Chapter XIII: Appendix: 347 (12)

The spring of 1307 was now advancing, and Bruce, whose valour and personal prowess were of the highest order, found many opportunities of harassing the English, by surprises and sudden encounters. His success, however, was not unvaried. On one occasion he lost his banner, and was in the greatest peril of capture or death. In May he ventured to stand the assault of the earl of Pembroke, and by strongly posting his men, armed with long spears, he defeated the earl’s attempt to break his line, and drove back the English, who had only cavalry to oppose to his spears. Three days after, he encountered the earl of Gloucester, whose force he also routed, and who retreated into the castle of Ayr. But the king, hearing that Bruce was in the field, sent a force from Carlisle, before which the rebel chief retreated. “He then took refuge in the marshes and forests, where the English found it impossible to follow him.”[166] And thus stood matters at the opening of July, 1307.

But now drew near that great event for which, there can be no doubt, Bruce had long been eagerly looking, and which entirely changed the whole position of affairs. The king, as our readers will probably have observed, had never made his appearance in the field during the whole of the fifteen months which had elapsed since the first outbreak of the rebellion. He had found it possible to get as far as Carlisle and Dumfries, but Bruce knew full well that his active career as a military commander was for ever terminated. The last few months of his life presented merely a painful struggle between a still vigorous mind and a decaying body. During all the spring of 1307, a dysentery had detained and weakened him, and the natural ardour of his temperament must have conspired with the disease. His very longing for the active life to which he had been so long accustomed, supplied fuel to the inward fire which was already consuming him. Bruce’s reappearance in the field, and his occasional successes, made any longer delay appear intolerable. Persuading himself, at the beginning of July, that his disease was abating, he offered up the litter in which he had hitherto travelled, in the cathedral of Carlisle, and mounted his horse for a new expedition into Scotland; but the decaying body was unable to answer the call of that powerful spirit. The effort merely brought on at once that termination of his disease which might otherwise have been delayed for months. In the course of the next two or three days, he was unable to proceed more than some six or seven miles; reaching the village of Burgh on the Sands, where he probably halted at the close of the first or second day’s march, and where, on the seventh of that month, he died.

His last hours were spent in vainly endeavouring to impress upon his son some obvious lessons of prudence and firm resolve—lessons which were indeed greatly needed, but which the young prince seemed mentally incapable of receiving. He enjoined upon him never to permit the return of Gaveston. He urged him forthwith, and once for all, to put down the Scottish revolt, the means of which were all prepared and ready to his hand. So earnestly and enthusiastically did he dwell upon this point, that he desired his son to carry, after his death, his bones at the head of his army; so that he, before whose charge no Scottish army had been able to stand, might, even after death, be still in some sort present in the first shock of the battle.

But he spoke to ears which had already been closed, by luxury and dissipation, against all high and noble counsels. Not one of his commands was obeyed. The young king no sooner saw the opulence and splendour of royalty within his grasp, than he turned his back at once on the calls of honour and duty. The great and all‐important object of putting down the insurrection in Scotland was disregarded. The forward march was countermanded, the anticipations of Bruce were fully realized, and the union of the two kingdoms—the great object of Edward’s labours during the last ten years—was forgotten and practically abandoned. The remains of the greatest king that England had ever seen were, after some delay, removed to Westminster, and were placed near to his father Henry and to his beloved Eleanor. A simple tomb received that noble heart, with the brief inscription:—

=Edvardus Primus: Scotorum Malleus:
Hic Est: mcccviii[167]
Pactum Serva.=

The death of Edward may be said to have ensured the ultimate success of Bruce’s ambitious enterprise. “The two greatest (_i.e._, most puissant) knights in Europe at that period,” says Froissart, “were king Edward and Robert Bruce.” Edward being removed, Bruce found no equal in the field. Not only so, but there was opposed to him, in Edward’s room, the weakest and most incompetent monarch that ever sat on the throne of England. It was nearly inevitable, therefore, that he should entirely succeed in the enterprise to which he had devoted himself. He decided the question of Scottish independence at Bannockburn, inflicting on the English the greatest defeat they had received since the battle of Hastings. This victory established him on the throne of Scotland, of which he held entire possession for the remainder of his life.

One very serious and very deplorable mistake has been made in modern times, in misinterpreting all these events, and, instead of seeing in them another successful Norman enterprise,—regarding them as an effort of the highest “patriotism.” Thus Bruce is described by Sir Walter Scott as “the vindicator of his country’s liberty”—as one who had adopted “the unalterable resolution, either to free his country or to perish in the attempt;”[168] while Hume unhesitatingly tells us, that “Bruce had long harboured in his breast the design of freeing his enslaved country;” and a writer of our own day styles him “the most heroic, as well as the most patriotic, monarch which Scotland has ever produced.”

