YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

HISTORY

THE LIFE

RICHARD C(EUR-DE-LION.

KING OF ENGLAND.

By G. P. R. JAMES, Esq.
AUTHOR OF " THE HISTORY OF CHARLEMAGNE," " EDWARD THE BLACK PRIMCE,'
"RICHELIEU," " DAR.NLEY," ETC. ETC.

VOL. I

N E W-Y 0. R K:
J. & II. G. LANGLEY, 57, CHATHAM-STREET.
18 4 2.

ff. I-ODWI&, PB.INTBR.
7^Vesey-at. N. Y

INTRODUCTION.
Whoever has given the slightest attention to the history
of the human mind, must have remarked, that at certain
points it changes the path which it has previously been
pursuing, assumes a new course suited to the circumstances
that for the time surround it, labours therein until operating
upon every thing within its sphere it has produced a com
plete alteration in all around it ; and then again takes
another direction, in which it once more proceeds till in
that also it has effected certain results : all its operations
tending to one great end; the enlargement of its own
powers and scope of action, though often impeded by phy
sical obstacles, often thrown back by great moral convul
sions. Such changes in the direction of the human mind mark
the true philosophical periods of history ; and though some
may present more striking and entertaining incidents than
others, yet each is important to the eye of the historian as
steps taken in the general progress of society. Of these
periods one of the most important, as well as one of the most
interesting, is that which comprises the rise and fall of the
feudal system. It is one of the many .military periods
which the world has seen ; but is distinguished from all
others, both by a peculiar organization of society, and by
an institution totally without parallel in other agesf so that
the name of the feudal period, and that of the chivalrous
period, are perhaps equally appropriate. As an epoch of
marvellous incidents and great enterprises, it affords unfail
ing matter for entertaining research ; but its importance as
a subject of study is derived from the extraordinary advance
which society made during its existence towards the estftb-
vol. i. — 1

INTRODUCTION.

lishment of institutions, and the acknowledgment of truths,
that might seem absolutely incompatible with- the very
means that brought them forth.
That a well-contrived and organized system of oppression
should have begot rational liberty as its child and succes
sor ; that bloody wars and fierce contention's should have
had for a result the softening of manners and the refinement
of society ; and that wanton aggression and brutal outrage
should have produced definitions of right and limitations of
power, are, at present well known facts, but are still as ex
traordinary' as they are important ; and in traeing how these
great things were brought about, we may well derive many
an. important lesson, many an exhortation, and many, a
warning, even while we seem to be reading nothing but an
account of battles and. sieges, great military enterprises, and
acts of magnificent daring.
No portion, perhaps( of the feudal or chivalrous period
affords a more distinct picture of its characteristic peculiar..
ties than that comprised in the life of Richard I., King of
England. He Was himself a type of .the age to which he
belonged, and his good and. bad qualities very faithfully
represented the faults and excellencies of feudalism and
chivalry. But before we proceed to narrate the events
comprised within the limits of his life, we must take a brief
view of the state of society at the time, especially in Eng
land, even though it may be necessary to "repeat or abridge
what others havS before said upon the same subject ; for
we must not take it for granted that the reader is already
acquainted with anything materially affecting that which
we have to narrate.
Nevertheless, it will not be necessary to trace minutely
the Origin of the feudal system, or to show by what steps it
gradually, assumed a complete and homogeneous form. Suf
fice it to say, that it was, in its commencement, a certain
constitutional organization, adopted by a great society, of

INTRODUCTION. 3
military adventurers, for the purposes of general defence
and mutual support in conquered countries ; and its chief
distinguishing feature or characteristic, was the general dis
tribution of the territory amongst the soldiery, in unequal
portions, but upon one general principle and condition, —
namely, that of military service, upon the part of the holder
pf each estate, to the leader" from whom he obtained it.
This general holding of the great bulk of the territory by
such tenure, seems to me the sine qua non of the feudal
system ; and-from it, indeed, that system derives its name.
In countries where it did not exist as the general rule,
there might be some feudal institutions — there might be
some customs and laws resembling those of feudalism.;
but the feudal system was not established.*
Of course this system was not framed at once ; but was
gradually produced by the necessities of the northern in
vaders of the Roman empire, when placed in a new situa
tion by the effects of their own conquests. They brought
the rude materials of their government from their native
wilds, but fashioned them according to the circumstances
in which they were placed in the. lands they acquired.
Though the great body of the invaders was composed of

* Independent of the custom of giving a heriot upon the death of a great
man, which some persons hare looked upon as a feudal relief— though I
can by no means do so, inasmuch as the heriot was levied upon the per
sonal property- of the dead man, not Upon the real property of the heir,
who. very possibly might receive no part of the personal goods from
which-'th'e heriot was taken — but independent of this questionable case,
the Anglo-Saxons had several feudal institutions. We must indeed put
aside the oath of fealty, which has too often been confounded with that
of homage in a most unphilosophical manner ; but still the benefice 01
loen was held -by military- service*to a chief, and though .not hereditary,
was of the nature of a fief, being thus, of feudal tenure. Nevertheless,
• the general possession of the land was not held by that tenure till after
the Conquest, and the feudal system cannot properly be said to have
existed amongst the Anglo-Saxons.

INTRODUCTION.

different nations, yet a similarity of customs prevailed
amongst them ; and though the districts that the various
tribes conquered were far apart, yet everywhere they met
the vestiges of Roman institutions. The similarity of cir
cumstances in these points produced a similarity of neces
sities ; and the general adoption of a uniform system was
the result.
It must not indeed be understood that perfect uniformity
was established throughout Europe, for such was not the
case. In some places more of the Roman forms and insti
tutions were retained ; in others the northern notions pre
dominated ; but the differences, though important to the
countries into which the Roman empire became subdivided,
were not important as to the system itself. The forms of
the feudal system in various parts of Europe were only
varieties of the same plant, the seeds of which had been
brought from the north, and cultivated in Roman soil.
The unequal distribution of corporeal and mental quali-
ties, has always impressed the mind of man in a social
state with a conviction that it is necessary some should
lead and some should follow ; and the only difference in
this point between the most purely democratical and the
most purely monarchical forms of society, consists in the
method of selecting the leaders. What was the method
adopted by the northern invaders of Rome while in their
native wilds, matters little ; nor is it of much consequence
at what period a regular subordination of chiefs was estab
lished, from the great leader of a mighty host to the patri.
arch who was followed to the field by his five or six sons.
As they were all essentially warlike nations, and all from a
very early period were engaged in active enterprise, it is
probable that military qualities were the original titles to
command, and that they soon adopted a general gradation
of leaders.The firgt expeditions of the northern nations were purely

INTRODUCTION. O
predatory. When spoil was taken, it was in almost all
cases equitably divided ;* but' when territory was acquired
as well as moveable plunder, a complication of interests
took place ; and we find,' especially in the earlier periods
of feudalism, an infinite number of discrepancies in the
allotment of conquered territories,- which are. difficult to
account for. The exceptions, indeed, do not prove that
some regular system of distribution did not prevail ; because
the course of the 'invaders was subjected to a thousand ac
cidents, by which they were obliged of necessity to guide
their proceedings. Sometimes their conquests were not
altogether successful ; sometimes they encountered a tribe
•as bold and hardy as themselves, and were obliged to en
ter into compromises which left their opponents in pos
session of large tracts, with laws, manners and customs, in
various points discordant with the growing system which
had been brought from the north. At all events, we know
that discrepancies did exist ; and there is proof of allodial
or free-land — that is to say, land held by no feudal tenure,
. but in what maybe called pure possession — having existed
in various parts of Europe down to a very late period.
It would occupy too much space to inquire into the ori
gin of the different tenures which we find in the earlier
ages of feudalism, or to investigate why certain estates ap
pear from the first to have been hereditary, while others
were resumable at the will of the sovereign. f All — not
without exception, as we shall see hereafter, but as a ge
neral rule — very soon became hereditary through the
* The reader need not.be reminded of the story of Clovis and Vasi.
1 1 agree entirely with Dr. - Lingard, that the theory of fiefs being
originally beneficiary grants of land, resumable at pleasure, bfit gradually
improved into estates of inheritance, is, perhaps, erroneous, though spe-
ciouSj They may hav_ been so, but I have many doubts upon the sub
ject ; though I must remark that the regard had, through the whole sys
tem of feudal law, to the lord's ultimate right in the land in case of es
cheat, would seem to favour this theory.
1*

0 INTRODUCTION.
greater part of Europe ; and the grand distinction that re
mained was between allodial, or free-lands, and lands feu
dal, or held upon the condition of military service. The
natural progress of feudal institutions, however, and the su
perior protection enjoyed by the feudal vassal, had converted
almost all allodial lands on the continent into feudal lands
before the invasion of England by William, called the Con
queror ;* so that by that time, the feudal system had not
only reached its highest degree of perfection in most of
the European monarchies, but had become the general law
of policy, beyond the limits of which men's minds could
conceive no beneficial institutions.
It was with such notions that the Norman warriors were
filled when they invaded this island, and overthrew the
Saxon monarchy. In England, however, they found a very
different state of things existing, and an organization op
posed in a thousand particulars to that which had been
gradually produced in continental territories. Feudalism,
in short, as a system, did not exist ; for the circumstances
of England were different from those of any other country
conquered by the invaders of the Roman empire, and tHe
necessities which had produced that organization amongst
other nations had not been felt by the Saxons. They had
adopted, indeed, various feudal institutions ; but the great
principle of the feudal system — that is to say, the general
tenure of land upon the condition of military service, due
not to the country but to a leader — was not recognized by
the Saxons. It was, indeed, one of their fundamental laws,
that all lands were subject to three duties : the building
and upholding castles, the building and upholding bridges,
and the military defence of the realm. But the military ob-
* As far as the middle of the twelfth century, there still existed seve
ral allodial lands in Languedoc, and there are documents in existence, by
which these lands were from time to time transferred to feudal lords,
and received back again as fiefs.

