Chapter X: Appendix: 347 (9)

“The parliament was protracted by numerous disagreements among the nobles. They had formed a plan to harass the king, and provoke him to anger, by demanding a right to appoint the chancellor, the chief justiciary, and the treasurer.” The king is said to have replied, “Would ye deny us a right which every one of you enjoys? Each head of a house among you has power over that house. Why do ye not demand the crown itself?—you might as well do that as make it a shadow. In your own households ye may prefer—ye may pass over—ye may depose this man or that. And would ye deny us the same right? Nay, truly, the king shall appoint his chancellor, his justiciary, his treasurer, during his own pleasure; _or else king we will not be_.” He added, “If our justiciary or any officer shall do unjustly, and the offence is not punished, then, indeed, complain if ye will.”—“Straightway,” continues the chronicler, “those who had urged the demand blushed. Many, however, preferred the _confederacy_ and war to peace, and this preference did not escape the king’s notice; but when the nobles generally saw how vain their demands were, they humbled themselves before the king, and asked pardon for their presumption.”

Of the same transactions Peter Langtoft gives this account:—

“The erles and barons at their first summoning,
For many manner reasons ’plained to the king.

* * * * *

And next they made plaint of his Treasorere;
That evil things attaint he maintained thro’ power.
‘Of many has it been told; to thee we ’plain us here;
Him for to remove through common assent.
Assign it for more prow (honour) to this parlement;
That can that office give, and do the right usage.’

* * * * *

The king’s answer was smart: ‘I see ye will,
Thro’ pride of heart, revile me with unskille:
And so low me to chace, mine officers to change,
And make them at your grace;—that were me over strange.
There is none of you, but he will at his might
Have sergeants for his prow, withouten other sight.
Shall no man put through skille his lord lower than he;
Ne I nor shall nor will, while I your king shall be.
If any of mine make strife, or taken thing not right,

* * * * *

That wrong I will so mende, if that it be attaint,
That none shall come or send, to make more plaint.

* * * * *

The parties were so felle altercande on ilk side,
That none could easily tell, whether war or peace would tide.
But God that is of might, and may help when He will,
For both the parties dight, and put them in his skille.”

We gather, then, from these two contemporary writers that a confederacy had been formed, and that even civil war was contemplated by some of the parties. But what occasion, what provocation had the king given for any such extreme and violent course? For several years past, powerful and courageous as he undoubtedly was, his whole course had been one of concession. First, the two earls, disliking the war in Flanders, begged him to excuse them, and to appoint substitutes in their room. He accepted their excuses, and appointed substitutes. They then sent after him to Flanders a request that he would add a new and important clause to Magna Charta, and also would pardon their offences. He granted both of these requests. Next, remembering that they had complained of offences committed by the officers of the forests, he issues, on his return home, a commission to inquire into this matter.[111] Their next demand is for a new perambulation of the forests. This, as a direct aggression, excites his anger; but, after a little consideration, he issues writs conceding this point also. And now he meets his parliament with a mass of “reports of perambulations,” and desires them, in the most conciliatory manner, to counsel him whether they think that these perambulations should stand and be accepted, or whether they desire any other course to be taken. What, then, in the king’s whole conduct had given any ground or provocation for this “confederacy,” in which even civil war was contemplated? Clearly, nothing.

Yet the fact, which is thus briefly stated in the “St. Alban’s Chronicle,” is confirmed by three other documents. In Leland’s “Collectanea” we find extracts from “Pakington’s Chronicle,” one of which runs thus (under the date of 1302): “There was opened to king Edward _a conspiracy_, wrought by the archbishop of Canterbury and divers counts and barons against him.” Again, _William Thorn_, a monk of Canterbury, narrating Edward’s speech to Winchelsey, when he remitted him to the pope, states the king to have reminded the archbishop of “_the treason_ which at our parliament at Lincoln you plotted against us.” And, in 1305, Edward, in issuing a new “ordinance of the forest,” says in it that “he was minded that the perambulation should stand, _albeit that the thing was sued and demanded in an evil point_.” Thus, again and again we find traces of the fact which is stated in the “St. Alban’s Chronicle,” that the archbishop and some of the barons had entered into a “confederacy,” in which war (_i.e._, rebellion) was seriously contemplated as possible.

Edward’s firmness, moderation, and skill, however, proved more than a match for Winchelsey, and finally extricated him from this perilous situation. While he utterly rejected the demand that he should give up the nomination of his own ministers, and so make the crown a mere shadow, he himself proposed a middle course. Langtoft described him as saying—

“Of this I grant this morn, that ye trie this thing
With six‐and‐twenty sworn,—if I to your asking
May accorde right well, the crowne for to save
Dismembered not a whit,—your asking ye shall have.

“The wisest of the clergie, with erles and barons,
Together went, to trie of their petitions.”