It is difficult to imagine a greater abuse of language than this. Patriotism is a love of country; and a real patriot will labour and suffer, and, if needful, will die for his country; but Robert Bruce conspired against his country, fought against his country, and, in the end, inflicted upon his country the most grievous injuries. If this be “patriotism,” then words have lost their meaning.

“Bruce was an Englishman;”—we quote the words of a volume put forth by a committee of Scottish gentlemen, “Bruce by descent was an Englishman, and probably so by affection as well as interest.”[169]

The son of a great Yorkshire baron, and heir to ninety‐four English lordships and to two Scottish estates, he was born, as we have seen, in the metropolis of England, a few weeks before Edward’s coronation. We entirely accept, therefore, the statement of the _Wallace Documents_, that “Bruce was an Englishman;”—but we read with hesitation the rest of the sentence—“and probably so by affection as well as interest.” We believe that Sir Walter Scott formed a more accurate estimate of these matters when he wrote, concerning the Norman knights who were settled in Scotland, that “Two or three generations had not converted Normans into Scots; in fact, _the Normans were neither by birth nor manners accessible to the emotions which constitute patriotism_.” “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.”[170] This vivid sketch seems as if it had been meant to describe a Robert de Brus.

Still, so long as Edward could keep the field, the young aspirant remained in quietness; but when he had seen distinctly that the great captain’s campaigns were ended, Bruce came boldly to the front, and soon won a kingdom for himself. Such honour and credit as belong to a feat of this kind ought to be awarded to Bruce; but this sort of merit should not be confounded with the far higher virtue of real “patriotism.”

Bruce’s success made him to all succeeding ages a hero. “So long as thou doest well unto thyself,” says the Psalmist, “men will speak good of thee.” With this sort of popular and vulgar applause we shall not quarrel, but the more serious and thoughtful students of history should pause before they award a nobler kind of praise to a mere knight‐errant of the Norman breed.

His success placed him on the throne of Scotland, and maintained him on that throne to the end of his life; and yet it may be questioned whether, even on the lowest view, of mere material and personal advantage, his success was such as a man might look back upon with satisfaction. He was crowned king at Scone in March, 1306. Edward’s death assured to him the quiet possession of that throne, and he did, in fact, retain it until 1331, when he died. Fourteen years of uncertain warfare, and then eleven years of settled dominion, made up the whole of his kingly career. He had indeed succeeded, but such a success was scarcely better than failure. His family had been destroyed. Of a brotherhood of five gallant knights who took part in the murder of Comyn, he, the king, was, in 1318, the sole survivor. Three of his brothers had perished on the scaffold before a year had been completed from Comyn’s death; and the fourth, endeavouring to find for himself a throne in Ireland, died in the attempt; and he, the beginner of the strife, was now left alone. His wife for several years was held in captivity in England; he himself died of leprosy in 1331, and his son spent a large portion of his life in an English prison. On the son’s death the line of Bruce ended, and that of Stewart came in its stead—a line scarcely to be paralleled in history for disaster, wretchedness, and disgrace.[171] This being the measure of Bruce’s success, it may be questioned whether failure would not have been on the whole preferable, so far as he personally was concerned.

But what of Scotland? Are the usual phrases of “deliverance,” “independence,” “freedom from a foreign yoke,” etc., properly applied to this case? In the year 1603, Scotland became permanently united to England, and has ever since been ruled by governments sitting at Westminster. Has this change been calamitous for Scotland? Is there a Scotchman living, whose opinion is worth a straw, who would desire to see Bruce’s enterprise repeated, and a new Scottish monarchy established?

No, Scotland was very far from benefiting by this greatly‐lauded “deliverance.” A separation of the northern and southern districts of this island had indeed been effected, but that separation was not then, any more than it would be now, for the good of either section.

In mere military glory, the advantage could not long remain on the Scottish side. “Never,” says Alison, “at any subsequent period, was Scotland able to withstand the more powerful arms of the English yeomanry. Thenceforward, her military history is little more than a melancholy catalogue of continued defeats.”

The discomfitures of Halidon‐hill, of Dupplin‐moor, of Durham, of Hamildon‐hill, of Flodden, and of Pinkie, soon left Bannockburn the one solitary triumph amidst a long history of disaster. These six battles are computed to have inflicted on the Scots a loss of one hundred thousand men. Allow one‐half or one‐third of this number for the English losses, and then add to the reckoning the perpetual drain arising from skirmishes and “border‐raids,” and we shall see that this irrational idea of “Scottish independence” must have cost the two nations, from Bruce’s day to Elizabeth’s, at least a quarter of a million of valuable lives. The loss of property and of material prosperity during the same period cannot easily be estimated.