INTRODUCTION. 7
ligation implied by the last clause, is clearly shown to have
been merely the expugnation of foreign invasion, and not
service due to a particular chief as a return for lands held of
him, which was the characteristic of feudal service* Put-
ting this law out of the question, then, the lands of the Sax
ons were held by various tenures, some of which were quite
repugnant to the feudal system, and some similar to feudal
holdings of an early period. It is not necessary to enume
rate the names given to these various tenures, or to mark
fine distinctions ; fhe^ grand difference was between the
lands held free of any other military duty but the great na
tional one of realm defence, and those which were burdened
with distinct military service of a feudal character. The
Thaneland, which has been held to be synonymous with
bocland, or charterland, and of which consisted the great
bulk of the estates of the Saxon nobles, is clearly shewn to
have been allodial, and was hereditary ; while the sort of
estate called beneficium, was granted upon terms of military
service due to a particular leader, and may therefore be
considered as feudal ; though by this time feudal lands on
the continent of Europe had become generally hereditary,
while the benefice was granted only for a certain period —
sometimes for more than, one life, indeed, but sometimes
merely for aperiod of years, and sometimes resumable at wilL
In the difference between the thane land and the benefice,lay
the great distinction in the tenures of the Saxon nobles. The
one holding was of allodial or free hereditary lands, the other
* So totally distinct was the natural duty of what may be termed
realm defence from the feudal and conventional duty of military service,
that the two are, if anything, opposed to one another. They may indeed
be absolutely considered as opposed in their origin, for the feudal service
was the service of the invader, the realm defence the duty of the in
vaded. The latter was purely territorial, the former personal ; the lat
ter was an extension of the right of defending individual property, pro
duced by the necessities of society ; the former was the application of
military subordination in the distribution of conquered territory.

8 INTRODUCTION.
was of estates, not hereditary, and held by military service to
a chief ; but there is every reason to believe, that the same
person often held estates of both kinds.* There was, how
ever, land held by the commons, which was called Folk-
land, and which resembled the benefice in not being abso-
lutely hereditary, but which was free from 'feudal service.
These lands were occupied by the yeomanry of England,
the great strength and security of the nation. Besides the '
nobles and the free tenants of the Folkland, was another
class, namely, that of most wretched, and depressed slaves,
who in many respects were in a more abject state of bond
age than the continental villeins.
The estates of the church were generally — universally,
I believe, under the Saxon dynasty — held by what is called
Franc -almoign, which tenure implied no feudal service of
any kind, but which in return for grants from nobles and
princes, required merely the prayers' of the priesthood in
behalf of the givers and their families.
Such was briefly the state of landed property in Eng
land at the period of the. Norman conquest; and such
were the institutions of the people by whom William _?,
and his victorious army, all impressed with the doctrines
of feudalism, found themselves environed after the battle of
Hastings. The claims which that monarch had put forth
to justify his invasion, and to facilitate his progress, now of
course affected — if they cannot be absolutely said to have
embarrassed— his conduct in dealing with the kingdom
* On the continent this was certainly the case, till the feudal system
was fully *established. The various capitularies of the Carlovingian
monarchs display in many instances both the distinction between the
two tenures, and the fact of persons holding by both. One of the most
to the point is, perhaps, the following : — " Qui benificium domni Impe»
ratoris aut -Ecclesiarum dei habet, nihil exinde ducat in suam heredita-
tim ut ipsum benificium destruatur." — Karoli Magni Capitul. nd. ann.
803 ; Mon. German Histor., torn. 3, p. 123.

INTRODUCTION.

which he had acquired. His own prejudices, and the pre
judices of those who accompanied him, required him to in
troduce the feudal system ; and the necessity of rewarding
and attaching those on whose support he could alone rely,
rendered it imperative that he should divide a large portion
of the conquered territory amongst his followers. But he
had put forward the claims of an heir to the throne of Eng
land, and not those of a conqueror ; and that fact may have
tended both to soften the authority of victory, and produce
some of those curious contradictions which have been re
marked in his conduct. In a synod, held under William's
own immediate eye, those men to whose swords he owed
the crown, were ordered to do penance for every blow they
had struck in the very battle which had placed him on the
throne, and he bade them mourn for the act, while he
rewarded them largely for its success.
At the same time, his dealings with the Saxons were at
first milder than perhaps they themselves expected. No
general partition of the territories took place ; means were
employed to secure the persons and the property of the Sax
ons from the licentiousness of their Norman invaders ; and
few excesses were committed after that which signalized
William's coronation, till the period of his departure for his
continental dominions. Then, however, oppression on the
one hand, and open resistance or covert treachery on the
other, spread over the whole land. William had conveyed
with him to Normandy many of the Saxon chiefs ; so that
the conquered people, wanting experienced leaders, ob
tained but little success in their various desultory insurrec
tions, and afforded a very plausible pretext for th<§ general
pillage of their property, and the subversion of their laws
and customs. On his return to England, William dis
played towards the refractory Saxons the most barbarous
severity. That severity only urged them on to the perti-

10 INTRODUCTION.
nacious resistance of' despair, which again was constantly
followed by defeat and punishment.
In the course of a few years scarcely one noble Saxon
of any great power or wealth could be found who had not.
appeared in arms against the invader whom he had sworn
to receive as his King, and who. had not been overthrown
in war, and stripped of "his .possessions. A part of the ter
ritories thus acquired, William retained as demesne of the
crown ; but the rest was distributed amongst his' Norman
followers ; and of course the recognized principle pf feudal
ism was the rule Of partition. Allodial lands were done
away ; each great-leader received his fief from the King in
chief, upon the condition of military service ; and each
again enfeoffed his .vassals - in smaller portions of the for
feited estates ; and this was continued still farther, till the
systemof subinfeudation was. complete. . The King was
held to be the possessor of the: whole, and only to grant.it
upon the ascertained conditions of the.- feudal system ; nor
was this principle by any means an impotent one, forthe
ultimate rights of the King were always to be kept in view
by the vassal, in dealing with his fief; as his own Contin
gent rights were always to b.e considered by his vavasors,
and theirs by their sub> vassals through all the grades of
subinfeudation. In fact, -the permanence of the King's
right formed the basis of feudal law ; for on it were founded
all those rules and regulations regarding wards and suc
cessions which compose the great bulk of a very volumi
nous code.
Thus the feudal system was established in England
before the death of William, the Conqueror, perhaps in as
perfect a form as in any part of the world; for I- cannot
consider some of the customs, and even tenures which he
received from the Saxons, as offering any anomaly. The
state was now organized in the following grades : barons
holding of the crown in chief: vavasors holding under.

INTRODUCTION. 11
them ; and valvasini holding under the vavasor, generally
possessing one or more knight's fees. These were all
military tenants, "and took the field when called upon by
their sovereign, with a number of armed men proportioned
to their land. Below .these came the yeomanry, holding
by what is called free soccage, and owing no military duty
except" the general one of realm-defence ; and last, ap
peared the villeins or slaves, who in some respects were in
a better situation under the Norman than under the Saxon
yoke ; while the' important fact that the Norman law tended
strongly to their general enfranchisement, is proved by the
rapid extinction of villeinage in England after the con
quest. It may be as well to notice that besides the tenures here
mentioned, there were one or two others, amongst' which
were great and petty sargeantry. Great sargeanfry wa3
the tenure by which certain noblemen held lands of the
King in chief, on the condition of certain services to be
rendered to him in person. Petty or petit sargeantry was,
in fact, a soccage tenure, whereby the holder of certain
lands recognized his dependence upon the King as his ter
ritorial lord, by offering yearly some small implement of
war.' It was distinguished, I imagine, from every other
kind of soccage, by being paid immediately to the King ;
and by the. nature of the due, which was always of a mili
tary character, though the tenant was not bound thereby to
military service. The tenure of Franc-ahnoign had been
generally superseded under the Conqueror by knight ser
vice, the clergy not being required to fake the field in per
son, but to furnish the number of soldiers allotted to their
territorial possessions. That Franc-almoign, however, was
not universally or permanently done aWay, we find from
the text of Sir Thomas Lyttleton, who writes of it as a'
tenure actually existing in his own day ; and we also dia.

