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The Life and Reign of Edward I.

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Title: The Life and Reign of Edward I.

Author: Robert Benton Seeley


        
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THE LIFE AND REIGN OF EDWARD I.

[Illustration: EDWARD I.

After the Engraving by Vertue, from the Statue at Carnarvon Castle.]




THE LIFE AND REIGN OF EDWARD I.


BY THE AUTHOR OF

“THE GREATEST OF THE PLANTAGENETS.”


Pactum Serva.


SEELEY, JACKSON, & HALLIDAY, FLEET STREET, LONDON. MDCCCLXXII.




  LONDON:
  PRINTED BY SIMMONS & BOTTEN,
  Shoe Lane, E.C.




PREFACE.


The volume entitled “The Greatest of the Plantagenets,” was correctly
described in its title‐page, as “an Historical Sketch.” Nothing more
than this was contemplated by the writer. The compilation was made
among the manuscripts of the British Museum, in the leisure mornings of
one spring and summer; and so soon as a fair copy had been taken, it
was handed to the printer. The work was regarded as little else than
a contribution towards an accurate review of what is both the most
interesting and the most neglected period of our English history.

Its reception exceeded by far the author’s anticipations. Very
naturally—it might be said, quite inevitably—many of those who
admitted the general truth of the narrative, were ready to charge the
writer with “partisanship,” and with taking a “one‐sided vie” of the
question. It is not easy to see how this could have been avoided. A
great literary authority has said, that the first requisite for a
good biography is, that the writer should be possessed with an honest
enthusiasm for his subject. And in the present case his chief object
was to protest against what he deemed to be injustice. It was his
sincere belief, that for about a century past an erroneous estimate of
this great king’s character had been commonly presented to the English
people. He endeavoured to show that this had been the case; to explain
the causes, and to lead men’s minds to what he deemed to be the truth.
Such a task could hardly be performed without giving large opportunity
to an objector to exclaim, “You write in a partisan spirit.”

When a new view of any passage in history is presented, many fair and
honourable men, while they yield to the force of evidence, cannot help
feeling some reluctance—some dislike to the sudden change of belief
which is asked of them. Such men will often be found to object to the
manner in which their old opinion has been assailed, even while they
admit that that opinion was erroneous, and can no longer be maintained.

So, in this case, even those who advanced this charge of partisanship
were generally ready to concede, that an altered view of Edward’s
character had been not only propounded, but in a great measure
established. Thus the Dean of Chichester, Dr. Hook, while he “differs
widely from some of the author’s conclusions,” admits that “his
argument is always worthy of attention,” and describes the volume as
one in which “everything that can be advanced in favour of Edward is
powerfully stated.”[1] So, too, the Oxford Chichelean Professor of
History (Mr. Montagu Burrows), speaks of the book as “a bold, and
on the whole, successful attempt to reclaim for him; who is perhaps
the only sovereign of England since the Conquest who has a right to
the title of ‘Great,’—that position of which he has been deprived
for more than a century.”[2] And Sir Edward Creasy calls it “an
earnest, elaborate, and eloquent defence of Edward I. against all the
imputations that have been made upon him;” and adds, “my frequent
references to this volume will show how much I value it.”[3]

The success, then, of the author’s attempt to rectify a prevalent
error, has been clear and indisputable. All that he proposed to do has
been done—the estimate of this great king’s character which prevailed a
dozen years ago, has been considerably elevated—the justice which the
writer claimed for him is now almost universally conceded.

But a desire is expressed by most of these critics—and it is a natural
and laudable desire—that, as a result of the whole, a history, in the
ordinary sense, of this great sovereign, and of the remarkable period
in which he lived, might be given to the British public. The writer has
entirely sympathized with this desire, and he has waited several years
in earnest expectation of the appearance of some such work. Nothing of
the kind, however, has yet been given to the world; nor is there any
announcement of such a purpose. It seems to him, therefore, that it
is in some sort his duty to review his former work; to consider how
far it is justly chargeable with “partisanship,” and to reduce it, so
far as he is able, to the proper form and proportions of a permanent
history.

He feels the more impelled to attempt this, from an increasing
conviction that not the sovereign only, but the time in which he lived
and reigned, alike present to the mind of the dispassionate student, a
subject meriting and richly repaying a careful examination. The chief
features of the period in which this prince was born, and in which he
lived, are more remarkable than even that union of great qualities by
which he himself was distinguished.

This fact—the unusual concurrence of many symptoms of advance and of
excellence at that period—has already been noticed by more than one
writer. Lord Macaulay said: “It was during the thirteenth century
that the great English people was formed. _Then_ first appeared with
distinctness that Constitution which has ever since preserved its
identity; then it was that the House of Commons, the archetype of all
the representative assemblies which now meet, held its first sittings;
then it was that the Common Law rose to the dignity of a science; then,
that our most ancient colleges and halls were founded; and then was
formed a language, in force, in richness, and in aptitude inferior to
the tongue of Greece alone.” Another writer adds, that “it was _this_
age of all ages, to which every Englishman ought to look back with the
deepest reverence. In this thirteenth century our Constitution, our
laws, and our language, all assumed a form which left nothing for
future ages to do, but to improve the detail.”

This language is strong, and yet it does not fully describe the
fact. The union of solid and real advance with more ornamental
characteristics is very remarkable. It is true, as the writers whom we
have just cited observe, that this thirteenth century—the life‐time of
Edward the First—saw the rise into existence of the English people,
of the English language, and of the English constitution; but there
were also several other appearances which were stranger than these.
The realm had been, for many years, almost destitute of a settled
government; it had suffered from something nearly approaching to
anarchy. The Norman dukes who domineered over it only vouchsafed to
their province of England an occasional visit; often manifesting very
little care for it. Richard I., out of a reign of nine years, spent
only a few months in this island. His successor was the worst king that
England ever saw, and did his utmost to plunge the realm into ruin and
absolute confusion.

It fills us, therefore, with wonder, to observe that so soon as these
two pernicious rulers had departed, and the land was left in the
hands of a weak and incompetent, but well‐meaning youth, symptoms of
revival of all kinds became perceptible. Not only did the English
people and the English language come to light in this realm, but mind,
and intellect, and taste all uprose together. “It is curious,” says
Lord Campbell, “that in this turbulent reign (of Henry III.) there
should have been given to the world the best treatise upon law of which
England could boast, until the appearance of Blackstone’s Commentaries.
For comprehensiveness, for lucid arrangement, for logical precision,
this author, Henry de Bracton, was unrivalled for many ages.”[4] Nor
did this great lawyer stand alone. The same period gave us Roger Bacon,
and, with him, Antony Beck and Chancellor Burnel, two of the greatest
statesmen that England has ever known.

In the fine arts, also, England, though not yet rid of tumult and
civil war, made equal or still greater advances. Henry really valued
the arts; his wife was a cultivator and a patroness of poetry, and
he himself resolved to raise, at Westminster, a new and splendid
shrine for the remains of the last of the Saxon kings; ornamenting it,
also, with pictures of great Saxon achievements. This royal taste for
architecture was in accordance with the popular feeling. It was in the
latter half of this century that Westminster Abbey, the old St. Paul’s,
the Temple church, and the cathedrals of Salisbury and Norwich were
built, while during the same period, the churches of Lincoln, Ely,
Ripon, Exeter, and Wells, all received important enlargement. Nor was
Edward himself, though a soldier and a statesman, at all indifferent
to these matters. He raised in Westminster Abbey two monuments to his
father and his consort, of which an eminent critic of our own day
says: “Few figures can surpass, in simplicity and beauty, the effigy
of queen Eleanor, and those on the crosses erected to her memory are
almost equally fine.”[5]

The last words remind us, naturally, of another comparison. The king
of England, in A.D. 1290, lost his dearly‐loved consort; and he paid
to her memory every tribute of affection and of sorrow that he could
conceive, or that could be suggested to him. Her funeral “presented one
of the most striking spectacles that England ever witnessed.”[6] And he
then strove to perpetuate that memory by monumental works, both within
the Abbey and in twelve other places. In our own day we have witnessed
a similar bereavement. We have been conscious, too, of the existence of
a sorrow as deep and as enduring as that of the Plantagenet king. But
have we, with all the wealth and all the refinement of this nineteenth
century, been able to exceed, or even to equal, those outward and
permanent expressions of sorrow which king Edward conceived and
compassed in the earliest days of the English people and kingdom?

A consummate judge of these matters has truly said that “The reign
of Edward I. is the period of the most perfect and beautiful Gothic
buildings, when English art attained to the highest eminence it has
ever yet reached.”[7] And do we not all know, as a simple matter of
fact, that if we, after a lapse of six hundred years, wish to raise
a building of more than ordinary beauty, we are compelled to have
recourse to the noble works which were achieved in the days of Edward
I.? there being within our reach no purer or loftier models.

The age, then, in which this great monarch lived was a very
extraordinary age. To ascribe its singular fruitfulness in every
department of human excellence to his influence, would be altogether
irrational and absurd. He himself was only one fact or feature among
many. But it crowns the whole edifice with singular grace, to find—in
the days which produced a Bracton and a Roger Bacon, a statesman
like Burnel, a divine like Grosstête—the throne filled by a man like
Edward, whose first thought was of uprightness,[8] whose mind was a
“legislative mind,”[9] and who wrestled and fought his way through a
period of no common difficulty and trouble, with such “cleanness of
hands” as to leave him, at last, one of the noblest examples that it is
possible to adduce, of a ruler “fearing God and working righteousness.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Those who are acquainted with the former publication will recognize
in the present, whole pages, sometimes whole chapters, which merely
reproduce what had been therein said. Perhaps one third of the book
is thus composed. Wherever a passage of plain and simple narrative,
disputed by no one, occurred, there seemed to be no good reason for
merely putting it into new phraseology. But all the more important and
controverted questions have been reconsidered, and the chapters which
concern them almost entirely rewritten.

       *       *       *       *       *

The portrait which faces the title‐page is given because there seems
good reason to think that it is, substantially, a true representation.
England possessed, as we have said, in the days of Edward, good
sculptors as well as good architects; and it is tolerably certain, that
the artist employed to erect at Carnarvon a statue of the king, would
be a man competent to execute that work in a creditable manner. It is
true that at the present moment, the hand of time has nearly destroyed
every feature. But a century and a half ago, the statue was, doubtless,
in a better condition. An artist accustomed to detect, with a practised
eye, not only what _was_, but what _had been_, might gather from the
brow, from the mouth, from the chin, and from the general contour, a
tolerably accurate idea of the general portraiture. George Vertue,
in his researches for the illustration of Rapin’s history, visited
Carnarvon, believed that he gained from the statue a just idea of what
Edward had been, and brought away a drawing of it, which he carefully
engraved. From that portrait the present frontispiece has been taken.


Footnotes:

  [1] Lives of Archbishops, vol. iii., p. 401.

  [2] Oxford Hist. Society, 1864, p. 322.

  [3] History of England, vol. i., p. 406.

  [4] Campbell’s Chancellors, vol. i., p. 159.

  [5] Parker’s Gothic Architecture, p. 161.

  [6] Archæologia, vol. xxix., p. 174.

  [7] Parker, p. 253.

  [8] “_Pactum serva._”

  [9] Mackintosh.




CONTENTS.


                                                               PAGE

     I. BIRTH AND EARLY YEARS                                     1

    II. ACCESSION TO THE THRONE—EDWARD’S EARLIEST
          PROCEEDINGS                                            17

   III. THE FIRST SEVEN YEARS                                    36

    IV. MIDDLE PERIOD OF EDWARD’S LIFE, A.D. 1279-1290           50

     V. RETROSPECTIVE VIEW                                       87

    VI. SCOTTISH AFFAIRS—THE ARBITRATION—THE WAR
          A.D. 1291-1296                                        101

   VII. TROUBLES WITH FRANCE—WAR IN SCOTLAND                    128

  VIII. THE WAR WITH FRANCE, AND VARIOUS TROUBLES
          AT HOME, A.D. 1297                                    157

    IX. WILLIAM WALAYS, A.D. 1297, 1298                         176

     X. PROLONGATION OF TROUBLES IN SCOTLAND—PARLIAMENTARY
          DISCUSSIONS IN ENGLAND, A.D. 1299-1302                203

    XI. THE DISAFFORESTING QUESTION—THE COMMISSION
          OF TRAILBASTON, ETC., ETC., A.D. 1299-1305            226

   XII. THE SETTLEMENT OF SCOTLAND, A.D. 1303-1305              265

  XIII. BRUCE’S REBELLION: THE WAR WHICH FOLLOWED.—THE
          DEATH OF EDWARD: HIS CHARACTER                        290


  APPENDIX                                                      347




THE

LIFE AND REIGN OF EDWARD I.




I.

BIRTH AND EARLY YEARS.


On the night of June 17-18, 1239, Queen Eleanor, the consort of Henry
III., presented her husband with a son, who was born in the Palace of
Westminster, and who was instantly, says the old chronicler, named
by the king, “Edward, after the glorious king and confessor, whose
body rests in the church of St. Peter,” immediately adjoining. The
event was greeted by the nobles and by the people of London with
great manifestations of joy: by the citizens more especially, because
the young prince was born among them. The streets of the city were
illuminated at night with large lanterns, and music and dancing marked
it as a day of general rejoicing.

Such a birth was a new thing, in those days, to Englishmen. They
had passed nearly two centuries under the dominion of the dukes of
Normandy, whose home was in France, and whose sojourns in England
were merely visits paid to a conquered territory. During the later
years, indeed, of that Norman tyranny, two or three of its princes,
though still deeming themselves Normans, had first seen the light on
English ground;[10] but now, by his own choice, the reigning king had
ordained that his eldest son should receive his birth in the metropolis
of his kingdom, and had named him after the lamented and venerated
“Confessor,” the last of the Saxon sovereigns. All this was gratifying
to the Anglo‐Saxon mind, and how it was received and felt we can
discern in a chronicle of the period, which gladly accepts and records
the birth of an English or Anglo‐Saxon prince, narrating that, “on the
14th day of the calends of July (June 18), Eleanor, queen of England,
gave birth to her eldest son, Edward; whose father was Henry, whose
father was John, whose father was Henry, whose mother was Matilda the
empress, whose mother was Matilda, queen of England, whose mother was
Margaret, queen of Scotland, whose father was Edward, whose father was
Edmund Ironside, who was the son of Ethelred, who was the son of Edgar,
who was the son of Edmund, who was the son of Edward the Elder, who was
the son of Alfred.”[11]

In this manner the chronicler, who doubtless gave utterance to a common
feeling among Englishmen, manages to drop out of view almost entirely
the Norman dukes, who had overrun and subjugated the land for more than
one hundred and fifty years, and whose yoke had been felt to be indeed
an iron one. Among those sovereigns there had been some men of talent
and prowess, and one or two of good and upright intentions; but the
general character of their rule had been hard and despotic. “The people
were oppressed; they rebelled, were subdued, and oppressed again.

After a few years they sank in despair, and yielded to the indignities
of a small body of strangers without resistance. The very name of
Englishman was turned into a reproach; their language, and even the
character in which it was written, were rejected as barbarous. During
a hundred years, none of their race were raised to any dignity in the
State or the Church.”[12] The old “Saxon Chronicle” tells us how the
Norman soldiers “filled the land with castles,—forcing the poor people
to toil in their erection; and then, when these fortresses were built,
they filled them with devils and wicked men. They took those whom they
supposed to have any goods, and shut them up, and inflicted on them
unutterable tortures.”

The dawn of a better state of things was seen, when, in 1204, under the
weakest and worst of all these alien despots, Normandy was separated
from England. To the Norman knights who had settled upon their English
possessions acquired by the sword, this separation must have seemed
a dire calamity, but to Englishmen it was the reverse. England rose
once more to the rank of an independent kingdom. Her sovereigns,
Norman dukes no longer, must henceforward be really kings of England
if they would be anything; and thus Henry III., born at Winchester,
and living all his life in England, came to feel for the land and the
people far differently from any of his progenitors. He was a prince,
too, who, with many faults, had some real virtues. He was kind‐hearted
and liberal. He was, too, the first of his race who knew by experience
the value of home affections. From the Conqueror downwards, all the
Norman kings had been men of license, and their households the abodes
of jealousy, hatred, heart‐burnings, and conspiracies. Henry III. was a
faithful husband and an affectionate father; and he owed it to these
virtues that, after many errors and many follies, he descended at last
into a quiet and not unhonoured grave. The first of all the Conqueror’s
descendants to feel himself merely “king of England,” he was the first,
also, to desire to gain the good will of the English people, and the
first to stand before them as one knowing the value and the duties of
an English home. Henry had married a woman of talent, one who stands
high in mental rank among English queens. One of our old chroniclers
speaks of her as

  “The erle’s daughter of Provence; the fairest May of life:
  Her name is Helianore, of gentle nurture;
  Beyond the seas there was none such creature.”

A poem from her pen is said to be preserved in the Royal library of
Turin; and it is in this reign that we first hear of a poet laureate in
England. It was probably from his consort, to whom he was all his life
devotedly attached, that Henry learned that fondness for the arts and
that cultivated taste which are often discernible in his proceedings.
Painting and architecture, as well as poetry, always interested him.
Over the Confessor’s tomb he resolved to raise a noble edifice; and
to that resolve we owe the Abbey Church of Westminster. Several of
our finest ecclesiastical buildings were commenced about this time,
and it is now that the Norman style of architecture disappears, and
the early English comes in its room. Both the Temple Church, and the
great cathedral of St. Paul which perished in the fire of London, were
upreared in Henry’s reign. There can be no doubt that his liberal
and often lavish expenditure on objects of this kind was one among
the various causes of that long series of pecuniary troubles and
embarrassments, which brought upon him all the chief disasters of
his reign. Thus, in passing through Paris in 1255, Henry thought that
it became him to give a banquet to the French king and his nobles,
at which banquet twenty‐five dukes, twelve bishops, and eighteen
countesses, with a host of illustrious knights, were present; and the
next day he sent to his distinguished guests, at their dwellings,
“rich cups, gold clasps, silken belts, and other princely presents.”
And very naturally, the chronicler next tells us that he landed at
Dover oppressed with a burden of debt, which he himself described as
“horrible to think of.” Then followed exactions, forced loans, and
applications to a “great council” for aid;—mutual reproaches, disputes,
and at last a civil war.

But we must return to our subject—the earlier years of Henry’s
distinguished son. Edward’s childhood appears to have been spent
principally at Windsor. In his third year, 1242, we find an order in
these terms: “Pay out of our treasury, to Hugh Giffard and William
Brun, £200, for the support of Edward our son, and the attendants
residing with him at our castle of Windsor.”[13] Four years later,
Matthew Paris notices the death of this Hugh Giffard, whom he calls
“a nobleman of the household, and preceptor to the princes.” In the
following year, prince Edward was seized with a dangerous illness, and
the king wrote to all the religious houses near London, requesting
their prayers for his recovery.

Of Hugh Giffard’s successor we find no record; but as the prince’s
education now became a matter of importance, we may be sure that a
competent instructor was provided. Two very able men are found in
habits of friendship with him through life, and it is probable that
one or both of them had a share in his early training. Robert Burnel
was the prince’s chaplain and private secretary, and he and Anthony
Beck accompanied Edward in his expedition to Palestine, and were named
executors in the will made at Acre, in 1271, after the attempt on his
life. Burnel afterwards became chancellor and bishop of Bath and Wells,
and Anthony Beck received the bishopric of Durham. But whoever it was
that gave to Edward’s mind its earliest bent and bias, he has a right
to our sincere respect and gratitude.

High and noble principles, both of religion and morals, are exhibited
in every act and word of his after life. He was at all times
devout; frequent in pilgrimages, religious retirements, and similar
observances, and fond of using scripture language and citing scripture
precedents: yet there was nothing of the monk or the ascetic about him.
Throughout his life he was pre‐eminently a man of action, but in every
action recollections of duty and principles of rectitude were always
perceptible.

Young Edward begins now to be spoken of as a youth of fine stature,
often described as “Edward with the flaxen hair.” The king showed great
fondness for him, and evidently felt a natural pride in his son. Long
before the youth could be competent for such a post, he endeavoured to
make him the lieutenant or governor of Gascony, and involved himself
in quarrels both with his brother Richard the earl of Cornwall, and
with earl Simon, by these attempts. He was at last obliged to go over
to Gascony to arrange these quarrels, which had arisen from his own
imprudence; and we read of his embarkation at Portsmouth on the 6th of
August, 1253, when we are told “the prince, after his father had kissed
and wept over him at parting, stood sobbing on the shore, and would
not leave it so long as a sail could be seen.” The deep and ardent
affection which subsisted in both father and son, is visible in many
other incidents of the following twenty years, and it constitutes an
important feature in Edward’s character.

