. They did

not know how long a time was destined to elapse before the

surrender of that town.

{309}

The position of the King of France was becoming serious; he

endeavored to divert the attention of the enemy. His ally David,

King of Scotland, had promised to attempt an invasion of England;

the moment seemed propitious; all the English commanders and

knights were beyond the sea. At the end of September, 1246, David

marched therefore into the county of Cumberland with a

considerable army, pillaging and sacking everything on their way.

Queen Philippa had already levied some troops, and at Newcastle,

where she was stationed, she was better informed of the movements

of the Scots than the latter were of her preparations for

resistance. The English army assembled in the park of Auckland,

unknown to King David. No commander-in-chief had been appointed;

but four prelates and as many barons marched at the head of the

troops, "and the good dame, Queen Philippa, prayed and admonished

them to do their duty well," says Froissart. As she was returning

to Newcastle, on the 17th of October, Douglas, the Lord of

Liddesdale, who was coming back from a plundering expedition,

fell among the English, whose presence he did not suspect, and

with difficulty cut his way through them. The King of Scotland

immediately drew up his forces on the plain of Nevil's Cross. He

fought valiantly; but, having been twice wounded, he was made a

prisoner by a plain esquire, named John Copeland, who conducted

him to his castle. The Scottish earls and barons lay stretched

upon the field of battle, or had fallen alive into the hands of

their enemies. The queen was rejoicing at Newcastle; she sent to

John Copeland, commanding that the King of Scotland should be

given up to her. "I will surrender him to no man or woman except

my lord, the King of England," replied the worthy esquire; "and

be not uneasy upon his account, for I intend to keep him so

carefully that I will render good account of him."

{310}

The queen was not quite satisfied, however, and with the good

news of victory the reply of the stubborn esquire arrived at

Calais. King Edward had great joy in the good fortune that God

had bestowed on his people, and he immediately summoned John

Copeland to come to him at Calais. The esquire placed his

prisoner in a place of safety, "in a strong castle, on the

borders of Northumberland and Galloway, and proceeded to Calais,

to the quarters of the king."

"Welcome," said Edward, on seeing Copeland, "my faithful esquire,

who by your valor have made a prisoner of our adversary the King

of Scotland." "Sire," said John, kneeling, "God in His great

goodness has so willed it that He has delivered the King of

Scotland into my hands, for He can, if it please Him, bestow His

grace upon a poor esquire as well as upon a great nobleman. And,

sire, do not bear me any ill-will if I did not immediately

surrender him to the queen, for it is to you that I have sworn

allegiance." The king smiled. "But you will now take your

prisoner, John," he said, "and take him to my wife." And he

loaded with presents the esquire, who returned well content. King

David was promptly lodged in the Tower of London.

The war still continued in Brittany. Charles of Blois had been

made a prisoner before Roche-Derrien, on the 18th of June, 1347,

and had joined King David in his captivity; while Joan the Lame

was maintaining the struggle against the allies of the Count of

Montfort, who were still directed by her mother, the Countess

Joan, and against the sudden attacks of Joan de Bellville, the

widow of Oliver de Clisson. This women's war was neither the

least skilful nor the least sanguinary. Edward III. was still

before Calais.

{311}

The town was reduced to the last extremity. Twice already had the

non-combatants been expelled. Sheltered on the first occasion by

King Edward, these unhappy wretches, driven out of the

famine-stricken town, were dying of hunger and misery between the

two camps. John of Vienne, a valiant knight in command at Calais,

had sent information to King Philip of the desperate situation in

which he was placed. "Remember, sire, that there remains nothing

uneaten in the town; not a dog, a cat, or a horse; so that of

provisions we can find none in the place--unless we eat the

flesh of our people." Philip of Valois unfurled the oriflamme,

and summoned his knights round it, to march to the deliverance of

his good town of Calais.

The rejoicing was general inside the town; the banners of the

French army were visible flying in the air, and their white tents

glistened in the sun on the Mount of Sangatte. The citizens

already thought that their deliverance had been effected. But the

King of England had taken his precautions; the road along the

downs was protected by English vessels, well furnished with

archers. The road across the marshes was defended by the Earl of

Derby, who was stationed on the bridge of Nieulay, which the king

had fortified with towers. The quartermasters of the French army,

after having examined the ground, informed the king that it was

impossible to cross it. "Thereupon King Philip sent emissaries to

the King of England, to pray and require him to choose with them

a spot whereon one might fight, and thither to come and confront

the King of France."

Edward had formerly challenged King Philip, who had declined to

encounter him. It was now his turn: "My lord," he said to the

emissary from the French camp, "I duly heard that which you

demand of me on the part of my adversary, who wrongfully holds my

just inheritance to my injury. Therefore tell him that I have

been here during more than a year, that this was well known to

him, and that he might have come sooner had he pleased. I have

spent heavily of my substance, and I expect very shortly to be

master of the town of Calais. Therefore I am not in a mind to

obey his bidding and his convenience, nor to let go what I have

conquered, what I have so ardently desired and so dearly paid

for. If his men cannot pass that way, let them go round to seek a

path."

{312}

This message was reported to the King of France, "who was

incensed thereat," says Froissart, but who made no effort, and

again took the road towards Amiens. The banners disappeared from

Mount Sangatte; the tents were struck, and inside the town

despair succeeded to the hope which had for awhile sustained the

brave citizens. John de Vienne ascended the walls of the town and

made a sign that he wished to hold a parley. Sir Walter de Manny

immediately approached him. "Good sir," said the brave governor,

"you see that our succor has failed. Beg your king to have mercy

upon us, and to let us walk out as we are; he will find in the

town and the castle enough of goods."