12 INTRODUCTION.
cover that it was revived as an abusive means of depriving
lords of their right.
Besides the miUtary service which has been mentioned,
the feudal tenant owed to his lord what was called suit —
that is to say, attendance upon his court on certain occa
sions, as an adviser or counsellor ; and a regular subordina
tion of courts existed under the feudal system, as well as a
subordination of military grades. -In these courts, whether
they were the king's court, the county, the hundred, or the
manorial courts, justice was supposed to be administered ;
and William, though he changed the forms of the Saxon
constitution, rendering the feudal organization, perhaps,
more perfect in England, as a system, than it was in any
other country, retained the laws and many of the customs
of the people he had conquered, and in several remarkable
instances maintained different bodies of his new subjects in
possession of their former privileges, even when those
privileges were contrary to his general system.* One of
his most remarkable operations, and one which may be said
to have given a degree of perfection to feudalism which was
unknown in continental countries, was the division of the
whole territory into knight's fees ; that is to say, into por
tions judged sufficient to furnish, each, one horseman com
pletely armed to a feudal army. The quantity of land so
charged, it would appear, varied in extent ; probably on
account of the nature and quality of the soil in different
parts of the kingdom. Unfortunately, we have lost the
data on which the calculation was first made ; but in the
latter part of William's reign, a general survey of the whole
kingdom was undertaken and completed by commissioners
* In the system itself there was no anomaly, or as few anomalies as
can exist in any human scheme ; but William excepted certain classes
of his subjects from the operation of some parts of that system, in con
sideration of their previous state. I say this to guard against miscon
struction.

INTRODUCTION; 13
empowered to empannel juries in the various hundreds,
and to investigate the nature, quality, extent, and division
of the soil. Every statistical fact of interest came under
their investigation-; and from the information thus acquired,
was compiled the famous Doom's-day Book, the most ex
traordinary and interesting of our national records. What
were the real views with which this survey was ordered, I
cannot tell ; but one of the results was, to enable the sove
reign to ascertain at once the number of men which each
barony was bound to furnish.; and I find.no clear proof of
such a. statistical proceeding having taken place, in any
other part of Europe befbre_fche invasion of England.
•Such may be received as a very brief and imperfect
sketch of the constitution of this kingdom towards, the end
of William's reign ; but even while advancing towards per
fection, the germ's of decay were sown in the feudal system,
and before the accession of Richard I., they had made con
siderable progress. The two great deviations from the
true, feudal constitution, which, more than any of all the
many causes that were ultimately brought into operation
against feudalism, contributed to' overthrow that wonderful
system, owed their admission to the jealousy and ambition
of kings. Those two deviation's' were the institution of
communes, or free corporations, and the compounding of
military, service for money.
Notwithstanding all that the learned Savigni has done,
and the light which he has thrown upon the Roman law
during the middle ages, it may be doubted whether in any
one single instance the old Roman municipal forms de
scended direct to feudal times in the government of any
provincial city. Nevertheless there is much .reason to be
lieve that the pre-existence of such municipal forms in
particular towns, had a great effect in producing the com
munes? of the middle ages, and offered the type, if not the
foundation, of- those institutions. These communes first
vol. i. — 2

14 INTRODUCTION.
began to start into life, I think, in the beginning of the
eleventh century ; and I believe the town of Laon has the
honour of being the first. Horrible oppression, frequent
warfare, and the claims and exactions of contending Ba
rons, rendered it absolutely necessary that monarchs should
either afford effectual protection to the laborious and in
creasing inhabitants of cities and towns, or should justify
them in defending themselves. The latter alternative, as
the most certain, was the one most desired by the citizens ;
and kings saw therein the seeds of a force, which they
clearly perceived might counterbalance, in some degree,
the overgrown power of their ambitious baronage, though
they did not look forward to the time when that force might
become dangerous to their own authority. The crown
therefore encouraged the erections of communes, gave
charters to towns and cities, daily enlarged their privileges
and immunities, employed the troops raised by the citizens
in its own wars, and created a militia, which rendered it
less dependant upon the great vassals for military support.
We find that, at first, the outcry raised against the com
munes was immense ; the feudal proprietors clamoured
loudly in regard to the new institution, and in some in
stances endeavoured to crush it with the strong hand ;
while all their scribes wrote against it as an unheard-of
and monstrous invention. But still a commune rose here
and a commune rose there ; in most cases the neighbour
ing Barons formed but a small force, unable to contend with
the monarch ; the rest of the vassals of the crown did not
interest themselves much in matters at a distance from their
own estates ; and the struggle was completed, the victory
gained, and the institution established by prudence and re
solution, before the great body of feudal lords knew how
fatal it might become to their power and influence. How
far back such institutions may be traced in this country, I

INTRODUCTION. 15
do not know ; but they certainly existed in England long
before the accession of Richard I.*
The second of those deviations from the feudal principle
to which I have alluded, is the commutation of military
service for the pecuniary aid, called scutage or escuage.
This custom was gradually, but very easily introduced;
and there was no outcry against it as against the communes.
Though the military spirit of the nobility might not wax
faint, yet each man, especially in times of civil commotion,
and in an unsettled state of society, might have quite enough
to do on his own lands, in repelling turbulent or grasping
neighbours, in repressing refractory vassals, and in strength
ening himself in possession of lately acquired estates,
without following his sovereign to a war in which he had
no interest, where he could gain little and might lose all.
Every Baron indeed was himself bound to personal service,
but he was not bound to divide his lands amongst military
followers according to the exact number of knights' fees that
it contained. On the contrary, only a small part was gene
rally so divided ; but still he was obliged, when called upon,
to produce the number of armed men required by the extent
of his fief, and consequently some of these were always
hired. He was expected to serve for forty days beyond the
realm ; but if he continued with the army after that term,
it was at the King's charge ; and in order to engage him to
prolong his services, the monarch was obliged to hold out
various inducements, which were almost always either
pecuniary or territorial rewards. Thus the custom of serv
ing for pay was very general, even at an early period of the
feudal history ; and nothing was wanting to make a breach
in this point of the feudal constitution but the establishment

* Lord Lyttleton shows that communes existed in England in the
reign of Henry I. I myself believe that we might go still farther
back.

16 INTRODUCTION.
of a right, on the part of those who were bound by tenure
to personal service, of substituting hired representatives.'
Women had always been permitted to perform the feudal
duties repugnant to the delicacy of their sex by deputy.
When Wilham rendered the lands of the clergy feudal, he
permitted the holders to enjoy the like immunity from a
personal performance of acts inconsistent with their sacred
office. In carrying on foreign wars, sovereigns found many
inconveniences arise from the constitution of feudal armies,
from the limitation of the time of service, and from their
Utter dependance upon their Barons' good will- for any far;
ther aid. The nobles, on the other hand, often murmured
at being called, for even forty days, from their own affairs,
to contentions in which they, had no interest. The conve
nience of both parties might be consulted by the expedient
of commuting military service for a sum of money; and
perhaps the sovereign saw in that arrangement the means
of selecting such of his Barons to follow him as his poUtical
views might require, while he left behind him those whose
presence might be burdensome or useless. He might also
look forward to the time when a mercenary army would be
come a new • counterpoise to the growing power of the
Barons. Lord Lyttleton, in his history of Henry II., informs us
that the first distinct example of this innovation took place
in the feign of that monarch, who, during a war with the
Welsh, permitted ' not only the spiritual Barons of the
realm, but their military tenants to compound for their due
service in the field, by payment of a pecuniary fine. He
then proceeds to show that in Henry's famous expedition
against Toulouse, the permission Was extended "to all in
ferior tenants in chief, and to almost all the subvassals who
held by knight . service. It was afterwards taken in like
manner, not only for wars beyond the sea, but against
Wales or Scotland : neither was it denied to the greater

INTRODUCTION. 17
vassals of the crown, (as it had been at first,) unless by
their summons they were expressly commanded to follow
the King in person, or held some office by grand sargeantry,
which required their attendance."
Thus was the whole constitution of a feudal army altered,
and the greatest possible innovation effected in the system
itself. Monarchs, as we shall see hereafter, soon learned
to depend as much or more upon mercenary aid than upon
the support of their feudal followers ; and the great military
tie was severed which bpund the Sovereign and his Barons
together. This change, however, greatly increased the
revenues of the sovereign ; and having here mentioned one
of the sources which supplied money to carry on the various
great enterprises of which I shall have to speak hereafter,
I may as well notice some other branches of revenue in
feudal times, that I may not have to interrupt the course of
the narrative for the purpose of explanation hereafter.
The permanent sources of revenue varied very much in
different reigns, some monarchs claiming what other sove
reigns renounced ; but we find that the rents of the crown
lands, which at first were paid in kind, were put upon another
footing by Henry I. ; and after some shameful exactions
committed by his officers, were equitably settled on a pe
cuniary estimation. During a long period a considerable
revenue was derived from the shameful custom of selling
the hands of heiresses and the ward of minors to the best
bidders. Sometimes it would seem that an heiress ventured
to select a husband for herself ; but she had no chance of
uniting her fate to his, unless the price he could give was
equal to that offered by another competitor, or tha| she her
self purchased out of her inheritance the right of choice.
Wealthy widows were also a subject of traffic with our
Norman kings ; and the ward of heirs, which conveyed the
proceeds of their estates to the guardians during their mi-
nority, was another great source of revenue. The pretence
2*