This “select committee” finally brought matters to a practical issue. It must have been judiciously and fairly selected, for while we find on one hand proofs of Winchelsey’s presence and influence, in the reservation of the question as to the taxation of the clergy, the demand for a transfer of the regal authority to parliament in the matter of the nomination of ministers dwindles down to a request that “auditours” be appointed, which request the king declines to grant. The final result is given in the “Parliamentary Writs,” in the shape of a reply of the parliament to the royal message. In that reply the parliament says that “the ‘gentz de la communauté de la terre’ show unto the king that they dare not answer which of the two ways should be adopted, on account of the perils which might ensue.” But, instead of adopting or rejecting the king’s proposal, they submit for his consideration twelve articles or propositions; which, generally, are to the following purport: That the great charters be observed; that all statutes contrary thereto be repealed; that the powers of the justices to be named for the maintenance of the charters be clearly defined; that the perambulations not yet completed be finished by the Michaelmas next ensuing, etc., etc.

To nine of these propositions the king gives his immediate assent. To two he gives qualified and doubtful answers. To one only—that in which the barons say, that they cannot insist on the taxation of the clergy against the will of the pope—the king gives his distinct disapproval. We shall give these three articles in the Appendix,[112] together with the answers of the king.

These twelve articles, then, with the king’s assent to nine of them, seem to have ended the disafforesting question, so far as this parliament was concerned. As a general result, we may say, that the king had piloted the vessel of the state through a difficult and perilous passage. The confederacy was defeated. Winchelsey’s purpose of weakening the crown by involving it in war with the barons, was frustrated. Edward succeeded in keeping his parliament together. There were no “withdrawals in anger,” as there had been on previous occasions. The barons, including even Hereford and Norfolk, passed on to the next question, the letter of pope Boniface; and they gave that letter a fitting reply. They then voted the king a fifteenth, and agreed to join him, in the summer, for a march into Scotland.

On the other hand Winchelsey had succeeded in doing some mischief. Though it is impossible, at this distance of time, to learn the details, it seems tolerably clear that the king was obliged to yield, in the matter of forest boundaries, more than he felt to be right and just. This clearly appears in the occurrences of the following years. And, whatever wrong of this kind may have been done, the primate strove to render irrevocable, by rising, at the close of the assembly, and pronouncing the greater excommunication against all who should depart from the agreement then made. He also adhered to his former course, of refusing to give the king any “aid” from the funds of the church.

And so ended this great parliament—an assembly of the most remarkable character, whether we look at its patriotic and spirited reply to the pretensions of the pope, or at its large and full exercise of all the proper duties of a representative assembly. With respect to the disafforesting controversy, it seems to have disturbed, rather than settled, that question. It established those new and reduced boundaries which had for some time previous been demanded; but, effecting this in a sudden and abrupt manner, it left occasion for many subsequent alterations.

The next step we perceive to have been taken, is one, which, like many other of Edward’s acts, has been grossly misrepresented by some prejudiced historians. It is said, in some of their narratives, that he “persecuted the two earls;” and it is always implied, that his animosity was excited by their zeal for “the charters.”

Now, if we look closely at the king’s steps, we shall find him perpetually associating with these two noblemen on friendly terms, long after they had opposed him in the matter of the charters. But the question he had now to deal with, was one of high treason. An offence had been committed, for the like of which many great men, in various periods of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, _died on the scaffold_. Yet Edward dealt with it in the most noble and generous way.

“There was opened to king Edward,” says Pakington in his “Chronicle,” “a conspiracy, wrought by the archbishop of Canterbury, and divers earls and barons, against him, at such time as he was in Flanders. And when the earl marshal was examined of this, and was not well able to clear himself, he made the king his heir, and put him in possession of all his lands. And the king gave him his lands again during his life; and also land of £1000 value in addition.”

Several of the chroniclers state, that the earl had no children, and was on bad terms with his brother, who was an ecclesiastic. But whether this were so or not, it is clear that the charge brought against him was one which involved him in great peril. All the writers whom we have already quoted, and Walsingham also, plainly tell us that it had been contemplated to employ _force_ against the king. Now any man called before the king’s council on such a charge as this, would perceive, that not his estates merely, but his life also, was in danger. Hence his wisest and safest course, especially with such a monarch as Edward, was an immediate and frank submission.

And such a course, with the king, always led to a restoration of good feeling. In the days of the Tudors or the Stuarts, a nobleman who had been guilty of “conspiring against the king,” would soon have found his way to the scaffold. With Edward, the usage was very different. A face‐to‐face encounter—a frank confession and surrender on the earl’s part, was soon followed by forgiveness on the part of the king, and so the whole quarrel ended.

The case of the earl of Hereford differed in one important respect from that of Norfolk. The conspiracy spoken of by Pakington was said to have been commenced in the year 1297, when the king was in Flanders; although its last and most strenuous effort was made in 1301. But the earl of Hereford, who had been Norfolk’s supporter in 1297, had died in the autumn of the following year, and the present earl was a young man, his son. He had probably merely followed in his father’s steps, without any deep concernment in the plot. The king called him to an account, as well as Norfolk; but the young man found a different way of making his peace. He asked for the hand of one of the king’s daughters; and, having, like Norfolk, pleaded guilty, he surrendered, like him, his estates to the king, receiving them back again with the hand of the young princess. And so ended this transaction, which some historians have described as a “persecution” of the two earls.