Sir Walter de Manny knew of the anger which the king his master

had against the inhabitants of Calais. He shook his head. "Sir

John, Sir John," he said, "the king our master will not let you

go as you have said; it is his intention that you shall all

submit to his will." "Never," said John de Vienne. And he retired

within the town, while the English knights were proceeding to

carry the news of what had passed to the king. "You might well be

wrong sire," said Walter de Manny, "for you set us a bad example.

If you should wish to send us to your fortresses, we should not

go so willingly, if you cause these people to be put to death;

for thus should we be served under similar circumstances." King

Edward remained gloomy; all the barons agreed with Sir Walter. At

length Edward exclaimed, "Gentlemen, I will not remain alone

against you all.

{313}

Walter, you shall go to those in Calais, and inform the commander

that the utmost mercy which they will find in me is, that there

shall issue forth from the town of Calais six of the most

distinguished citizens bareheaded and barefooted, with halters

round their necks, and the keys of the town and the castle in

their hands; and with these I will do as I please. I will show

mercy to the others."

Sir Walter had borne the king's message to Calais. The

consternation was great in the public square, where all the

inhabitants were assembled. They wept bitterly; "even Sir John de

Vienne conceived such pity for them that he cried most tenderly."

"At length arose the richest citizen of the town, who was called

Eustache of Saint-Pierre, and said in the presence of all,

'Gentlemen, great pity and great wrong would it be to leave so

great a number of persons as are here to perish, by famine or

otherwise, when some other means can here be found; and I have

such great hope of receiving grace and forgiveness through our

Lord, if I die to save these people, that I wish to be the first,

and will willingly place myself in my shirt bareheaded,

barefooted, and with a halter round my neck, at the mercy of the

King of England.' And when Eustache had uttered these words,

several men and women threw themselves at his feet, weeping

tenderly, and it was greatly affecting to be there and to hear,

listen to, and look at them."

The example of devotion is contagious. John d'Aire, "a worthy

citizen, who had two beautiful damsels for daughters, declared

that he would accompany his fellow-citizen, Eustache." James and

Peter de Vissant did likewise, then two others, and the six

citizens, in their shirts and barefooted, with a rope round their

necks, the keys of the town in their hands, issued forth from

Calais, conducted by Sir John de Vienne, upon his little horse,

for he was too unwell to walk.

{314}

Amidst the cries and tears of the population he consigned the

condemned men to Walter de Manny. "I beg you, gentle sir," he

said, "to intercede for them with the King of England, that these

poor men may not be put to death." The worthy knight was anxious

to do so, but he advanced without speaking until they arrived

before the King of England.

Edward was in the road outside his residence; all his knights

surrounded him. Queen Philippa was by his side. "When he saw the

citizens, he remained very still and looked very cruelly at them,

for he hated those of Calais for the great damage and checks

which they had caused to his ships in bygone times." The unhappy

men had fallen on their knees, offering to the king the keys of

the town, and begging for mercy. All the barons were in tears,

"being unable to restrain themselves for pity;" but the king eyed

them angrily, for he was so hard-hearted and smitten with such

great anger that he was unable to speak. At length he broke the

silence, and ordered that they should presently be beheaded. All

the knights were weeping and supplicating. Sir Walter de Manny,

who was entitled to speak, reproached the king for his severity;

but Edward gnashed his teeth and said, "Sir Walter, hold your

peace! It shall not be otherwise. Let the headsman come forward."

Queen Philippa had thrown herself on her knees, "crying so

tenderly with compassion that she could not support herself."

"Ah! gentle sire," she said, "since I crossed the sea in great

peril, I have asked nothing of you; to-day I beg of you as a gift

for the Son of the Holy Virgin and the love of me, that you will

have mercy on these six men." The king waited a short time before

speaking; he eyed the good lady his wife. "Ah! lady," he said; "I

should be but too pleased were you elsewhere but here. You beg so

earnestly that I dare not refuse you, and, although I do so with

difficulty, take them; I give them to you; do with them as you

please."

[Image]

Queen Philippa On Her Knees Before The King.

{315}

Then the queen rose, saying, "My lord, many thanks!" And she took

with her the six citizens, and caused them to be clothed and fed

at their ease; she then sent them away from the army in safety.

They went and established themselves in different towns in

Picardy, while Edward took possession of Calais, on the 3rd of

August, 1347. Queen Philippa was quartered in the house of John

d'Aire, which the king had given to her, "and there was such

merrymaking as was marvellous," except among the poor inhabitants

of Calais, who wept secretly in their dwellings. The king had

resolved to establish an English population at Calais, and the

former possessors were about to quit forever that town, which

they had so valiantly defended.

Calais had fallen, and King Edward's vengeance was appeased. The

legates of the Pope had recommenced their work of conciliation. A

truce was concluded, for a few months at first, and afterwards

prolonged from time to time for six years. The finances of France

were exhausted; the English Parliament refused the subsidies, and

the Black Plague, from the East, was ravaging Europe. France and

England, already weakened by wars, saw their populations

decimated by the pestilence. It was in vain that the Flagellants

overran the towns and villages, lacerating themselves with whips,

to appease the anger of God; it was in vain that the Jews,

accused of poisoning the fountains, were slaughtered; the

cemeteries of London could not contain the dead, so that Sir

Walter de Manny made a present to the city of a new site. King

Edward issued an edict, to compel all able-bodied men to accept

work; the fields remained uncultivated, and famine threatened the

districts ravaged by the plague.