18 INTRODUCTION.
upon, which these exactions were founded, was, that the
lord might not lose the advantages of his vassal's service
either by the minority or sex of the heir. The claim thus
established was magnified and extended by the ingenuity, of
feudal lawyers ; but the real object was the profit accruing
to the Sovereign and to his Barons.
Henry I., in his memorable charter, promised a reform of
many abuses' which had taken place in consequence of the
law regarding the marriages of daughters ; but we find the
absolute sale of the hand of heiresges going on at a much
later period. The dues called reliefs formed another con
stant income. These were'paid by the vassal to his lord
on taking possession of his fief; and the relief, which
actually means " the taking up " of a knight's fee, was
fixed by William the Conqueror at one hundred shilUngs,
a very considerable sum at the period of which we speak.
The. relief of a barony was supposed to be fixed by the
number of knights' fees it contained ; but was left 'vague,
and was often oppressive.
Besides these sources of revenue, there were aids, some
of which were appointed on certain defined occasions, as
when the monarch made his eldest son a. knight, or on the'
marriage of his eldest daughter, or on his falling into cap
tivity. But aids or benevolences were called for on many
other occasions ; and, would have been even more oppres
sive than they proved, had not the Barons and Clergy ¦
claimed the .right of fixing the amount, and the manner of
levying the tax.. Customs and dues on bridges, fairs, im- ¦
ports and exports, also increased the royal finances, as did
also various fines upon the granting or renewing of privi
leges to towns, guilds, and even individuals. Talliage, and
various taxes upon certain classes of the people, and dane-
geldand other dues.levied upon land, might be. enumerated ;
but it would occupy, too much time to enter into all the parr
•ticulars of the royal revenue, some of which "offer very ob-

INTRODUCTION. 19
scure and difficult points.' We must not fail to add, how
ever, that the sale of public justice upon a large and small
scale, and the pecuniaryamercements which the Norman
law assigned to almost all offences, contributed greatly to
the wealth of the sovereign."
These sources of income and several others which are
here omitted, placed vast riches at the disposal of any mo
narch of England who managed his expenses reasonably;
and at the period of the birth of Richard I. the sovereign
might thence derive immense power.- The ease with which
mercenary troopis of tried courage and skill were to be pro
cured, the custom of employing them on various occasions
without offence, the right established by kings of summon
ing such nobles as they pleased to accompany them in their
warfare, and to permit others to compound for personal ser
vice by the payment of scutage, the differences and divi
sions which always existed between the Barons them
selves, and the gradual tendency of the times to carry every
cause into the King's court, had all contributed to counter
act the dangerous power which the Norman leaders had
acquired after the conquest. At the same time the growth
of large towns, the immunities daily conceded to citizens,
the increase of commerce, and the gradual "enfranchisement
of the servile population, was one of the chief causes of the
augmentation of the royal authority, when considered in'
opposition tq that of the nobles.
It may be needful here to say a few words in regard to
the state of the towns and their inhabitants, who have been
looked upon by some writers as little better than serfs or
villeins. Such, however, was not at all the casfi in. Eng
land! -and I cannot discover that it ever was the case. That
the people of cities were talliable, does not at all prove that
their state approached that of villeinage. All the demesne
land of the crown was talliable; and the citizens of the bo
roughs held apparently as -much, in free soccage- as any

20 INTRODUCTION.
other tenants of the crown. No other land I believe was
talliable, but land that either was actually, or once had been
demesne ; for though many towns were talliated by inferior
lords, yet I suspect an investigation into the tenures would
show that they had been demesne of the crown, and were
granted with the right of talliage* to the lords who held
them. The great and increasing prosperity of the towns,
likewise shows that no very opposite jurisdiction was ex
ercised over them; and that the freedom of the citizens
themselves was well secured, we may infer from the fact
that a lord lost all power over a serf who could prove that
he had remained a year and a day unmolested in a free
borough, so as to be received into a guild or corporation.
England, at that time, contained many cities of much
importance. Winchester, Exeter, York, were all large and
splendid towns; but London had attained that pre-eminence
which it has never since lost. It was indeed, even then,
a vast and magnificent capital; for although we cannot de
pend upon the statements which have come down to us
regarding the amount of its population, yet the number of
churches within the city and its suburbs reached one
hundred and twenty-six, which, with thirteen conventual
churches, made one hundred and thirty-nine. Its limits too
in the reign of Richard I. are very clearly defined, so that
we can judge of its extent ; for there is no reason to believe
that the position of the seven gates of the city has since
been altered ; and between those gates ran the walls of the
town, defended by a number of towers, besides three forts
or castles, supposed to be extremely strong, according to the
military art of that day. These were Baynard's and Mont-
* Lord Lyttleton says, "Upon the whole, the condition of the citizens
and burgesses holding of the crown in those days was never worse, and
often better by divers privileges and favours granted to them, than that
of all its other tenants in ancient demesne, who held by free soccage ;
and the same may be affirmed of those who belonged to private lords."

INTRODUCTION. 21
fichet Castles, and that which is now called the Tower of
London. The old Palace of Westminster, the site of which is still
marked by the magnificent Hall of Rufus, was then at the
distance of about two miles, from the nearest gate nf the
city; but even in the reign of Henry II., we find that a
suburb extended from the capital to the royal abode, along
that-bank of the river which is still called the Strand. It
was filled with the houses of citizens and noblemen, and
possessed gardens stretching down to the river. The city
of London was then, as now, the greatest commercial town
in Europe. Its merchandize went forth to all quarters pf
the earth ; and from the most: remote, as well as from neigh
bouring countries, it received supplies of every article of
luxury and necessity which . the earth produced, or the in
genuity of man had at that time invented.
We find- that here, merchants, from the far east as well as
from the north, congregated every year with a certainty of
disposing of their most precious commodities ; and the
habits of the citizens were of course luxurious and ostenta
tious in proportion. Though the greater part. of the houses
were then built of wood, yet others, and those of the chief
traders and merchants, were of stone. The architecture of
the city we find highly praised by contemporaries ; and as
we know what splendid buildings could be raised iii those
days, we have no reason to suppose that the edifices, whe
ther of wood or of more durable -materials, would have failed
to excite our admiration also as specimens of a peculiar
style; It is not, indeed, within the scope of the present
work to give a minute account of the architecture i,of that
age. Suffice it to say, that the period immediately preceding
the feign .of Richard I. was distinguished by a peculiar
style, now known by the name of Norman architecture.*
* Perhaps the name of Saxon might be better applied to this style in
England at least, as, historically speaking, there is every reason to be-

22 INTRODUCTION.
This style,, distinguished by the general though not con
stant use of the round arch, by the broad plain buttress,
terminating under the cornice tablet, and the heavy low
tower, ended with the reign of Henry II., and under his
children a new style began.
The interior of the houses, under the Normans, were
generally hung with tapestry or cloth ; but in the reign of
Richard, or shortly after, the rooms were sometimes painted
with scenes from histories or fictions. The ceilings also
were often richly painted, and gilt with many beautiful
forms and devices ; but these in all probability were copied
from oriental models, as, were it not for some beautiful
illuminations, we should have no reason to attribute to our
ancestors, in those days, any great skill in the use of the
pencil. Nevertheless, luxury had brought forth many of
the ornamental arts. The Saxons themselves had been so
famous for fine embroidery, and some other kinds of deco
rations in gold and silver, that as a recommendation to any
thing supposed to be super-excellent, it was said to be of
" English work." Their garments also were so sumptuous
lieve that no fundamental change was made in the architecture which
existed in England under the Anglo-Saxons by the Norman conquerors;
unless it were the introduction of the pointed arch, which, as Mr. Rick-
man observes, is to be found in the oldest Norman buildings. The work
might be much more refined and delicate, the ornaments might become
more elaborate, and several ornaments peculiarly Norman*" certainly were
introduced. Indeed, * refined system of architecture took place of a
very rude one ; but still the round arch — and certainly the arch must
always be admitted as one of the grand characteristics of a style — was
employed in this country under the Saxons. In the two buildings which
Mr. Rickman admits to be probably of Saxon construction, the round
arch is used both for doors and windows ; and in speaking of that very
style called Norman, he says, " This style seems to have commenced
before the conquest." Innumerable churches in Italy offer, in parts in
disputably of a date before 1000, details which are entirely of the style
now called Norman ; and it appears to me, as it did to Mr. Hope, that
the epithet as now applied is a complete misnomer.

INTRODUCTION.

23

as to create great surprise in the minds of the Normans,
when they beheld some of the English, who had followed
the conqueror back to his native duchy, clothed in attire far
more splendid than their own. It would appear that the
Norman monarchs and their followers did not fail to imitate
the inhabitants of their new land in the love of gorgeous
apparel ; for we find continual mention of rich silks, fine
linen, clothes of resplendent colours, gold, pearls, and gild
ing, in their caps, dalmatiques, tunics, sword belts, and bal
drics ; while it is recorded of William Rufus, that he refused
to put on hose which only cost three shillings, at that time
an enormous sum, because he thought them too cheap for
the legs of a king. Then, as now, fashions in dress were
continually varying ; but in the time of William II. the
close coats were exchanged for looser apparel, long cloaks
were universal, and the hair was not only worn of an exces
sive length, but was curled in studied ringlets by all the
male attendants of the court. Very often false ringlets
were added ; and about the same period Fulk of Anjou
introduced long points to the shoes, which were often so
extravagant in extent as to be fastened to the knees of the
wearer, and were stuffed with various materials to make
them retain the peculiar form which the fashion of the day
might give them. Now the toe represented a snake, now
it was curled round like the horn of a ram.
Excess of drinking has always, unhappily, been an Eng
lish vice ; and during the Norman domination it was not
diminished. Indeed, the luxury of the table was very great
in every respect, especially, it would seem, in monasteries
and religious houses. We are told, not only that from thir
teen to sixteen different dishes were daily set upon some
tables, but that these dishes consisted of the most exquisite
and costly dainties ; while foreign wines of many kinds,
besides mead and other intoxicating liquors,* the produce of
* We find mulberry wine amongst the rest.