Winchelsey, then, had not only been foiled, but the king had fully succeeded in breaking up his “confederacy.” Without severity or vengeance of any kind, Edward had fairly taken the two earls away from the primate; and was now at liberty to deal, at his leisure, with the chief conspirator.

It seems probable, too, from a circumstance which will presently appear, that the young earl of Hereford, on becoming the king’s son‐in‐law, had given Edward full explanations as to the past, and had placed in his hands written evidence against Winchelsey; for shortly after, we find the king resolving to take decisive measures against the archbishop. But with Edward all was orderly and legitimate. Winchelsey had no reason to fear the fate of Thomas à Becket, or of the archbishop whom Henry IV. sent to the scaffold. The king under whom he lived could resolutely withstand either a pope or a primate, when he felt his own cause to be a just one; but his respect for the church, and for the forms of law, was sincere and deeply‐rooted. He had the highest kind of complaint to prefer against this intriguing and turbulent prelate; but he resolved to lay it before the pope, and to send the cause to him for judgment. His ambassadors therefore placed the matter in the hands of the pontiff, who immediately cited the archbishop to Rome, to answer for his conduct. William Thorn, a monk of Canterbury, thus describes the next scene: “When the archbishop knew that he was thus cited, he went to the king to ask for permission to cross the sea. And when the king heard of his coming, he ordered the doors of his presence‐chamber to be thrown open, that all who wished might enter, and hear the words which he should address to him. And, having heard the archbishop, he thus replied to him: ‘The permission to cross the sea which you ask of us we willingly grant you; but permission to return grant we none; bearing in mind your treachery, and the treason which at our parliament at Lincoln you plotted against us; _whereof a letter under your seal is witness_, and plainly testifies against you.’ ‘We leave it to the pope to avenge our wrongs; and as you have deserved, so shall he recompense you. But from our favour and mercy, which you ask, we utterly exclude you; because merciless you have yourself been, and therefore deserve not to obtain mercy.’”

And so we part with Winchelsey, who disappears from this history; not returning to England until the weak and troubled reign of Edward II. gave him re‐entrance, and supplied him with new opportunities for treason and conspiracy; all his plans and objects having one end in view—the prostration of the royal authority at the feet of the pontifical. But, in taking leave of him we feel inclined to contrast, for a few moments, his character with that of another prelate to whom he was, in this parliament of Lincoln, especially opposed. It will be remembered, that one especial demand of the “confederacy” was, the dismissal and disgrace of the king’s treasurer; and the concession of the future appointments to that office, to the parliament. Now this treasurer, against whom the conspirators preferred such complaints, was Walter Langton, bishop of Chester. And the guiding spirit of the conspiracy was, as we have seen, Robert Winchelsey, archbishop of Canterbury. Let us, then, briefly sketch the history of these two men; one of whom was Edward’s principal domestic foe; the other, his most trusted servant and minister.

Robert Winchelsey, who came to the primacy in 1295, was as restless, arrogant, and intriguing an ecclesiastic as had filled the archiepiscopal chair since the days of Thomas à Becket. In fact, he seems to have been selected by the enterprising Boniface VIII. as a fit agent to carry on the work of Becket and Pandulph; but to do this with any hope of success under such a prince as Edward, it was necessary to affect the tone and language of Stephen Langton.

As an ecclesiastical superior, Winchelsey was arrogant and tyrannical. He had one long contest with the monks of St. Augustine’s in Canterbury; another with the earl of Lancaster; one year we find him excommunicating the constable of Dover Castle; the next, the bishop of London; the next, the prior and canons of Gloucester, and so on to the end of the story. But these were merely the amusements of his leisure hours. The grand business of his life, as of Becket’s, was to bring, if possible, the crown into subserviency to the papal tiara.

He had no sooner landed from Rome and taken possession of his see, than he convened, says Matthew of Westminster, some of his suffragans in the church of St. Paul, London, “for a special discussion _on the liberties and customs of the church_, reviving and re‐establishing certain constitutions which had been approved by the holy fathers, but which, by neglect, had fallen into disuse.” The real drift of all this “revival of certain liberties of the church” soon appeared. A very few months had elapsed before the king was compelled, by Philip’s seizure of Gascony, to call upon his subjects for aid; and at once the archbishop revealed his real purpose, by producing a papal mandate, which he, probably, had brought with him from Rome, forbidding the clergy any longer to grant “aids” to the king without the special permission of the pope.

This novel assumption, which at once made the pope, and not the king, the ruler over a large part of England, might have succeeded in either of the two preceding or in the succeeding reign; but in Edward the crafty churchman had met with more than his match. By making them practically feel the meaning of the word “outlawry” the king soon brought the clergy to a clearer understanding of their real position.

But, though defeated in his first attempt, Winchelsey was not discouraged. Unable alone to cope with the power of the crown, he immediately began to form “conspiracies” and “confederacies” with any whom he perceived to be discontented; and in this way, by fostering and encouraging the resistance of Norfolk and Hereford, he managed to keep the king in a state of conflict and discomfort from 1296 to 1301, and in this last year he had proceeded to the verge of a civil war. The king at last, irritated and seriously aggrieved, sent him to the pope for judgment, and so in effect cast him out of the realm; but the man, and his plans and purposes, remained unchanged. So soon as this great king, the only person who could control him, was gone, Winchelsey crept back again into England, and we soon find him, under the weak and incapable Edward II., leading the discontented barons, and again attempting to enact the part of Stephen Langton. Such was Winchelsey—a fit agent of the papal court, but to England a troubler and an intestine foe.