{316}

Notwithstanding the amnesty, fighting was still carried on in

Guienne, in Brittany, and as far as Calais. The governor, Aymeric

of Pavia, had promised to surrender the town to the French for a

large sum. Was it an act of treachery, and did he himself cause

King Edward to be informed of the bargain which he had concluded?

This may be supposed, since he escaped the anger of his master;

but the King of England crossed the Channel very secretly, and

arrived at Calais at the moment when Geoffrey de Chargny was

approaching to enter the town. The knights proceeded towards the

gates. Edward had put aside all his insignia of royalty and

fought under the standard of Walter de Manny. Twice he staggered

under the blows of Eustace of Ribaumont; but, having at length

triumphed over the brave Picard, at the moment when the French

were retreating in disorder, he led him into the castle,

Ribaumont not knowing the name of his conqueror. At supper,

Edward rose, and taking the pearl necklace which he wore on his

hood, he placed it upon that of Sir Eustace. "Sir Eustace," said

he, "I give you this chaplet, as the best combatant of the day,

of those within and without the town, and I beg that you will

wear it this year, for love of me, saying everywhere that I gave

it to you. I release you from your prison, and you can depart

to-morrow, if you please." "And Sir Eustace of Ribaumont was much

rejoiced." Aymeric of Pavia had less reason to congratulate

himself upon the success of the day. Geoffrey de Chargny

surprised him in the castle wherein he had taken refuge, and put

him to death as a traitor.

{317}

Another occasion caused graver danger to the life of King Edward.

The Spanish pirates of the Bay of Biscay were desolating the

coast of Flanders and hampering the commerce with England. King

Edward resolved to punish their insolence, and, on the 20th of

August, 1350, after having cruised about during three days

between Dover and Calais, announcement was made of the approach

of the vessels led by Don Carlos de La Cerda, the chief of the

association of pirates. The engagement began with great fury on

both sides. The king had directed his vessel against a large

Spanish ship; several leaks had been opened by the shock, and the

English vessel was about to founder, when the sailors, making a

desperate effort, boarded and seized the enemy's ship, and took

refuge upon their conquest. The Prince of Wales, in a similar

peril, had been saved by the Earl of Derby. After the victory,

which had been dearly bought, King Edward proceeded to rejoin the

queen at Winchelsea. Her servants had already brought her tidings

of the battle, which they had anxiously watched from the heights.

A truce of twenty years was concluded between the King of England

and the seaport towns of Castile.

The armistice, traversed by so many different combats and perils,

was about to expire. Philip of Valois had died in 1350, and his

son John the Good, had at first appeared disposed to accept the

proposals for peace of the King of England. At a conference which

had taken place at Guienne, Edward offered to relinquish his

pretensions upon the kingdom of France, provided that he might

obtain absolute possession of the provinces which he held as

vassal, in his own name or in that of the queen; but the French

barons would not agree to this dismemberment of the territory.

The king was young, ardent, and fond of glory, so did not resist

their entreaties. The proposals of the King of England were

rejected. He complained loudly of the bad faith of his

adversaries, and obtained money of Parliament to prepare for the

renewal of hostilities.

{318}

An expedition of the Prince of Wales in Guienne and an incursion

of King Edward into the north of France, had not achieved great

success. The king was soon recalled to England by an attack of

the Scots upon Berwick. The unhappy town, buffeted about from

master to master by bloody sieges, had recently been retaken by

Edward, who penetrated further into Scotland, and ravaged the

whole country. According to the doctrine of the period, that a

people could be sold or bought, Edward had paid Baliol for his

rights to the throne of Scotland, a pension of two thousand marks

of silver, and once more claimed to enslave the Scotch. The want

of provisions in a devastated country compelled him to retire.

For a long time the memory of this expedition served to animate

the ardor of the Scots during their invasions into England.

"Remember burnt Candlemas," they would cry to each other. It was

the title which had been given to that series of pillages and

conflagrations.

Edward had not yet quitted England, had not even been able to

send reinforcements to the Black Prince, as the Prince of Wales

was called, by reason of the color of his arms, when the latter

took to the field, towards the end of June, 1356, with the object

of ravaging the French provinces. An expedition of this kind, in

the preceding year, had brought him a great deal of booty. He had

overrun Agénois, Limousin, Auvergne, and had arrived as far as

Berry. Repulsed before Bourges and Issondun, he had taken

Vierzon, burnt down Romorantin, and was beginning to fall back in

the direction of Guienne with the fruits of his pillage, when

King John quitting Chartres, advanced towards Poictiers. The

devastation caused by the Black Prince had exasperated the

country populations. Nobody had warned him of the danger to which

he was about to expose himself, when, in his turn, he took the

road to Poictiers with his little army.

{319}

Suddenly, on the 17th of September, 1356, the English advanced

guard found itself immediately in the rear of the French forces;

the couriers saw the country covered with troops; the retreat

towards Guienne was cut off. "May God interpose," said the

Prince, seized with great anxiety; "we must have advice and

counsel how we shall fight them with advantage." And at the same

time the King of France was saying in his army, "Truly,

gentlemen, when you are at Paris, at Chartres, at Rouen, or at

Orleans, you threaten the English and you wish to stand before

them ready for the fray. Now are you there, I show them to you;

here you must show your displeasure, for, without mishap, we

shall fight them," And those who had heard him answered: "May God

decide, all this will we willingly see."