24 INTRODUCTION.
the country, flowed in too profuse abundance. It is proba
ble, however, that in the baronial castle, where every vas
sal found a seat at the board of his lord, and many even of
the inferior tenantry were re'galed daily, the hospitality,-
though profuse, was less distinguished by the quality than
' the quantity of the viands ; and here the native liquor's of
the land flowed with a liberal stream; ale, metheglin, and
hypocrass taking place of the juice of the grape. However .
that might be, whether on the rush-covered hall of the cas
tle, or the flower-strewed pavement of the city mansion,
mirth and feasting generally ended in drunkenness, and
often in strife.
' Manifold in those. days were the fine athletic spOrts of
the people, both in the country and in the towns. In gene
ral, hunting and hawking were amusements reserved for the
nobles ;'but the citizens of London possessed peculiar pri
vileges in this respect, and could fly their hawks, or run
their hounds, over a wide district in the counties of Middle
sex, Hertford, and Kent. The proximity of a number of
forests, and especially of Enfield chase, which was then
well stocked and of vast extent, rendered this right not .
insignificant at a period when the preservation of game, was
more regarded than .the preservation of human life.
It is not to be expected that a barbarous age should not
have barbarous amusements ; and though we may well won
der that the torture of many domestic animals for the pur
poses of sport, should have 'been permitted within a few
years of our own day, we cannot be surprised to find that
bull-baiting,; cock-fighting, bear-baiting, and combats be
tween different dogs, or between dogs and boars, were then
. amongst the most approved entertainments of the people, as
we shall show more particularly shortly. Football, and a
number of other games, which have now very generally
passed over to schoolboys, were then eagerly pursued by
the young men of the land, both in towns and in the coun-

INTRODUCTION. 25
try; and the Maypole, the morrice and the summer moon-
light dances to the sound of the harp, as recorded by Fitz-
Stephen, afforded softer amusements to the youth of the
other sex, from a participation in which it is not probable
that male companions were excluded. We are assured that
chastity and other moral virtues were general amongst the
citizens and lower orders ; but the rudeness of the age
showed itself both in the frequency of robbery, and the
means employed to put a stop to that crime.
Having mentioned the name of Fitz- Stephen, I think it
may not be amiss to give some part of his description of
the City of London, as it appeared in his time, namely, in
the days of Henry II. and Richard I.
" Everywhere adjoining the houses in the suburbs," he
says, " the citizens have spacious and beautiful gardens, one
joining the other, and planted with trees. Round about
on the north side of London there are various principal
fountains of sweet water, salubrious, clear, and flowing
amongst shining pebbles, amongst which those called the
Holy well, the Clerk's well, (now Clerkenwell,) and Saint
Clement's well, are the most celebrated, and most frequented
of scholars, and citizens going out in the summer evenings
to take the air. The city must certainly be good, as it has
a good lord. In London," continues Fitz-Stephen, " three
principal churches have three schools, by privilege and
ancient dignity : nevertheless, by favour of some persons or
certain teachers who are noted, and eminent for philosophy,
there are other schools, by leave and permission. On holi
days the masters with their scholars celebrate assemblies
at the festival churches. The scholars dispute there^, some
demonstratively, some dialectic ally, others recite enthi-
mems, others better use perfect syllogisms. Some exercise
disputation for ostentation, as struggling together ; others,
for truth, which is the grace of perfection."
I need not proceed further with this description of the
vol. i. — 3

26 INTRODUCTION.
schools, which were the same all through Europe, for
several hundred years : places.in short, where the abuse
of the understanding was as much taught as its use. But
I will go onto quote our author on matters of more interest:
" The exercisers of each office, the sellers of each thing,-and
each hired labourer, are all every morning to be found dis
tinguished by their places as by their offices. There is
besides in London,- upon the bank of the river, amongst the
wine ships and wine cellars, a public kitchen, where every
day may be found dishes of. meat roasted, sodden and fried ;
fish, small fish, meats of coarse kinds for the poor, and
more delicate for the rich, as venison, fowl, or small birds.
If by chance any one of the citizens should be visited sud
denly by friends wearied with travel, and it be not pleasant
to let them waft fasting till food can be bought and cooked,
let the servants < give water for the hands, and bread, while
some one runs to the bank of the river, where every thing
desirable is ready. Whatsoever multitude of soldiers or
travellers enter the city, at. whatever hour of the day or
night; or are about to go out of the city, that the one may
not remain fasting, and that the other may- not go out with
out their dinner, they can turn hither, if they please, and
each refresh himself according to his own fashion. Those
who w'ish to take care of themselves delicately, may take a
goose, nor need they seek- for the African fowl, or the
Ionian godwit — delicacies which will be found there ready.
This public cookery, indeed, is very convenient, and belongs
to the city."
Fitz-Stephen then goes on to describe the Friday horse
market, which he says is attended by Earls, Barons,
Knights, and many citizens ; and on this, occasion he gives
a curious description of the commencement of horse-racing
in the market, which was held in a large field just without
one of the gates of the city. " The buyers at first look at
the horses in their slow pace, then in a quicker, and in

INTRODUCTION. 27
their gallop. When the course, of such and of others,
which in their kind are both good for carriage, and quick
for running, is about to begin, a shout is raised, and the
common, horses are ordered aside. The riders are boys.
Sometimes three together, sometimes only two, prepare
themselves for the strife ; skilled to govern their horses,
they rule the mouths of the wild creatures with sharp bitted
bridles, avoiding especially lest one get before another.
The horses also, after their manner, hold themselves up for
the contest ; their joints tremble ; impatient of delay, they
cannot stand still : the signal being given, they extend their
limbs, hurry over the course,.borne along with eager agility.
The riders, striving from the love of praise and the hope of
victory, apply the spur to the free horses, urging them no
less with whips, and exciting them with cries. You would
think everything in motion, according to HeracUtus, and
that Zeno's opinion that nothing moves nor passes through
space, is false altogether.''
I sh.aU omit the description of the cattle market, and
proceed to give. Fitz- Stephen's account of the trade, and
internal government of London in his day. "To this city,
from every nation under heaven, merchants carry on a com
merce by sea : Arabia sends gold ; the Sabaaan spices and
.frankincense ; the Scythian arms ; the prolific soil of Ba
bylon sends oil from its rich wood of palms.* The Nile
furnishes precious stones : the East Indies purple gar
ments ; Norway and Russia, vair, fur and sables ; the
French their wines. According to chronicles of authority
it is older than the city of Rome. Both were from the
same Trojan stock, this, however, being built by Brute be-
* I have found some difficulty' in translating this part of Fitz-Ste-
phen's account, which is not written in the best latinity ; but I suspect
that the whole passage in the copy I have, is wrongly stopped. It is
there written thus : " Arma Scythes, oleum palmarum divite silva.
Pingue solum, Babylon, &c," which is mere nonsense.

28 INTRODUCTION.
fore that was built by Romulus and Remus. Whence pro
bably their ancient customs and laws were so much the
same. Thus in a similar manner London is divided into
regions (or wards), has annual sheriffs instead of Consuls,
has a Senatorial dignity, and inferior magistrates, has sew
ers and aqueducts in the highways. All sorts of causes,
deliberative, demonstrative and judicial, have their proper
places of judgment and separate courts ; the council has its
meetings on appointed days. I do not think there is any
city where there are more orderly customs of visiting
churches, honouring the ordinances of God, observing ho-
lydays,* giving alms, showing hospitality, keeping engage
ments, contracting espousals, celebrating nuptials, orna
menting festivals, cheering guests, even in performing
funerals, and inhuming the dead. - The sole plagues of
London are the immoderate drinking of fools, and frequent
fires. Besides, almost all Bishops, Abbots, and nobles of
England are, as it were, citizens and freemen of London,
having there fine houses where they resort, and incur great
expenses, being called thither to councils and important
assemblies by the King or their metropolitan, or drawn by
their own business.''
The sports and pastimes of the citizens afford Fitz-Ste-
phen a stiU more ample field for description. "Instead of
theatrical spectacles and scenic plays, London has holier
plays, namely, representations of Miracles wrought by
saintly confessors ; or of the sufferings by which the con
stancy of the martyrs was made manifest. Besides, every
year on carnival day-; — that we may begin with the sports
of children, for we have all been children once — the boys
of a school bring to their schoolmaster fighting cocks, and
all the forenoon is given up to the sport of seeing these
cocks fight in the schools. After dinner, all the youths of
* The words are « festis feriandis," which might be translated more
ways than one.