Contrast with him the man who, in confederacy with the discontented barons, he essayed, in 1301, to crush—Walter Langton, bishop of Chester, the king’s treasurer, and one of his most valued servants. Had we no further knowledge of this prelate than the fact, that the conspirators at Lincoln prayed the king

“Him to remove by common assent,”

we might feel a doubt whether the king had shielded an unworthy favourite, or the barons had conspired against an officer of inconvenient integrity. Happily, we are enabled to discover a few other facts respecting Walter Langton, and those facts all redound greatly to his honour.

Foremost of these must be placed his steady resistance to the excesses of the young prince and his favourite Gaveston. The king was now in the decline of life, and the young Edward had every prospect of being king in a few years. Langton was treasurer, and had the duty assigned to him of providing the young prince with a regular and a liberal income. What could have been a more obvious policy, with any minister of flexible morality, than to cultivate, by any practicable means, the good opinion and the favour of the young prince and of his minion? Yet we find Langton, during all the latter years of this reign, in a state of constant warfare with young Edward and with Gaveston; and as one very natural result—a result which the bishop himself must always have contemplated—we find Edward II., as one of his first acts on ascending the throne, depriving Langton of all his offices, throwing him into prison, and granting to Gaveston all the moveable property of the deprived prelate. This single fact of itself is sufficient to give us a favourable impression of Langton’s character. To have withstood the follies of the young prince and his favourite, and to have been persecuted by them for so doing, are surely circumstances which tell much in Langton’s favour; but they do not stand alone.

Two or three years pass over, during which the poor ex‐treasurer languishes in prison, while his enemies are occupied with the endeavour to find evidence to warrant his condemnation. The discontented barons at Lincoln had brought “many complaints” against him. If he had actually wronged any man, that person would now have the strongest reason for laying the crime to his charge; for in so doing he would not only gratify his own natural desire for vengeance, but would also please those who were now in power. But what do we hear? After being immured in a prison for nearly three years, Langton is at last released, there being no case against him. Under all the circumstances, we doubt if any higher or more triumphant proof of the integrity of the ex‐treasurer’s character could have been given.

But even this is not all. Winchelsey, the restless intriguer, has now returned, the only man who could keep him in check having been removed; and this factious ecclesiastic at once resumes his former work just where he had been forced to drop it, and begins to conspire against the son as he had been used to do against the father. The “confederacy” of the barons is revived, and Winchelsey is again its inspiring genius. What could have been more natural than for Langton, indignant at the persecution which he had endured, to have joined with eagerness this confederacy, the main object of which was to get rid of Gaveston, the cause of all his sufferings? But the course taken by this honest minister was one of singular integrity. He had been “imprisoned, deprived of his offices, and stripped of all his property;” and yet, after all, his persecutors had been obliged to admit his innocence, and to let him go free; and now “he was the only prelate who refused to join the confederacy against Edward II.”[113] Notwithstanding all the wrongs which he had received at the young king’s hands, this noble‐minded man remembered his great master, and that master’s faithful support of him against his enemies at Lincoln; and he refused to take part in any conspiracy against that master’s son. But the proof of Langton’s purity and integrity does not even end here. He had been released; the charges against him were now known to be groundless; but one more evidence of the highest kind was yet to be given. Three or four years after he had ignominiously expelled the bishop from his office, and ordered his imprisonment and his prosecution, the young king himself felt compelled to pay a reluctant tribute to Langton’s ability and integrity, by actually asking him to resume the treasurership, and to serve him as faithfully as he had served his father! Considering all the past quarrels between these two men, and their frequent collisions and consequent ill‐blood, this application must be admitted to be one of the most striking proofs of integrity that an expelled and disgraced officer ever received; and, taken in connection with the first Edward’s other selections, of such men as Burnel, Brabazon, etc., it gives us a deep impression both of that king’s skill and judgment in selecting his ministers, and also of his firm and steady support of them in the discharge of their duty.

But we must terminate this digression, and go back to the moment of Winchelsey’s disgrace and banishment to Rome. The chief criminal had thus been punished, but, as in many similar cases, the effects of his crime remained. He had fostered the discontent of the earls, and had guided and suggested their course. At Lincoln, though substantially defeated, the “confederacy” evidently obtained from the king some larger concessions, in regard to the forests, than he thought just or right; and the archbishop adroitly struck in at the close of the matter with his denunciation of the greater excommunication, which was calculated and intended to make those concessions unalterable and irrevocable. But this violent way of ending and deciding a great and intricate controversy only led, as violent courses usually do, to further complications. Questions of title and boundary, in the case of territory or landed estates, are those which, beyond most others, require patience and moderation. The king, also, in the present instance was dealt with in a manner which the great barons themselves would not tolerate in their own cases. Twenty years before this period the king had proposed a general investigation of titles, and one of the earls at once drew his sword, exclaiming, “It was by _this_ that my forefathers won their lands, and by _this_ I mean to maintain them.” To this repugnance the king gave way. But now a different rule was to be applied to the royal domains. The principle asserted was, that whatever could not be shown to have been forest at the accession of Henry II., in 1154, should be disafforested. The adoption of so wide a range must inevitably have introduced great differences of opinion, but there can be no doubt that many of the great barons added largely to their estates at the king’s expense by these “disafforestings.”