Henry, when in Gascony, had an object in view beyond the adjustment of
the existing differences. He sent two of his confidential servants, the
bishop of Bath and John Mansel his minister, into Spain, to propose to
king Alfonso the Wise a marriage between Alfonso’s young sister Eleanor
and his son Edward. By this marriage certain claims which the Spanish
king had, or was supposed to have, on Gascony, were to be adjusted;
such claims being made over to Eleanor as a kind of dowry. A treaty on
this basis was made, sealed with gold, and brought over to England,
where it is now preserved among our ancient records.

The Castilian monarch, however, with the stateliness and dignity of
his nation, claimed that Edward “should be sent to him, that he might
examine into his skill and knowledge, and confer knighthood upon
him.” The queen of England resolved to visit Alfonso with her son,
and personally to assist at the betrothal. She reached Burgos, with
the young Edward, on the 5th of August, 1254. Alfonso was pleased and
satisfied, and we know, from the after history, that the two persons
most interested in the question became sincerely attached to each
other. Throughout a wedded life of six‐and‐thirty years, we observe
the prince and princess scarcely ever separated. When Edward goes to
Palestine, Eleanor accompanies him; when a painful operation is to
be performed, she can only by force be removed from the apartment.
Wherever he journeys she is ever by his side: when fever seizes her, he
is her faithful attendant; and when at last the tomb must receive her,
he will give her such honours and follow her with such grief, as few
women of the most exalted rank or character have ever been the occasion
of.

The prince and princess reached England in the autumn of 1255, and
took up their abode in the palace of the Savoy. In the following year,
Edward’s sister, the young queen of Scotland, paid them a visit, and
the palace of Woodstock became the scene of royal festivity;—Oxford and
all the neighbouring villages being filled with distinguished guests.

The king had professed to give his son, on his marriage, the government
of Gascony and of Ireland, and the earldom of Chester, guaranteeing
to him a revenue of 15,000 marks, or £10,000, which would be equal to
£150,000 in the present day. But with these great revenues still larger
expenses accrued. In 1257, the Welsh, always unruly, made an inroad
into the English counties on the border, and the king, when appealed
to, threw upon Edward the task of restoring order. The prince was
obliged to borrow of his uncle, the earl of Cornwall, a sum of 4000
marks, and he began to organize a military force. But the Welsh, who
were fond of marauding expeditions into England, were too numerous to
be kept in order by a few hundred horsemen; and the prince began to
understand by painful experience, how unsatisfactory and how injurious
to both countries was the existing state of the relations between Wales
and England.

We shall not dwell upon the last eighteen years of Henry’s reign—years
of trouble, disgrace, dissension, and civil war. The young prince took
just that part in these painful transactions which might have been
expected of him. He was sincerely attached to his father; he was also
a firm supporter and assertor of the royal rights; but his ruling
principle through life was an inflexible adherence to rectitude;—a
resolve to do justice alike to all men.

Hence he could not approve or maintain many of his father’s
proceedings. As early as the period at which we have arrived,
differences arose between the father and the son on these questions.
Henry had professed to make his son the lieutenant or governor of
Gascony. Yet the king’s officers still continued to seize, for the
king’s use, quantities of wine at Bordeaux. The Gascons appealed to the
prince, and he went to the king to claim redress for them. He told his
father plainly that he would not tolerate such proceedings. “The king,”
says the chronicler, “with a sigh exclaimed, ‘My own flesh and blood
assail me; the times of my grandfather, whose children fought against
him, are returning!’” But the prince felt assured of the justice of the
cause he had espoused; he was firm, and Henry was compelled to promise
that these acts of oppression should cease.

This same sort of struggle between the rights of the people and the
assumed privileges or encroachments of the crown, now began to grow
into a serious and prolonged strife in England. One historian remarks,
that “It was not that Henry was by inclination a vicious man; he
had received strong religious impressions; though fond of parade,
he avoided every scandalous excess; and his charity to the poor and
attention to public worship were deservedly admired. But his judgment
was weak, and his will, it must be added, was often at the command of
others.”

He had also the disadvantage of committing faults and falling into
errors, in the presence of one who was well qualified to take advantage
of both.

Simon de Montfort was one of the greatest among the great Norman
knights of that age. It has been well said of this remarkable class
of men, that “The ideal perfection of the knight‐errant was to wander
from land to land in quest of renown; _to gain earldoms, kingdoms, nay,
empires, by the sword_, and to sit down a settler on his acquisitions,
without looking back on the land which gave him life. Every soil was
his country; and he was indifferent to feelings and prejudices which
promote in others patriotic attachments.”[14]

The earls Simon de Montfort, grandfather, father and son, were
pre‐eminently soldiers of this class. In 1165 Simon the Bald obtained
in marriage a daughter of Blanchmaines, earl of Leicester, and his
son and grandson always put forward a claim to that earldom. The son
of Simon the Bald went to France, took up the crusade against the
Albigenses, and died count of Toulouse. One of his sons, calling
himself “earl of Leicester,” came to England and gained, some said
clandestinely, the affections of the princess Eleanor, daughter of king
John, and sister of Henry III. Thus connected with the royal family,
we find him, all through the middle portion of this century, either
trusted and employed by the king, or else heading a combination of the
barons against him. He became at last a popular leader, admired and
sometimes almost idolized by the people; and when he died, he was held
by them to have been a martyr to their cause. We are scarcely able to
form a decided opinion of his whole character. Some of his later acts
are not reconcilable with the obligations of loyalty to his sovereign,
who was also, by marriage, his relation; but we must admit that the
difficulties of his position were considerable. The most favourable
feature in the case is, that this great soldier seems to have possessed
and valued the friendship of Grosstête, “holy bishop Robert,” who is,
perhaps, the purest and brightest character presented to us in the
records of that day.

Up to a certain point the prince concurred with the discontented
faction among the barons, and with earl Simon their leader, whose
consort was his aunt. But, as we might have anticipated, when their
plans and purposes began to border upon treason, Edward, whose
affection for his father never varied, soon withdrew from their
society. “The Barons’ war,” as it has been called, lasted from 1258 to
1265. “A concilium,” held in London in the first of these years, led to
a much larger and more important assembly at Oxford about Midsummer.
The barons came to that city with great numbers of armed retainers, and
forced from the king an assent to “the provisions of Oxford,” which
did, in effect, put the royal authority “into commission,” or share
it with a selected number of great lords. The prince, we are told,
“being brought to it with great difficulty, at last submitted himself
to the ordinance and provision of the barons.” He saw, we cannot
doubt, the degradation of the royal authority which was implied in
those provisions; but he saw no available way of escape. He consented,
therefore, though unwillingly; but a pledge once given was, with him, a
solid reality.

Through life, the motto which, doubtless by his own command, was
afterwards inscribed upon his tomb, was his constant rule: _Pactum
serva_. Having entered into an engagement, he would adhere to it.
Accordingly, we find that in 1259 the poor king was alarmed by rumours
that the prince and the barons were confederating for his dethronement.
One chronicler tells us that certain evil advisers created distrust
between the father and the son; and that when the prince would have
vindicated himself, the king exclaimed, “Let him not approach me, for
if I were to see him, I should not be able to help kissing him.”[15]
Such was the affection which had always existed between the two.

But again we find, about a year later, that the uprightness of the
prince, and his adherence to his engagements, created a new difference
between Henry and his son. Matthew of Westminster tells us, that
“Edward, receiving full information concerning the king’s vain counsels
and counsellors, became enraged against the latter, and withdrew
himself from his father’s sight, and in all good faith declared his
adherence to the barons, in conformity with his oath. The king shut
himself up with his evil advisers in the Tower, and Edward remaining
outside with the barons, things assumed a threatening aspect.”

Two years of fluctuating prospects and of great trouble followed. But
Edward began to see, on the part of earl Simon, designs which he could
not possibly approve or tolerate. The earl, on one occasion, actually
threatened Windsor Castle; and when the prince agreed to meet him at
Kingston to confer upon the position of affairs, the earl “was too
circumspect to allow him to get into Windsor again.” He “detained the
prince” until, to regain his liberty, he consented to surrender the
royal fortress to the earl.

Such proceedings as this must have alienated the prince from earl Simon
and the barons; and at last, in 1263, it was agreed that all questions
should be submitted to king Louis of France (St. Louis), to whose
decision all parties bound themselves to conform. At the commencement
of 1264, Louis held a great court, and heard the arguments on both
sides; and then, by his final sentence on the 23rd of January, he
“annulled and made void the provisions of Oxford,” and discharged all
persons from any obligations to the same.

At last, then, the prince was morally and legally at liberty. The
obligation by which he had so long felt bound was at an end; but earl
Simon and the discontented barons refused to abide by their engagement.
They had sworn that “whatsoever the king of France should ordain
concerning the matters in dispute they would faithfully observe,” but
when the decision was against them, they refused to submit to it. From
this moment Edward takes his place by his father’s side. Hostilities
commenced in April, 1264, and in May a battle was fought at Lewes. The
prince defeated the forces opposed to him, but earl Simon broke up and
dispersed the centre and left wing of the royal army, and forced the
king to shut himself up in the Priory of Lewes. Edward, to extricate
his father, agreed to terms; and for a time both the king and the
prince were in a sort of honourable captivity, attended everywhere by
earl Simon, who now acted in the king’s name, and did, in almost every
matter, merely what he pleased.[16]

This state of things lasted about a year, when at last the prince
escaped from the guards whom earl Simon had placed around him, was
joined by the earl of Gloucester and Roger Mortimer, and once more
raised the royal standard. At Evesham, in August, 1265, the final
struggle took place. Earl Simon, seven lords of his party, and one
hundred and sixty knights, perished, and “the Barons’ war” was ended. A
year or two was required to restore tranquillity; but during the rest
of Henry’s life, which lasted seven years longer, the realm was for the
most part at peace.

A parliament was held at Marlborough in 1267, for the settlement of
questions arising out of the civil war. And now, seeing the country
again in tranquillity, Edward listened to the earnest entreaties of
Louis of France, and consented to accompany him on the last great
Crusade.

He embarked at Portsmouth in the spring of 1270, accompanied by his
faithful Eleanor. The princess was with him when, at Acre, his life
was attempted by an assassin. The romantic story of her extraction of
the poison from the wound with her own lips, is not found in authentic
history; but one chronicler narrates how, when a painful operation
became necessary, the surgeon requested Edward’s brother and the lord
de Vesci to carry the princess away;“so she was carried out, weeping
and crying aloud.”

The support of the French army failing him, Edward quitted Palestine
in July, 1272, and at Sicily he met the news of his father’s death
and of his own accession to the crown of England. The king of Sicily
was surprised at the grief which these news excited—a grief more
poignant and more visible than that caused by an earlier despatch which
mentioned the death of one of Edward’s children. The prince made the
natural reply, that other children might replace the one which he had
lost, but that he never could have another father. The warm and sincere
affection which always subsisted between these two very different men,
is proved by incidents which meet us at every turn; and our estimate of
king Henry’s character is considerably raised by the fervour and the
permanence of his son’s attachment to him.

Of Edward’s own character we have already seen something. In two chief
characteristics, it is fully developed long before he reaches the royal
dignity. He was in a more than ordinary degree a man who could love,
and who was beloved. His father, his mother, his wife, his friends,
were the objects of his unvarying attachment. This feature of his life
is constantly apparent.

But he was also a man of honour and of integrity. He looked, in all
matters, more to the question of _right_ than to that of _expediency_.
Born to wear a crown, he was careful to do nothing to diminish the
royal dignity; but not even for the maintenance of his father’s
privileges, would he do that which he did not believe to be just and
right; and, above all things, the one principle, _Pactum serva_, was
never to be departed from. A prince’s word, once given, must be held
sacred. One other feature in his character is noted by the historians
of his day. He was of an irascible temper, easily excited to anger;
but his anger might be as quickly calmed as it was aroused. Walsingham
tells us how, on one occasion, the prince was amusing himself with his
hawks, and one of the lords in attendance overlooked a falcon which
had made a stoop on a duck among the willows. The prince spoke sharply
to him, and the other answered, with some pertness, that “he was glad
the river was between them.” In a moment Edward had plunged into the
stream, and was urging his horse up the opposite bank, in pursuit of
the offender. But the attendant, knowing with whom he had to deal,
flung off his cap, bared his neck, and threw himself on the prince’s
mercy. Edward’s wrath was gone in a moment, he sheathed his weapon,
gave instant forgiveness, and the two rode home in perfect amity
together.

In like manner, while engaged in the pacification of the country after
“the Barons’ war,” he found, in a forest in Hampshire, a noted captain
of free‐lances, one Adam Gordon, or Gourdon, whose deeds made him
the terror of all the country round. The prince sought him out, and
met with him one evening when he and his followers were returning to
their fastnesses. Edward at once singled Gordon out, and engaged him
in single combat. Both being skilled in arms, and of tried valour, the
contest was an arduous one. At last Gordon was wounded, and yielded
himself. Edward respected his valour and his knightly prowess, received
his submission, had his wounds attended to, took him into his favour,
and presented him that night to his mother, the queen, at Guildford
Castle. Gordon proved faithful, and remained long attached to Edward’s
service.

A similar clemency marked all Edward’s proceedings. To “seek his grace”
was always to find it. The few exceptions, in his whole life, are those
of men who had “broken covenant,” and proved false and treacherous
after confidence had been placed in them. Even Hume, generally
unfriendly to Edward, is obliged to confess of the pacification which
followed the victory of Evesham, that “The clemency of this victory is
remarkable. No blood was shed on the scaffold; no attainders, except of
the Montfort family, were carried into execution.”

And if we examine his conduct through life with an unprejudiced eye,
we shall find this attribute of clemency—a very uncommon one in those
days—distinctly perceptible in all his proceedings. A firm and resolute
and warm‐tempered man, he could sometimes punish; but his general rule
of conduct was once expressed by himself in a hasty exclamation: “_May_
pardon him! Why, I will do that for a dog, if he seeks my grace!”


Footnotes:

  [10] Henry I. at Selby, Richard I. at Oxford, and Henry III. at
  Winchester.

  [11] Florence of Worcester, A.D. 1239.

  [12] Macaulay.

  [13] Devon’s Issues of the Exchequer, p. 18.

  [14] Walter Scott’s Hist. of Scotland, vol. i., p. 68.

  [15] “Annals of Dunstable.”

  [16] The Chronicle of Mailros describes a messenger coming to Edward
  from his sister, the queen of Scotland; and tells how earl Simon
  took care to be present, observing every word and gesture that
  passed between the two.




II.

ACCESSION TO THE THRONE—EDWARD’S EARLIEST PROCEEDINGS.


The death of Henry III. took place in Westminster on the 16th of
November, 1272, and he was buried on the 20th, in front of the great
altar in that noble church, on the uprearing of which he had lavished
so much treasure. At the close of the funeral, earl Warenne, the earl
of Gloucester, and all the chief of the clergy and laity there present,
went forward to the high altar, and swore fealty to king Edward.
Three guardians or regents immediately entered upon the government
of the realm—namely Edmund, the king’s cousin, son of the late earl
of Cornwall, brother of Henry III.; Walter, the archbishop of York;
and Gilbert, earl of Gloucester. No difficulty of any kind appears to
have occurred; the submission of all classes was entire; and we may
assume that a regular correspondence was at once established between
the regents and the king. We find him showing no signs of haste, but
remaining abroad until sundry matters of importance were arranged, and
then taking his journey homewards with royal state and deliberation.

He was in Sicily when the tidings of his father’s death reached him.
Before his visit to the pope had terminated, he was known throughout
Italy to be king of England; and as he proceeded homewards through
Northern Italy, he met with a royal reception in many of the cities;
the people coming forth to receive him with processions, and blowing
of trumpets, and acclamations of “Long live king Edward.” At Chalons
a grand tournament had been prepared for him; which, however, was
not without sinister design; “the Burgundians bargaining over their
wine‐cups, for some days before, for the horses and armour of the
English knights, whom they confidently reckoned on overcoming.”[17] The
English, however, were not overcome. The gigantic count of Chalons,
failing to dismount Edward, tried, by main force, to pull him from his
horse; but he was thrown to the ground, chastised, and made to give up
his sword. Ill blood and exasperation arose; the English had to fight
their way out of the town; and the tournament was remembered as “the
little battle of Chalons.”

Edward next visited the king of France, and did homage for his French
possessions. Passing into Gascony, he found it needful to subdue and
bring into subjection a fractious noble, Gaston de Bierne. Thence he
proceeded to the courts of the countess of Limousin and the countess
of Flanders, with each of whom he had business to transact. At last,
in July, 1274, he set his face towards England, landing on the 2nd of
August at Dover. The two great earls, Warenne and Gloucester, were
awaiting his arrival, and he became, in turn, the guest of each, at
their castles of Reigate and Tunbridge. Meantime, preparations were
making for his immediate coronation; and, on the 19th, this ceremony
took place. In the abbey‐church of Westminster Edward and Eleanor were
crowned king and queen of England by Robert Kilwardby, archbishop of
Canterbury. There were present, besides all the great men of the realm,
Edward’s two brothers by marriage—Alexander, king of Scotland, and
John, duke of Bretagne—with their consorts, the sisters of the king.
On the following day, king Alexander of Scotland paid his accustomed
homage.[18]

The ceremony was attended with many circumstances of rejoicing and
exhibitions of munificence. While the nobles and citizens made
the conduits flow with wine and the streets gleam with tapestry,
scattering silver in handfuls, the princes showed a royal liberality.
King Alexander of Scotland, “when the king was seated on his throne,
came to do him worship, and with him an hundred knights, mounted and
accoutered; and when they had lighted off their horses, they let the
horses go, and they that could catch them, had them for their own
behoof. And after these came Sir Edmund, the king’s brother, and with
him the earl of Gloucester; and after them the earl of Pembroke and the
earl Warenne, and each of these led an hundred knights, who, when they
alighted, let their horses go, and they that could take them had them
to their liking.”

The feast was a right royal one. We shall find, throughout Edward’s
reign, that none ever practised a truer or a wiser economy. His habits
were simple and plain, his household well regulated. A friend once
expressed wonder at the plainness of his dress. His answer was, “And
what good, think you, would fine clothes do me?” But he well understood
his royal estate and office. When he had to come before the people as
their king, his doings were always kingly. The coronation‐banquet was a
noble one. New buildings were erected in the court‐yard of Westminster,
to accommodate the guests; and the provision made shows how numerous
these guests must have been. The details are still preserved, and we
find that the principal items were—“380 oxen, 430 sheep, 450 pigs, 18
wild boars, 278 flitches, and nearly 20,000 fowls.” Such a prodigious
supply was not provided for one day’s festival; the feast was prolonged
through a whole fortnight. Edward’s friends and chief counsellors, such
as Anthony Beck and Robert Burnel, were churchmen; and we find, in
every part of his personal history, frequent reference to Old Testament
precedents. In the present instance they seem to have followed a
notable example—“At that time Solomon held a feast fourteen days.”—1
Kings viii. 65.

And now Edward was on his throne,—was dwelling in his palace, ruling
over the people of England. The work before him was an arduous one; his
chief advisers were men suited to the times; and his own strength of
purpose, sagacity, and perseverance were precisely what the land needed
at that peculiar juncture.

England had long been in a state of extreme disorder, and it required
a clear head and a strong right arm, to bring it into a condition of
health, and comfort, and security.

One change of vast moment, indeed, had been effected in the course of
the protracted reign which had just ended. From the time of William
until the end of the reign of John, during one hundred and fifty years,
the people had felt that they were under the yoke of alien lords. The
Normans, men of iron, people of another land, and who spoke another
language, ruled over them; but the half‐century of Henry’s reign
gradually lightened, and at last removed the weight of this oppression.