An unfriendly critic remarks of Edward, that, with statesmanlike sagacity, “he saw that, before England could mount very high in the scale of nations, the whole island must be one undivided power, instead of three.” This aim and object was a noble one, and if pursued by honourable means—as we believe that it was—it casts lustre on the sovereign’s name. But how, then, shall we praise the man who, from the far lower motive of mere personal ambition, withstood and finally frustrated the great king’s purpose?

Scotland was not benefited by Bruce’s success. Her independence, as we have just remarked, brought upon her a long train of calamitous wars and ruinous defeats. The uniform custom of France, whenever she quarrelled with England, was, to send to Scotland, and to incite her to attack her neighbour on the northern side, as a diversion in favour of the war beginning in the south: but Scotland, so allied with France, was merely the dwarf going to battle by the side of the giant. Of the hard blows she received a full share; but the glory and the profit, when there were any, usually fell to the lot of her ally.

Nor did Scotland gain, by her desired “self‐government,” any recompence for what she lost in her external relations? All Scottish historians of any credit admit, that Edward’s mode of government was liberal, mild, and upright. Mr. Tytler confesses that “the measures he adopted were equally politic and just.” “No wanton or unnecessary act of rigour was committed, no capricious changes introduced.” And when, in 1304-5, a new “settlement of Scotland” was required, the king called on the most active of the Scottish prelates, Wishart, upon Mowbray, and upon Bruce, and placed the matter wholly in their hands.

Could Scotland obtain, then, in recompense for all the losses she suffered in this home‐warfare, any solid advantages, springing out of “home‐government,” which could counter‐balance long years of carnage and desolation? History gives no affirmative answer. We will ask the Scottish writers, and them only. Describing a period only sixty years after Bruce’s death, Sir Walter Scott says: “To use a scriptural expression, ‘every one did that which was right in his own eyes,’ as if there had been no king in Scotland.” A little later he says: “If we look at Scotland generally during the minority, it forms a dark and disgusting spectacle.” And Mr. Tytler uses similar language. In one place he says: “The nation had been reduced to the lowest pitch of impoverishment in every branch of public wealth” (vol. ii. p. 75); in another, “The pride and power of the feudal barons had risen to a pitch destructive of all regular subordination” (p. 85); and again, “Scotland seemed to be rapidly sinking under her accumulated distresses” (p. 94). No—the “recovery of her independence” had been no gain to Scotland; to each district of the island—to Scotland as well as to England—it had brought merely weakness, distraction, and loss. Edward’s desire to create one united Britain was wise and statesmanlike. Had Llewellyn and Balliol co‐operated with him, each of them might have preserved his throne. But Bruce’s enterprise, commencing with an atrocious murder, was strictly one of personal ambition. If he ever really dreamed that he was conferring a benefit on Scotland, he fell into a grievous error; but if his self‐consciousness prevented this, and he merely used “independence” as a popular cry,—a device, then his scheme and his effort, from first to last, was a grievous crime. Let us leave this part of the subject, however, and try to take a fitting leave of the great sovereign whose reign we have endeavoured to describe. And here we must remember that, at each point of the story, we have freely expressed an opinion—have endeavoured to meet hostile attacks, and to place Edward’s character in the fullest light of truth. We must not now repeat all these arguments. We prefer, for obvious reasons, to gather into one view the judgments formed by many eminent writers, both of past times and of our own day, and thus to collect, by degrees, the verdict of a very competent jury.

* * * * *

Two very different and, in fact, opposite beliefs have obtained currency in England during the last five centuries. For four hundred years Englishmen formed their own opinions, and spoke of Edward as they knew him, or as their forefathers had known him. Then, for one hundred years, they submitted to have a different view forced upon them; and they received in silence, until they gradually came to believe it—the estimate of Edward which was formed by the admirers of Bruce and of Wallace;—of Bruce the false and of Wallace the ferocious. Thus, strangely enough, the people of England learned to think, in the eighteenth century, quite differently of the greatest of their kings from what their forefathers had done, during at least ten or twelve generations.

The men of his own day admired and venerated Edward. Hemingford speaks of him as “the most excellent, wise, and sagacious king.” Rishanger tells us of “his infinite labours and manifold troubles,” and of “his numberless good deeds.” Wykes dwells on “his wonderful mercy towards transgressors,” “a mercy which not only relinquished revenge, but freely granted pardon.”

This estimate, this character of him, had gone abroad. Uberti, an Italian poet of Edward’s own time, condemns his father, Henry, but adds—

“Yet there’s some good to say of him, I grant,
Because of him was the good Edward born,
Whose valour still is famous in the world.”[172]

A little later another foreigner, Froissart, uses the same language, describing him as he who was “called the good king Edward, who was brave, wise, and fortunate in war.”