INTRODUCTION. 29
the city go forth into the fields to play at ball. The scho
lars of each school have their ball, and the men of every
craft of the city have their ball in their hands. The elder
people, the fathers, and more wealthy citizens come out on
horseback to witness the exercises of the youth," &c. &c.
" On every Sunday of Lent, after dinner, a troop of fresh
youth goes out into the fields, mounted on war horses and
on horses fit fof the course, every one of which has been
taught to run in the circle. The lay sons of the citizens
burst out of the gates in bands, furnished with lances and
military shields, the younger ones having their lances
deprived of the iron ; they now offer" an image of war, and
exercise themselves in military strife. Many come from
the court when the King is in the neighbourhood, and also
the youth of Earls' and Barons' families not yet possessed
of the baldric, striving for military repute. The hope of
victory fires them all ; the horses neigh, their joints shake,
they bite their bits, and impatient of delay they cannot
stand still : when at length they beat the sounding course
with their hoofs, the youthful riders divided into troops,
some press on those before them, but cannot overtake them,
some throw down their fellows and fly past them.
" In Easter they' represent as it were naval battles. A
shield being strongly fixed upon the trunk of a tree planted
in the midst of the river, a young man placed in the prow
of a boat carried swiftly on by both oars and the current,
• tries to strike the shield with his lance. If in striking it
he breaks the spear and remains himself unmoved, he ac
complishes his purpose, and has obtained his object : but
if the lance remains unbroken when strongly strufek, he is
'cast into the passing stream, the boat by its motion being
carried away from him. There are, however, not far off
from the shield, two stationary boats filled with young men,
in order to take the unfortunate spearman out of the water,
either when plunged in, or when he first appears again at
3*

30 INTRODUCTION.
the top. On the bridge, and in the gaUeries above the
river, stand the spectators, prepared for much laughter.
On holydays throughout the whole summer, the youth ex
ercise themselves in sports with leaping, with the bow,
with wrestling, with casting of stones, in throwing javelins
with thongs beyond a limit, and with the warlike buckler.*
Bands of maidens beat the earth with free foot, even until
moonlight. In winter almost every holyday before dinner
either the foaming boars fight for their heads, and hogs
armed with terrible teeth are given over for bacon, or fat
bulls or immense bears fight with the dogs that are let loose
upon them. When that large marsh which extends on the
north side of the city walls is frozen, thick crowds of youths
go out to sport upon the ice. Some gaining more rapid
motion by a run, with their feet apart and turned sideways,
slide over a great space. Others make for themselves seats
of ice like great mill-stones; many running before with
their hands joined, draw him who sits thereon ; some slip
ping with their feet in such rapidity of motion all faU on
their faces. Others are more skilful in sports upon the ice,
and fitting to the foot and tying on the shoes, bones, that is
to say, the leg-bones of animals, and holding in their hands
staves shod with sharp iron, with which they sometimes
strike the ice, are borne on with velocity like that of a bird
flying, or of a bolt from a cross-bow. Sometimes also, two
of these come by agreement, from a great distance apart,
against one another, they meet with great force, they stretch
* I have thus translated the words " parmis duellionum," by which
Stephanides probably meant practice with broadsword and buckler,
always a favourite sport with our ancestors. In the sentence that fol
lows, I have rather deviated from my author's exact words, as the good
monk might by them give an impression which his whole account of
London and its customs shows he did not mean. He says, in his inflated
manner, speaking of the young women of the capital, " Puellarum Cy-
therea ducit chores ete."

INTRODUCTION. 31
forth their staves, they strike one another mutually. One
or both fall not without bodily harm, for after the fall they
are carried far from one another, and wherever the head
touches the ice, it is all bruised and flayed. Many break a
leg arm if they happen to fall."
Such, according to Fitz-Stephen, were the sports of the
good citizens of London in the days immediately preceding
the reign of Richard Cceur de Lion. Barbarous they cer
tainly were, but the times in every respect harmonized with
them, and the first Norman king, as well as his immediate
successors, rather added to, than diminished, the barbarism
of the land which he subdued. In the character of William
the conqueror, the barbarism of the times displayed itself
in his fierceness and relentless severity. William Rufus,
without the powers of his father, had all his despotic stern
ness, and superadded the licentiousness of the barbarian.
In these respects the Anglo-Saxons had been comparatively
civilized, for there is probably in modern history no parallel
to the frenzied debaucheries of the second king of the Nor
man race and the horde of barbarians with which he filled
his palace, except in the reign of the infamous Henry III.
of France. Each had his minions, and the effeminate
dapifers of William Rufus bear but too strict a resemblance,
both in the nature and extent of their crimes, to the painted
followers of the French tyrant. In order, it would seem, to
allow more scope for the horrors of the royal orgies, lights
were forbidden in the palace of the Norman after nightfall,
and darkness covered vices on which we cannot dwell.
Every sort of licentiousness was practised under the
second monarch after the conquest ; and when Henry I.
took possession of the throne, his coming was hailed as
affording a prospect both of a deliverance from oppression,
and a reformation of morals, though his own life exhibits a
picture of continual indulgence in criminal amours, which
not even his keen sense of policy could restrain. His un.

32 INTRODUCTION. I
happy son William, the immediate cause of whose death
was an act of generous affection of which he left but tod
few on record, was at the early age of eighteen already
overwhelmed by vices horrible and degrading, so that though
the father mourned in bitterness of heart for the loss of his
child, the nation could hardly regret a prince, whose over
bearing disposition and early depravity, promised a maturity
as terrible as that of his uncle of the same name.
Though the subject be so.dark and painful, it has seemed
necessary to. say thus much on the vices of our Norman
kings, because the character of the monarchs that suc
ceeded, and of the house of Plantagenet in general, cannot
be duly estimated unless contrasted with that of the sove
reigns who preceded them. -Thus Henry II. himself and
several of his successors, taken individilally, appear far
from deserving the praise of moral life ; but when we com
pare the period which succeeded the accession of the se
cond Henry, with .that which went before, we shaU find a
vast improvement in morals, notwithstanding several strik
ing instances of licentiousness.
No regular rule of succession to the throne of England
was observed till the reign of Henry II. ; and indeed, even
in private families, the law of inheritance seems to have
been ill defined or ill observed. WilUam the Conqueror,
however, >f we may believe that the words put into his
mouth on his death-bed by various historians were really
spoken by him, seems to have pointed out the rule of pri
mogeniture as the one he recognised, even while he con
veyed the throne of England to William Rufus, as far as he
could convey that which he himself, in truth, held only by
his sword. " Normandy,'' he said, "he had received from
his fathers, and therefore that, as his paternal inheritance,
he left to his eldest son." Might continued to make right,
however ; and Henry I., after having seized the crown of
England, stripped his brother Robert of his undoubted do-

INTRODUCTION. 33
minions, and by a base violation of confidence and honour,
confined him in a prison, of which death alone unclosed
the doors. The plunderer of his brother, being suddenly
deprived of his son William by the wreck of the vessel
which was bearing the Prince to England,* had only one
legitimate child left, a daughter, who had first been named
Alice, but had afterwards assumed the name of Matilda, and
married the emperor Henry IV."}" The desire of seating
one of his own posterity on the throne, and the difficulty
of securing the crown to his daughter, induced the king of
England to marry his second wife, named Adelais, whose
youth seemed to afford a prospect of numerous issue.
Their bed, however, was unfruitful, and in the end he deter
mined to settle the crown on his daughter the empress Ma
tilda. Although her husband was now dead, Matilda was very
unwiUing to leave her adopted country, and the English
barons were not well disposed to allow the sceptre to be
placed in a female hand ; but Henry overcame the repug
nance of both, and, in a general assembly of the clergy and
* The Prince was following his father to England in a vessel called
the White Ship, accompanied by his natural brother Richard, and their
sister Adela, with a hundred and forty knights and sixteen ladies of
noble birth. They spent several hours in drunkenness and debauchery
before they weighed anchor ; and some of the party, seeing the state of
the crew, retired to land, and thus saved themselves. The ship was
then unmoored, but in the confusion drifted on a ledge of rock not far
from Barfleur, and immediately began to sink. The Prince got speedily
into a boat, and was rowing for the land when the cries of his. sister
Adela caught his ear, and he returned to save her. The moment he
approached the ship, multitudes poured into the boat, which" immedi
ately sunk as well as the ship. Only one person was saved from the
wreck, who clung during the whole night to the top of a mast which ap
peared above water.
t It was not at all uncommon in those days, thus to change what is
called the ohristian name. A similar alteration had been made by the
mother of Matilda, whose name was originally Edith,

34 INTRODUCTION.
nobles, Matilda was declared next in succession to the
crown of England. . It is to be remarked, that at this meet
ing were present, besides David king of Scotland, maternal
uncle of the Princess, her cousin Stephen Count of Bou
logne, the son of Adela, daughter of the conqueror, and also
Robert, Earl of Gloucester, Matilda's half brother, a natural
son of her father Henry. Between these two noblemen
immediately arose a dispute regarding precedence in the
assembly, and it has been supposed, that Robert of Glou
cester, foreseeing that Matilda's title would ultimately be
contested, looked with ambition towards the crown itself, as
a prize which .perhaps might fall to his lot, in an age when
bastardy Was- not regarded as an insuperable bar, in all
cases, of feudal succession. To be'declared next to Ma-
tilda might have secured a distinct claim upon the crown
itself ; for if his illegitimacy did not affect his relation to
Stephen of Boulogne, it could not be supposed to affect his
position in regard to the succession. If he acted upon such
considerations, the danger was obviated by the decision of
the barons, who maintained that the claim of legitimacy
was superior to that of proximity, and assigned the first
place to Stephen, whose ultimate views undoubtedly ex
tended to the crown.
In the various struggles and contentions which had con
vulsed Normandy, under the sons of the Conqueror,' Fulk,
named Plantagenet,* Count of Anjou, had taken a frequent
part.. Henry I. had studiously courted that Prince, who
had obtained much renown as a soldier, and who being
called to the distant throne of Jerusalem about this time,
* From the genet, or broom-tree, which his family bore as their de
vice. I find the term Plante de genet given' as the origin of the appel
lation assumed by the house of Anjou ; 'but the name of this shrub is
much more simply put as Plante a genet, which was not at all ah un- -
common form in the French of that day, and is still retained in such ex
pressions as arbre a fruit, batteau a voiles, &c.