The two races, Saxon and Norman, began to know a real amalgamation.
In the eleventh and twelfth centuries, “those Saxon swine” was the
usual appellation employed by a Norman knight when speaking of the
people of the land; and, “Do you take me for an Englishman?” his form
of indignant disclaimer. In the thirteenth, we find both Normans and
Saxons agreed in a league to expel “all foreigners.” And thus it was
that, at last, “in the thirteenth century, the great English people
was formed.”[19] A nation more warlike and more enterprising than the
Saxons, and more fond of home life and of personal liberty than the
Normans, gradually appeared. It was in Henry’s reign that the English
tongue, and the English desire for laws suited for free men, began to
be seen and heard: but that weak though well‐meaning sovereign was not
a leader or a ruler who could direct his subjects in such a path as
this.

The order and the governance of law scarcely existed in Henry’s reign.
When the sovereign needed corn or wine, or any other commodity, his
usual course was to seize it. On one occasion he angrily asked of his
earl marshal, “Cannot I send and seize your corn, and thresh and sell
it?” “And cannot I send you the heads of the threshers?” was the earl’s
angry reply.

One of the judges, accused of corrupt practices, came to court to
defend himself, attended by armed friends, one of whom offered wager of
battle. The king, exceedingly enraged, publicly declared, that “if any
one would kill Henry of Bath, (the judge,) he should have pardon for
the crime!” When even the bench of justice was thus occupied by violent
and corrupt men, it is no wonder that we hear that “the whole county of
Hampshire swarmed with felons and murderers,” or to find that “the king
himself was obliged to hold a court of justice at Winchester, trying
and sentencing the offenders, many of whom were wealthy, and some of
them his own servants.”

Several years after this, we find one of the greatest nobles in the
land setting an example of disorder. Matthew Paris narrates how, “in
consequence of some hasty words which passed between them, John de
Warenne, earl of Surrey, slew with his own hand, in Westminster Hall,
Alan de la Zouch, the king’s justiciary.” Probably, had Henry been at
that time without assistance, this outrage, committed by so potent a
nobleman, would have escaped retribution; but the prince was now at
his right hand. Collecting a sufficient force, Edward pursued the earl
to Reigate, besieged his castle, brought him to London a prisoner,
tried him, and only spared his life, after much deliberation, in
consideration of an enormous fine, equal to £100,000 of our present
money.

Nor was violence, even of the extremest kind, a privilege of the nobles
only. In July, 1263, during the excitement of “the Barons’ war,” queen
Eleanor desired to leave her residence in the Tower of London, and to
remove to Windsor Castle; but as her barge approached London Bridge,
she found that it was occupied by a crowd of earl Simon’s adherents,
who assailed her with cries of the grossest abuse, among which, “Drown
the witch!” was one of the mildest. Huge stones, as well as all kinds
of filth, were hurled at the barge, and the queen was glad to accept
of the protection of the mayor, who conveyed her to the house of the
bishop of London. Not many months after, when a body of these Londoners
took part in the battle of Lewes, prince Edward rejoiced to avenge
these insults, and to drive them in confusion at the spear’s point off
the field.

But more than ten years had passed since these calamitous times, and
most of those years had been spent in peace. No voices but those of
acclamation now greeted Edward and his queen in their progress through
the metropolis; and we may easily believe, without any violent stretch
of the imagination, that among the London citizens who partook of
the coronation‐banquet in 1274, there were many who, in the rawness
of their youth, had crowded London Bridge to cast stones at Edward’s
mother, and had fled before his vehement charge on the downs at Lewes
in 1264.

Such was the realm of England, and such was its state and condition,
over which Edward was now called to rule. It needed such a regulator,
such an organizer; and he, perhaps, could hardly have found anywhere a
better raw material out of which to build up a nation.

To him, in some measure, we owe the production and the formation of the
men who fought and conquered at Crécy, Poictiers, and Agincourt; but
we should be lothe to indicate this as his chief glory. We deem the
work performed in his reign in establishing law, and in giving England
a free legislature, to have been far more noble, far more glorious,
than the achievement of brilliant but barren victories on distant
battle‐fields.

England needed, most of all, at that peculiar conjuncture, precisely
what, in Edward, God gave to her, “a legislative mind.” The king seems
to have entirely appreciated the necessities and the difficulties
of his position; and to have applied himself to the great task, of
bringing everything into order, and of establishing the dominion of
wise and equitable laws.

At the same time we must not forget, that such a work, and one
embracing such a variety of details, could not have been performed by
any single mind or single hand. Edward must have been aided by one or
more of the most sound and competent of advisers. We cannot doubt that
in Robert Burnel he had found such an assistant. And it is, perhaps,
the best proof of the perfect unity and harmony which always existed
between the king and his wise and able chancellor, that we find it
difficult to separate the one from the other. We cannot tell when the
king himself speaks, and when we are listening to his chancellor. We
find, indeed, sometimes, language so evidently personal, as to make
us feel that it must have been the king’s own; but at other times we
seem to hear the great lawyer, the jurist, who is fitly interpreting
his master’s will. Take, for instance, that noble opening of Edward’s
reign, which we find in the preamble of the first statute of his first
parliament:—

“Because our lord the king hath great desire to redress the state of
the realm in such things as require amendment, for the common profit
of the holy church and of the realm; and because the state of the holy
church hath been evil kept, and the people otherwise entreated than
they ought to be; and the peace less kept, and the laws less used, and
offenders less punished than they ought to be—the king hath ordained by
his council, and by the assent of archbishops, bishops, earls, barons,
and all the commonalty of the realm, these acts under written, which he
intendeth to be necessary and profitable to the whole realm.”

We cannot doubt that this high and kingly purpose was truly Edward’s;
but we may with equal reason believe, that this right royal declaration
came immediately from the pen of Robert Burnel.

There is, however, another feature of this reign which ought never to
be overlooked. To frame good laws is a great merit in a ruler; but it
is a still higher merit to devise and to create a legislature. And
this is, in fact, the principal achievement of this sagacious and
high‐minded sovereign.

Until his time the nation, at least for centuries, had known no such
thing as a law‐making, still less a representative, body. Under the
Norman kings, from A.D. 1066 to 1216, every now and then, “great
councils” were held. The military despot who sat upon the throne, often
found it convenient and necessary to summon together his barons, the
great captains of his Norman soldiery, to ask an aid or contribution
from them. But nothing like the construction of a law is ever heard of
in these assemblies. At last, towards the end of the reign of John,
“Magna Charta” is extracted from him; but this is not so much a statute
as a treaty, dictated at the sword’s point by his armed barons.

Then followed the fifty‐six years of Henry’s reign. In the first forty
years of this reign, several “great councils” were held, usually, as
in Norman times, to consult about “granting the king an aid.” Once
in 1236, we find “The provisions of Merton,” which commences “It was
provided in the court of our lord the king.” In the same year we find a
“royal ordinance” concerning Ireland; and twenty years later, in 1256,
“a provision for leap year,” also a “royal ordinance.”

About this time the chroniclers begin to borrow the term “parliament”
from France, and we hear that “a parliament was held at Oxford,” at
which the barons dictated to the king certain “provisions,” which were
afterwards cancelled and set aside by king Louis of France.

Seven years after this, earl Simon, in the king’s name, summonses a
meeting in Westminster, and, as many of the nobles kept aloof from
him, so that only five earls and seventeen barons were called to this
“concilium,” he orders the sheriffs to send knights from the counties,
and burgesses from certain towns, so as to form a sufficiently numerous
body. But the earl’s object was merely to dictate certain terms to the
king. No such thought as that of a legislature—an assembly for agreeing
upon necessary laws—is anywhere to be perceived.

After the death of earl Simon, we hear of “a concilium” at Kenilworth;
which, like earl Simon’s parliament, is only a council for agreeing
upon certain terms, between the king on the one part and the barons on
the other. These terms are embodied in “the Dictum of Kenilworth.”

But at last the realm is quieted; king Henry is once more at peace
upon his throne, and his son, now arrived at the full manhood of his
twenty‐eighth year, is naturally the guide as well as the protector of
his weak though well‐meaning father. And now, in the year 1267, all
enemies and all perils having vanished, and the king and the prince
being left to their own free will, we hear, doubtless from Edward’s
lips, words, which for two centuries at least, had never been used
in this realm of England. The first document we possess, bearing the
name of a “Statute,” is “the Statute of Marlborough,” and of this, the
opening sentences run thus:—

“Our lord the king, providing for the better estate of his realm of
England, and for the more speedy ministration of justice, as belongeth
to the office of a king; the more discreet men of the realm being
called together, as well of the higher as of the lower degree; it was
provided, agreed, and ordained,” etc.

Here we have the first rough sketch or outline of what we now call “the
British Constitution.” This constitution, we are often told, was wrung
from the unwilling hands of successive sovereigns by the urgent demands
of the people, in times of royal exigency. With respect to some later
details, this may be true; but not less true is it, that the main and
general outline was freely given to the people by the “legislative
mind” of Edward, aided by his great chancellor, Robert Burnel.

Four hundred years after Edward’s day we had a philosopher in England,
John Locke, who had read and pondered much, and who explained to us
that the very nature of a civilized and free society is “to have a
standing rule to live by, common to every one of that society, and made
by the legislative power erected in it.” The very object, he adds, “of
civil society is to authorize a legislature to make laws for us, as the
public good shall require.” These principles, as we have said, arose in
John Locke’s mind, in the course of study and cogitation. But several
centuries before this, the same thoughts had occurred to an English
prince, to whom “study,” as we understand the word, was impossible,
and who must have owed these conclusions, in a large measure, to that
sagacity and true nobility of soul with which God had endowed him. Yet
we ought not to overlook the fact, that in Edward’s youth one of the
earliest of our great lawyers, Bracton, had thus written:—

“The king ought not to be subject to man, but to God, and to the law;
for the law maketh the king. Let the king, therefore, render to the law
what the law hath invested in him with regard to others, dominion and
power; for he is not truly king where will and pleasure rule, and not
the law.” And again, “The king also hath a superior, namely, God, and
also the law, by which he was made a king.”

Just while Edward was rising into early manhood, did this great lawyer
appear, and the probability surely approaches to something like a
certainty, that Robert Burnel had been a student of Bracton’s writings,
had felt the truth and force of the above words, and had made the young
prince acquainted with those invaluable pages.

Edward’s coronation had taken place in August. His four years’ absence
on the Continent must have occasioned an accumulation of matters
needing regulation; his castles and palaces, his forests and royal
domains, would require to be visited and brought into order. A new
state of things must be established. We see immediately an important
change in the “Exchequer Issues.” In Henry’s reign, we read: “To
Humphrey de Rohan, earl of Hereford, £120 for 50 casks of wine, _taken
from him_ by Imbert Pugeis (a soldier), for the king’s use.” “To Gerard
de Bosco, a merchant of Bordeaux, 70 marks, for 20 casks of wine
_taken from him_ for the queen’s use.” But on Edward’s accession these
seizures disappear, and the entries run thus, “To Raymund de Alemaunt,
of Bordeaux, £46 13s. for 20 casks of wine, _purchased from him_, for
the king’s use, by Gregory de Rokesle and Matthew de Columbius, the
king’s butlers.”

The royal revenues and the royal expenditure were now, for the
first time for a century, to be brought into order and under proper
regulation. Christmas would naturally approach, long before all this
business could be despatched, and it is not surprising that, however he
may have desired it, Edward found it impossible to convene his first
parliament earlier than the February of 1275.

In that month—the same which, in modern times, has been found the
most suitable and convenient, did this first of English parliaments
assemble.[20] And when the clerk, sitting at the chancellor Burnel’s
feet, took pen in hand to record its proceedings, his entry ran in the
following terms:—

“These be the acts of king Edward, made at Westminster, at the first
parliament‐general after his coronation; by his council, and by the
assent of archbishops, bishops, earls, barons, and all the commonalty
of the realm, thither summoned.”

Here we find, set forth rather more fully, the same idea and purpose
which we had seen expressed at Marlborough in 1267;—a legislature, a
council summoned for the purpose of making and establishing laws;
which council was not to consist of great barons only, or of barons and
prelates only, but, “of the lower as well as of the higher degree,” of
“bishops, earls, barons, _and all the commonalty of the realm_.”

This idea was, as yet, but vaguely expressed. In Edward’s after
years we shall see it more fully worked out, until the whole British
Constitution rises to completeness under his creative hand. In this
first attempt he merely recognizes the principle that the “lower degree
as well as the higher” ought to be present,—ought to be consulted. What
“the commonalty of the realm, hither summoned,” may mean, we cannot now
define with any certainty. The most probable view of the matter is,
that the London corporation, then fully existing and on the spot, was
invited to represent “the commonalty of the realm,” and did appear,
doubtless with awe and reverence, as a portion of the first parliament,
the first real legislature, that had been assembled in England in
Anglo‐Norman times.

But what was the work which this first “parliament of England” had to
do? And the answer to this question reveals to us the real greatness
of Edward’s wise counsellor. Robert Burnel, who had accompanied his
master to Palestine, and who had, at Acre, been named one of his
executors, seems to have been despatched to England, when the king,
on his homeward journey, was delayed by business in Gascony and in
Flanders. We find him in England, acting as one of the regents or
guardians of the realm, several months before the king landed at
Dover. He, doubtless, possessed his master’s entire confidence,
maintained a regular correspondence with him, and was fully occupied
in bringing all things into order, before Edward himself appeared
at Dover. To some such mind as this we owe it, that so soon as the
king had landed, and had conferred on two of his greatest nobles the
honour of a visit while passing from the coast to London, he found,
on reaching the metropolis, the whole ceremony of the coronation,
with its great banquet and rejoicings, only awaiting his arrival.
Can we see there assembled, awaiting the king’s arrival, the king
of Scotland, the duke of Bretagne, all the nobles of the land, with
their countless retinues; can we remark the new buildings prepared,
and the vast provision for the banquet, and all these and many other
preparations, all concentrating to one point, and all involving a large
expenditure—without acknowledging that in bringing such a variety of
affairs to a ripeness on a day before appointed, there is visible the
mind of a man of vast ability? All, at last, is in readiness. The
king arrives at Dover, passes on with kingly state and deliberation
to the castle of his greatest subject, the earl of Gloucester; then
to Reigate, to earl Warenne’s,—then to the metropolis, and to his own
palace of Westminster. He rests apparently but a single night, and then
proceeds from his palace into the abbey, and is at once crowned king.
And his very first act, after thus taking his rightful place, is, to
make his trusted friend and most able counsellor, Robert Burnel, the
chancellor of England.

To this great man, we doubtless owe that noble production, the “Statute
of Westminster.” In the five or six months which intervened before the
meeting of parliament; while the king was examining and regulating the
condition of his castles, palaces, establishments, and household, his
chancellor, looking forward to the great event which was to follow
immediately after Christmas, was occupied, we may safely assert,
with the preparation of the work of legislation; a work then to be
commenced, but never afterwards to be discontinued in this realm.

Parliaments, such as we now possess, were new things in England. The
“concilium,” or great council, which we find in Anglo‐Norman history,
was a gathering of earls, barons, and prelates, for the decision,
usually, of a simple question—most generally, of granting an aid to the
king. All through the long reign of Henry III., the idea that it was
necessary occasionally to meet for the purpose of making laws, never
once appears in any record. Of course parliaments holding protracted
sittings, for weeks or months together, were wholly unthought of.
Provision for the residence and maintenance of the prelates and barons
would have been difficult. All that was contemplated was, one meeting,
to do one thing and then to separate. Very naturally, therefore,
Chancellor Burnel, while he had discovered the need of several laws on
different subjects, combined his various reforms in one great statute.
Lord Campbell observes that, “The ‘Statute of Westminster’ deserves the
name of a code, rather than an act of parliament. Its object was, to
correct abuses, to supply defects, and to remodel the administration of
justice.” * * * “It protects the property of the church from violence
and spoliation; it provides for the freedom of popular elections; it
contains a strong declaration to enforce the enactments of ‘Magna
Charta’ against excessive fines; it enumerates and corrects the great
abuses of tenure, particularly with regard to the marriage of wards; it
regulates the levying of tolls; it corrects and restrains the power of
the king’s escheator, and other officers under the crown; it amends the
criminal law; it embraces the subject of procedure, both in civil and
criminal matters, introducing many regulations with a view to render it
cheaper, more simple, and more expeditious.”

This great measure was in fact the beginning of English legislation.
Up to this period, for centuries, the law of England had been a mere
tradition, an unwritten collection of rules and principles, handed down
from one generation to another, and deposited in the minds and memories
of the judges and students of law. Recollections and traditions of
Saxon laws, confirmed in “Magna Charta,” doubtless constituted its
substance. Such a traditionary code is now of great value, under
the name of “common law,” because it is expounded in books, and
administered by judges of known integrity. But in the days of which
we are speaking, books, _i.e._, manuscripts, were rare and of great
price, and the judges, as a rule, were corruptible. Hence, Burnel,
having observed and learned what provisions were chiefly needed,
began, in this first of parliaments, to apply the remedy of written
and authoritative law. A legislative system, worked by a new power; a
real legislature, meeting usually every year, but in some years twice
or thrice, began now to be known in England. This legislature, under
Edward’s watchful eye, was enlarged and strengthened from time to time,
until, before his reign had closed, we find it closely resembling the
parliament of our own day—consisting, in 1304, of “the prelates, nine
earls, ninety‐four barons, the knights of the shire, and the burgesses
sent by 159 towns.”

In the great “Statute of Westminster”—the beginning of our English
Statute law—there is one provision which, if the mind dwells upon it,
suggests many inquiries. It runs thus:—

“And because elections ought to be free, the king commandeth, upon
great forfeiture (_i.e._, penalties), that no man by force of arms,
nor by malice nor menacing, shall disturb (or hinder) any to make free
election.”

Almost six hundred years after, in the parliament now sitting, serious
and prolonged inquiries have been entered into, as to how “elections
can be free,” and how to provide that neither “by force of arms, nor by
menace” shall any be hindered from making a free choice or election.
Thus, after so many centuries of parliamentary legislation, we find
ourselves again trying to effect that which Edward and his great
chancellor commanded in the very first law that they placed upon our
statute‐book.

But does not the question naturally arise, “What were these elections
which Robert Burnel thus saw to need protective legislation?” After all
the violence and disorders of such reigns as those of Stephen, Richard,
and John, the idea of “a free election” seems a strange one to have
existed in this realm of England.

Yet elections there must have been, of two kinds. The Londoners had
preserved from days long preceding the Conquest, their “hustings,” both
name and thing, and one of the laws in use in the days of Edward the
Confessor, fixes the time for holding these meetings.

Henry I., a son of the Conqueror, again recognizes the London hustings
and the folk‐motes; and he grants the citizens the right of electing
and appointing a sheriff of Middlesex. And in various charters and
other records we find traces of elections frequently occurring in
the city of London. These elections, too, were liable, as now, to be
disturbed by force of arms and menaces. Several of the great barons and
prelates had their palaces or castles in or near the city. Baynard’s
Castle, in the days of king John, was the stronghold of Robert
Fitzwalter, castellan of the city, who doubtless lacked neither the
will nor the power greatly “to disturb free elections.” Mobs, too,
were frequent and unruly in those days. Fitz‐Albert, called Longbeard,
in 1196, had more than fifty thousand of the people at his command,
and at last fortified himself in Bow Church, whence he was taken and
executed. Still more recently, indeed, just about the time of the
holding this parliament of Westminster, a feud broke out in the city,
concerning the election of a mayor. The candidate properly chosen was
Philip le Taylour, but the mob insisted on having Walter Harvey. The
king was obliged to interfere, and to appoint a _custos_ of the city
until an election of mayor could be well and properly holden. This
fact, occurring very shortly after Edward’s arrival and coronation, of
itself explains the insertion of this clause in the statute. Doubtless,
also, the elections of “knights of the shire,” an institution which
dates from the two preceding reigns, would give occasion to many
disorders. The great men of a county would often attempt to carry the
election “by force of arms;” the populace would resist;“menacing” would
be heard on both sides; and complaints would reach the ear of the king
and his chancellor. Now both Edward and his great minister were upright
and honourable men. Being therefore engaged in the great work of
establishing the dominion of wise and equal laws, they insert in this
statute, which, as Lord Campbell says, “rather deserves the name of a
code,” this brief but pithy declaration: “And because elections ought
to be free, the king commandeth, under great penalties, that no man
disturb such elections, either by menaces or by force of arms.”