During four centuries our own chroniclers and historians continue to use the same language. Fabyan, in 1494, describes him as “slow to all manner of strife; discreet, and wise, and true of his word; in arms a giant.” Holinshed speaks of him as “wise and virtuous, gentle and courteous.” John Foxe, the puritan, terms him “valiant and courageous, pious and gentle.” Prynne, another puritan, speaks of him as “the most illustrious,—our glorious king Edward.” Camden, in Elizabeth’s days, describes him as “a monarch most renowned, in whose valiant soul the spirit of God seemed evidently to dwell; so that he justly merited the character of one of the greatest glories of Britain.” And when we turn to Rapin, who wrote towards the end of the seventeenth century, and who was, like Froissart, a foreigner, and wholly impartial—we find him giving this deliberate judgment:—“Edward joined to his bodily perfections a solid judgment:, a great penetration, and a prudence which rarely suffered him to make a false step. Besides this, he had principles of justice, honour, and honesty, which restrained him from countenancing vice. He was also of an exemplary chastity, a virtue seldom found in sovereigns. All these noble qualities bred in the hearts of his subjects a love and esteem which greatly contributed to the peace of his kingdom.”[173]

Thus, through a period of several succeeding centuries, Englishmen, with one consent, regarded this great sovereign with veneration—not so much for his valour or his prowess, in which the Conqueror, or him of the “lion heart,” might, perhaps, equal him, as for his wisdom, his statesmanlike qualities, his “legislative mind,” and, still more, for his uprightness, his truthfulness, his merciful disposition, and his various moral excellences. In their eyes he was indeed “great,” but, still more remarkably, he was “good.”

But in the eighteenth century, new histories, brought up to more recent times, were needed, and English attempts to supply the want generally failed. Brady, in 1685, Tyrrell, in 1700, and Carte, in 1747, were laborious and dull. To supply the want, which could not but be felt, two Scotchmen, of unquestionable talent, offered themselves, and the histories written by Hume and by Henry soon became the favourite authorities. An Anglo‐Irishman, Goldsmith, was content to follow in their track. Other Scotchmen of high merit—Mackintosh, Scott, Macfarlane, Tytler, and Chambers—have succeeded Hume and Henry; and of three generations it may be said with truth, that Englishmen have been content to learn the history of their own land from the lips and pens of the natives of Caledonia.

Now, for the greater part of the story, this might occur without any injurious consequences; but how would it affect that part of the narrative which described the wars between England and Scotland? Above all, how were the enthusiastic admirers of Bruce and Wallace to discuss impartially the deeds of him who had twice conquered Scotland, and who had sent Wallace and three of the family of Bruce to the scaffold? That they should do so was evidently impossible. Yet they gained almost entire possession of the public ear, and then they utterly changed the public feeling as to this, the greatest of all the English kings.

They could not deny—they did not attempt to deny—his claim to _greatness_ in the lower acceptation of the term. He was “the model of a politic and warlike king,” says Hume. He was “a great statesman and commander,” says Mackintosh. But all the higher qualities of mental and moral excellence were denied to him. Hume speaks of his “barbarous policy,” and declares that “never were the principles of equity violated with less scruple or reserve,” adding that “the iniquity of his claim was apparent, and was aggravated by the most egregious breach of trust.” Dr. Henry speaks of Edward’s “unrelenting selfishness,” of his “cruelty and iniquity,” and, again, of his “injustice and cruelty.” Sir James Mackintosh tells how he had “skilfully inveigled the Scotch into his snares,” adding that “his ambition tainted all his acts,” and that “a conqueror is a perpetual plotter against the safety of all nations.” And Sir Walter Scott speaks of him as “bold and crafty,” “a subtle and unhesitating politician.” Following such leaders as these, it is no wonder that all our school histories, for almost a century past, have taught the youth of England to regard this king as an able and valiant, but withal an unprincipled man.[174]

Such was the position of affairs, a few years back, when a volume made its appearance[175] which challenged the justice of this verdict, and called, with warmth and earnestness, for a reconsideration of the case. It was a hasty production; it had many palpable faults; it was, not unnaturally, charged with “a partisan spirit,” but in its main object it has been entirely successful. It induced many men of literary eminence to take up the question of this great king’s real character. They went to the only source of truth on all such questions—to contemporary testimony. They examined and weighed it, and the result has been, a reversal of the verdict.

Do we speak with too much confidence on this point? Let the reader peruse the following declarations:—

In Trinity Term, in 1864, a meeting was held of “The Oxford Historical Society,”—its president, professor Goldwin Smith, in the chair—for the consideration of the volume aforesaid (“The Greatest of the Plantagenets”). A paper or elaborate criticism, was read by professor Montagu Burrows, on that volume. In it, he said,—

“This work demands our attention, because it is 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,—deprived by a number of causes almost unparalleled for the way in which they have combined towards such a result.”