Yet, after all, there was another class, and that not a small one, which had a deep interest in these questions—an interest of a very different, and, indeed, opposite kind to that of the barons. The royal forests were not vast solitudes, or parks occupied solely by animals for the chase. Their borders, especially, were largely peopled by cottagers; who, under the permission of the king or his officers, had reared up dwellings within the privileged limits, and were allowed pasturage and even some kind of tillage therein. This whole class of persons now found their position imperilled. A sudden change of owners had in many places been experienced, and often the poor cottager found reason to regret the alteration. In this way, it soon became evident, that the “disafforesting” question was not one bearing upon the king’s personal recreations merely; but was intimately connected with the interests of thousands of his people. We are not imagining a possible or even a probable case. It is upon record, that divers petitions were sent in to the king, at his parliament of 1305, held at Westminster, on the day before the feast of St. Matthew, by “certain people that be put out of the forests by the great men,” and who “pray the king that they may be as they were wont to be heretofore.” This is set forth in the preamble to the ordinance. It was, then, in answer to the prayers of many who felt themselves aggrieved and oppressed, that the king passed, in that parliament, an “Ordinance of the Forests;” in which, with his usual frankness and explicitness, he explains the real position of the question.

He adverts, first, to the origin of the “disafforesting,” saying, “Our lord the king (to these petitions) answers, that since he hath granted the perambulation, he is pleased that it should stand, in like manner as it was granted; albeit that the thing was sued and demanded in an evil point.”

But next the king proceeds, as far as he was able, to amend the evil complained of, and to give comfort to those who had “cried unto him for succour.” He says, that with respect to “them that have lands and tenements disafforested by the late perambulation, and do desire to have common within the bounds of the forests,” “the intent and will of our lord the king is,” “that if any of them would rather be within the forest as they were before, than out of the forest as they are now, it pleaseth the king very well that they shall be received hereunto; so that they may remain in their ancient estate, and have common and other easement, as they had before. And our lord the king willeth and commandeth, that his justices of the forests, etc., shall take notice of this ordinance.”

This was an attempt to undo, so far as might be, some of the ill consequences of the hasty and violent determinations of 1301. But it may easily be perceived, that controversies and collisions would be likely to arise out of this state of things. Upon the strength of the charters and perambulations, and oaths and excommunications of 1301, the “great men” had begun to take portions of the royal forests to themselves, and to add them to their own estates. They also frequently got rid of the cottagers who had long found a home in the forests; and proceeded either to add the land to their farms, or to their own demesnes. To stop these evictions, the king issues a new ordinance. But that ordinance, when produced, would doubtless be met by an appeal to the charter, to the perambulations, and to the archbishop’s excommunication of all who departed from them. And, with many churchmen, this terrible anathema would be admitted to have a fearful weight.

It must have been this “conflict of the laws” which drove Edward to a course which, with our light, it is impossible to defend; but which, in those days, was of a kind which was by far too common. The sentence of a primate could only be absolutely nullified by an authority of a still higher kind. Hence, to undo the act of Winchelsey, the king sent to Rome, and asked of the pope a bull, cancelling and setting aside all the obligations of 1301.

This is a step which we shall not attempt to justify, however consistent it might be with the general belief of those days: in truth, we feel it to be the weakest and most indefensible act of Edward’s life. Yet still we must not forget, that it was consistent with the current belief of those days. Men knew then, as we know now, that some vows are rash vows; that some oaths, like that of Herod (Mark vi. 26), are unfit to be kept; and they believed also—what we do not believe—that Christ had left authority with the bishop of Rome, to “bind and loose” in all such matters; and that when he had declared any oath or vow to be null and void, it became as though it had never been given. These views, as we have said, were held by all men at that time;[114] and although we now reject them, we ought to judge any man’s character mainly by his adherence to what he conscientiously believes to be true; acting honestly on that measure of light which he possesses.

There was also another feature of the case which greatly weighed with the king; a feature, too, which our courts of equity up to the present hour always take into the account, when examining into the validity of a man’s engagements; we mean, that of coercion and intimidation.