One other curious circumstance connected with this first parliament
of England deserves a mention. Edward always regarded himself as the
rightful champion and protector of his people in all just quarrels.
The countess of Flanders, in Henry’s old age, had taken the violent
course, upon some quarrel, of confiscating all English property in the
warehouses of Flanders. Edward on his way home heard of this, and
sent immediate orders to stop the export of wool; thus reducing the
manufactories of Flanders to a state of paralysis. He then met the son
of the countess and concluded a treaty, by which the English merchants
received full restitution. This settlement of the quarrel was received
in England with great satisfaction, and the parliament of Westminster
at once granted to the king a customs’ duty of half a mark on every
sack of wool exported, and a mark on every bale of leather. These
duties were recorded, in the spirit in which Edward always acted, as
“granted by the archbishops, bishops, earls, barons, and communitates
of the kingdom of England.” Always and on all occasions does the king
associate with himself in public acts, “the commonalty of the realm,
the lowest as well as the highest.”


Footnotes:

  [17] Hemingford.

  [18] The extent of this homage became a matter of negociation, and
  the question was not finally adjusted until some three or four
  years after.

  [19] Macaulay.

  [20] “The first mention of the term, ‘parliament,’” says Blackstone,
  “is in the preamble to the ‘Statute of Westminster,’ A.D. 1275.”




III.

THE FIRST SEVEN YEARS.


The key‐note struck by Bracton seems never to have ceased vibrating in
the minds of Edward and his chancellor. “Let the king render to the
law, what the law hath invested in him with regard to others, dominion
and power.” “The king hath a superior—namely, God—and also the law,
by which he was made a king.” Duty, the pressure of moral obligation,
is as constantly present in Edward’s mind as, six centuries after,
it was in the mind of Arthur Wellesley. We have seen it recognized
at Marlborough, in 1267, in his father’s day, when the Statute so
named is thus prefaced—“Our lord the king, providing for the better
estate of this realm, and for the more speedy administration of
justice, as _belongeth to the office of a king_,” etc. We find it
again in the opening of the Westminster Statute—“Because our lord the
king hath great desire to redress the state of the realm, in such
things as require amendment.” And a little later, in the “Statutes
of Gloucester,” we hear the same strain—“The king, providing for the
amendment of his realm, and for the fuller administration of justice,
as the _good of the kingly office requireth_,” etc.

Thus, from time to time, we hear from Edward’s lips the frank
confession, “I hold an office, and that office has its duties; let me
look to it that those duties are rightly discharged.” He proceeds,
after the great “Parliament of Westminster, 1275,” to enter in earnest
on the important work of regulation, organization, and the removal
of abuses and disorders. Just as the owner of a large estate, on
coming into full possession after a long minority, sets to work, if
he rightly comprehends his position, first to examine and then to
regulate every portion of his inheritance, so does Edward give the
earlier years of his reign to a similar though larger work. He shows
his consciousness that the weakness of a long period of misrule had
filled the land with disorders, and that “the kingly office requireth”
that he should, in a variety of particulars, introduce new laws and
a purer administration. He had seen and regretted, in his father’s
reign, the fearful weakening of the royal authority which accompanied a
system of pecuniary improvidence. At once, therefore, without waiting
for the assembling of his parliament, he issued a royal commission to
inquire into, and ascertain, the royalties and revenues appertaining
to the crown, the state and particulars of the crown‐lands, with the
names of the tenants and the terms of their tenure.[21] He rightly
judged that on this point—the regulation of the royal revenues—largely
depended the just fulfilment of “the office of a king.” He soon made
himself acquainted with the extent and particulars of his possessions;
and so well were these administered, throughout his whole reign, that
his applications to parliament were few, and always based upon public
grounds,—the acknowledged requirements of the state. Yet he was never
wanting in a truly royal munificence; exhibiting liberality on all
fitting occasions, and a never‐ceasing kindness to the poor.

In the course of these investigations, touching the royalties and
revenues belonging to the crown, it would naturally happen that legal
questions and doubts would arise, as to the respective boundaries of
possessions belonging to the crown, and those belonging to the great
barons who had received grants from former sovereigns. The king soon
came to the conclusion that, rightly to define these limits, it would
be necessary to refer, in all cases, to the original grants. He issued,
therefore, after the lapse of two or three years, which the first
investigation must have required, another order or commission, that all
parties who were in possession of any estates of doubtful title, should
lay their grants or charters before the judges, that their validity
might be ascertained by competent authority.

In taking this step, Edward was actuated by those motives of frankness
and rectitude which were never absent from his mind. He evidently
thought that the same sort of investigation to which he had submitted
the rights of the crown might fairly be applied to the grants under it;
but he soon found that he was likely to involve himself in a serious
peril. During such disorderly times as those of Stephen and John, many
of the great barons had seized upon estates, the owners of which had
perished in the field or on the scaffold. Those great proprietors would
very naturally shrink from any sort of legal examination or inquiry.
They would have been prompt to combine in a league of resistance to any
such investigation. One of the greatest of them, the earl of Surrey,
John de Warenne, who had fought at Edward’s side at Lewes, and had
entertained him in 1274 at Reigate, on his landing,—took an early and
a very peremptory position of resistance. He doubtless was one of the
first to whom the royal commissioners addressed their inquiries. His
answer was that of a rough, bold, and impetuous soldier. He unsheathed
an ancient sword, exclaiming, “It was by _this_ that my forefathers won
these lands, and it is by _this_ that I mean to maintain my title.”

Edward was wise, as well as frank and noble. A little reflection
would enable him to perceive, that if he pressed his demand upon this
irascible and powerful soldier‐baron, he might soon discover that
there were hundreds of other land‐owners who felt a sympathy with the
earl, and that thus he might be engaged in a strife of a very serious
character. His object and his motives had been pure, but prudence
evidently dictated a moderate and cautious course. The resistance of
this great earl materially affected the whole inquiry. The intended
investigation was, for a time at least, suspended. On this, as well
as in two or three other passages of his life, Edward showed that
even when his first determination had been just and reasonable, he
could exercise a thoughtful self‐control—that he knew how to waive his
rights, when prudence so counselled, as well as how to assert them on
all fitting occasions.[22]

One of the chief matters, however, on which Edward had evidently set
his heart, was that of bringing the relations of England and Wales into
a better condition. It was on the Welsh border that the first years of
his public life had been spent. As early as in his eighteenth year,
his father had given him the charge of “the Welsh Marches;” and he had
had the grief of witnessing, again and again, inroads of the Welsh
into Cheshire and Herefordshire, in which maraudings whole districts
were desolated, and the poor English farmers of those counties reduced
to beggary. Matthew Paris says: “The Welsh carried fire and slaughter
into the border counties. They gave themselves up to incendiarism and
pillage, till they had reduced the whole border to an uninhabitable
desert.” Edward had seen these things with pain and with resentment,
and he had evidently resolved to bring the relations of the two
countries into a more satisfactory state.

It has suited the purposes of those who wished to represent Edward as
an ambitious and designing man, to assume, throughout, that Edward’s
object, from the beginning, was the conquest of Wales. But the facts
of the case, if patiently examined, tell a very different tale. They
rather justify our old chronicler Fabyan’s description of him. Writing
more than three hundred years ago, and conveying down to us the old
English belief and tradition, he says: “This prince was slow to all
manner of strife, discreet and wise, and true of his worde.” And,
assuredly, the plain facts of this Welsh controversy justify entirely
Fabyan’s words.

That Llewellyn owed homage to Edward as his superior lord—just as
Edward, for his French possessions, owed homage to the king of
France—has never been questioned. Llewellyn himself never denied the
obligation. Yet, at Edward’s coronation, while the king of Scotland was
present and paid his homage, there was no attendance, either personally
or by deputy, of the prince of Snowdon.

The Welsh prince pleaded, in excuse, that there was so much enmity
between him and some of the lords of the Marches, that he could not
safely visit London. Edward met these excuses with forbearance, and
even offered to take a journey to Shrewsbury to receive the homage
there. But Llewellyn still raised new difficulties. Had Edward been
the ambitious and designing man that he is often represented, he might
now, without further parley, have peremptorily summoned Llewellyn, and
on his non‐appearance, might have declared him contumacious, and his
fief a forfeiture. Such had been the course taken by Philip of France,
when in 1202 he summoned John, pronounced him contumacious, and at once
took possession of Normandy.

Edward’s course was equally clear. There was nothing to prevent the
immediate annexation of Wales, except the single let or hindrance of
the English king’s conscientiousness. But Edward would take no hasty or
violent step. He reserved the question for his parliament, and at one
of the sessions of 1275 it was decided that the Welsh prince should be
summoned a third time, and that now the king should even go to Chester
to meet him; that being the nearest point to Llewellyn’s home.

“Slow to all manner of strife” was written on all these proceedings.
Edward knew well that there were precedents in abundance which would
have justified him in declaring the Welsh prince a rebel, and in
entering into possession of his fief. He was also, we cannot doubt,
fully alive to the great advantage which would result from the union of
the two countries.

He earnestly desired to terminate the wretched border‐warfare which
had so long continued. But a leading principle of his whole life was,
a constant respect for the rights of others. Again and again shall we
meet with this rule of conduct in his after‐life. In the present case
he remitted to Llewellyn not only the summons to appear at Chester,
which the parliament had directed to be sent, but also a safe‐conduct
for his coming, abiding, and return—a guarantee which the Welshman
might know would be strictly fulfilled. But Llewellyn now raised his
demands. He would give no attendance until the king should send to him,
as hostages, his own son, the chancellor of England, and the earl of
Gloucester!—a demand which the old chronicler justly terms “an insolent
one,” and which must have been intended to terminate the negociation.

About this time Eleanor de Montfort, Llewellyn’s intended bride, was
met with at sea, and brought into Bristol by an English vessel. As the
prince was in contumacy, Edward ordered that the young Eleanor should
be conveyed to Windsor, there to remain in the queen’s charge until the
dispute between England and Wales had been terminated. But the year
1276 had now opened, and parliaments were held, in the course of that
year, at Westminster and at Winchester. A fifth and a sixth summons had
been remitted to the prince of Snowdon. Some of the bishops now offered
to mediate, and they were allowed to send the archdeacon of Canterbury
into Wales, personally to confer with Llewellyn. But the Welsh prince
merely advanced new claims; requiring now guarantees from two prelates,
and from four of the greatest earls in the realm.

The English parliament finally, on the 12th of November, 1276, declared
Llewellyn contumacious, and recommended that the military tenants of
the crown should be summoned in the spring for the invasion of Wales.
Meanwhile the archbishop made one more attempt at mediation, writing to
the Welsh prince an earnest but fruitless letter. Another parliament
was held, in which “a twelfth” was granted to the king for the expenses
of the war. In the spring the royal forces began to assemble, and Roger
Mortimer was appointed to the command. The chief men of South Wales
sent in their submission, and were “received to the king’s grace.”
David and Roderick, brothers to Llewellyn, joined the king, and were
honourably received by him. Meanwhile, Llewellyn believed that his
mountain‐heights were inaccessible, and that he could never be brought
to submission. Edward, however, was a different sort of leader from
his father, who in 1257 had led an expedition into Wales, and had
miserably failed. With the skill and foresight of a general, Edward
had prepared a naval force, which sailed from the Cinque Ports, made a
descent upon Anglesea, and took possession of that island. Llewellyn
was now enclosed, and it was easy to prevent all supplies from reaching
him. He remained obstinate for several weeks; but as the winter drew on
he saw the probability of ultimate starvation, and asked for terms of
surrender.

Again we see that Edward was not that ruthless and ambitious man which
he is often represented. The Welsh prince had been formally declared
contumacious, and the forfeiture of his fief was the ordinary penalty.
There was no way of escape for him; Edward had only to maintain his
blockade, and the surrender and banishment of the Welsh prince, and the
entire conquest of the principality, were inevitable and close at hand.

But Edward’s guiding principle in all such cases was that which we have
already cited from his own lips, “_May_ show mercy!—why, I will do that
for a dog, if he seeks my grace!” Llewellyn had no sooner asked for
mercy than it was granted to him. His offence had been great; to make
war upon a superior lord was treason; and the king showed his sense of
the offence by imposing hard conditions of peace.

Llewellyn must pay a fine of 50,000 marks for the heavy expenses he
had caused the king; must cede to England the four “cantreds” lying
between Chester and the Conway; must hold Anglesea of the king at an
annual rent of 2000 marks; must do homage to the king, and deliver
ten hostages for his fidelity. This was a just sentence, and Edward
merely vindicated the majesty of the law by pronouncing it; but the
natural generosity of his mind very quickly cancelled the hardest of
the conditions. The very next day the fine was remitted. Soon after
the rent to be paid for Anglesea was cancelled, and the ten hostages
returned. And now that the Welsh prince had submitted, all was grace
and favour on Edward’s part. The young Eleanor de Montfort, who had
been detained in the queen’s household, was sent for, and in Worcester
Cathedral, in the presence of the king and queen, Llewellyn received
his bride. In another respect, the king conferred on the Welsh prince
a very substantial benefit. David, Llewellyn’s brother, had often been
at variance with him. On one occasion the two brothers met on the
battle‐field, and David was taken prisoner. To remove David from Wales
was to confer on Llewellyn a favour of a very important kind. The king
took this hostile brother with him to England, gave him £1000 a year
in land (equal to £15,000 a year at the present time), and married him
to an earl’s daughter. “Thus,” says Lingard, “Edward flattered himself
that what he had begun by force he had completed by kindness. To
Llewellyn he had behaved rather with the affection of a friend than the
severity of an enemy, and his letters to that prince breathe a spirit
of moderation which does honour to his heart. To David he had been
a bounteous protector. He had granted him the honour of knighthood,
extensive estates in both countries, and the hand of the daughter of
the earl of Derby.”

Surely the prejudice must be of an extraordinary kind which can see in
this first war in Wales, and in the manner in which it was terminated,
any signs of an ambitious or overreaching disposition in the
conqueror. He had voluntarily given away an opportunity of making Wales
his own; he had preferred to endeavour to make the two Welsh princes
his friends, by heaping kindnesses and benefits upon them.

The marriage of Llewellyn and Eleanor took place on the 3rd of October,
1278, and the bride and bridegroom spent the following Christmas with
the king and queen at Westminster. As this year was the seventh of
Edward’s reign, and affords an opportunity of a pause in the story, we
will briefly notice, before we close the chapter, a few events which
occurred at various intervals between the coronation in 1275 and the
Welsh prince’s marriage in 1278.

In the autumn of 1276, to encourage his nobility and gentry in the
practices and usages of chivalry, the king held in Cheapside a grand
tournament, when such an assemblage of young nobles and gallant knights
was seen as England had never before witnessed.

In Advent, 1278, the king and queen were present at the consecration of
the new cathedral of Norwich. This ancient church had been destroyed
by fire in a riot towards the close of king Henry’s reign, and nearly
seven years had been occupied in its restoration. A great gathering of
prelates, earls, and barons attended Edward and Eleanor on occasion of
this ceremony. A few weeks later, on Easter Sunday, the king and queen
visited the renowned abbey of Glastonbury, where they remained several
days. On the Wednesday of Easter week there was a solemn opening, in
the king’s presence, of the tomb which was deemed to be that of king
Arthur. Edward deposited in the tomb, which was immediately reclosed, a
record of his visit and inspection.

In the autumn, this revival of the memories and traditions of the
famous British king bore fruit in an attempt, on the part of Roger
Mortimer, to imitate the far‐famed “Round Table.” In Kenilworth castle,
the king and queen were entertained for ten successive days, while a
hundred knights and their ladies graced the tournament in the morning
and the feast in the afternoon. The loyal host was greeted, before
Edward had departed, with the title of “earl of March.”

The remaining history of these three or four years is of a less
pleasing character. It is evident, from the records of the first
seven years of this reign, that foremost among all the disorders and
grievances of the time, stood the extortions of the Jews. Again and
again do we meet with inquiries and regulations intended to check these
evil practices. Florence of Worcester tells us, under the date of 1275,
that “the Jews throughout the realm were forbidden to lend money on
usury; but were in future to gain their living by commerce, under the
same rules and laws as Christian merchants. They were also ordered to
pay to the king an annual capitation‐tax of threepence for each person.”

But we see various tokens of the uneasiness caused by the extortions of
these people. In October, 1274, only two months after his coronation,
we find Edward issuing an order concerning the Jews; in December, 1276,
another; in May, 1277, a third; and in July, 1278, a fourth. All these
mandates, we may be assured, were framed by his great chancellor—a man
of a just and upright purpose. But it appears as if these restraints
placed upon the open practice of usury, drove the Jews to secret
devices of a still more nefarious kind. In the seventh year of Edward’s
reign the deteriorated state of the coinage had grown to be an
intolerable evil. “The nation,” says Carte, “had suffered for some time
from the clipping of the coin; which had raised the price of all the
necessaries of life, and had almost ruined its foreign commerce. The
king saw the necessity of a great reform in this direction, and his
measures were such as we might have expected from the decision which
marked his character. To have merely ordered a new coinage, while these
nefarious practices went on, would have been useless. The first thing
to be done was to strike a blow at those who were depraving the coin—a
blow which should inspire terror and crush the evil at once and for
ever. On one evening in November, 1276, the houses of all the Jewish
money‐changers were visited and their private chambers searched. On a
second evening all the goldsmiths received a similar visitation. Large
sums of clipped money were found, with the tools and implements used
in these evil works.” The criminals thus detected and apprehended were
very numerous. A Special Commission was issued for the trial of these
malefactors; and its sittings, commencing after the Christmas holidays,
were continued until Lent, and were resumed after Easter. Between two
and three hundred were convicted and sent to execution, most of whom
were Jews.[23] A terrible example was necessary to eradicate so serious
an evil. When this severe check had been given to this sort of crime,
immediate measures were taken for the issue of a new coinage. Exchanges
were opened in various places, at which the old coin was taken in at
its value, and new money issued. “Edward,” says Rapin, “is supposed to
be the first king that perfectly fixed the standard of our coin.”

Each of the years which had passed since Edward’s landing at Dover,
had witnessed the assembling of a parliament. The year 1275 saw the
first of these gatherings which assumed that name, and which placed
upon the statute‐book of England the “Statute of Westminster.” In
October of the same year a second meeting of the same kind took place,
at which the Welsh controversy was discussed. In 1276 a parliament
assembled in Westminster, another at Winchester, and, towards the end
of the year, a third was held in Westminster. In the sessions held this
year, 1276, three new statutes were passed—that of Bigamy, that on the
Office of Coroner, and one concerning Justices. In the next year, 1277,
parliament was again convened, to grant the king an aid. Throughout
the Welsh controversy, as well as on all the other “hard questions”
of his reign, we see the king constantly resorting to the advice of
his parliament. The maxim which he avowed in a public document several
years after this, seems to have governed his thoughts and actions from
the very beginning of his reign—that “what concerns all, should be by
all approved.”

In the year 1278, the war with Wales having terminated, the king
visited Worcester to witness the celebration of the nuptials of
Llewellyn and young Eleanor de Montfort. He then held a parliament in
the neighbouring city of Gloucester, at which the important “Statutes
of Gloucester” were placed upon our statute‐book. One or two of our
historians have described this reign, as if the ratification of the
Great Charter and of the Charter of the Forests had been wrung from the
king with great difficulty, and in the hour of his necessity. But for
such a representation there is no foundation whatever. In 1276, being
in a state of peace and of great popular esteem, the king issued,
entirely of his own accord, a proclamation for the observance of the
Charter of Liberties, and the Charter of the Forests.

At the same time we see in his whole conduct abundant signs of a
feeling that these documents belonged to the past; and that his office
was to open to the realm and people of England views of constitutional
liberty, of which no mere observance of Magna Charta, in its largest
interpretation, could ever have given them any idea.


Footnotes:

  [21] “He issued,” says Rapin, “writs of enquiry to two commissioners
  in every county, to enquire what his royalties, and the liberties
  and prerogatives of his crown were; who were his tenants _in
  capito;_ and how many and what fees they held of him. Also of his
  tenants in ancient demesne—how they had behaved themselves, and in
  what condition the lands were. Also of the sheriffs, coroners, and
  bailiffs, and their clerks—whether they had extorted money, or had
  wronged any one, or had taken bribes. This first step,” says Rapin,
  “produced a wonderful effect upon the people.”

  [22] “But Edward never faltered in his purpose, and the inquiry
  went on, at intervals, through a period of more than twenty
  years.”—Pearson’s Hist. Eng., vol. ii., p. 298.