It was on the 18th of September, in the morning. All the flower

of the French chivalry thronged around the king and his four

sons. It is affirmed that the French army numbered more than

fifty thousand men. The forces of the Black Prince did not amount

to twelve thousand; but the English had prudently intrenched

themselves behind some hedges and underwood in the midst of the

vines, so they could only be approached by a narrow road, lined

with archers. At the moment when, by the advice of Eustace of

Ribaumont, the French knights prepared to alight to make an

attack, the Cardinal of Périgord arrived, begging the king to

permit him to negotiate between the two armies. "The English are

but a handful compared with you; if you can capture them, and

cause them to place themselves at your mercy without giving

battle, this manner would be more honorable and profitable to

you." The king consented thereto, and the cardinal promptly

galloped towards the English army. "Gallant son," he said to the

Black Prince, "if you had justly considered the power of the king

of France, you would suffer me to arrange terms with him for you,

if I could."

{320}

Therefore the Prince, who was then a young man, answered, "My

lord, saving my honor and that of my men, I am ready to listen to

anything in reason." Thus the cardinal galloped throughout the

day between the two armies. But no agreement could be made, for

although the English willingly consented to surrender to King

John all the towns and castles taken on their way, to conclude a

truce of seven years, and to release the prisoners; the French

demanded that the Prince of Wales and a hundred of his knights

should surrender before allowing the remainder of the army to

pass, "to which the English could not listen;" and on Monday

morning the French king angrily told the cardinal to return to

Poictiers, or wherever he pleased, and never more to speak of

treaty or agreement, for that he might give offence. Quickly

going away, the cardinal proceeded to the English army. "My

gallant son," he said to the Prince, "do as you are able; you

must fight, for I cannot discover any disposition for concord or

peace in the King of France." And the Prince answered, greatly

irritated, "That is the intention of us and ours, and may God

help the right."

The French army was divided into three great battle-corps: the

first was commanded by the marshals of France; the second by

Charles, duke of Normandy; King John was at the head of the

third, and he had retained by his side his youngest son, Philip.

The Prince of Wales had placed his little army with great care.

It was imperative to fight or perish, for there were no

provisions. "My gallant lords," said the young man, "if we are

few against the might of our enemies, let us not be daunted, for

virtue and victory do not belong to great numbers, but to

whomsoever God chooses to send them. If it happen that the day be

ours, we shall be the most honored in the world; if we should

die, I have still my father and two gallant brothers, and you

good friends, who will avenge us. Thus I beg that you may today

know how to fight well, for, if it please God and St. George, you

will see in me a good knight."

[Image]

King John Taken Prisoner By The Black Prince.

{321}

The French had wavered; a great number had remained on horseback,

against the advice of Ribaumont. A good English knight, Sir James

Audley, awaited them foremost in advance, having vowed to be the

best combatant in the battle. The heavy cavalry and the warriors,

covered with steel, entered the narrow path leading to their

enemies. The arrows of the English archers began to whistle by;

the brave knights looked around them; they saw no assailants, but

they were wounded and their horses were falling. They were

obliged to retreat, leaving the dead, the dying, and the wounded

horses, who encumbered the defile. The army corps of the marshals

was disconcerted, and that of the Duke of Normandy was beginning

to take alarm. The experienced eye of Sir John Chandos was not

deceived in the matter. "Ride forward, sire," he said to the

Prince of Wales, "for the day is yours. Let us devote ourselves

to your adversary, the King of France; for there lies the greater

part of the day's work, and I well know that by reason of his

valor he will not fly." The prince applied his spurs to his

horse, and quitting his rustic rampart, he advanced into the open

space where the King of France was fighting. A detachment of the

archers attacked at the same time the troops of the Duke of

Normandy, who took to flight almost without striking a blow. The

English charged, "St. George and Guienne!"--"Montjoie St.

Denis!" was the answer around King John; but the disorder was

increasing. "The Duke of Orleans had disappeared with the reserve

forces.

{322}

The king was not a man ever to be frightened by the things which

he saw or heard said, but still remained a good knight, and

fought well." "Dismount! dismount!" he cried to all his

followers; and himself alighting from his horse, he marched along

their ranks, battle-axe in hand, and there, around him "there was

a great number of warriors, haughty and cruel, and many heavy

blows were given and received." And the still youthful prince,

Philip, was there, crying to his father: "Sire, have a care on

your right! Sire, have a care on your left!" and defended him as

much as he was able. Meanwhile, on all sides the king was greeted

with, "Surrender, or you are a dead man." He looked around him.

"To whom shall I surrender?" he asked aloud. "Where is my cousin,

the Prince of Wales? If I could see him I would speak."

"Sire," said a knight, "he is not here; but surrender to me, I

will conduct you to him." "Who are you?" asked the king. "Denis

de Morbecque, a knight of Artois; but I serve the King of

England, because I cannot live in the kingdom of France, and

because I have there forfeited all my possessions." The king

tendered his glove to him. "I surrender to you," he said. The

knight endeavored to lead the king away from the crowd; but

although he was tall and powerful, everybody crowded round him,

saying, "I have captured him; I have captured him," and the king

could not advance, nor could his youngest son, Philip. The Earl

of Warwick and Sir Reynold Cobham, who were seeking the king on

behalf of the Prince of Wales, were obliged to deliver him from

his enemies, and to conduct him courteously to the spot where

Chandos had advised that the banner of England should be planted

to reassemble the troops. "It is time that your men should rejoin

you," he had said, "for they are scattered and the day is yours.