INTRODUCTION. 35
resigned his European dominions to his son Geoffrey, a.
rash, hot-headed, violent youth.- To the young Count,
Henry had already proposed the hand of his daughter, and
he now urged on the match, promising him, it would seem,
the immediate investiture of Normandy. In this scheme
the King had to contend once more with the reluctance of
his daughter, and the disapprobation of his vassals, who
were strongly averse to the union of their future Queen
with the young Count of. Anjou. Henry, however, perse
vered, and Matilda was married to Geoffrey, notwithstand
ing the murmurs of the. Anglo-Norman barons, from whom
the conclusion of the treaty was concealed as long as pos
sible Geoffrey acted as a boy of sixteen might be ex
pected to act — quarrelled with his wife and father-in-law,
and left neither of them any peace during several years.
But the purpose of Henry was so far accomplished, that
Matilda bore three sons to her husband, and male posterity
was thus secured.
To place the succession of his daughter and her children
beyond all doubt, the King engaged his barons to take an
oath of fealty to her after her marriage with Geoffrey ; and
again, on the birth of Henry, her eldest son, that oath was
renewed to the young Prince as heir to the crown. In all
these acts, Stephen, Count of Boulogne, took part, and bound
himself by the most solemn ties to support the throne of
Matilda. Though naturally and habitually a suspicious
man, Henry I., to his credit be it spoken, retained some
faith in- human gratitude and honour ; and he does not seem
to have entertained the slightest apprehension that either the
strong tie of benefits received and conferred which ought to
have bound his nephew to him, or the solemn vow which
the Count of Boulogne had taken to Matilda, would ever be
broken. Stephen himself was one of four brothers, the sons, as we
have seen, of Adela, daughter of the Conqueror, and the

36 INTRODUCTION.
count of Blois. The distribution of the Count's patrimony
after his death shows one of the strange anomalies which
occasionally took place in the feudal system at an early
period, and proves, by a striking example, how weakly es
tablished was the right of primogeniture at this time. It
was Theobald, the second son of the Count, who succeeded
to the territory of Blois ; the eldest son, WilUam, having
become Count of Solieu by his marriage with the heiress of
that fief. The two other sons, Stephen and Henry, de.
rived their elevation from the kindness and affection of their
uncle, the King of England. The youngest he gradually
raised from monastic seclusion to the important Bishopric
of Winchester ; and Stephen, the third son of his sister, he
married to the heiress of the Count of Boulogne, after be
stowing on him numerous estates, both in England and
Normandy. In him Henry trusted that his daughter would find strong
support ; and in that confidence, the King remained in
Normandy, to guard the Duchy against some rash though
perhaps not unjustifiable attempts of his son-in-law Geof
frey. He was still there, when either excess or some acci.
dental cause cast him into a fever, and he soon felt that
the termination of his long and eventful career was ap
proaching. On his death-bed, he solemnly declared it to be
his will, that the kingdom of England, as well as the duchy
of Normandy, should descend to his daughter Matilda, and
in direct succession to her legitimate posterity. He did
not leave any portion of his territories to Geoffrey of Anjou ;
nor did he seem to contemplate any material opposition to
the immediate elevation of his daughter. Shortly after
this solemn ratification Of that order of succession which
he had previously established, he died, leaving his illegiti
mate son, Robert of Gloucester, to manage the affairs of
Normandy for the Empress, till she could be called from

INTRODUCTION. 37
Anjou, to which province she had lately gone with her
husband. In favour of Matilda's claim, there was much to be urged ;
her father's will, the oaths of the Barons, her immediate
proximity in blood to the last king, and her clear descent
from the Anglo-Saxon monarchs of England; for though
she was not the direct heir of the last of those monarchs,
she was yet quite near enough to succeed according to the
Saxon rule. Against her, but one objection was to be
urged — that she was a woman ; and though it could be
shown that in all ordinary cases of feudal succession, old
rules had been done away, and a female succeeded to her
father's lands unopposed by collateral males ; yet hers was
the first instance where a crown was in dispute ; and the
objection was sufficiently strong to induce Stephen to de
termine at once upon contesting with her the throne of
England, notwithstanding the oaths of all the Barons of the
land, notwithstanding his own repeated vows, and notwith
standing the ties of gratitude, which ought to have bound
him to support her with all his strength.
The way was prepared before the Count of Boulogne by
the perfidy of his brother, the Bishop of Winchester ; who,
as we have before said, had been raised by Henry I., from
the low state of a Cluniac monk, to one of the most impor
tant dignities of the English church, and had been covered
with benefits and obligations of all kinds. Not the slight
est doubt can exist, that the Bishop had laboured effectually
to dispose the minds of many persons in favour of his bro
ther ; and there is even reason to suppose, that if he did
not actually suggest to Stephen his design upon the crown,
he confirmed him in his determination of contesting the
succession with Matilda.
No sooner then did the news of the King's death reach
the ears of the Count of Boulogne, than he set sail from
Whitsand for the shores of England, determined to oppose
vol. i. — 4

3S INTRODUCTION.
both by arms and deceit the claims of the daughter of his
Uncle and benefactor.
A thousand circumstances combined to render the just
pretensions of that Princess unsuccessful. She herself
was absent in Anjou at the time of her father's death. Her
attached and talented brother, Robert, Earl of Gloucester,
was detained in Normandy, by the task of executing Hen
ry's will regarding that province ; and almost all those on
whose faith and attachment she had the best reason to rely
for the security of her insular dominions, proved false and
treacherous, abandoning her cause at the appearance of a
rival, and selling their faith to the first bidder.
Amongst those that most disgraced themselves by
treachery and ingratitude, was Roger, Bishop of Salis
bury, who owed even more to the father of MatUda, than
Stephen himself, or the Bishop of Winchester. He had
been taken from the low station of .a Norman curate, and
without any claim whatever, had been raised .successively
by the mere bounty- of Henry, to the posts and dignities of
Chancellor, Bishop of Salisbury, and Grand Justiciary.
In the latter quality, he was the natural Protector and Re
gent of the Kingdom upon the demise of the Crown : he
held all the power, and all the authority of the state ; and
had he remained faithful to the duties imposed upon him
both by his situation, and by the will of his master, Ste
phen's attempt must have been .frustrated in the outset.
He, however, was one of the first to betray Matilda and go
over to her enemies ; and for this act,- he met, at an after
period, not only a just, but an appropriate punishment.
It is not to be doubted, that the defection of the Grand
Justiciary was owing to the suggestions and temptations of
the Bishop of Winchester, one of the most remarkable men
of his age : unprincipled, dissolute, and careless of every
moral duty ; but bold, politic, decided, and endowed with
• the rare and valuable talent of guiding, directing, and unit-

INTRODUCTION. 39
ing a great party. The Bishop of Salisbury was also a
man of considerable ability, and ' was particularly distin
guished by his skill in finance. Though by no means a
moral or religious man, he had not shown any very marked
and offensive neglect of his duties as a churchman and a
minister, in an age when the license and debauchery of the
clergy was probably at its height.
A third' prelate speedily brought over to the party of Ste
phen, was William, Archbishop of Canterbury, a person of
a weak mind, destitute of aU firmness' and resolution, who
had long been under the influence of the Bishop of Win
chester, and was accustomed to yield to him in every thing.
So much indeed was this the case, that he could not refrain
from following his guidance, even on occasions where it is
distinctly proved that he knew the wrong he was commit
ting. Notwithstanding all the preparations which had been
made to ensure success to the enterprise of Stephen, he
met with two rebuffs on his arrival in England, which
might have checked the career of a less bold and ambitious
man. Dover, then important as a fortress, refused to give
him admission ; and Canterbury, a large, wealthy, and dis
tinguished town, shut her gates against the usurper. He
hastened on, however, towards the capital undismayed.;
and. in the City of London was received with joy and
gratulation. His purpose' was now no longer disguised.
Educated in England, renowned in arms, liberal, courteous,
affable, wherever Stephen was known* he was popular
with all classes ; and the citizens of the metropolis has
tened to testify their affection, by proclaiming him King of
England. Stephen then proceeded to Winchester, where a recep-
tion as gratifying awaited him, and where voices, in those
days more important than the acclamations of any town,
wereto be sought and won. These were the voices of the

40 INTRODUCTION.
clergy and nobility of the realm ; and the previous exer
tions of the Bishop of Winchester now began to show their
fruit. The usurper was here met by the Archbishop of
Canterbury, by the Bishop of Salisbury, and by a person
whose cooperation was most important to the success of
his enterprise : — namely, William du Pont de l'Arche, to
whom jointly, it would appear, with the Bishop of Salis
bury, Henry I. had entrusted his immense treasure.
It is probable that a part of this treasure might of right
appertain to the nation ; but undoubtedly the greater part
was Henry's own private property, which should have fall
en to Matilda by every principle of law and justice. The
false guardians, however, to whom it had been entrusted,
instantly gave it up to her rival ; and with her own money
Stephen proceeded to buy her own subjects. The Bishop
of Salisbury was rewarded by a donation of the town of
Malmsbury, and by the appointment of his illegitimate son
to the post of Chancellor ; while his nephew, the Bishop
of Ely, was created Treasurer ; and had he demanded ten
times more, there can be no doubt that he would have ob
tained it ; for Stephen's situation, and the power of the
Bishop, rendered the Prince's sincerity unquestionable,
when he said, in speaking of that prelate, " By the Nativity
of God, if he were to ask me for one half my kingdom, I
would grant it to him, till this season be past."
The same views which moved the Bishop of Salisbury
brought many other nobles and prelates round the usurper,
though the great body of the nobility came so slowly, that
Stephen might well entertain some apprehensions. The
Archbishop, too, was not without scruples in regard to the
oath of fealty three times taken to Matilda ; and others
might feel the same hesitation. An expedient was easily
found for removing this difficulty. Ingratitude, treason,
and breach of trust, had gone before ; a little perjury was
now the only thing required ; and Hugh Bigod, Earl of