  [23] This appears to us now a punishment of terrible severity. Yet
  we ourselves, in the days of George III., were in the habit of
  hanging men in great numbers for fabricating imitative bank‐notes.
  All our modern civilization, at the beginning of the present
  century, had not carried us beyond the usages of Edward’s day.




IV.

MIDDLE PERIOD OF EDWARD’S LIFE.

A.D. 1279-1290.


The prime or maturity of Edward’s life was spent in works of quiet
usefulness. The rebellion and reduction of Wales formed, indeed, an
apparent exception; but the period of actual hostility on this occasion
was very short. Edward was forced by the sudden outbreak of Llewellyn
and David, to draw the sword; but it was returned to its scabbard in a
very few weeks. Prejudiced historians have delighted in describing this
sovereign as a man who, like the great Corsican of the beginning of the
present century, was ever plotting some new acquisition; ever coveting
his neighbour’s possessions. But in the actual records of his reign, we
see him, from his fortieth to his fifty‐second year, dwelling in peace,
and “thinking no evil.” The only instance in which we find him in the
battle‐field is just ‘the exception which proves the rule.’ He took
arms because he was assailed; because his enemy had left him no option.

His fortieth year, the eighth of his reign, was distinguished in the
way in which he best loved to distinguish it—by a great act of wise
and useful legislation. Doubtless we owe its authorship mainly to the
counsel and the legislative skill of Robert Burnel; but we must not
refuse to the king the possession of that sagacious patriotism which
we shall continue to discern in his actions long after that valued
counsellor had been removed from his side.

The king and his chancellor were doubtless religious men. No Wiclif,
no Latimer, had yet appeared; the twilight of the mediæval times was
all the light they had to guide them. But we find Edward, without any
asceticism, often giving days and weeks to religious exercises. His
chancellor was a bishop, but he had been a statesman and a legislator
before he became a bishop, and a statesman and a legislator he remained
still. Both of these clear‐sighted and sagacious men saw the perilous
operation of the mediæval doctrine of Purgatory, and of the assumed
power of the priesthood to open and shut the doors of that fearful
abode. Month after month, and year after year, estates were constantly
passing into the hands of the Church, for the supposed benefit of
departed souls. The king himself could not throw off this belief,
nor abstain from following in the practice which was universal in
his day. When his beloved Eleanor was taken from him, we instantly
hear of various manors given to the priests of Westminster for a long
succession of masses to be said for the benefit of the poor queen’s
soul. And we may be sure that a delusion which ruled over so powerful a
mind as the king’s, was universal among his people, and that no man who
had really loved his lost wife or parents would be backward in showing
his solicitude by such donations of land or money as he could afford,
“for their soul’s benefit.“ As the Church was thus constantly receiving
and never restoring, it seemed inevitable that in process of time it
must become the sole landlord in the realm.

Hume tells us of one period when the clergy held one‐third of the lands
of the kingdom; and it is easy to perceive that had no Reformation
occurred—had no violent redistribution taken place—that course of
continual addition and accumulation must have left, by this time, very
few estates in England in lay hands. The king saw this tendency, and
he desired to check it. But he would not wrong the Church by any act of
tyranny. He himself shared in the ordinary belief, and, as we have just
said, when his queen was taken from him, he gave, like other men, large
estates “for the good of her soul.” But, while he questioned not the
right of men in full possession of their faculties thus to deal with
their own property, he saw an evident and a perilous abuse, grafted
on this general belief and practice. Men in their latest hours—men,
whose minds were clouded or prostrated by disease—bequeathed, they
scarce knew what, out of sheer terror, or, in some cases, at the
demand or dictation of some priest, who was zealous for “the good of
holy Church.” In all probability, Edward had heard the complaints of
disinherited wives or children, who found their hereditary possessions
suddenly wrested from them, and who knew that the expiring parent
who had, they were told, so willed, was, for hours or days before
his departure, scarcely conscious of the meaning of his own words or
actions. Here, then, without interfering with the main question—the
usual and generally admitted theory—was an evident and a very serious
abuse.

A parliament was held in Westminster, in November, 1279, at which a
great statute was passed—the far‐famed law of _Mortmain_. It must
have been passed in the presence and by the consent—apparent at
least—of many prelates, whose desires “for the good of holy Church”
it contravened. But the ascendancy of such a mind and will as that
of Edward,—the legislative authority of the great chancellor, and
the support, doubtless, of the earls and barons by whom the king was
surrounded, prevailed; and the Church was compelled to submit to this
limitation. Henceforth no man should be allowed “with dying hands“ to
will away his possessions “to holy Church.” All such bequests were
declared to be illegal and void. No more necessary statute could have
been passed; and from that day to this—from 1279 to 1870—all England
has honoured the name of the wise sovereign who devised and established
the law of Mortmain.

Soon after this, Edward, finding all things at peace at home, paid
a short visit to the continent. The death of the queen of Castile
transferred to her daughter Eleanor, Edward’s consort, the county of
Ponthieu; and to obtain seizin of this territory, and to do homage for
it, he visited the king of France at Amiens, where, however, his stay
was but short. He brought back with him to England some fine jasper
stones, which became part of the costly monument he was raising in the
church of Westminster to the memory of the king his father. Not long
after his return he found it necessary to repress some of the lofty
pretensions of “holy Church.” John Peckham, who had succeeded Kilwardby
in the see of Canterbury, had convened a synod at Reading, in which
various canons were adopted, tending to separate ecclesiastics and
ecclesiastical property from the laity and their possessions, and to
exempt them from the operation of the statute and common law. These
attempts, fostered by such churchmen as Dunstan and A’Becket, had long
been perplexing all the governments of Christendom. We shall meet
with them, again and again, throughout this king’s reign. But Edward
was both clear‐sighted and resolute, and we cannot doubt that his
chancellor, though himself a prelate, supported him. The archbishop was
at once called before a council, and commanded to revoke and cancel all
canons which assumed or pretended to set aside the laws and ordinances
of the realm.

Ireland began now to claim a share in the king’s attention, and we may
reasonably regret that the affairs of Wales soon drew his thoughts
another way. The fame of the enlightened legislation now going on in
England had probably reached Ireland; for a petition was sent over to
the king that they might be allowed the benefit of the English laws.
They tendered, as a customary fine, or ”benevolence,” the sum of
8000 marks for the enjoyment of this privilege. Edward’s disposition
must have been, to comply at once with this request; but we shall
find him, through his whole life, abstaining from all arbitrary or
sudden decisions, and referring all public questions to his council
or parliament. He wrote, therefore, to Robert de Clifford, chief
justiciary of Ireland, desiring that steps might be taken to comply
with the prayer of the petition. Some sort of an assembly or parliament
was convened for the consideration of the question. But arbitrary power
always finds some advocates, for there are never wanting persons who
can turn it to their own advantage. The chief men in Ireland raised
objections, and succeeded in postponing compliance with the king’s
wishes. Edward wrote a second time, in displeasure, ordering another
council or parliament to be convened. But Wales now began to claim
his attention, and the opponents of a wise and just policy in Ireland
succeeded in their policy of procrastination.

The Principality had now remained at peace for more than four years.
But there were various reasons for Welsh discontent. The king had
established his authority on the border, and had put an end to those
plundering inroads which had troubled the English frontier for many
preceding years. To be thus kept in check would naturally vex and annoy
the half‐civilized tribes who had delighted, for half a century past,
in burning and ravaging the farms and hamlets of the English frontier.
“Edward,” says Carte, “had thrown his newly‐acquired territory into
districts, had appointed sheriffs, and sent judges to administer
justice. These things were not agreeable to the Welsh. They did not
like counties or hundreds, courts or juries, or any institution,
however beneficial, that was derived from England;—in fact, being used
to a roving, disorderly, and plundering sort of life, they did not
care to be kept in order.” Both Llewellyn and David had also private
grievances. The elder brother had a suit against Griffith Gwenwynn
for some lands, and he was summoned to the hearing of the cause at
Montgomery, which he deemed a great indignity. David was sued by one
Venables, before the chief justice of Chester, touching the villages
of Hope and Eston. Irritated by these proceedings, the two brothers
made up their quarrel, and on Palm Sunday in March, 1282, David
surprised the castle of Hawarden, seizing Roger de Clifford in his
bed, wounding him, and carrying him off a prisoner, while several of
the English garrison were put to the sword. The news of this sudden
outbreak was carried to the king, who was keeping Easter at Devizes.
Other messengers soon followed with the intelligence that Llewellyn
had joined his brother, that the castles of Flint and Rhuddlan were
besieged, and that the Welsh were rising in every quarter. Edward
sent off immediately all the force he had with him to the relief of
the besieged castles, and issued orders for the rendezvous of his
military tenants at Worcester on the 17th of May. Before that time
he had himself moved forward, and finding the insurrection to be
growing general, he gave orders for a larger levy than he had at first
intended; ordering his tenants to meet him at Rhuddlan on the 2nd of
August. Llewellyn and his brother retired on his approach, taking
refuge in the fastnesses of Snowdon. The king took the same precaution
as in 1277, by sending a fleet to occupy Anglesea, which island at
once submitted, and the possession of which enclosed Llewellyn on every
side. Meanwhile, the archbishop of Canterbury visited the Welsh prince
and tried to bring him to submission, but all attempts of the kind
were fruitless. Llewellyn handed in a list of grievances, which were
just such as might have been anticipated. “The four cantreds” between
Chester and Conway, formerly the scene of continual strife, had now
been ceded, by the treaty of 1277, to Edward, and the English laws had
been established there. These laws were distasteful to the Welsh. By
their own laws, such offences as murder or arson might be withdrawn
from the courts by a payment to the chief lord of a fine of five
pounds; but the English judges hanged such offenders. No doubt, some
provocation had been given, some injuries inflicted, on both sides. But
Llewellyn, who had twice been Edward’s guest at Westminster, ought to
have appealed to him for redress of any positive wrong. He might have
known that it was not the king’s habit to justify ill‐doing. But the
Welsh preferred to draw the sword, and now, when the archbishop strove
to mediate, he found them obstinate and unbending.

At the outset of the war Edward had stormed and taken Hope Castle, had
relieved Flint and Rhuddlan, and had driven Llewellyn back into the
recesses of Snowdon. In November the English met with a disaster at the
Menai Straits. They had constructed a bridge of boats, and a sudden
attack of the Welsh, who rushed down with loud cries, created a panic;
a rush was made for the bridge, it gave way, and thirteen knights and
about two hundred men were lost in the waters.

Elated at this success, Llewellyn thought that as the bridge was
destroyed, Snowdon was now safe for the winter, and he moved down into
Cardiganshire, intending to rally and succour his friends in South
Wales. Here, on the 10th of December, near Builth in Radnorshire, he
came in contact with a party of the English, and one of them, Adam
Francton, ran him through with a spear, in ignorance of his person or
quality. After lying in the field some time, his body was searched, and
his private signet and certain papers made his person known. His head
was cut off and sent to the king, who, according to the custom of the
period, ordered it to be sent to London and set up over the gate of the
Tower.

The death of their prince seems to have so discouraged the Welsh
that all opposition ceased, and Edward took quiet possession of the
forfeited principality. From that day forward, England and Wales became
one;—subject to the same laws and ruled over by the same government.
“This incorporation,” says Mr. Sharon Turner, “was an unquestionable
blessing to Wales. That country ceased to be the theatre of homicide
and distress, and began to imitate the English habits. It was at
once divided into counties, placed under sheriffs, and admitted to a
participation in the more important of the English institutions.”

The wretched beginner of this second Welsh controversy, David of
Snowdon, contrived, for several months, to lead the life of an outlaw,
and to evade the search of his pursuers. This unyielding contumacy
completed his ruin. Had he frankly and immediately submitted to the
conqueror, and besought mercy, all that we know of Edward assures us
that his life, at least, would have been spared. But he remained an
outlaw, and obdurate; until, after a concealment of several months,
some of his own people seized and surrendered him. Then, when no choice
remained, and when submission had no merit, he entreated to see the
king. But Edward doubted the propriety of granting forgiveness, and
therefore refused to allow him an interview.

No one who has read the history of the ten or twelve succeeding reigns
can doubt that such an offender as this David would, at any time in
the fourteenth or fifteenth centuries, been quickly taken before
some convenient tribunal and sent to the scaffold. He was an English
subject; he had accepted wealth and honour at Edward’s hands, and had
then requited his benefactor by raising a rebellion and causing a civil
war. At no period of our history, even in the gentle reign of Victoria,
could such acts have escaped the highest degree of punishment.

But Edward, while he showed, throughout, his sense of the gravity of
David’s offence, never inflicted punishment in haste or in a passionate
spirit. It is also a remarkable feature of his character that, though
a man of unusual firmness and decision, and fitted above most men to
act on his own judgment, he never found himself in the presence of any
question of gravity, without instantly desiring to have it discussed
in a council or parliament, or by conference with others. David’s
guilt and the gravity of his offence were abundantly evident, but the
question of the extent of his punishment Edward desired to leave with
some legal tribunal. He resolved to remit the whole subject to the
decision of a parliament, and to summon that parliament to meet in
Shrewsbury in October, 1283;—David having been given up to him in the
course of June.

This “parliament of Shrewsbury” was one of a novel kind. It had two
new features, and it seems to have held its sittings by adjournment,
in two different places. Edward desired that the case of David should
be considered and decided in a council. This was the first object of
the assembling of that parliament. But his chancellor had seen the
necessity of a new statute on commercial questions, and the framing of
this statute formed the next matter for consideration.

As the first question would be a trial on which life or death depended,
the king summoned no prelates to this parliament; probably feeling
that in the discussion of such matters it was desirable that the
clergy should take no part. The second subject to be brought under
discussion was one relating to trade and commerce, and the king saw in
it an opportunity of giving more form and substance than heretofore
to that idea which had never been absent from his mind,—that, in a
well‐constituted parliament, “the lower as well as the higher estate”
should be represented.

We have already said that we cannot doubt that, in the first parliament
of Westminster, some citizens, under the name of “the commonalty of the
realm,” were present; but we find no record of any formal summoning of
burgesses or borough‐representatives. Now, however, the chancellor had
a particular statute, relating to trade, to bring forward, and now,
therefore, he could advise the king to summon, from the city of London
and from twenty other great towns, from each two representatives, “de
sapientioribus et aptioribus,” for the consideration and discussion of
the said statute. Here we have the real commencement of the borough
representation of England. Let Simon de Montfort have all the merit
which can justly be attributed to him, for having, in 1265, called to a
council in Westminster some burgesses or borough‐representatives:—that
fact must always be taken with two qualifications: first, that earl
Simon needed these borough‐representatives to fill the empty benches,
only five earls and seventeen barons attending at his call; and
secondly, that that council was not what we now understand by the
term, a “parliament,”—no legislation being attempted in it.

Some historians have been too ready to assume or assert, on all
occasions, that our free constitution has been won by the repeated
struggles of the people, who succeeded in wresting from their
sovereigns one privilege after another. The whole course of Edward’s
government clears him from any imputation of this kind. At the opening
of his political life, when he stood as a victorious leader at the head
of an army, we find him again and again asserting the principle, that
in a well‐constituted parliament all classes should be represented;
and now, when he orders these writs to be issued for the summoning of
forty‐two borough representatives to Shrewsbury, it is wholly of his
own free will, and without the slightest “pressure of circumstances,”
that he acts. His chancellor feels the want of a new law for the
regulation of commerce, and at once the idea seems to occur, and is
forthwith acted upon, “Let all the principal towns, where the merchants
and traders dwell—let them send representatives to this parliament, and
let the new statute be passed with their help and in their presence.”

The parliament of Shrewsbury met on the 30th of September, 1283, in
that town. The business to be done consisted, first, of a criminal
trial, and, secondly, of a statute on commercial matters. No prelates,
as we have said, were summoned. To bring them from many distant places
to Shrewsbury would have imposed upon them much trouble and expense,
and for no fitting end. The persons summoned were—eleven earls,
ninety‐nine barons, two knights for each county, and two citizens from
each of twenty‐one great towns; and the writs themselves expressed,
with all Edward’s usual frankness, the purpose and the desire with
which he called together this, the first complete parliament, though
still in outline, that England ever saw. They remind the barons,
knights, and citizens that they had seen “how Llewellyn and David his
brother, spurning the obligations of fidelity into which they had
entered, had, more treacherously than usual, suddenly set fire to
villages, slain some of the inhabitants, burnt others, and shut up
others in prison, savagely shedding innocent blood.” The king desires
those to whom the writs were directed to come to Shrewsbury on the day
indicated, “there to determine what ought to be done with the said
David, whom we received when an exile, nourished when an orphan, and
enriched out of our own lands, placing him among the nobles of our
court.” “We charge you, therefore,” the king concludes, “to meet us at
Shrewsbury, on the day after the feast of St. Michael, to confer upon
this and upon other matters.”

Before this parliament, then, was David of Snowdon impeached.“He was
tried,” says the chronicle of Dunstable, “by the whole baronage of
England.” It is quite clear that Edward desired that others, and not
himself, should decide upon the fate of the unhappy man. He appears
to have retired to his chancellor’s residence of Acton Burnel, and to
have taken no part in these proceedings. The trial was entered upon,
and, according to the custom of those days, the criminal was arraigned
for several crimes, and for each crime a distinct punishment was
ordered. As a traitor to the king, David was to be drawn to the place
of execution; as the murderer of certain knights in Hawarden Castle, he
was to be hanged; having sacrilegiously committed these crimes on Palm
Sunday, he was to be disembowelled; and having conspired the death of
the king in various places, he was to be quartered.[24]

This sentence, deliberately passed, was carried into effect, and many
have been the exclamations of modern writers at its cruelty. One of
the most moderate of these critics condemns Edward for “permitting his
nobles and lawyers to devise and carry into effect such a barbarous
sentence.” In like manner is he censured for ordering Llewellyn’s head
to be set up over the gate of the Tower.

Such writers forget that a man must be judged, not by the ideas or
usages of other times, but by those of the age in which he has been
brought up and has lived. In our day, the thought of setting up a gory
head over Temple Bar would horrify all men. But when the last rebellion
was suppressed in England, little more than a century ago, the
government of which lords Hardwicke and Chatham were members, beheaded
men on Kennington Common, and sent their heads to Carlisle, to be set
up over the castle‐gates. Johnson and Goldsmith, Cowper and Whitfield,
were accustomed to see human heads on Temple‐Bar as they passed up and
down Fleet Street.

The mutilation of the criminal’s body is another feature of the case
which shocks our modern notions, but it was a prevalent custom of those
times. In 1238, before Edward was born, a man was found lurking in the
palace, who confessed that his object was to kill the king. He had
been guilty of no overt act, yet for this treasonable design he was
sentenced first to be dragged asunder by horses, then to be beheaded,
and his body to be divided into three parts, to be exposed in three
cities.

Nor were these mutilations ordered in criminal cases only. Robert
Bruce, like many others, ordered his heart to be taken out after his
death and carried to the Holy Land. Edward himself, if ever a man loved
a wife, dearly loved his Eleanor. Yet, on her death, he ordered her
heart to be interred in the church of the Black Friars, her bowels in
Lincoln Minster, and the rest of her body in Westminster Abbey. Such
were the habits and modes of feeling when a king could sleep in the
open air on the night before a battle; when the gory head of an earl
was thought a fitting present for a noble lady; and when even friendly
sports often ended in slaughter.

“Sir Patrick Graham, a Scottish knight, having arrived from Paris, was
invited to supper; and in the midst of the feast, an English knight
turning to him, courteously asked him to run with him three courses.
Next morning in the first course, Graham struck the English knight
through the harness with a mortal wound, so that he died on the spot.
Such were the fierce pastimes of those days.”[25]

The sentence passed on David, then, and the exposure of Llewellyn’s
head, were merely the ordinary modes of procedure in those times; and
would no more strike Edward as cruel, than like sentences inflicted on
the adherents of the Stuarts seemed cruel to the kings and statesmen of
the last century. Hume, however, tries to exaggerate the fact in the
case of David, by styling him “a sovereign prince.” This, however, is
a fiction. Llewellyn did not die childless, and David was, neither in
law nor in fact, his successor. And even had David been the next heir,
there was no succession for him. Llewellyn, as vassal to the English
crown, had committed treason, had forfeited his fief, and the superior
lord was entering into possession. David was nothing more than an
English lord; and as a subject to Edward he had been guilty of open
treason—treason against a sovereign who had been his benefactor. The
justice of his sentence was altogether unimpeachable; the manner of his
execution was merely conformable to the customs of those times. Both
sentence and execution were dictated by the parliament, the king being
merely an assenting party.