After a lengthened review of the work, in which professor Burrows spoke of the writer’s “masterly narrative of the facts attending the double conquest of Scotland,” and added, “He has conclusively disposed of the leading Scotch fables, and recovered as much of the truth as we shall probably ever know. The great outlines of the story, which form the groundwork of the Scottish Iliad, have been for the first time thoroughly marked out by the help of every available authority;”—the professor concluded his review in the following manner:—

“This king was called by the writers of the next generation ‘Edward the Good,’ and it has been to our shame as a nation that we have been so careless of a royal reputation, and that so little effort has been made to restore him his rights. If the highest perfection as a soldier, and all but the highest as a general; if patience, fortitude, prudence, mental activity, largeness of mind, public spirit; if a correct private life, a conscientious sense of duty, and a consistent religious character go to make up a great man,—Edward I. is entitled to the name. Place him by the side of those sovereigns who, since the time of Charlemagne and Alfred, have received the title of ‘Great,’ and how insignificant do they appear. Perhaps the time may come when a more enlightened public opinion shall repair this omission. And among those to whom a very considerable share of credit will be due, will be the author of the work we have just been considering.”

The president, Mr. Goldwin Smith, summed up the matter in a few concluding words. These words have weight, as coming from a man who could never have been brought to approve a course of “iniquity,” “selfishness,” “vindictiveness,” “violence,” and “ferocity.” He said that “So far from Edward’s invasion being intended to reduce Scotland to slavery, its object was to introduce the same regular and constitutional quiet which England enjoyed, and to rescue the Scotch from the anarchy resulting from the oppression of the most oppressive of the feudal oligarchies. The kingdom of Scotland was previously in an almost hopeless state of feudal anarchy. One of the first things Edward did was to summon a free Parliament, and he left them with all their independence, and with all their rights as a nation. The short period when he had possession of the kingdom, was the only glimpse they ever had of a lawful, regular, and beneficent government. Wallace was more truly represented, he thought, by the author of ‘The Greatest of all the Plantagenets’ than by professor Burrows.[176] He was an irregular rebel, like the Neapolitan brigands of the present day.”[177]

Mr. Goldwin Smith quitted England, and his successor in the Regius professorship at Oxford was Mr. Stubbs. That gentleman has recently given to the world a volume of much value, “On the Early English Charters.” Having occasion to speak of Edward I., he thus characterizes him:—

“This great monarch, whose commanding spirit, defining and organizing power, and thorough honesty of character, place him in strong contrast not merely with his father, but with all the rest of our long line of kings, was not likely to surrender, without a struggle, the position which he had inherited. For more than twenty years he reigned as Henry II. had done, showing proper respect for constitutional forms, but exercising the reality of despotic power. He loved his people, and therefore did not oppress them; they knew and loved him, and endured the pressure of taxation, which would not have been imposed if it had not been necessary. He admits them to a share, a large share, in the process of government; he developes and defines the constitution in a way which Simon de Montfort had never contemplated. The organization of parliament is completed until it seems as perfect as it is at the present day; and the legislation is so full that the laws of the next three centuries are little more than a necessary expansion of it.” He adds, of the king himself, that “His own personal character was high, pure, and true.” Finally, in closing his investigation, he says: “We stop at Edward I. because the machinery is now completed; the people are now at full growth. And the attaining this point is to be attributed to the defining genius, the political wisdom, and the honesty of this great king.”[178]

We turn to a fourth writer of the same class;—to the Regius professor of Modern History at Belfast, Mr. Yonge. He concludes his review of this reign with these words:—

“Among the rulers of mankind who have won for themselves a conspicuous and honourable place in the history of their country, Edward has no superior, and scarcely an equal. Personal prowess, which in other heroes makes up the greater part of their renown, was in him so over‐shadowed by more valuable qualities as to be scarcely entitled to notice; and the invincible knight is lost in the consummate general, the wise lawgiver, the far‐sighted statesman.” “It was no personal or vulgar ambition that prompted his attacks on Wales and Scotland, but a judicious perception of the advantages to be derived, not by England alone, but by the invaded countries, from their union into one kingdom. He was ambitious, not so much of being the conqueror, as the benefactor, of the whole island.” “Kings are subjected to a more rigid tribunal than ordinary men, from the fact of their conspicuous position; and we have no right to expect that faultlessness in a sovereign which we know it to be vain to look for in others. But as long as the equitable rule prevails of balancing men’s virtues against their faults, and looking at the general results of their conduct, so long will the splendid and universal abilities of Edward I., and the great and lasting benefits which his country has derived from them, secure him a leading, if not the very first, place among those monarchs who have left an example to be revered by their countrymen and imitated by their successors.”[179]

Sir E. Creasy expresses a similar opinion, but with more brevity, closing his review of Edward’s reign with one decisive sentence:—

“If we take a comprehensive and unprejudiced view of his whole career, we shall rest satisfied that few greater men have ever reigned; and that there has been hardly any man, royal or subject, to whom Englishmen ought to look with more gratitude than Edward, as the promoter of our power, and the ordainer of our laws and our constitution.”[180]

A sixth writer, of our own day, who has carefully investigated these questions, is Mr. C. H. Pearson. There is not a trace of partiality in the portrait which he draws; yet a sincere and warm admiration draws from him such expressions as these:—

“Brave almost to insanity, the king was also a consummate general, able to discipline raw levies, and to carry out engineering works with singular audacity and resource.” He was also “large‐minded towards mere personal enemies, but never pardoning baseness or broken faith.”