You must refresh yourself a little, for I see that you are much

heated."

[Image]

The Black Prince Serving The French King.

{323}

The prince had removed his helmet when the King of France was

brought forward, before whom he made a profound reverence and

received him as a king, well and wisely, and in the evening he

waited upon him without ever consenting to be seated,

notwithstanding any solicitation which the king made in this

respect, and said that he was not yet sufficiently important to

sit down at the table of so great a sovereign and so valiant a

man, who had that day surpassed the ablest. "And all deemed that

the Prince had spoken well."

The towns and castles remained closed in Poitou and in Saintonge,

but the French army was not rallied, and no attempt was made to

deliver the king. The Prince of Wales hastened to Bordeaux, in

order to place in safety his illustrious prisoners, and all the

booty with which his army was loaded. The Duke of Normandy had

been created Regent by the States-general, and the Black Prince

concluded a truce of two years with him. He spent the winter in

Gascony; then in the spring (April, 1357) he set sail to conduct

to England King John and his son Philip. Negotiations were in

progress for the ransom of the king, and the legates of the Pope,

the ordinary negotiators of the great treaties between

sovereigns, followed the Prince of Wales and his prisoners to

England. John entered London on the 24th of April, upon a

magnificent courser, richly caparisoned; the Prince of Wales was

at his side upon a small black horse. King Edward had come

forward to meet his illustrious captive, and all the court

hastened to do him honor. King John consoled himself easily

enough in his captivity.

{324}

Already for six years past Edward had been in treaty with the

Scottish Parliament for the ransom of King David Bruce. Twice the

latter had been enabled to visit his kingdom, in order to induce

his subjects to redeem him; but Scotland was poor, and the

demands of Edward were exorbitant. It was not until the month of

October, 1357, that the treaty was at length concluded, and that

David was enabled to return to his kingdom after an imprisonment

of eleven years. But his subjects soon perceived the influence

which his long sojourn in England had exercised over their weak

sovereign. When Queen Jane died, without issue, in 1362, David

proposed to the Scottish Parliament to select as his heir,

Lionel, the third son of the King of England, to the exclusion of

his nephew, the Stewart [Footnote 3] of Scotland.

[Footnote 3: _Stewart_, seneschal, an hereditary title,

which subsequently became the family name of the Stuarts.]

The indignation of the Scottish Parliament did not put an end to

the project. Some delay in the payment of the ransom furnished an

excuse to King Edward, and, until the death of King David, in

1371, the intrigues of the English continued to agitate Scotland.

His nephew succeeded him, without opposition, and assumed the

title of Robert II.

While Scottish affairs were occupying Edward III., the treaty

with France still remained pending. The conditions required by

the English were so harsh, that King John, although a prisoner,

hesitated to accept them. Besides an enormous sum for the ransom

of the king, Edward claimed to retain all his conquests in

France, and to secure all the possessions formerly belonging to

his family, not as an appanage or fief, but as a property. While

the negotiations were being prolonged, the condition of France

became daily more critical. The evil genius of the royal family,

Charles the Bad, king of Navarre, had escaped from the prison

where, for a long time, he had been confined. He had allied

himself to the citizens of Paris, who wished to exert a certain

amount of influence in their affairs, a power which was contested

by the Dauphin [Footnote 4] and his council.

[Footnote 4: The eldest son of the King of France had recently

assumed the title of Dauphin, in consequence of the cession

of Dauphiné to France by Humbert II., the last Dauphin of the

Viennois.]

{325}

The population of Paris, incited by their chiefs, soon escaped

from the authority of the latter, who found themselves drawn

along irresistibly with the current. Riot succeeded riot; two of

the advisers of the Dauphin were slain under his eyes, on the

22nd of February, 1358, and his chancellor was compelled to fly.

The contagion spread throughout the whole of France; as Paris had

had its Maillotins (workmen armed with mallets), France in

general had its Jacquerie, an insurrection of the serfs, who were

ironically called _Jacques Bonhomme_. Everywhere fearful

massacres took place, and the Dauphin, compelled to arm against

the peasants of his kingdom, had no leisure to think of the

demands of King Edward. The insurrection was scarcely at an end,

when King John accepted the proposals of the King of England; but

as soon as the conditions of the treaty were known in France, the

States-general rejected them with indignation. The dismemberment

of the country was impossible; peace and the liberty of the king

were too dearly bought at this price.

King Edward knew the proud obstinacy of the English Parliament;

he was indignant, however, to find a similar resistance from the

French States-general, and complaining of perfidy, he entered

France on the 28th of October, 1359. He had traversed Picardy,

Artois, and Cambrésis, consigning everything to fire and sword,

when he arrived before Rheims, where he proposed to be crowned

King of France. In vain did he besiege that town during seven

weeks. The Archbishop and the citizens did not suffer themselves

to be intimidated by the fate of Calais, and defended the place

so valiantly that Edward was compelled to retire.

{326}

He entered Burgundy, but the Duke Philip purchased his withdrawal

with a large sum of money and a promise of neutrality. The King

of England took the road to Paris. His army had suffered greatly

during the winter; the month of March had been rough, and the

negotiations which had been opened during the festival of Easter

not having brought about any result, Edward was compelled to

retire. The Dauphin had not responded to his challenge, and the

English army, unfit to attack the capital, fell back towards

Brittany, after having burnt the suburbs of Paris. The road was

strewn with the bodies of men and horses, succumbing to fatigue

and misery. At length, in the neighborhood of Chartres, a fearful

storm surprised the English in the open plain. The son of the

Earl of Warwick was killed by a thunderbolt beside the king.