This, however, does not quite end the history of the two Welsh princes.
Edward was ever a merciful and compassionate king, and having allowed
justice to have its course with regard to the principal criminals, he
did not forget that they both had children. We find a letter written
by him on the 11th of November, 1283, to the prior and prioress of
Alvingham, in the following terms:—

“Albeit, if we should turn our mind to past events, and should
regard somewhat closely the deserts of certain persons, we should
scarcely be bound to succour the children of Llewellyn, prince of
Wales, or of David his brother, whose perfidy is fresh in the memory
of all; nevertheless having the fear of God before our eyes, and
compassionating their sex and age, lest perchance the innocent and
unconscious should seem to pay the penalties of the crimes of the
impious—we, from regard to charity, have thought fit in wholesome
sort to make provision for them. Wherefore, being persuaded of your
devotion, and specially considering the conversation of your order, we
beseech you, brethren, that you admit to your order, and the habit of
your house, any one or more of the said children of Llewellyn and David
his brother, whom we shall name to you; and that you intimate to us
what you shall think fit to do in this matter, before the feast of the
Nativity next ensuing. Given under our private seal at Ludlow, on the
11th day of November.”

Of the result of the application to the priory of Alvingham we find
no record. But in the tenth year of Edward II. we find Wenciliana, a
daughter of Llewellyn, spoken of as a nun of Sempringham; and we find
her, also, receiving a pension of £20 a year (equal to £300 in the
present day). Peter Langtoft speaks of her as personally known to him,
and he mentions her death in June, 1337. He also mentions “her cousin
Gladous, daughter of David,” who was a nun at Sixille house, and who
died in 1336. Evidently, “the innocent” were not left to suffer.

The first portion of the business allotted to the parliament of
Shrewsbury had now been gone through; but the second remained.
And, whether it was that the scene of an execution was not thought
suitable for festivity, or that the chancellor wished to exhibit a
noble hospitality, we cannot decide, but a removal of the parliament
evidently took place. We find it sitting on the 12th of October,
at Acton Burnel, the chancellor’s home; and there was passed the
Statute of Merchants, denominated by Lord Campbell “that famous law,”
“that most admirable statute.” It doubtless had cost the chancellor
much thought, and he probably wished to connect his name with it.
Accordingly it is sometimes called “the Statute of Acton Burnel.”

So ended the year 1283; but the king had still a great work before
him—a work of the kind in which he most delighted. Wales had been
finally and entirely united to England; but it was still in an almost
barbarous condition. The whole country was a scene of wildness and
disorder, and Edward knew well that the first step in the regeneration
of a country (so far as human government can regenerate it), is
the establishment of just and well‐considered laws. To this work,
therefore, he immediately addressed himself. He did not, however,
proceed as many would have done, by rashly ordaining that the laws of
England should be henceforth the laws of Wales. He saw the necessity
for first acquainting himself with the whole subject. “He was at great
pains to gain a perfect knowledge of its ancient constitution and laws,
and of the manners of its inhabitants.”

With this view, he issued a commission to the bishop of St. David’s and
some others, to investigate these matters in the most careful manner.
No fewer than one hundred and seventy‐two intelligent persons were
examined upon oath by these commissioners, who, upon this evidence,
framed a report. Having thus obtained the necessary information, Edward
held a parliament on the 24th of May, 1284, at Rhuddlan, in Flintshire,
at which the “Statutes of Wales” were passed. The preamble to these
statutes runs as follows:—

“The Divine Providence having now, of its favour, wholly transferred
to our dominion the land of Wales, with its inhabitants, heretofore
subject to us in feudal right, all obstacles ceasing; and having
annexed and united the same unto the crown of the aforesaid realm, as
a member of the same body; we therefore, under the Divine Will, being
desirous that our aforesaid land should be governed with due order, to
the honour and praise of God, and of holy Church, and the advancement
of justice; and that the people of those lands who have submitted
themselves to our will should be protected in security, under fixed
laws and customs, have caused to be rehearsed before us and the nobles
of our realm, the laws and customs in those parts hitherto in use;
which, having fully understood, we have, by the advice of the said
nobles, abolished some of them, some we have allowed, and some we have
corrected; and we have commanded and ordained certain others to be
added thereto.”

It is in deeds and words like these that we see Edward in his real
character. It was in such works that, in his hours of free choice, he
always preferred to employ himself. Legislation—the taking care “that
the people of these lands should be protected in security, under fixed
laws and customs,” “as becometh the office of a king:” this was his
chosen employment. War might sometimes, as in the case of Wales, be
forced upon him; but whenever it was so forced, “slowe to strife” was a
rule which marked his every action.

He saw the necessity for a considerable stay in Wales for the thorough
pacification and regulation of the country. He began at once the
erection of the noble castle of Carnarvon. This work occupied several
years. In 1283 queen Eleanor kept her court in Rhuddlan Castle, but in
1284, a portion of the castle at Carnarvon being completed, she removed
thither, and on the 25th of April she gave birth, in a chamber of the
Eagle Tower, which is still shown, to a prince—afterwards king Edward
II. The king was at this time at Rhuddlan Castle, engaged in affairs
of state. A Welsh gentleman, named Griffith Lloyd, was announced, who
brought him the intelligence of the birth of a prince. Edward, in great
joy, knighted Lloyd on the spot, making him a grant of lands. He soon
hastened to Carnarvon to see his Eleanor and her son; and when a few
days had elapsed, he was able to present to the Welsh chiefs “a prince
born in Wales, and who could not speak a word of English.”

He had now remained in Wales for more than two years, and the great
work of union, and the establishment of peace, and the reign of law,
seemed to be solidly advancing. At Newyn, in Carnarvonshire, in
the summer of 1284, Edward held a grand tournament, with the usual
festivities. Here were assembled, says Matthew of Westminster, “the
great body of the knights of England, with many foreign nobles.” So
splendid a spectacle was, at least, calculated to show the chiefs and
gentry of Wales that the nation with which they had been incorporated
was no mean one, and that the sovereign they had gained was a chief of
might and power.

So ended the king’s transactions in Wales in 1282, 1283, and 1284,
and in the autumn of the latter year he proceeded slowly through
Cardiganshire and Glamorganshire, reaching Bristol before the end of
the year, and celebrating Christmas in that city.

So ends the brief history of the union of Wales with England. This
war had been forced upon Edward, who evidently had no option in the
matter. It was soon ended, and a single criminal—he who had caused the
war—was the only victim claimed by the scaffold. The king’s slowness
and long deliberation show also that, could any reasonable plea for
mercy have been found, even David himself would have been spared. A
rather severe judge of Edward’s whole career, says, of the annexation:
“Never was conquest more merciful.”[26] Yet some of the Scottish
historians, while they endeavour to assume an air of impartiality when
they speak of Edward’s Scottish controversies, are eager to create a
prejudice against him by giving the darkest complexion to his acts in
Wales. Thus Hume, in narrating this portion of Edward’s career, calmly
tells us that “The king, sensible that nothing kept alive the ideas of
military valour and of ancient glory so much as the traditional poetry
of the people, which, assisted by the power of music and the jollity of
festivals, made a deep impression on the minds of the youth, gathered
together all the Welsh bards, and, from a barbarous but not absurd
policy, ordered them to be put to death.” And Gray, accepting the
fiction as a fact, clothed it in noble verse, and his ode beginning
“Ruin seize thee, ruthless king,” fixed the alleged crime in the memory
of every school‐boy and school‐girl in the realm.

And yet the whole charge was a mere calumny. These bards, who were said
to have been extirpated, continued to sing and to write in such sort
that “Mr. Owen Jones, in forming a collection of their productions,
_after the time of Edward_, had to transcribe between fifty and sixty
quarto volumes”; and “the work of transcription,” said Sir Richard
Hoare, “was not even then completed.”[27]

A later Scottish historian than Hume—Sir James Mackintosh—admits the
falsity of the charge. He says, “The massacre of the bards is an act of
cruelty imputed to Edward _without evidence_, and it is inconsistent
with his spirit, which was not infected by wanton ferocity.”

Such an act as this slaughter, had it ever been committed, would have
been nothing less than atrocious. But if so, what are we to say of
a writer who coolly ascribes it to a king whom he dislikes, knowing
that he is asserting it “without evidence,” and in the teeth of such a
practical refutation as Sir Richard Hoare has pointed out?

England was now again at peace, and with the assured prospect that
the strife which had so long infested her western border was at
last permanently ended. “The conquest of Wales,” says Rapin, “and
the universal esteem in which the king was held among his subjects,
produced in England a profound tranquillity.” Hence, as several
questions of importance called Edward abroad, he began, about this
time, to prepare for a visit of some length to various parts of the
continent.

A singular application had been made to him while engaged in the
affairs of Wales. Two princes—Peter of Aragon and Charles of Anjou—had
each advanced a claim to the crown of Sicily. An appeal to arms
appeared inevitable, when it was suggested by Charles, and agreed to
by Peter, that they should decide the question by _single combat_.
Arrangements were seriously made; twelve commissioners were appointed
on each side, and these twenty‐four drew up articles, which were
afterwards ratified by both the princes. It was agreed that the combat
should take place at Bourdeaux, whither the combatants were to repair
on a certain day appointed, each to be accompanied by one hundred
knights. But as all parties agreed in regarding Edward as standing at
the head of the chivalry of Europe, it was made an essential point in
the agreement that he should act as the umpire, and that the combat
should take place in his presence.

These two princes had regarded Edward, evidently, as one of the same
race with him of “the lion heart,” who would, no doubt, have delighted
in such a scheme. They thought of the English king as a man known
to be “mighty in arms,” and who had taken part in most of the great
tournaments of his time. But they had overlooked, or not understood,
that this was only the inferior part of his character; and that his
nobler aspect was his wisdom, his statesmanlike sagacity, and, what
a modern historian calls, “his legislative mind.” The proposal, when
made to Edward, only struck him as being eminently absurd. He was fond
of martial sports and deeds of chivalry, but he had never dreamed that
the affairs of the world could be carried on by tournaments. Questions
concerning kingly rights and disputed successions were handled by him
in courts and parliaments, on the ground of truth, and justice, and
established law, with a deliberateness which disregarded the lapse of
months and years. To leave such matters to be decided by, perchance,
the possession of the strongest horse or the toughest spear, was not
to be for a moment thought of. His instant reply was, “that if he were
to gain by it both the kingdoms of Aragon and Sicily, he would not
appoint the field of battle, or suffer the two princes to fight in any
place within his dominions, nor in any other place, if it were in his
power to hinder it.” But he accompanied his refusal with offers of
friendly mediation, which were afterwards carried into effect.

This frank and decided negative frustrated the whole plan, and Edward
was soon requested to undertake a more pacific arrangement. In fact,
throughout this whole affair, this sovereign of the mediæval times
seems to have acted much as any modern king of sense and proper feeling
would now act. To understand distinctly how great a superiority this
implied over the prejudices and habits of thought of his own time,
we should recal to mind the fact that, more than two centuries after
Edward’s day, two such monarchs as Charles V. and Francis I. actually
contemplated, for a considerable time, a settlement of their disputes
by this same absurd method of a royal combat! In truth, in this, as in
many other passages of his life, Edward evinced the possession, as it
were by intuition, of all the practical wisdom which the experience of
nearly six centuries has given to the public men of our own day.

The king had now returned from Wales, and had received an urgent
invitation from Philip of France to visit him at Amiens, in order that
they might consult on the subject of this dispute. He accordingly set
out on this journey, and had reached Canterbury, on his way to Dover,
when tidings reached him of the illness of his mother, queen Eleanor of
Provence, at the convent of Ambresbury, in Wiltshire. A messenger was
immediately despatched to Amiens, with a letter of apology, and Edward
forthwith turned his steps towards the west. On her recovery the king
paid a religious visit to the abbey of St. Edmund’s‐bury, and spent a
part of the season of Lent in this retreat.

On the 25th of March, 1285, a parliament was held at Westminster, at
which the “Statutes of Westminster II.” were adopted. “These statutes,”
says Delolme, “are the foundations of much of the law of the land, as
it now stands.” “They were framed,” says Lord Campbell, “in a spirit
of enlightened legislation, and admirably accommodated the law to the
changed circumstances of the social system; which ought to be the
object of every wise legislator.”

In October, another parliament was held at Winchester, at which
the “Statute of Winchester” was passed. This important enactment
established an effective system of “watch and ward,” for the protection
of life and property; which, from the laxity prevalent through all the
previous reign, had come to be greatly needed.

Two other parliaments appear to have been held in Westminster, in
February and May, 1286;—in fact, it seems to have been Edward’s desire
to hold, whenever practicable, three or four such meetings in each
year. Now, as he very seldom, in the first twenty years of his reign,
had any occasion to ask his people for money, his object in thus
frequently meeting his parliament must have been that of a frank and
unrestrained interchange of thought and feeling as to public affairs.
This was a characteristic feature of the king’s mind. Weak sovereigns
and hesitating statesmen always _fear_ a parliament, and are eager for
its separation and departure. But Edward knew nothing of fear, and he
had one of the most transparent of minds. Even when vehemently thwarted
and opposed, as by archbishop Winchelsey and earls Bigod and Bohun, his
first thought generally was to send for his opponents to come to him,
for that “the king wished to have a private colloquium with them.” In
the present case there was no quarrel or difference of opinion; but,
in all probability, the chief matter for discussion was the king’s
intended visit to the continent, and the measures to be adopted for
carrying on the government in his absence.

Not until the summer of that year was he able to take his departure.
On the 24th of June, 1286, he embarked, accompanied by his queen, and
attended by a splendid train of bishops, earls, barons, and knights.
He was received with due honour by king Philip, and was conducted to
St. Germain’s, where he remained for several weeks. Many important
questions required to be discussed by these two potent sovereigns.
There were various claims, some of which had been long undecided, on
the part of the crown of England, on Normandy, Limousin, Saintonge,
etc.; there was homage to be paid for possessions in France, to king
Philip; and there was the difficult question, in which Edward had
consented to act as umpire between the houses of Aragon and Anjou,
touching the crown of Sicily.

The various questions arising out of the disputed territory in
Normandy, Limousin, Saintonge, etc., occupied much time. France, now
strong and at peace, felt no disposition to relinquish one foot of
territory. On this point Philip was immoveable; and Edward, though
equally warlike with his grandson, the victor of Crécy, felt none of
the ambitious longings of Edward III. for conquests in France, nor any
desire for such barren honours as those of Agincourt or Poictiers. He
brought the various topics of discussion to a peaceful settlement;
accepting an annual payment in lieu of some territory which Philip was
unwilling to relinquish, and gaining, on the other hand, a concession
of the right of appeal as regarded Gascony.

Quitting the court of France so soon as these discussions were
concluded, Edward passed on to Bourdeaux, where many things required
his presence and his decision. But the chief affair which had brought
him to the continent remained now to be adjusted; and, like many
similar questions referred to the decision of a third party, it opened
a nearly interminable controversy. The two chiefs, the king of Aragon
and the count of Anjou, were equally unworthy of Edward’s solicitude.
He found it very difficult to effect any arrangement, and a task still
more hopeless to induce them to keep their engagements when made.
Like the English barons in 1263, who agreed to refer their dispute
with Henry III. to the arbitration of Louis of France, meaning to
abide by his decision only so far as suited their own purposes,—the
two combatants in the present case could in no way be made to carry
out their own pledges, or to submit to the decision which they had
professed to desire. Edward succeeded at last in making a treaty which
restored the prince of Salerno, Charles’s son, to his liberty; but as
soon as he had returned home, the two rivals treated the rest of their
engagements with mutual disregard.

The king and queen landed at Dover in August, 1289, and Edward’s first
acts were of a religious nature. He had experienced, while abroad,
deliverances of a more than ordinary kind. For several weeks he had
suffered from a dangerous illness, from which, however, he had now
entirely recovered. And on one occasion, while at Bourdeaux, a flash
of lightning entering the room in which he and the queen were sitting,
killed two of the attendants, while the king and his consort remained
untouched. We have already stated that, after the manner of those
times, Edward was a most religious king. Very naturally, therefore,
his first thought on landing was to pay a visit to the abbey of St.
Edmund’s‐bury, there to perform “the vows made while he was in trouble.”

But his presence, and his strong right arm, were soon demanded by
various public necessities. His absence had naturally tended to give
opportunity for lawless practices, both among the higher and the
lower classes. The excellent “Statute of Winchester,” made not long
before his departure to the continent, had been scarcely brought into
operation. Bands of outlaws concealed themselves in the forests, and
waylaid travellers. Often they proceeded to still greater lengths.
During a fair held at Boston in Lincolnshire, Thomas Chamberlain, a man
of some note, had set fire to the town, hoping, with his associates, to
take advantage of the confusion and to pillage the place. He himself
was taken and hanged, but none of his accomplices were discovered. And
the root of these disorders lay deep, and in a quarter which ought to
have been beyond suspicion. The judges of the land were corrupt, and
for bribes would release the robber and the murderer. The archbishop of
Canterbury, who probably greeted the king on his landing, acquainted
him with these disorders, and made known to him their secret cause.
Edward lost no time in acting with his accustomed energy and vigour.

On the 13th of October, the king celebrated the feast of St. Edward,
and on the same day obeyed the injunctions of the prophet (Isa. lviii.
6) by issuing a proclamation, that all persons who had been aggrieved
or oppressed by the judges or other ministers should come before him
at the ensuing parliament, and exhibit their complaints. The result
showed that the people put their trust in the king, and felt assured
that his promise would be kept. A fearful case was established against
the judges; and the chancellor, Burnel, whose whole course commands
our respect, “brought forward very serious charges against those high
functionaries for taking bribes and altering the records.” All except
two—John de Metingham and Elias de Bokingham—were convicted. The chief
baron Stratton was fined 34,000 marks; the chief justice of the king’s
bench, 7000 marks; the master of the rolls, 1000 marks; while Weyland,
the chief justice of the common pleas, who was the greatest delinquent,
fled to the convent of the Friars Minor at Bury St. Edmunds, where he
took sanctuary. The king, when informed of this, sent a knight with a
guard, not to violate the sanctuary, but to blockade it till the judge
should surrender. After holding out for two months, Weyland submitted,
and petitioned for leave to abjure the realm. This, which involved the
forfeiture of all his goods, was granted to him; and his property,
when taken possession of, was found to amount to 100,000 marks—“an
almost incredible sum,” says Blackstone, being, indeed, equal to about
_one million sterling_ at the present day. Nothing could more fully
establish the guilt of the accused judge, or more strikingly show the
enormous extent to which his criminal practices had been carried.

“These sentences,” says lord Campbell, “had on the whole a very
salutary effect.” The example was a terrible one; yet in our own day we
have seen heavier sentences, such as transportation or penal servitude,
inflicted for lighter offences. The king, however, immediately added
a new precaution, by ordering that, in future, every judge on his
appointment should take an oath to accept no gift or gratuity from any
one.

Another class of offenders was about the same time brought under the
notice of the king and his parliament. Dr. Henry says, “The Jews seem
to have taken occasion, from the king’s absence and the venality of the
judges, to push their exactions to a greater length than ever; and the
cry against them was now become so vehement and universal, that the
parliament which assembled at Westminster on the 12th of January, 1290,
came to a resolution to banish the whole race out of the kingdom.”

Rapin adds, “The king was unable any longer to protect them without
disobliging the parliament. They had enjoyed various privileges, such
as synagogues in London, a sort of high priest, and judges of their
own nation to decide on their own differences. These advantages they
lost by not being able to curb their insatiable greediness of enriching
themselves by unlawful means, such as usury, adulteration of the coin,
and the like.” Another writer cites a complaint of their exactions,
which shows that they were in the habit of requiring from forty to
sixty‐five per cent. for the use of money; a system which would
naturally and very quickly be felt to be intolerable.

Hence their entire expulsion was resolved upon, and ordered. It was not
an act of “religious intolerance,” but a result of popular indignation.
In effecting this, the impatient exultation of the people led them in
some cases to actual ill treatment of the Jews. The sailors of a ship
in which some of them had embarked placed them upon a sandbank at low
water, and left them to be drowned. The king ordered the perpetrators
of this crime to be brought to trial, and on their conviction capital
punishment followed.