Mr. Pearson notices also “a strong love of justice,” “a slowness to shed blood,” and “a greatness of nature which carried him through every difficulty.” “His people knew that he did everything for England; and he inspired trust, for he never broke his word.” He was “our first truly English king;” he was “the greatest of his race;” and, finally, “among those of our kings whom we really know, there is, perhaps, no greater name than that of Edward I.”

And, just as this sheet is passing through the press, a seventh testimony of no small value is given by Mr. E. A. Freeman.[181] He discusses, in one of his Essays, the whole merits of the Scottish controversy of 1290-1307, and he declares, that “if any man’s conduct ever was marked by thorough justice and disinterestedness, that of king Edward was so marked throughout the whole business.” “His conduct was throughout honest and above‐board.” Of Wallace he says, “It is impossible to deny the fiendish brutalities practised by him in England,—brutalities which fully explain the intense hatred with which every English writer speaks of him”:—And of Bruce, that “he treacherously and sacrilegiously murdered John Comyn, the heir of the Scottish crown.” He adds, “that all who were concerned in this murder met with their merited punishment, who can wonder?—it is certain that Edward punished no man who would not be held liable to punishment at the present moment.” As to Edward himself, Mr. Freeman’s opinion is briefly summed up in a very few words: He was “the greatest and noblest king that England has seen for eight hundred years.”

* * * * *

Such have been the independent and deliberate judgments of seven different writers of high rank within the last few years. Let us endeavour, then, in conclusion, to group together all the various characteristics, ascribed to Edward by writers of various countries and different ages, many of whom regarded his general career with unconcealed dislike. Praise from this latter class must be allowed to have a peculiar value.

Edward, then, was,—“A great statesman and commander; the model of a politic and warlike king; the most sagacious and resolute of English princes; uniting legislative wisdom with heroic valour. In him the state possessed a centre and a chief, who knew how to concentrate and direct all the forces of society. No man was more acute in counsel, more fervid in eloquence, more self‐possessed in danger, more cautious in prosperity, more firm in adversity. He was unequalled by any since the Conqueror for prudence, valour, and success.” Such are the admissions of severe critics;—of Mackintosh, Hume, Scott, Alison, Guizot, Sharon Turner, and Hallam.

But he was more than wise and strong; he was upright, he was thoroughly honest; he was merciful and good.

“He was ambitious, not so much of being the conqueror as the benefactor of the whole island. He could demand confidence, for his people knew that he did everything for England; he inspired trust, for he never broke his word; he was as careful in performing his obligations as in exacting his rights.[182] He had a strong love of justice, a legislative mind; he was one of the best legislators and greatest politicians that ever filled the English throne. Large‐minded towards mere personal enemies; he was a wise lawgiver, a far‐sighted statesman. He was slow to shed blood;—never was a conquest more merciful than his in Wales. Finally, he was the greatest and noblest king that England has seen for eight hundred years.”

Such are the deliberate judgments of professor Yonge, of Mr. Pearson, Mackintosh, Dr. Henry, and Mr. Freeman.

They go far to form a complete character. But one more feature,—the interior and personal, remains to be added.

“His character as a son, as a husband, and as a father was without stain; in his private relations he was beyond reproach. A man of deep and earnest piety, whose heart was replete with the sentiment of religion. He displays as a legislator a genuine anxiety for the real interests of the church; but he was equally resolved that his clergy should have no privileges incompatible with the civil order of the realm. He found England the most priest‐ridden country in Europe, and he raised a barrier against church aggrandizement which neither monk nor pope could overstep.”

These are the testimonies of Sir Edward Creasy, of Dean Hook, and of Mr. Pearson. Surely, we need desire to say nothing more. We have drawn the character of Edward from thirteen different writers, of various times and countries; and to their testimony we have no wish to add a single word.

* * * * *

It is the breadth and completeness of this character which chiefly claims our admiration. Men of power,—men of remarkable talents, are met with again and again in the world’s history; but, unhappily, most of the greatest are also found among the meanest; while too many of the good are obliged to ask for our pity or our indulgence. We perceive Edward’s character to be one of unusual excellence, so soon as we begin to search for a superior or an equal.