He had left Winchelsey, in 1297, one of the council of the young prince. The council, on Wallace’s success, called a parliament in London; and to that parliament there came Hereford and Norfolk, with a large body of armed retainers, and insisted on a fresh confirmation of the charters, with a new clause. Their demands were remitted to Edward in Flanders, with an earnest request, on the part of the council, that he would concede to the wish of the two earls. So advised, the king assented to these proposals. Since then, it had been shown to him, that all these proceedings in 1297 were the result of a conspiracy between Winchelsey and the two earls; and he had had a letter put into his hands which proved this fact. At Lincoln, too, in 1301, he had observed the same conspiracy or confederacy at work; and had again found that civil war was contemplated and prepared for by the conspirators. Thus a sort of treason had been, for three or four years, going on all around him. Any man of a generous and noble mind, and with a just sense of his kingly rights, would naturally feel indignant at such treatment; and Edward, in his application to the pope, dwells especially on these proceedings, as taking from his engagements that character of freedom which ought to attend them. In our own day, if a woman, in contracting a marriage, or a man, in giving a bond, is found to have been acting under coercion or fear, or to have been the victim of a conspiracy, those obligations can be set aside by our courts of equity. Rome, at that time, claimed to be the court of equity for all the sovereigns of Europe, and the pope professed to act upon principles which are recognized by English lawyers in the present day. The bull was granted, and the extorted concessions declared to be null and void.

Many historians have expressed their wonder that this bull, when obtained, was scarcely acted upon. “The power was not, in fact,” says Hume, “made use of.” “The king made,” says Lingard, “no public use of this document.”

This wonder arises from a misconception of the king’s real views and objects. Many writers assume, most absurdly, that Edward was hostile to “the charters.” Yet one of his first acts, as Hume admits, after receiving the papal absolution, was to grant “a new confirmation of the charters;” thus showing, in the most direct and palpable manner, that it was not against “the charters” that his efforts had been directed.

If we wish to understand the king’s actions, and their motives, we have only to study his own words, and there we shall soon discover, that it was to rectify some of the evil consequences of the disafforesting regulations of 1305, and to nullify Winchelsey’s sentence of excommunication, that this papal absolution was procured. The bull arrived in Easter 1306, and its publication declared to the people that the archbishop’s anathema was made null and void. But the king left them but a short time in doubt as to his intentions; for on the 28th of May came forth that remarkable statute which appears on the hundred and forty‐seventh page of the “Statutes of the Realm,” and in which the king addresses himself to the hearts and understandings of his subjects, in the following fervent expressions:—

“The king, to all whom, etc.—Greeting:

“While we behold the imperfection of human weakness, and weigh with attentive consideration the burdens that lie upon our shoulders, we are inwardly tormented with divers compunctions, tossed about by the waves of divers thoughts, and are frequently troubled, _passing sleepless nights_, hesitating in our inmost soul _upon what ought to be done_, what to be held, or what to be prosecuted.[115] Yet, under Him, who, holding in heaven the empire over all things, bringeth everything into existence, and dispenseth the gifts of his grace as it pleaseth Him, while the understandings of men cannot conceive the greatness of his wisdom, We do _resume our power_, trusting that He will perfect our actions in his service; and in the clemency of his goodness, will mercifully look upon, and supply our deficiency; that we, relying on his protection, may be directed in the path of our Lord’s commandments. Truly, among all the things that rest upon our care, about this chiefly is our mind busied without intermission, that we may provide ease and comfort for our subjects dwelling in our realm, in whose quietness we have rest, and in whose tranquillity we are comforted. We have learned, by the information of our faithful servants, and by the cries of the oppressed, that the people of our realm are, by the officers of our forests, oppressed and troubled with many wrongs, … Wherefore, being desirous to prevent such oppressions, and grievances, … and to provide with our most diligent endeavour for the peace and tranquillity of the inhabitants of our realm, We have ordained,

1. (Of presentments of offences.)

2. (Of supplying of officers.)

3. (No officer to be of any jury.)

4. (Punishment of officers surcharging.)

5. (Trespassers in grounds disafforested.)

6. “And moreover we will, that they which had common of pasture in the forest before the perambulation was made, and who were restrained of common by the late perambulation, shall have their common of pasture hereafter in the forest, as freely and largely as they wont to have before the perambulation was made.”

This ordinance was sent to the several counties of England, and ordered to be publicly proclaimed. And in it we see the fruit, and the only fruit, of the papal absolution. It is hardly correct to say, as some historians have said, that the king made no use of the bull of absolution: we believe that he made all the use of it that he ever intended or desired to make. In some way or other, he had felt himself in a measure _uncrowned_ by some regulation made at Lincoln; and hence he says, on obtaining the papal annulment, “We do _resume_ our power.” But then, the only use he makes of that power is to relieve those who, by the disafforesting, “were put out of the forests by the great men,” and who cried to him for help. As for any infringement or retrenchment, either of Magna Charta, or of the Charter of the Forests, not the least step of the kind is imputed to him, even by the most prejudiced of all the historians. Yet are some of these very ready to ascribe to him a desire or intention of this kind; although they admit that for some undiscoverable reason, it never exhibited itself in action!

Such, then, was the real character, and such the practical results, of those disputes and discussions respecting “the charters,” which occurred between 1297 and 1306—_i.e._, between the twenty‐fifth and thirty‐fourth years of Edward’s reign. On the whole, the people were largely gainers by these discussions; but that they were so, is mainly to be attributed to the constant anxiety shown by the king to meet generously all the demands which were made upon him; and to concede to his people all that it was in his power to grant, “without disinheriting the crown.”