In a parliament held on the 8th of July, 1290, “several important
statutes were made;” and gradually, but constantly, the idea of
_legislation_ by a _parliament_ took root, grew, and became fixed in
the English mind. The writs for this parliament command the sheriffs
to send from their respective counties two or three knights, with full
powers, “ad consulendum et consentiendum his quæ comites, barones et
proceres, tum duxerint concordanda.”[28] When assembled, it placed upon
the statute‐book the statutes “de Consultatione,” “de Quo Warranto,”
“Quia Emptores,” and those of “Westminster III.”

In the spring and summer of this year, 1290, queen Eleanor had the
satisfaction of witnessing the marriage of two of her daughters.
The princess Joanna, born at Acre, and now in her eighteenth year,
was united on the last day of April, in the monastery of St. John,
Clerkenwell, to Gilbert de Clare, earl of Gloucester, the most powerful
peer in England; and on the 9th of July, in Westminster Abbey,
Margaret, the queen’s third daughter, was married to John, duke of
Brabant. One of the young princesses, Mary, had in the preceding year
followed the example of her grandmother, Eleanor of Provence, and had
taken the veil in the convent of Ambresbury, where the old queen had
long resided.

Of the frank and cordial manners of the court, and of the harmony
subsisting between the king and his consort, we catch a few indications
from the remaining records. Thus we find that on Easter Monday, 1290,
seven of the queen’s ladies of honour invaded the king’s private
chamber to perform the feat customary on that holiday,[29] of “heaving”
or lifting the monarch in his chair; and from their hands he was only
released on paying a fine of forty shillings to each, to be set at
liberty. On another occasion, while the king and his attendants were
saddling and mounting for the chase at Fingringhoe in Essex, the king
espies Matilda of Waltham, his laundress, among the lookers‐on in the
court‐yard. He merrily proposes a wager of a fleet horse, probably with
the queen, that Matilda cannot ride with them, and be in at the death
of the stag. The wager is accepted; Matilda starts and wins, and Edward
has to ransom his horse for forty shillings.

On the marriage of the king’s daughter, Margaret, to the duke of
Brabant, as many as four hundred and twenty‐six minstrels were present,
and the bridegroom distributed among them an hundred pounds. Some
entries about this period shows the king’s quick irascibility. On one
occasion we note an expense incurred in repairing a crown or coronet
which he had thrown behind the fire. And on the princess’s wedding‐day,
an esquire, or gentleman of the court, had irritated the king by some
supposed neglect or misbehaviour, and received from him a stroke on
the head with a wand. But the offender was able to show the king that
he had been hasty and, perhaps, unjust. Most princes would probably
have been content with an expression of regret; but Edward was warm
and hearty, alike in reproof or in retractation. Finding that he had
done his attendant a wrong, he at once _fined himself twenty marks_,
equal to about two hundred pounds of our present money, which sum was
duly paid to the aggrieved party, and charged in the king’s wardrobe
account. Gifts of various kinds were constantly issuing from Edward’s
hands. In one year, 1286, the new year’s gift to queen Eleanor was a
cup of gold, worth £23 6s. 8d.; and in another, a pitcher of gold,
enamelled and set with precious stones.

But all this mutual and well‐placed affection was now to find the
common termination of all earthly enjoyments. That happy and entire
union which had subsisted for nearly five‐and‐thirty years was drawing
to a close. The king and queen, after taking leave of their daughter
Margaret, now duchess of Brabant, left their palace in Westminster for
the midland counties. Edward had given directions for a parliament to
be summoned to meet at Clipston, a royal palace in Sherwood Forest;
and in the interim, he hoped to enjoy his favourite recreation of the
chase. He also began to receive, about this time, frequent applications
from Scotland, and he probably meant to go northward on that business.
The queen, as usual, was with him, or near him; but while he was
moving about during September, she seems to have remained at Hardby,
near Lincoln. We find by mention of her physicians, and of medicine
purchased for her at Lincoln, that she had an illness of some duration.
It is described as a lingering disease, or slow fever. Hardby was a
manor belonging to a family of the name of Weston, and we observe a
sir John Weston in the queen’s service. The house was probably placed
by the family at the queen’s disposal, as a quieter place for a sick
person than the palace of Clipston, where the parliament was about to
assemble.

It is usually said that Edward was on his road to Scotland, the queen
slowly following him, and that she was taken ill on the journey, and
died before he could return to her. But it has been recently shown
that he remained in the vicinity of Hardby during the whole of her
illness.[30] The parliament was held at Clipston—the king being present
at the end of October, and it sat until the second week in November,
when he returned to the sick room. We find him at Hardby from the 20th
to the 28th of November, on which day the queen died.[31]

For two or three days silence reigns at Hardby. There is an entire
cessation of all public business; as if the powerful mind of the king
had been, for the moment, utterly prostrated. But, after this pause,
we find the widowed monarch at Lincoln, where he doubtless went to
issue his orders for the funeral. And all the measures he took with
reference to this object and to the matters which followed, and which
were connected with it, give proof of the depth of his feeling for
his departed consort. It has been said, with great truth, that “this
funeral procession was one of the most striking spectacles that England
has ever witnessed.”[32]

About ten days were occupied in the sad and solemn journey from
Lincolnshire to Westminster, the king and his relatives following
the body the whole way. When the procession approached a town which
was to furnish a resting‐place, it halted until the ecclesiastics
of the place approached with their procession, to bear the body to
its temporary abode, before the high altar in the principal church.
These halting‐places were afterwards made the site of crosses, richly
sculptured, and intended to remind passengers in all future times of
the good queen’s last journey. These crosses were raised at Lincoln,
Grantham, Stamford, Geddington, Northampton, Stony Stratford, Woburn,
Dunstable, St. Alban’s, Waltham, West Cheap, and Charing.

The body of the departed queen, as it entered one of these towns, was
met by the monks and clergy of the place, who, receiving and conveying
it to its temporary resting‐place, kept watch over it all night long,
with mournful chants and unceasing prayers. It was thus slowly brought
to the neighbourhood of London, and here, apparently, the king left the
procession by night and entered the metropolis, in order that he might
meet the body at the head of the nobility and of all the dignified
clergy of London and Westminster, on its approach to its last
resting‐place. Some of those then present would be able to recal to
memory the day when, five‐and‐thirty years before, they had accompanied
king Henry and the rejoicing citizens of London to meet the young
Eleanor, then for the first time approaching their city as the prince’s
bride.

We have already alluded to the manner of the disposal of the queen’s
remains. It is most probable that it was chiefly in accordance with
Eleanor’s own desire. One portion was deposited in Lincoln cathedral;
another in the church of the Black Friars in London; but the body
itself was conveyed to Westminster, and placed near to the tomb of king
Henry, which was even then hardly completed. It is needless to add
that the funeral rites were in accordance with all the rest of this
solemnly‐magnificent ceremony; “cum summâ omnium reverentiâ et honore.”

The king remained at Westminster for about a week after the interment;
doubtless he was chiefly occupied in giving directions for the
extraordinary honours which were yet to be paid to the memory of
his departed consort. He then retired to Ashridge, a house of “Bons
Hommes,” recently founded by his uncle, the earl of Cornwall, which
enjoyed the reputation of possessing “a few drops of the precious blood
of Jesus.” This may have been a principal reason for the selection
of this spot by the king, who himself reckoned among his most valued
treasures “two pieces of the rock of Calvary, which had been presented
to him by one Robert Ailward, a pilgrim.”

Edward remained at Ashridge until the 26th of January, 1291, a long
retirement for a man of such active energy. He then went to Evesham, or
Eynsham, and from thence to Ambresbury, where his mother resided, and
where he would also meet his daughter Mary. The spring opens before
we find him actively engaged in public business, and there are many
proofs that he never ceased to lament his beloved Eleanor. Assuredly
the measures he adopted during the next two years to do honour to
her memory, were of a kind which, for munificence and persevering
thoughtfulness, have very seldom been equalled.

The twelve crosses, which were apparently the first thought that
occurred to him, constituted in themselves a princely monument. There
are records still extant of no less than £650 17s. 5d. paid for the
work done on that erected at Charing, a sum equal to £10,000 of our
money. The cross at West Cheap cost £300; that at Waltham, £95; that at
St. Alban’s, £113. But it is probable that the statues were supplied by
a different artist. We are surely within the mark when we reckon that
a sum equal to £30,000 or £40,000 of our present money was expended on
these mementoes.

A splendid tomb was placed in the minster at Lincoln; another, in
the form of a chapel, was raised in the church of the Black Friars
in London. The principal sepulchral monument, however, was naturally
allotted to Westminster Abbey. There the best artist that could be
procured was employed to form in metal a recumbent effigy of the queen,
placed appropriately on a richly‐ornamented tomb. The cost of the
tomb is not recorded, but we find entries of as much as £113 6s. 8d.,
equal to about £1700 of our present money, paid to the artist employed
on queen Eleanor and king Henry’s effigies. A distinct payment also
appears of a smaller sum for the erection of a workshop, in which these
two statues were fabricated.

But the chief work still remained to be done. Edward had noble and
splendid conceptions of princely works and long‐enduring memorials,
but his sagacious and reflecting mind could not rest satisfied with
works in stone or works in metal. The almost universal belief of
the church in England in those days, even “holy bishop Robert” not
dissenting, was, that prayers and alms especially directed to the
welfare of a departed soul had a beneficial effect upon that soul in
the intermediate state.

This opinion, when compared with the teaching of Holy Scripture at
the time of the Reformation, was found to be delusive; but in the
thirteenth century it had not even been questioned. Edward’s care,
therefore, for the well‐being of his beloved Eleanor in the invisible
world soon began to manifest itself. While at Ashridge, and himself
engaged in continual prayers for his departed consort, he found time to
write a very earnest and pathetic letter to the abbot of Clugny, one
of the most famous monasteries in Europe, entreating the prayers of
that fraternity for her, “whom living he had dearly loved, and whom,
though dead, he should never cease to love.” And such a request was,
doubtless, accompanied by a princely offering. But in his own realm
Edward could be more definite and elaborate.

At Hardby a chantry was founded, and another at Elynton; and on the
first and second anniversaries of the queen’s death we find mention
of various religious services and of large distributions of alms. But
the principal provision was naturally reserved for Westminster. In his
gifts to the abbey church for perpetual prayers and alms on behalf
of the departed queen, “the king was quite profuse.” He gave to this
church the manors of Knoll, Arden’s Grafton, and Langdon, Warwickshire,
with other lands in the same county; and the manors of Bidbrook in
Essex, Westerham in Kent, and Turweston in Bucks, for a perpetual
commemoration. Special services of the most solemn kind were provided
for, and seven score poor persons were to have charity. The charter for
these gifts was dated in October, 1292, showing that neither the lapse
of time nor the distractions of the momentous Scottish controversy
could withdraw his mind from this earnest and settled purpose.

Edward, however, was well versed in the Old Testament scriptures, and
he remembered Isaiah’s warnings against religious ceremonies without
justice or charity. On the anniversaries of his consort’s death, we
often remark the occurrence of large distributions of alms. But another
thing is also noticeable. The queen had enjoyed from her husband’s
affection large landed possessions. Her stewards or bailiffs might
have wronged or oppressed her tenants. We know not what proclamation
may have been made, or invitation given, calling upon all who had any
complaint to offer, to come forward; but it seems quite clear, that
some such proclamation must have been issued; for the records are
very numerous, in the next year or two, of the investigation of such
complaints. And a fixed and honest purpose to do justice to all parties
is evident in all these transactions.

The sorrow felt for queen Eleanor’s death was, apparently, general
and sincere. Her name is connected with no political contention or
intrigue; and she seems to have made no enemies. Rishanger, writing at
the time of her death, styles her “this most saintly woman and queen;”
and adds, somewhat hyperbolically, that she was like “a pillar that
supported the whole state.” Walsingham, who wrote in the next age,
described her more intelligibly, as “a woman pious, modest, pitiful,
benevolent to all.” He adds, that “the sorrowful, everywhere, so far
as her dignity allowed, she consoled, and those who were at variance
she delighted to reconcile.” But her best eulogium is found in her
consort’s grief. His penetration and sagacity, his native nobleness
of soul would have rendered it impossible for him to love a mean and
unworthy object. But his affection for her was not a mere youthful
passion. It was after a companionship of five‐and‐thirty years that he
gave his testimony to her worth; and that testimony was one which few
women indeed in the whole world’s history have ever received or have
ever merited.


Footnotes:

  [24] “Seldom,” says Mr. Pearson, “has a shameful and violent death
  been better merited than by a double‐dyed traitor like David, false
  by turns to his country and his king; nor could justice be better
  honoured than by making the last penalty of rebellion fall upon the
  guilty prince, rather than on his followers.”—“History of England,”
  vol. ii., p. 330.

  [25] Tytler’s History of Scotland, vol. i., p. 431.

  [26] Pearson’s Hist, of England, vol. ii., p. 336.

  [27] Hoare’s edit. of Giraldus Cambrensis.

  [28] Parry’s History of Parliaments, p. 54.

  [29] This custom still exists, after the lapse of more than five
  hundred years, in some of the midland counties of England.

  [30] “Archæologia,” vol. xxix., p. 169.

  [31] Ibid., p. 174.

  [32] “Archæologia,” vol. xxix., p. 174.




V.

RETROSPECTIVE VIEW.


The autumn of the year 1290 was a solemn epoch in this great king’s
life. In this autumn died his beloved Eleanor; in this autumn died,
also, “the maiden of Norway,” the young queen of Scotland, whose death
ushered in so many troubles.

Halcyon skies had for a whole quarter of a century gilded Edward’s
course and prospects; but a few weeks sufficed to end the sunshine of
his prosperous career. From the battle of Evesham, in 1265, to the
death of his queen, and the opening of the Scottish controversy in
1290, his life had been one of great enjoyment, great harmony, and
great usefulness. “Held in universal esteem at home,” and “famous
throughout the world” for wisdom and valour, his lot might be regarded
as one of no common prosperity. But this sad year, 1290, ended all
this happiness. Clouds and storms arose, and though brief intervals of
calm occurred, we find a king who was “slow to all manner of strife,”
compelled in his fifty‐seventh year to don his armour and mount his
horse, and set forth to meet a Scottish inroad, and from that time
forth until his death in 1307, almost in every year we find him, in
whom the infirmities of age must have begun to make themselves felt, in
harness and in the saddle, sleeping at night by his horse’s side on the
bare heath, working with his men in the laborious siege of a fortress,
and encountering, all the time, what to such a man was by far more
painful—treachery from professed friends, and from his foes, perpetual
simulations of submission, followed by constant treasons and breaches
of covenant, the moment the sword was lifted from their throat. We
open, in this sad year, the second volume of Edward’s reign, but before
we close the first, let us glance for a few moments at the past, and
try once more to rectify the widespread error, or rather the constant
misrepresentation, which shows to us this great king as, by choice,
a man of war; when he was, more than most other sovereigns, a man of
peace.

One of the ablest, and generally one of the fairest of our modern
historians, thus commences his account of Edward’s reign:—“Laying aside
his disputes with his neighbours as a French prince, his active and
splendid reign may be considered as an attempt to subject the whole
island of Great Britain to his sway.”[33] And a few pages later we
are told that “his ambition tainted all his acts,” and again, that “a
conqueror is a perpetual plotter against the safety of all nations.”
And another justly‐esteemed writer, Mr. Sharon Turner, tells us that
“The reign of Edward was that of a prince whose sedate judgment and
active talents advanced the civilization and power of his country. It
may be considered under four heads—his incorporation of Wales, his wars
in Scotland, his foreign treaties, and his internal reforms.”

Thus both these writers, and with them a multitude of smaller note,
agree in describing Edward as a man of ambition, a man covetous of his
neighbour’s possessions, a conqueror, “perpetually plotting” against
the safety of others. Now, our quarrel with this view is not merely
that it is inaccurate or imperfect, but that it is diametrically
opposed to all the principal facts of the case, calling white black
and black white, and representing a sovereign as ambitious and
unscrupulous, whose real character was that he was scrupulously
conscientious;—“as careful in performing his obligations as in exacting
his rights,”[34] or, again, to cite the old chronicler,

    “Slowe to all manner of strife;
  Discreet and wise, and true of his worde.”

Such writers as those we have cited place before their readers a king
who, from his very accession, coveted and “plotted against” both
Wales and Scotland. To this we oppose the indubitable facts, that
when Llewellyn withheld his homage, Edward, instead of proceeding
to extremities, was patient and forbearing, sent him summons after
summons, offered to go to Shrewsbury or to Chester to meet him, and
waited, in all, two whole years before he took up arms. And, again,
that when Llewellyn was reduced to extremities, and might have been
banished and Wales annexed, Edward granted him peace the moment he
asked it, replaced him in his seat, attended his marriage, and did
all he could to make him his friend. The war which led to Llewellyn’s
chance‐medley death, and to the annexation, was a war made by Llewellyn
and David, not by the English king.

As for Scotland, the conquest of which is placed in the fore‐front of
Edward’s ambitious designs, it is surely enough to say that he ascended
the throne in 1272, and that during more than eighteen years he never
stirred one step or moved a finger against the honour and independence
of Scotland. In 1290 the Scottish throne became vacant, and he was
clamorously besought, for years, by all the chief men in Scotland to
interfere. Yet, instead of seizing the opportunity, he stood aloof,
went, at last, cautiously into the question, and in November, 1292,
adjudged the throne to Baliol.

Four more years elapsed without the slightest move on Edward’s part
against Scotland. But in 1296, the twenty‐fourth year of Edward’s
reign, the Scotch joined with his enemy, the king of France, and
invaded England. And then, and not before, being in his fifty‐seventh
year, did the king enter Scotland, a country which, we are now assured,
he had been coveting and “plotting against” for a whole quarter of a
century. We say, then, once more, that these constant representations
of Edward, which we find in a multitude of historians, great and small,
exhibiting him as an ambitious man, a conqueror, a “designing man,”
constantly “plotting against the safety of his neighbours,” constitute,
on the whole, one of the most extraordinary instances of literary
injustice and wrong that is to be found in all British history.

Let us look for a moment at the actual results, the real facts, of
these eighteen years. Surely a period of this length, extending from
the thirty‐third to the fifty‐first year of Edward’s life, might be
expected to show his real character, the true bent of his mind. A
conqueror, an ambitious man, is not likely to waste the whole prime of
his life in peaceful inactivity, and only to exhibit his cupidity and
unscrupulousness when grey hairs were beginning to show themselves.
The victors of Crécy and of Agincourt followed no such course. What
Edward really was, he showed in these eighteen years. The conquest of
Wales, the only interruption of an otherwise peaceful course, was, as
we have shown, forced upon him. He had no choice in the matter. The
Welsh princes would not have peace. But, with this one exception, what
was the character of this protracted period—the whole prime of Edward’s
life?

It was that of constant, careful, sedulous improvement. No department
of the government was exempt from his thoughtful scrutiny. The
revenues of the crown were carefully examined, and their economical
employment provided for. In place of “seizures” for the king’s use, we
now find “purchases.” The household expenses were placed on a proper
footing. The king could exhibit royal splendour when public occasions
called for it; but the general rule of his expenditure was that of
frugality. A modern writer observes, that “his household as king was
both well‐regulated and economical. We have a record of his expenses
while residing at Langley, Bucks, in Lent, 1290.” This, of course, was
not a season of festivity; but we find that “in the first week his
expenses were £7 10s. 4½d; in the second, £5 19s. 0½d.; and in the
third, £5 12s. 2½d.[35] Now, bearing in mind the habits and usages of
that time,[36] when the regulated price of a lamb was _sixpence_, and
of a goose, _fourpence_, we shall see at a glance that this expenditure
for a king, in retirement during the season of Lent, was both liberal
and economical. It contrasts forcibly with the reckless extravagance
of his father Henry, and of his still more wasteful son, the second
Edward. Henry, after his royal festivities at Bourdeaux and Paris in
1254, returned home burdened with debts, which he himself described as
“horrible to think of.” And the younger Edward, when just commencing
life, seems to have been accustomed to spend as much _daily_ as we have
just seen his father spend _weekly_! We have a record of his household
expenses for three days in 1293, when he was staying in a country
residence. On Thursday his expenses amounted to £7 4s. 5d., on Friday,
to £6 8s. 1d., and on Saturday, to £6 4s.; being at the rate of about
£46 per week. The expenditure of his household in that year amounted to
£3,846 7s. 6d., which at the present rate of money would be equal to
more than £50,000 per annum. That such habits in youth should lead to a
reign of discomfort, closing on dishonour, is not to be wondered at.