Struck by this terrible warning, Edward leapt from his horse, and

vowed to God and Our Lady of Chartres no longer to reject the

proposals for peace, provided that they should be consistent with

his honor; and conferences were opened a few days afterwards, at

Brétigny, a small village where Edward halted. Peace was at

length concluded on the 8th of May, 1360. The King of England

renounced his pretensions to the kingdom of France, and restored

all his conquests, with the exception of Calais and Guienne. King

John conceded to him absolutely, for himself and his heirs in

perpetuity, Guienne, Poitou, Saintonge, Agénois, Limousin,

Périgord, and the county of Ponthieu. A ransom of three millions

of golden crowns was to be paid within six years for the release

of the king; twenty-five French barons, forty-two burgesses, and

sixteen of the most important prisoners captured at Poictiers,

were to serve as hostages for the fulfilment of the treaty.

{327}

These conditions, harsh as they yet remained, were so much better

than the first proposals of King Edward, that after much

intriguing and hesitation, they were at length solemnly ratified

by the two sovereigns at Calais, on the 24th of October, 1360,

with this strange clause, that the definitive renunciations by

the monarchs, of the possessions which they ceded, should not

take place until the festival of the Assumption in the following

year. On the morrow, the 25th of October, King John was restored

to liberty, and King Edward embarked for England.

The festival of the Assumption had passed by, as well as many

other holidays, but the conditions of the treaty of Brétigny were

not yet fulfilled: the financial distress of France had not

admitted of raising the sums promised for the ransom. The land

was ravaged by the free bands, formerly in the pay of the

belligerents, but who, having no employment since the peace, had

lived by plunder and rapine. They proceeded from province to

province, wherever there still remained any resources; and they

defeated John of Bourbon, who had been despatched against them by

the Dauphin. The States-general murmured at the conditions of the

treaty. King John saw nothing in his kingdom but oppression and

misery; he could not fulfil his engagements, and as a crowning

disgrace, one of his hostages, his own son, the Duke of Anjou,

having been brought to Calais with the other _knights of the

Lily_--a designation applied to his brother, the Duke of

Berry, his uncle, the Duke of Orleans, and his cousin, the Duke

of Bourbon--shamelessly broke his word, by flying from prison to

repair to Paris. King John was weary of the struggle and wounded

in his pride and his loyalty; perchance also he remembered the

rejoicings which had been instituted in his honor in London, so

he announced that he was about to return to England. "Were honor

banished from the whole earth," he proudly said, "it would be

found again in the heart of a king." He arrived in London at the

beginning of the year 1364; but before being able to resume

negotiations, he fell ill, and died on the 8th of April. His body

was brought back to France, with all royal magnificence, and the

Dauphin became king under the title of Charles V.

{328}

While the perplexities of the government in France had hindered

the consolidation of peace, the Prince of Wales had been married,

on the 10th of October, 1361, to the woman whom he had loved all

his lifetime, his cousin Joan, daughter of Edmund, earl of Kent.

She had already been twice married, and her second husband, Lord

Holland, had recently died. Happy at length, the Black Prince

established himself with his wife, in Aquitaine, and held at

Bordeaux a magnificent court, the school for all good chivalry,

while he labored to restore order in these provinces, so long

desolated by war.

King Charles V. had found means of ridding himself of the free

companies. The King of Castile, Peter IV., had deserved his

surname of "the Cruel" for a series of crimes which had

exasperated the people. His brother, Henry of Transtamare, exiled

by him, and burning with a desire to avenge his mother and all

his relatives assassinated by the tyrant, had taken refuge in

France, asking the assistance of King Charles V. The latter

offered the services of the free companies; the good knight

Bertrand du Guesclin, already famous among the most illustrious

warriors of his time, concluded a treaty with the chiefs of the

different bands, and, placing himself at their head, crossed the

Pyrenees under the orders of Henry of Transtamare, who was soon

placed upon the throne of Castile, almost without striking a

blow. In vain did Peter the Cruel call to his aid all his

vassals; they were too happy to see themselves delivered from his

yoke, and when the tyrant was compelled to take to flight, he

took refuge at Bordeaux, begging the assistance of the Prince of

Wales.

{329}

Passion blinds the most clear-sighted men: the noble character of

the Black Prince had nothing in common with the savage ferocity

and calculating perfidy of Peter the Cruel; but the prince

thought this king ill-used by his brother and his subjects.

France had embraced the cause of Henry of Transtamare, and

England thought herself constrained to support his rival. He had

brought with him his two daughters, who remained at the court of

Bordeaux, where they were married, a few years later, to two sons

of King Edward, the Duke of Lancaster and the Earl of Cambridge.

The first rumor of the intentions of the Black Prince caused a

secession from the army of Du Guesclin of some of his best bands.