* * * * *

One or two other matters of minor, but yet of considerable importance, require to be mentioned at this period of the history; that is, during the last five years of the king’s life.

We have already dwelt at some length upon Edward’s character as a legislator; and his high rank as a commander requires no proof from us. But England, at this important crisis in her history, needed a man of power in a third capacity—that of a _ruler;_ and she found this also in Edward. Two reigns, of sovereigns in various ways unfit to rule, had so far relaxed the bonds of society, and weakened the authority of the law, as to call loudly for the effectual interposition of some one whose power should be sufficient to make the laws not only theoretically just, but also practically useful.

Forty or fifty years before this period, Henry III. had been obliged to sit in person on the bench of justice at Winchester, in order to secure the punishment of offenders who had rendered even the roads of Hampshire dangerous. Some years later we have seen earl Warenne assailing, sword in hand, one of the king’s judges in Westminster Hall. Edward had himself suppressed this mutiny; and, persevering in his determination to make the law respected, he next brought the judges themselves to trial, for corrupting that which it was their especial duty to preserve. His correction of the two earls, Hereford and Gloucester, who, in his twentieth year, had broken out into a vehement personal warfare; and his Statute of Winchester “for preserving the public peace and preventing robberies,” were further proofs of his sedulous and firm resolve to give his people the benefit of a government of law and order. But, about the thirty‐second year of his reign, he found a new evil uprearing itself; and, without any delay, he applied to it the most suitable remedy—a Special Commission.

The mischief itself, which this new authority was intended to suppress, was described in the writs which gave the commission its existence. Bodies of men had associated themselves together in various parts of the country, who, “for certain rewards, bargained to beat, wound, or evil‐intreat persons named to them, at fairs, markets, or other places;” and, by the fear which they inspired, these ruffians deterred the sufferers from preferring indictments against them. Such an evil required instant and strong‐handed suppression, and this it received at Edward’s hands.

Peter Langtoft, after describing the siege and fall of Stirling, and the death of earl Warenne, proceeds to describe this evil, and the king’s plan for its suppression. He says—

“After the interment the king took his way;
To the south he went, through Lindesay;
He inquired, as he went, who did such trespass;
Brake his peace with deed, while he in Scotland was?
Of such should be spoken, if men of them plaint,
Those that the peace had broken, if they might be attaint.
Wise men of God gave answer to the king,
That such folks were, it was a certain thing;
Through the land is done such great grievance,
That if not mended soon, a war may rise of chance.
These contenders where’er they assigned a place that is,
There they come together, and made a sikerness (engagement)
That they shall all go, to whom or where they will,
To rob, beat, or slay, against all manner skill.
They offer a man to beat, for two shillings or three;
With piked staves great, beaten shall he be:
In fair or market they shall seek him out;
All the land is set with such folks stout.

* * * * *

For men of such manners, unless there be some justice,
In some few years, perchance, a war shall rise.
The king heard all they said—the plaint of each town;
And gave them a new name, and called them ‘Trailbastoun.’

* * * * *

The king through the land did seek men of renown,
And with the justices them bound, to sit on Trailbastoun;
Some on quest they ’demned to be bounden in prisons;
And those that fled they banisht as the king’s felons.”

The phrase _trail‐baston_ is, in old French, “draw the staff.” The use and intent of it in the present case has been learnedly discussed by various writers; but it appears to be beyond a doubt that, as Sir Francis Palgrave remarks, “it designates the _offender_ and the _offence_, not the court or tribunal.” In the “Chronicle of Rochester,” already referred to—on the margin of which we find various pictorial illustrations—the representation here given is of two men fighting with bludgeons. And it is evident that the real object of this special commission was to put down, in a resolute and summary manner, what in modern phrase would be styled “club‐law.” These commissions seem to have been so useful and efficient, as to be continued for about eighty years, or until the middle of the reign of Richard II. Stowe speaks of them as holding special sessions, occasionally, in the metropolis; mentioning particularly “at the stone‐cross near the Strand, over against the bishop of Coventry’s house;” and sometimes within that prelate’s mansion.

Calling to mind the terrible example made of the judges in the seventeenth year of Edward’s reign, and combining with it this special and vigorous suppression of provincial disorders, we cannot fail to be reminded of the portrait sketched by the laureate in his recent Idylls; or avoid a question, whether the poet had not this sovereign in his memory when he drew such a portrait:—

“The blameless king went forth and cast his eyes
On whom his father Uther left in charge
Long since to guard the justice of the king.
He looked, and found them wanting; and as now
Men weed the white horse on the Berkshire hills,
To keep him bright and clean as heretofore,
He rooted out the slothful officer
Or guilty, which, for bribe had winked at wrong;
And in their chairs set up a stronger race,
With hearts and hands …
… and moving everywhere,
Cleared the dark places and let in the law,
And broke the bandit‐holds, and cleansed the land.”

One or two other incidents, bearing upon the same point in the king’s character, fall in our way at this period;—that is, in the last three or four years of Edward’s life.