We naturally think, in the first place, of the great Saxon king, who, four centuries before Edward’s day, did so much to raise England out of the slough of ignorance and semi‐barbarism in which she was grovelling. But we can no more institute a comparison between Alfred and Edward, than we can weigh the respective merits of Alfred and of Arthur. The hero of the sixth century can only be clearly discerned through the thick darkness of that gloomy period. Alfred might be better seen and more truly appreciated; but it was but partially and doubtfully; as we strive to discern objects through the mists of the early dawn. He fought battles and gained victories; but of the places so distinguished, we know next to nothing. He died, and was buried, we believe, at Winchester, but “his grave no man knoweth.”[183] How can we, then, rationally institute a comparison between a hero who is so imperfectly delineated, and a king whose words and actions are as familiar to us as those of Elizabeth or the third William?

Still, if any one prefers to maintain the belief that Alfred was the greatest of all kings, and almost of all men, we shall not quarrel with his opinion. We merely express a doubt, whether our knowledge is sufficient to warrant such positive language. We think that it is not.

As to the other “heroes” of ancient, or mediæval, or modern days, they seem to us to fall far below Edward’s standard. An Alexander, at the head of his irresistible phalanx, can march through Asia, no enemy being able to stand before him; but his own passions conquer him in turn. Two friends are put to death on suspicion, and a third is slain by his own hand in the excitement of drunkenness. Cæsar infinitely surpassed Alexander. He killed a million of men for his own aggrandizement. He was great as a soldier, and still greater as a statesman. But Cæsar knew neither religion nor morals. He believed this life to be the end of man; and naturally he indulged in sensual pleasures “without shame or scruple.”[184] We will not do Edward the injustice to compare him with such men as these.

Coming nearer to his own age, we find a Charlemagne, unquestionably great in council and in war. But the historian cannot help censuring “his cruelty and his excessive dissoluteness.”[185] In private life he was utterly licentious, and in war he could massacre four thousand men—not in a battle, or in the storming of a city, but like a butcher in a slaughter‐house.

Another Charles, of great power and great success, arose in Europe after a lapse of two centuries. But what shall we say of a man who, after a successful, but an immoral and treacherous life, brought himself to the grave at the age of fifty‐eight, by excessive gluttony?

Still later, at the opening of the present century, we saw a greater soldier and a greater statesman than either Charlemagne or Charles V. In Napoleon we had a loftier genius than either Alexander or Cæsar,—a conqueror who marched from Rome to Poland, from Madrid to Moscow; and who, at Dresden, in 1812, “was waited upon by a crowd of obsequious kings or princes, who accepted every word that fell from his lips, as if an oracle had spoken.”[186] And yet it has been truly observed that this autocrat of Europe “had not the merit of common truth and honesty; he would steal, slander, assassinate, as his interest dictated. He was intensely selfish; he was perfidious. In short, when you had penetrated through all this immense power and splendour, you found that you were dealing with an impostor and a rogue.”[187]

We cannot measure or balance the king of whom we have been writing, with such characters as these. He is altogether of another class. Casting our eyes among men of honour,—men of conscience, men worthy of our respect, in our search for a superior or an equal, we have not yet succeeded in our quest. We relinquish the task, therefore, here, and hand it over to our readers.

Footnotes:

[139] Many of our popular histories of England, disregarding this
distinction, fall into a variety of errors. Thus Oliver Goldsmith,
in his larger history, says, that in 1306, the competitor, “being
old and infirm, was obliged to give up the ambition of being the
deliverer of his people to his son.” The fact being that the
competitor had died eleven years before, and his son two years
before the time of which Goldsmith was speaking. In his abridged
history, which for many years was the lesson‐book in all our great
schools, the statement was thus altered:—“Bruce, who had been one
of the competitors for the crown, but was long kept a prisoner
in London, escaping from his guards, resolved to strike for his
country’s freedom.” The fact being, that neither of the Bruces
had ever been “a prisoner in London,” and that the competitor,
here spoken of, had died in 1295—eleven years before the period
at which we have now arrived. Even Sir Walter Scott falls into a
like inaccuracy, saying, “Bruce, the competitor, after Dunbar,
1296, hinted to Edward his hope of being preferred to the kingdom.”
Whereas, “the competitor” had died a year or two previous.

[140] Tytler’s History of Scotland, vol i., p. 204.

[141] Fordun, p. 981. He also sat, as an English baron, in the
parliament of Lincoln. (See p. 220.)

[142] Fordun, p. 778. Wyntoun, vol. ii., p. 498.

[143] “The countess herself, riding up, and with gentle violence
taking hold of his horse’s reins, Bruce suffered himself to be
led away in a kind of triumph to Turnberry.”—Tytler’s Scottish
Worthies, p. 292.

[144] See p. 124. This sum would be equal to £600 in the present day.