Sir John Calverley and Sir Robert Knowles, with twelve thousand

men, immediately abandoned Henry of Transtamare and proceeded

into Guienne, assembling under the banner of their legitimate

chief. The King of Navarre delivered up the passage through the

Pyrenees, and in the month of February, 1367, in spite of cold,

snow, and scarcity of provisions in a poor country, thirty

thousand men crossed the defiles of the mountains under the

command of the Prince of Wales and Peter the Cruel, and on the

third of April a battle was fought between the two pretenders

upon the plain of Navarette. The combat was fierce. A portion of

the Spaniards had given way; but Henry of Transtamare, supported

by Du Guesclin, resolutely defended himself. At length the latter

was made a prisoner, and the rout was complete. Don Henry fled

and took refuge in Arragon. Six thousand men remained upon the

field of battle, and two thousand prisoners were in the hands of

Peter the Cruel. He was preparing to slaughter them, when the

Prince of Wales demanded mercy for them, and the king did not

dare to refuse it; but he had no intention of fulfilling the

promises which he had made at Bordeaux.

{330}

From his camp at Valladolid, the prince repeatedly sent to Peter

the Cruel, demanding the money which he had undertaken to pay for

the expenses of the war. No answer, no visit from the king, no

provisions; while the English army was decimated by sickness, by

the climate, and by want. The prince himself was suffering from a

fever. Weary of waiting, and convinced of the perfidy of his

ally, he raised his camp on the 26th of June, and returned to

Guienne. Peter the Cruel had momentarily regained his throne, but

the treasury of England was empty; the health of the Black Prince

was for ever destroyed, his character embittered by suffering and

deceptions, and the barons of Aquitaine were beginning to murmur

and to turn unwillingly toward France.

Charles V. deserved his title of the "Wise." Prudent and

foreseeing, but too weak in body to have any taste for warfare,

he directed the affairs of the kingdom from his seat, with a firm

moderation to which the French, like their enemies, had not been

accustomed under his predecessors. When the Poitevins presented

themselves before Charles V., as the liege lord, to complain of

the excessive taxes imposed by the Black Prince, he temporized,

gave vague answers, and retained the complainants at Paris, while

his brother, the Duke of Anjou, governor of Languedoc, was

fostering the discontent in the provinces of the south belonging

to the English.

The Spanish ally of the Black Prince had recently received the

reward of all his crimes. Scarcely had the English retired, when

Don Henry had again taken the field, and for the second time he

had dethroned his brother. As he was besieging him in a fortified

castle, they met in the tent of a French knight. Peter

immediately seized his brother by the throat, and threw him to

the ground. Henry drew his dagger, and Peter, stabbed to the

heart, died immediately.

{331}

An offensive and defensive alliance had recently been concluded

between France and Spain (20th of November, 1368), and King

Charles V., publicly taking his course, summoned Edward, Prince

of Aquitaine, to appear at Paris before his peers, there to

answer the complaints of his vassals.

Since the treaty of Brétigny, King Edward and his son had no

longer recognized the superiority of France. "I will go," said

the Black Prince, "but with sixty thousand lances." His father

was better aware of the difficulty of the undertaking; he made

moderate proposals to Charles V., simply claiming the sovereignty

of Aquitaine; but Charles V., seeing the English Parliament

wearied of the wars, King Edward aged and tired, and the Black

Prince ill, maintained his pretension, and the French troops

entered into Poitou, Guienne, and Limousin. The discontented and

capricious inhabitants almost always lent their support to the

French. King Edward sent his second son, the Duke of Lancaster,

with considerable reinforcements, to the assistance of the Black

Prince; but, while he was overrunning the northern provinces.

King Charles not permitting any important engagement to take

place, the conquests of the French extended in the South, and the

Prince of Wales, dangerously ill, found himself compelled to take

the field upon a litter. The Dukes of Anjou and Berry did not

await him; they had left garrisons in the towns, but had retired

when the prince advanced against Limoges. He had formerly

lavished his favors upon that town, which the Bishop had

surrendered to the French, and he had sworn, by the soul of his

father, not to move thence nor do any thing until he should

recapture it. The siege progressed slowly, the citizens bravely

supporting the garrison, for they feared the vengeance of the

prince.

{332}

The latter conducted the military operations with a savage fury

which he had never before manifested. At length, at the end of a

month, a large mine opened a breach in the walls of the town; the

besiegers sprang inside, and the massacre began. Women, children,

and old men fell upon their knees, crying, "Mercy! such poor

folks could not have been concerned in defending the town," but

none received quarter. The knights and men at arms of the

garrison still defended themselves heroically in the streets;

three of them planted themselves against a wall, and made such

good use of their swords that the Prince of Wales, while passing

by in his litter, was struck with admiration, and received them

as prisoners to be ransomed. The humble people, "who were really

martyrs," says Froissart, were all dead; the town was fired, and

the Prince of Wales had retired. He had exhausted his strength,

and, in the hope of regaining his health under his native sky,

set out for England, leaving to his brother John of Gaunt, Duke

of Lancaster, the care of prosecuting the war. The military

career of the Black Prince was ended; six years of illness and

languor were to bring to its close this life so brilliantly

begun, but unhappily sullied by a last act of cruelty, more

consistent with the general morals of the time than with the

character hitherto displayed by the son of King Edward.

The Duke of Lancaster had recently married Constance, the eldest

daughter of Peter the Cruel, and, upon this ground, he aspired to

the crown of Castile, an imprudent pretension which strengthened

the union of the king, Don Henry, with France. The Earl of

Pembroke was bringing reinforcements to the Duke in June, 1372,

when a Spanish fleet stationed between La Rochelle and the Isle

of Ré, barred the passage. An engagement took place, and the

English were completely beaten, their vessels being either

captured or scuttled. This disaster was an unmistakeable blow to

King Edward and to the English nation, which was beginning to

look upon the sea as its legitimate empire.