Edward I., however, though economical, was no lover of money. On
fitting occasions his expenditure was royal. His coronation banquet was
one of unusual splendour and liberality. His Round Table celebrations
must have been very costly. Fond of hunting, his stables must have
occasioned a considerable outlay. His presents were magnificent,
his charities were very large. The entries under this head, in his
“Wardrobe Accounts,” were numerous, and must have reached an aggregate,
in each year, of large amount. One of the chronicles of the day makes
this brief allusion to his charities:—

“King Edward, turning aside to the northern parts, celebrated Easter
at Newcastle, where he distributed great abundance of oblations in the
monasteries, and gave large alms to the people; insomuch that many men
not poor did not blush to pretend themselves so, being allured by so
great a liberality.”[37]

On the first anniversary of his consort’s death, besides great and
costly solemnities at Westminster, the Black Friars in London, and
at Lincoln, we find mention made of many other places—Haverfordwest,
Burgh, Haverleigh, Somerton, Lindhurst, Ledes, and Langley—where the
day was observed with especial rites, and the distribution of alms. All
this was done at the king’s expense, and sums varying from £19 to £30
were given to each place. But £30 in those days was nearly equal to
£500 at the present day.

On the second anniversary, besides many other celebrations, alms were
distributed to the prisoners in Newgate, to the hospitals of St. Giles,
St. James, St. Thomas, St. Mary, and St. Bartholomew, in London, and
also to the seven houses of Friars’ mendicants in the same city.

Edward reformed the coin of the realm. He strove to restore purity to
the administration of justice. By many stringent regulations he tried
to abolish usury, which had grown to be an enormous evil.

It is in his reign that we first find an annual account of the public
revenue and expenditure.[38] So admirably were the finances of the
government administered, that in all these eighteen years, 1272-1290,
we find only four applications to the people for an “aid”—a vote of
taxes for the expenditure of the crown; and each of these is for a
declared and special purpose.

In his fourth year, the second after his coronation, he asked and
obtained a _fifteenth_, to clear off his remaining liabilities on
account of his expedition to the Holy Land—a work deemed, in those
days, to be a public duty.

In his fifth year, he asked for a _twelfth_, to provide for the
expenses of the anticipated war with Wales.

In his eleventh year, the war in Wales having broken out a second time,
he obtained a _thirtieth_ from the laity and a _twentieth_ from the
_clergy_.

And in his eighteenth year, having returned from a prolonged visit to
Gascony and other parts, where he had incurred many expenses, he asked
and obtained a _fifteenth_.

These four small levies are all that Edward required during the first
eighteen years of his reign. And the termination, for ever, of the
destructive warfare on the borders of Wales, which had so long laid
waste several counties of England, was far more than an abundant
compensation to his people. Had he never been assailed by others, the
rest of his reign might have passed over without any further demands
upon his subjects. Had not Philip of France endeavoured to deprive him
of Gascony, while the Scotch, in reckless violation of their recent
oaths, allied themselves to France and invaded England; there is no
reason to suppose that any burdens would have been laid upon the
people, or that the earls of Norfolk and Hereford would have found any
opportunity for their resistance or their “patriotism.”

But the chief glory of his reign was, that he saw and appreciated that
great public necessity—the want of good laws, and of a constitutional
legislature for their consideration and enactment. We have already
cited, but must here repeat, his first avowal, made as early as in the
year 1267, of what he deemed to be the true office, the first duty of a
king. Speaking in his father’s name, he said,—

“Our lord the king, providing for the better estate of his realm
of England, and for the more speedy administration of justice, as
belongeth to the office of a king; the more discreet men of the realm
being called together, as well of the higher as of the lower degree;
it was provided, agreed, and ordained,” etc.

Here we have, before he had ascended the throne, but at a time when he
assuredly governed the vessel of the State, a brief but pithy outline
of the constitution of England; and that outline it was the effort,
the business of his life to fill up. With a vigorous hand he applied
himself to the work of establishing a system of wise laws, and of
improving the administration of justice. His sagacious and active mind
penetrated and pervaded every department. And hence it is, that, in the
judgment of all competent historians, the thirteenth century is the
starting‐point of the history of England. A writer of the Elizabethan
age[39] repeatedly notices with admiration, “his noble industry,” his
“unceasing labours”; and this praise is justified by the recorded
facts. In former reigns, foreign contests, and the suppressions of
rebellion, or the enjoyment of hunting, filled up the reigns of the
Norman kings. But Edward lived for England. In the former reigns, a
brief charter had sometimes been extorted from the king; and in Henry’s
long reign our Statute‐Book commences, with six ordinances, made in the
course of fifty‐six years. But so soon as Edward ascends the throne,
legislation of the highest order at once begins. Crowned in 1274, in
1275 we have the “Statute of Westminster,” “a code, rather than an act
of parliament.” In 1276, the statutes on _Coroners_ and on _Bigamy_.
Occupied with Wales for one year, in 1278 we have the “Statute of
Gloucester;” in 1279, the great “Statute of Mortmain.” Once more Wales
claimed his attention; but in 1283 was passed “the famous statute” _de
Mercatoribus_. In 1284, followed the “Statutes of Wales.” In 1285, the
second “Statutes of Westminster;” and subsequently, the “Statute of
Winchester.” He was then abroad for three years; but on his return, we
have, immediately, the statutes “Quo Warranto,” “Quia Emptores,” and
“Westminster III.” Thus it is evident that Edward deemed, most wisely
and justly, that the establishment of good and wholesome laws was his
primary duty.

A hasty observer might remark that the quantity of this legislation
was not large, and that a statute or two in a year might be reckoned a
slow rate of production. But the answer to this is obvious. The work
of legislation was but newly undertaken, and those who had addressed
themselves to it were prudently cautious. Some of these statutes, too,
were large and comprehensive measures, well deserving a prolonged and
careful consideration. But this brings us to a distinct and separate
question—the character and value of Edward’s legislation. And this is
the most wonderful feature in the whole case; for the quality of this
legislation is probably unparalleled. Who is a higher authority on such
matters than Sir Edward Coke?—and he, describing Edward’s laws, says:—

“All the statutes made in the reign of this king may justly be styled
_establishments;_ because they are more constant, standing, and durable
laws, than have been made ever since. Justly, therefore, may this king
be called, our Justinian.”

Fifty years after Sir Edward Coke, lived the great and good Sir Matthew
Hale, who, in describing the growth of the common law of England, says
of this reign:—

“Never did the laws, in any one age, receive so great and sudden
an advancement. Nay, I may safely say, that all the ages since his
time have not done so much, in reference to the orderly settling and
establishing the distributive justice of this kingdom, as he did in
the short compass of his single reign.” He adds: “Upon the whole, it
appears, that the very scheme, mould, and model, of the common law, as
it was rectified and set in order by this king, so in a great measure
it has continued the same, through all succeeding ages to this day. So
that the mark or epocha we are to take for the true starting of the law
of England, _what it is_, is to be considered, stated, and estimated,
from _what this king left it_. Before his time it was, in a great
measure, rude and unpolished; while, on the other hand, as it was thus
polished and ordered by him, so it has remained hitherto, without any
great or considerable alteration.”

It would be easy to enlarge on this subject, but we are limiting
ourselves to an outline. Sir William Blackstone thus describes this
remarkable period of legislation:—

“Edward established, confirmed, and settled the great charter and the
charter of forests.

“He gave a mortal wound to the encroachments of the pope and his
clergy, by limiting and establishing the bounds of ecclesiastical
jurisdiction; and by obliging the ordinary, to whom the goods of
intestates at that time belonged, to discharge the debts of the
deceased.

“He defined the limits of the several temporal courts of the highest
jurisdiction, the king’s‐bench, common‐pleas, and exchequer, so that
they might not interfere with each other’s proper business.

“He settled the boundaries of the inferior courts, in counties,
hundred, and manors.

“He secured the property of the subject, by abolishing all arbitrary
taxes and talliages levied without consent of parliament.

“He guarded the common justice of the kingdom from abuses, by giving
up the royal prerogative of sending mandates to interfere in private
causes.

“He settled the forms, solemnities, and effect of fines levied in the
court of common‐pleas.

“He first established a repository for the public records of the
kingdom.

“He improved upon the laws of king Alfred, by that great and orderly
method of watch and ward, established by the statute of Winchester.

“He settled and reformed many abuses incident to tenures, by the
statute of _Quia emptores_.

“He instituted a speedier way for the recovery of debts, by granting
executions, not only upon goods and chattels, but also upon lands, by
writ of elegit; a signal benefit to a trading people.

“He effectually provided for the recovery of advowsons as temporal
rights.

“He closed the great gulf in which all the landed property of the
kingdom was in danger of being swallowed, by his reiterated statutes of
Mortmain.

“I might continue,” adds Sir William, “this catalogue much further;
but, upon the whole, we may observe that the very scheme and model of
the administration of common justice, between party and party, was
entirely settled by this king.”

Legislation, then, and not military aggrandisement, was the work to
which Edward gave himself; and to liken him to Justinian does him much
less than justice. The Roman emperor lived at the close of a long
period, during which Rome had abounded in laws, and in which the laws
had grown too complex and voluminous. His merit is, that he collected
and arranged them into a code. Edward’s position was wholly different.
He was born at a period when England, then rising into the position of
a nation, found itself without written laws and without a legislature;
and he set himself to work, with clearness of vision and with largeness
of heart, to supply both these wants. In the first of these merits he
does not stand alone. Other rulers have seen the need of laws, and have
set themselves to supply that need. But too often they have wished that
the work should be theirs, the power theirs, and the merit theirs also.
Now it is Edward’s peculiar glory that, from the very opening of his
public life, he seemed to have seen and adopted the great truth which
lies at the foundation of all “constitutions,” that “what concerns all
should be by all approved,” and that “common perils should be met by
remedies prescribed in common.” These words fell from him in 1295, but
the sentiment contained in them is discernible in every step of his
whole career.

It is this, then, and not any supposed “attempt to subject the whole
island to his sway,” which constitutes the chief feature, the principal
merit of Edward’s reign. To be a conqueror, although indeed this kind
of conquest—the bringing one island under one government—would be the
wisest and the best; to be a conqueror would be but an ordinary and
very common sort of merit. The organ of “acquisitiveness” is possessed
by a great many of the human race. Edward’s true glory lay, not in his
desire to _take_, but in his willingness to _give_. When he went forth,
“mighty in arms,” it was, in every case, because his foes left him no
choice,—because to remain at peace would have been dishonour. But his
peaceful conquests, his legislative victories, were entirely his own.
Here we see his own mind and will. From his first accession to power,
until the latest hour of his reign, two great objects were constantly
present to his mind. He saw that the realm required, and ought to
have, a parliament, consisting not only of prelates and lords, but of
“all the commonalty of the realm, thither summoned;” and next, that a
chief function and office of this parliament should be to deliberate
upon proposals laid before it, which should become, when assented to,
statutes of the realm.

It is the enunciation of these two principles which constitutes the
real glory of king Edward’s reign. That enunciation was his own
voluntary act, and its sincerity was proved by all the measures of
his subsequent career. His life was devoted to the working out of
this great theory. His first statute, in its preamble, gives a bold
and fearless sketch of a free legislature; and, before he died, he
had gathered around him, as elected members of that legislature, the
representatives of all the most populous towns of his realm of England.

Justly then does the writer whom we have already cited, a contemporary
of Spenser and of Shakespeare, describe this king as one “in whom we
see the value of wisdom, kingly powers, and noble industry,” one who
“was a fatherly king to his people; employing all his life, care, and
labour to benefit and nourish the commonwealth”—one, in fine, “in
whom the good government and commonwealth of England had their chief
foundation.”[40]


Footnotes:

  [33] Sir J. Mackintosh.

  [34] Pearson’s Hist. of England, vol. ii., p. 292.

  [35] Blaauw on “the Barons’ war,” p. 34.

  [36] The “Chronicle of Lanercost” gives us this anecdote of the
  manners of that day: “Richard de Clare, earl of Gloucester, paid
  a visit to Robert Grosstête, bishop of Lincoln, who received him
  with great honour, and desired his seneschal to provide a fitting
  dinner. At table the earl was seated at his host’s right hand, and
  it was a day when meat was not permitted by the Church. It was
  customary to eat choice sea wolves [the dog‐fish, still eaten in
  parts of Normandy], and the servant placed a very fine fish before
  the bishop, and a smaller one before the earl. The bishop was
  angry, and said, ‘Take away this fish, or else bring the earl one
  equally fine.’ The servant said that there was no other so large.
  ‘Then,’ said the bishop, ‘take away this first and give it to the
  poor, and bring me one like the earl’s.’”—“Chronicle of Lanercost,”
  p. 44.

  [37] “Chronicle of Lanercost,” A.D. 1291.

  [38] See Appendix.

  [39] Castra Regia. Roxburgh Club.

  [40] “Castra Regia,” Roxburgh Club.




VI.

SCOTTISH AFFAIRS—THE ARBITRATION—THE WAR.

A.D. 1291-1296.


The year 1290, as we have already observed, was the disastrous one
which ended Edward’s peaceful career, and involved him, without any
purpose or desire of his own, in troubles and strife for the rest of
his days. The death of a young princess, at a distance of five hundred
miles from Edward’s dominions, involved the northern part of the island
in troubles which he alone had power to quell. His interposition,
earnestly and loudly called for, became, apparently, inevitable.
But, when once engaged in the attempt, there seemed no option left
him in any of the after‐proceedings. Step followed step, by absolute
necessity, until the annexation of the Scottish realm became the
natural and unavoidable close; and in this way, without having any
alternative, he became an object of enmity to almost every Scotchman,
and drew down on his memory in after times, the bitter and unjust
animadversions of a long series of prejudiced historians.

A controversy had existed between England and Scotland for centuries
before Edward was born. Various kings of England had received the
homage alike of the princes of Wales and of the kings of Scotland.
We have seen that when Edward was to be crowned, his brother‐in‐law,
Alexander of Scotland, came to Westminster and paid his homage; while
Llewellyn of Wales, not denying his liability, tried to evade that
ceremony by various excuses.

But two different meanings were attached in England and Scotland
to this fealty due from the Scottish king. The English lawyers and
statesmen always maintained that it was due to the king of England
_for the realm of Scotland_. The Scots, on the other hand, insisted on
another view—that the king of Scotland owed homage for the honour or
earldom of Huntingdon, a possession held by him within the realm of
England; but that for Scotland itself he owed no fealty, and ought not
to come under any obligation. This quarrel, or difference of opinion,
had existed for two or three hundred years. It came to the surface at
Edward’s coronation, when his brother‐in‐law, the king of Scotland,
appeared at Westminster in great state to pay his homage. He came
attended by a hundred knights, and, as we have already narrated, “each
knight, as he dismounted from his horse, cast the steed loose, and
whosoever could catch them, had them to their own behoof.” But still,
when the homage was to be paid, the usual question arose. The English
lawyers and statesmen demanded an unconditional homage for the realm of
Scotland. The Scotch persisted in limiting it to “the lands their king
held of king Edward in England.” No quarrel ensued; the question seems
to have been postponed, for we find that three years after, Edward
writes to the bishop of Wells, that “his beloved brother, the king of
Scotland, had agreed to perform an unconditional homage at the ensuing
feast of Michaelmas.” Alexander then appeared before the parliament at
Westminster, and offered his homage in these words: “I, Alexander, king
of Scotland, do acknowledge myself the liegeman of my lord Edward, king
of England, against all his enemies.”

This Edward accepted;[41] and it is abundantly evident that, as the
two brothers‐in‐law had no intention of quarrelling, the real point in
dispute—the allegiance claimed “for the realm of Scotland”—was left
undecided—Edward not conceding, Alexander not admitting, the alleged
rights of the English crown.

This position of postponement, declining to bring the matter to a
quarrel, continued during the whole of Alexander’s life. Edward and he
remained in amity; but Edward in this and all other disputed questions,
always used the reservation—”saving the rights of my crown;” _i.e._,
“whatever properly belongs to the king of England, _that_ I do not
concede.”

In 1261 a daughter had been born to Alexander of Scotland in the castle
of Windsor, and in due time this daughter was married to Eric, king
of Norway. Her brother, the only surviving son of Alexander, was also
married, about the same time, to a daughter of the count of Flanders.
But the lapse of a few years saw the removal of almost the whole family
by death. Margaret, Alexander’s wife and Edward’s sister, died in 1274,
her son in 1282 or 1283, and her daughter, the queen of Norway, in the
following year. Alexander himself was killed by a fall from his horse
in 1286; and thus the only successor to his house remaining was the
young princess, his daughter’s child, who was styled “the maiden of
Norway.”

When Alexander suffered the loss of both his children in 1283-4, a
meeting of the estates of the realm was held at Scone, at which meeting
the succession was declared to belong to “the maiden of Norway.” When,
two years later, the unexpected calamity of Alexander’s own death
occurred, another meeting was held, and recourse was had to Edward,
whose niece, the late queen of Norway, had been the young maiden’s
mother. He was in Gascony at the time, and he contented himself with
counselling the Scotch to choose a regency, and to carry on the
government in the young queen’s name. The intelligence does not seem to
have hastened his return from the continent, which did not take place
until two or three years afterward.[42]

A council or parliament was accordingly held at Scone on the 11th of
April, 1286, at which a regency, consisting of six “guardians of the
realm,” was appointed. The persons chosen were, _the bishop of St.
Andrew’s_, the earl of Fife, the earl of Buchan, the bishop of Glasgow,
the lord of Badenoch, and James, the steward of Scotland.

But in the absence of any visible sovereign, it was not surprising
that the Bruces, and Baliols, and other families which claimed to be
in the line of succession, should draw together, consult, and form
confederacies, having in view the contingency which afterwards did
actually arise—that the young “maiden of Norway” might die before she
could ascend the throne. These rivalries and confederacies increased,
and the parties strove with each other, until, at length, as the
historian of Scotland confesses, “open war broke out between the
adherents of Baliol and Bruce; and, for two years after the death of
the king, continued its ravages in the country.”

Such was the state of affairs during the last portion of Edward’s stay
on the continent; and assuredly, for this sad predicament of Scotland,
he was in no way answerable. But the natural and inevitable consequence
was, that so soon as he arrived in England, he was compelled, by
appeals directed to him from all sides, to begin to concern himself
with the troubles of that kingdom. Sir Francis Palgrave has shown, by a
reference to the original documents, that such appeals were addressed
to him by the earl of Mar, by Robert Bruce, lord of Annandale, and
by a body called “the seven earls of Scotland.” These parties all
“appealed to the king of England and his royal crown.” So invoked, the
king invited them to send commissioners to meet him at Salisbury in
November, 1289, there to treat of “certain matters of import;” and to
which meeting the king of Norway would also send an ambassador of his
own. The Scotch readily acceded to his proposal, and they sent to this
meeting at Salisbury the bishop of St. Andrew’s, the bishop of Glasgow,
Robert Bruce, and John Comyn.

The “matters of import” which Edward propounded to this meeting,
concerned a plan, the best which human skill could have devised, for
restoring and securing the tranquillity of Scotland. The young prince
of Wales was now in his sixth year—the maiden of Norway was of nearly
the same age. If these two children were betrothed to each other, the
kingdom of Scotland would at once be placed under the joint protection
of England and Norway. Thus all would be security and order; and, in
course of time, on the succession of the young prince to the throne of
England, the unity and harmony of the two kingdoms, under one head,
would be secured in the best and most unobjectionable manner. Even the
Scottish historians, with one consent, admit the wisdom and prudence of
this plan, which Hume himself describes as “favourable to the happiness
and grandeur of both kingdoms.”

They also concede, that the negociation was conducted with the greatest
fairness and liberality on Edward’s part. Appealed to on all sides,
he could not question his own position, as, practically, the superior
lord. The king of Norway had instructed his ambassadors to treat with
the Scottish commissioners “only _in the presence_ of the king of
England.” And, referring to a claim which he had upon the Scots for a
sum of about 3,000 marks, he requests the king “to issue his commands
to the guardians of Scotland” to pay him the money. The young queen,
also, while she was the daughter of the king of Norway, was also the
daughter of Edward

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