[145] “Scala Chronica,” Leland, vol. i., p. 540.

[146] “The vision of a crown could not but haunt him.”—Burton’s
History of Scotland, vol. ii., p. 286.

[147] Tytler’s History, vol. i., pp. 129, 206.

[148] Tytler’s History, vol. i., p. 209.

[149] Halliwell’s Royal Letters, vol. i., p. 22.

[150] Chalmers’ Caledonia, vol. i., p. 671.

[151] Chambers, in his “Lives of Eminent Scotsmen,” says: “John
Comyn was the son of Margery, the sister of Baliol, and, setting
Baliol aside, was the heir of the pretensions of their common
ancestor.”

[152] Tytler, vol. i., p. 213.

[153] Macpherson’s Chronykyl of Andrew Wyntoun, vol. ii., p. 501.

[154] Barbour, i., 590; Wyntoun, viii., 18.

[155] Barbour i., 647.

[156] Lingard, vol. ii., p. 615.

[157] Sharon Turner says, “On every supposition, it was still the
destruction of a competitor by the person who was to be most
benefited by the crime; and from this suspicious atrocity the
memory of Bruce cannot be vindicated.”

[158] Palgrave’s Documents, p. cxxxix.

[159] Pearson’s History, vol. i., p. 351.

[160] “Bruce was so beaten by ill‐fortune, that he was left alone to
take passage to the Isles with two mariners in a boat, who asked
him ‘if he had any tidings of Robert Bruce?’”—_Scala Chronica_,
App. p. 287.

[161] Tytler’s Hist., vol. i., p. 222.

[162] Matthew of Westminster.

[163] Palgrave’s Documents, p. clxxxix.

[164] Tytler, vol. i., p. 235.

[165] See Appendix.

[166] Matthew of Westminster, 1307.

[167] This was evidently the date of the erection of the tomb. The
king had died in July, 1307, and had been buried in Westminster in
October. The tomb was naturally completed in the following year.

[168] Sir Walter Scott’s History of Scotland, vol. i., p. 87. Sir
Walter forgot here that, before six months had passed, Bruce sent
messengers to the young prince to ask if his submission would be
accepted.

[169] Wallace Documents, Maitland Club, Glasgow, 1841, p. 48.

[170] History of Scotland, vol. i., p. 68.

[171] Robert III. died of a broken heart; James I. was murdered;
James II. accidentally killed; James III. murdered; James IV. died
on Flodden‐field; James V. of a broken heart. Then followed Mary,
who died on the scaffold, James’s troubled reign, Charles’s bloody
death, and, finally, the expulsion of the family.

[172] Rossetti’s translation.

[173] Rapin’s History, vol. i., p. 385.

[174] Thus, in the most popular of our school histories, Mrs.
Markham’s, the scholar is told of Edward’s “violent acts,” of his
fatal thirst of conquest, of his “mad ferocity,” of his “injustice
and violence,” of the “infinite misery” he inflicted on “many
thousands” of people.

[175] “The Greatest of the Plantagenets.”

[176] The professor had suggested some apology for Wallace’s
violence and cruelty.

[177] “Proceedings of Oxford Historical Society, Trinity term, 1864.”

[178] Prof. Stubbs’ Select Charters, 1870, p. 35, 51.

[179] Yonge’s History of England, p. 113.

[180] Creasy’s History of England, p. 485.

[181] Historical Essays, by E. A. Freeman, D.C.L., late Fellow of
Trinity College, Oxford, 1871.

[182] During the last thirty years a dozen Histories of England
have been published in London, all of which servilely followed
Hume, describing Edward as “unscrupulous,” “perfidious,” and
“unprincipled.” But in the course of the last seven years, all the
writers whom we have just quoted have re‐examined the subject, and
they all unite in declaring the king to have been honest, just,
truthful, and disinterested.

[183] All the best biographers of Alfred are obliged to use, at
every turn, the phrases, “It is said,” and “Tradition reports.”
Thus, Mr. Pearson writes: “Probably nothing has been attributed to
him without some real fact _underlying the mythical narrative_,
but it is not always easy to disentangle the one from the other”
(p. 173). Mr. Wright thus speaks: “It is _probable_ that the king,
during the period he remained at Athelney, was actively engaged in
watching the movements of the Danes. _Another legend_ represents
him,” etc. (p. 388). And Mr. Hughes, the latest biographer of the
great king, says of one fact, “This is related by Asser to have
happened,” “_which is clearly impossible_.” In another place, “Any
attempt to remove the miraculous element would take all life out of
the story.” A third story is described as “a sad tangle, which _no
man can unravel_.”

[184] Merivale, vol. i., 119, 490.

[185] Robertson’s Church History, vol. ii., p. 136.

[186] Gleig.

[187] Emerson.