{333}

The successes of King Charles V. were increasing; he had placed

Bertrand du Guesclin at the head of his armies, and had made him

Constable of France; but the remembrance of Crécy and Poictiers

was always before his eyes; he did not permit any pitched battles

to be fought. From siege to siege, from skirmish to skirmish, Du

Guesclin was still marching forward, sometimes surprising the

enemy, passing through their ranks, as it is said in his memoirs,

by a stratagem, which consisted in striking with the point and

with the edge of the sword; but when the English presented

themselves in a body, the Constable would fall back upon the

fortresses, and allow a passage to the enemy, who overran the

country but could not surround either the large towns or

fortified castles. "Never has king fought so little, and given so

much trouble," said Edward angrily, for his French possessions

were diminishing day by day. Bordeaux and Bayonne, with a narrow

piece of territory, alone remained in his hands in the south, and

Calais only in the north; so, if the faithful ally of England,

the young Count of Montfort, was everywhere recognized in

Brittany, since the death of Charles of Blois, in 1364, his

authority was too well contested by Oliver de Clisson to allow of

supporting English interests beyond his duchy. John of Gaunt

returned to England, and once more, the legates of the Pope

playing the part of peacemakers, a truce of one year was

concluded at Bruges in 1374, to be prolonged almost until the

death of King Edward.

So many reverses after so much glory, had undermined in England

the popularity of the king. The finances of the country were in

default; every resource had been exhausted to support a war which

had borne so little fruit.

{334}

Complaints, which people did not dare to address to the king,

reached his ministers, and even his son, the Duke of Lancaster,

who had gradually secured the power, in consequence of the

weakness of his father and the illness of the Prince of Wales.

The latter remained the idol of the nation, and, either through

jealousy of his brother, or through dissatisfaction at the state

of affairs, he lent his support to the opposition. The Parliament

of 1376, long known under the title of "The Good Parliament,"

addressed to the king a remonstrance concerning the waste of the

public money, and demanded the dismissal of several of the

ministers. Lord Latimer and Lord Nevil were deprived of all their

offices; but the object of the public hatred and mistrust was

especially a woman, named Alice Perrers, formerly a lady of the

bed-chamber to Queen Philippa, but who, since the death of the

latter, had acquired such an influence over King Edward that he

had presented her with the jewels of his wife, and frequently

permitted her to dispense at her pleasure the favors of the

crown. The Commons publicly demanded that she should be banished

from the kingdom.

Amidst this work of reform, the Parliament suddenly lost its

firmest support.

The Black Prince died on the 8th of June, 1376. For a long time

he had been ailing, and unable to assume in the government of his

country the position which by right belonged to him; but the

nation had always reckoned upon his wisdom and justice no less

than on his brilliant valor; a prosperous and happy reign had

been hoped for, and the grief was general and protracted. "The

good fortune of England seemed bound up in his person," says the

chronicler Walsingham; "it had flourished in his health, it

languished in his illness, and died at his death; in him expired

all the hopes of the English. For during his lifetime neither an

invasion of the enemy nor an encounter in battle had been

feared."

{335}

He was interred with great pomp in Canterbury Cathedral, where he

had formerly erected a chapel in memory of his marriage. At the

especial request of Parliament, his eldest son Richard was

thereupon declared heir to the throne. Fears were entertained

concerning the pretensions of the Duke of Lancaster, who had

resumed all his authority. Sir Peter de la Mare, who had

impeached the ministers in the name of Parliament, was arrested.

The Bishop of Winchester, William of Wykeham, formerly at the

head of the opposition, was divested of his revenues. A

Parliament favorable to John of Gaunt was convoked; it proposed

the recall of Alice Perrers, the rehabilitation of Lord Latimer,

and other measures so unpopular that the palace of the duke was

assailed by the citizens of London, and his friend Lord Percy, a

Marshal of England, was pursued by the mob, so that the prince

was obliged to throw himself into a small boat with Percy, and

take refuge at Kennington, in the castle inhabited by the young

Prince Richard and his mother. All the remonstrances of the

Bishop of London scarcely succeeded in calming the disturbance.

The arms of the Duke of Lancaster, at the gate of his palace,

were inverted by the people as the escutcheon of a traitor. When

the duke returned shortly afterwards to London, all the

magistrates of the city were dismissed and replaced by his

creatures. On the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of the

reign of Edward III., a general amnesty was proclaimed; the

Bishop of Winchester alone was excluded from it.

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It was the last public act of King Edward; this body so active

and robust, this spirit so bold, this will so firm, had

nevertheless undergone the effects of premature old age. The

ministers were ranging themselves beside the Duke of Lancaster;

the opposition was grouped around the young Prince Richard and

the Princess of Wales; the old king was dying alone, with Alice

Perrers. It is even said that she deserted him in his agony,

after having taken the royal ring from him. The king lay in this

isolation; the servants having dispersed in the manor of Shene,

to plunder at their leisure. A monk entered, crucifix in hand; he

approached the unhappy monarch, praying beside him, and

supporting his expiring head until the last sigh. Thus died, on

the 21st of June, 1377, the great Edward III., who had at one

time appeared destined to unite upon his head the two crowns of

France and England. He died alone, in the sixty-fifth year of his

age, leaving to his grandson, a child, instead of the whole of

Aquitaine, which he had received from his father, a few towns

only upon that soil of France of which he claimed possession. The

blood of the two nations had flowed during more than thirty

years, and the struggle was as yet only at its beginning.

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