Sir Nicholas de Segrave was a knight of distinction, probably a brother of John de Segrave, who commanded the English forces at Roslyn. Sir John de Cromwell accused him of treason. Segrave, disliking the formalities of a legal investigation, challenged his accuser to decide the question by wager of battle. But Edward, whose discerning mind always revolted from the absurd idea of deciding a question of _right_ or _wrong_ by mere physical force, and who had, twenty years before, protested against such a proposal when made by two foreign princes, very naturally refused his consent. The combatants, apparently, thought that they might evade his decision, by crossing the sea, to fight the duel in France. Segrave returned, and was immediately arrested for disregarding the king’s prohibition. The case, doubtless, was a novel one, and when the offender was brought to trial, the judges remained three days in deliberation; and at last declared the offender to be liable to the punishment of death, and the forfeiture of his property; but added, gratuitously, that “it was in the king’s power to pardon him.” Edward’s indignant exclamation seems to reveal one point in his character. “Foolish men,” he cried out, “after so long a deliberation, to tell me that it is in my power to have mercy! Why, I will do that for a dog who casts himself on my grace!—of what value, then, is such a recommendation? However, put your sentence into writing, that it may remain law for the future.” Segrave was then remanded to prison; but after a few days, thirty knights petitioned for his pardon, and offered to be sureties for his future good behaviour. So entreated, Edward gave him a free pardon, and released his property from forfeiture.

In the “Placita Roll” of 1304 there occurs the following entry:—

“Roger de Heefham complained to the king, that whereas he was the justice appointed to hear and determine a dispute between Mary, the wife of William de Braose, plaintiff, and William de Brewes, defendant, respecting a sum of eight hundred marks which she claimed from him, and had decided in favour of the former; the said William, immediately after judgment was pronounced, contemptuously approached the bar, and asked the said Roger, in gross and upbraiding language, if he would defend that judgment; and he afterwards insulted him, in bitter and taunting terms, as he was going through the exchequer‐chamber, saying, ‘Roger, Roger, thou hast now obtained thy will of that thou hast long desired.’

“For this offence, William de Brewes, being arraigned before the king and his council, acknowledged his guilt; and because contempt and disrespect, as well towards the king’s ministers as towards the king himself or his court, are very odious to the king, as hath of late expressly appeared when his majesty expelled from his household, for nearly half a year, his dearly‐beloved son, Edward prince of Wales, on account of certain improper words which he had addressed to one of his ministers, and suffered him not to enter his presence until he had rendered satisfaction to the said officer for his offence—it was agreed by the king and his council that the aforesaid William should proceed unattired, bareheaded, and holding a torch in his hand, from the king’s bench in Westminster Hall, in full court, to the exchequer, and there ask pardon from the aforesaid Roger, and make an apology for his trespass, and shall be afterwards committed to the Tower, during the king’s pleasure.”

The pointed reference here made to the king’s anger and stern rebukes of his son, naturally directs our thoughts to this passage in Edward’s life. His prescient consciousness of the young prince’s weakness, and his strong dislike to Gaveston, his chief seducer, are already well known. We have alluded to one distinguished man, who is indicated in the above extract, as the minister with whom the young prince had been brought into collision. Walter Langton, bishop of Chester (sometimes called bishop of Lichfield or Coventry), was the king’s treasurer; and the prince had a stated income payable out of the royal exchequer. Under such guidance as that of Gaveston, it was inevitable that this income would prove insufficient; and that urgent demands for larger supplies would naturally follow. Hence the quarrels and the violent language, alluded to in the sentence on William de Brewes. Another glimpse of light on this subject is afforded by a letter from the prince to the earl of Lincoln, which has recently been discovered in the chapterhouse at Westminster. In that letter the prince thus describes these circumstances:—

“On Sunday, the 13th of June, we came to Midhurst, where we found our lord the king, our father. On the Monday following, on account of certain words which, it had been reported to the king, had taken place between us and the bishop of Chester, he was so enraged with us that he has forbidden us, or any of our retinue, to dare to enter his house; and he has forbidden all the people of his household and of the exchequer to give or lend us anything for the support of our household. We are staying at Midhurst to wait his pleasure and favour, and we shall follow after him, as well as we are able, at a distance of ten or twelve miles from his house, until we have been able to recover his good will; which we very much desire. Wherefore we especially entreat you, that on your return from Canterbury, you would come towards us; for we have great need of your aid and your counsel.”

The firmness and severity of the king, in this instance, was of no ordinary kind, and we know from the after‐life of the younger Edward, that extreme severity was absolutely necessary. The royal prohibition was so effectual, that the young prince encountered real difficulties, and the king was induced, in the course of July to recal his prohibition, and to allow things to revert to their ordinary course. But so long as Gaveston was the prince’s companion, it was inevitable that his course should be a vicious and a wretched one. The quarrels with the king’s treasurer recurred continually, and in 1305 we read that—

“This year king Edward put his son, prince Edward, in prison, because that he had riotously broken into the park of Walter Langton, bishop of Chester, and destroyed the deer. And because the prince had done this deed by the procurement of a lewd and wanton person, one Piers Gaveston, an esquire of Gascony, the king banished him (Gaveston) out of the realm; lest the prince, who delighted much in his company, might, by his evil and wanton conduct, fall into evil and naughty rule.”[116]