INTRODUCTION. 41
Norfolk, Steward of the ' Household, was brought forward
to swear that Henry on his death-bed had declared his vas
sals free of the oaths they had taken to Matilda and her
son. Stephen found greater facility after this impudent
falsehood was promulgated; and though we cannot follow
him step by step through his career, it may be necessary to
say that he was crowned upon certain promises regarding
the rights of the Barons, and the privileges and authority
of the church.
The ceremony took place on the 22d December, 1135,
just twenty days after the death of Henry the First : in the
beginning of. the following year, the body of the deceased
King' was brought to England for interment ; and Stephen
hastened to show every mark of reverence to the corpse of
him .whose Uving will he had set at nought. He after
wards proceeded to Oxford, and there announced to a great
assembly of the nobility and clergy, that his title to the
throne of England had been confirmed by the Papal autho
rity. He renewed about the same time all his oaths and
promises, pledging himself not to retain in his hands those
bishoprics and abbeys which might become vacant during
his reign, to restore the old laws, and to abolish many of
the restrictions which had been placed upon the rights of
chase. There is a curious reservation in this oath, how-
ever, as he ends by declaring, " that he grants the whole,
with a saving to his just and royal dignity."*
' The Nobles and the Clergy renewed to him their oaths
in return ; but in the engagements of the Clergy we find a
saving clause also which many of the lay Baron^likewise
inserted. They only promised that they would be faithful
to him while he preserved the liberties of the Church, and
the vigour of discipline ; and such vague expressions of
* His words are : — " Haec omnia concedo et confirmo. Salva regia
et justa dignitate mea."
4*

42 INTRODUCTION.
course left the oaths little better than empty air : if indeed
Stephen could, under any circumstances, regard the pledges
of men who had so lately broken a vow three times re
peated, as aught but a mere mockery.
While all these events were taking place, the Empress
Matilda had in the first instance gone on unconscious of the
treachery of her cousin ; had entered Normandy from An
jou, and had been received without opposition ; but her con
dition even in Normandy was soon changed. She herself
was arrogant, presumptuous and violent. Geoffrey showed
himself capricious, rash, and tyrannical. What the Nor
mans might have borne from their native princess, they
would not bear from her foreign husband. Great excesses,
it would seem, marked his entrance into the province, and
the people rose and drove him out at the point of the spear.
News now reached Normandy of Stephen's usurpation
of the crown of England, while the Norman Barons, dis
gusted with the conduct both of Matilda and Geoffrey, were
preparing to dispose of the Ducal wreath to some person
more worthy of respect. The emissaries of Stephen took
advantage of the moment, to urge the claims of their master,
and to set forth the evil consequences of separating Nor
mandy from England. Their reasoning was effectual, and
the Barons consented to acknowledge him as Duke ; al
though he was very far from obtaining possession of the
whole Duchy, as a result of this recognition, which we shall
presently have occasion to show more at large.
As Lord Lyttleton has justly observed, " Stephen neither
knew how to govern as a lawful king or a tyrant ;" and
while he permitted, and pledged himself to permit, his tur
bulent Barons to fortify themselves in castles, which ren
dered his authority nearly unavailing, he gave them high
subject of dissatisfaction, by introducing into his dominions
many of those bands of foreign mercenaries, which at that
time were springing up in the north of Europe. It so

INTRODUCTION. 43
happened that, at the same period, a man was found worthy
to command such troops ; though it is but just to acknow
ledge that Stephen possessed chivalrous qualities, which
make us wonder at his selection of a person every way so
infamous as William of Ipres. That leader was the illegi
timate descendant of one of the Sovereigns of Flanders, and
had been deeply implicated in the murder of his own first
cousin, Count of that country, called Charles the Good.
His guilt seems to have been proved beyond all doubt ; and,
driven forth from his native country and his possessions, by
the indignation of the King of France, he had put himself
at the head of various troops of adventurers ; and now sold
his services and theirs to the usurping King of England.
General indignation was excited in the nation, by the intro
duction of such troops under such a leader ; and whether it
was in Normandy or in England that William of Ipres ap
peared, he was sure to be met by the opposition of the
British and Norman Barons. The mercenary leader never
theless increased daily in the favour of the King, monopo
lizing a great part of the bounties of that monarch ; and
had Stephen followed his advice, that prince, though he
certainly would not thereby have done his cause any ser
vice with those who were anxious to see their country
governed according to law and justice, would, in all proba
bility, have secured his power as a tyrant and usurper ; for
there can be no doubt that the councils of William of Ipres
would have removed from the King's path the Earl of Glou
cester, and many other Nobles, supposed or known to be
disaffected. »
Stephen did not, however, pursue the line of conduct
pointed out ; and after having visited Normandy, and endea
voured to render his hold upon that duchy more firm, the
King returned to England, called back by incursions on his
northern frontier, which threatened to shake his throne it
self. These were attacks made by David, King of Scotland,

44 INTRODUCTION.
under the pretence of serving his niece, the Empress ; but
if we may judge from the result, more with a view to plun
der and conquest on his own account, than to. the benefit
of his relation.
We shall not pursue these insignificant wars* hof the
desultory struggles which Stephen maintained with some
of his Barons ; but shall proceed at once to notice the
general causes which prepared the way for the return of
Matilda to England. At the outset of his' career, in chas
tising refractory nobles, and in punishing even remarkable
criminals, Stephen showed a degree of lenity which was
impolitic from its excess. The consequences were such as
might be expected : his authority was despised, and when
at length he proceeded to exercise vigour, which he did
with the same indiscretion that he had formerly shown in
his clemency, he was naturaUy accused of injustice and
oppression. Liberal of promises, his promises were never
kept ; and in every respect he disappointed those who had
supported him. At the same time the natural versatiUty
of popular affection abandoned the successful monarch, and
the eyes of men, either reasonably or unreasonably dissatis
fied, turned towards the absent princess, whom they had
before neglected.
To complete the measure of his imprudence, Stephen
became irritable under the discontent he saw growing
around him. Intrigues, as he well knew, were opened
with Matilda ; those who did not actuaUy projnise her
support, did not fail to vent their murmurs in such a man
ner as to reach her ears '; many were really disposed to
break the oaths : they had taken to Stephen, as well as
those they had broken to Matilda, 'and many others Ste
phen suspected who probably were not guilty. A coolness
had risen up between him and his brother,- the Bishop of
Winchester. The Bishop of Salisbury, who might be said
to have placed him on the throne, did not enjoy under Ste-

INTRODUCTION. 45
phen that authority he had possessed under Henry ; the
Clergy were dissatisfied on account of many evasions
which appeared in the execution of the royal promises ;
and it only wanted some violent aggression on the part of
the King, to rouse that important body against him.
The aggression soon took place. Instigated by his own
apprehensions and suspicions, not less than by the sugges
tions of his foreign favourites, the King learnt to regard the
Bishop of Salisbury as a concealed and dangerous enemy.
It is probable, indeed, that the Prelate and his relations did
hold some communication with Matilda ; but instead of
attempting by moderate means to frustrate any machina
tions against himself, or to win back to his interest the
disaffected churchmen, Stephen, to crush their intrigues,
and to punish their falling off, determined rashly upon an
act which was certain to array the whole body of the Eng
lish Church against him, if it did not even call down upon
his head the thunders of the Roman see.
Upon a frivolous pretence, he caused the Bishops of
Salisbury and Lincoln to be arrested in the town of Oxford.
The Bishop of Ely had been marked out for the same fate ;
but Warned in time, he fled to Devizes, in the strong castle
of which town he prepared to resist the authority of the
King. By order of Stephen, the Bishop of Salisbury hav
ing been kept without food, was brought in a famishing con
dition under the walls of Devizes, and shown to his nephew,
who was at the same time informed that his relation and
benefactor would be subjected to the terrible death of star
vation, unless the place was immediately given up to the
royal troops.
This intimation produced the intended effect ; the castle
surrendered, and all the towns which the Bishop and his
family possessed fell into the hands of the King.
As a natural consequence, the highest degree of indigna
tion was excited in the Clergy throughout the country.

46 INTRODUCTION.
The Bishop of Winchester himself earnestly and repeat
edly entreated his brother to abandon measures of so dan
gerous a tendency, to restore the surrendered towns and'
castles to the Bishops, and to remove, by concession, the
prejudicial impression which his violent conduct had pro-
• duced. All persuasions failed, however, and as a Legate
of the Roman church, with which dignity he was now in
vested, the Bishop of W_I-c_ies-e:r summoned a synod to
take into consideration the act ¦ which had been committed.
Against this synod Stephen appealed to the Pope, and
forced his brother to dissolve, the assembly, by means very
nearly approaching to violence. The Bishop of Winches
ter was of course offended and angry, and now found him
self arrayed against his brother- by the very acts of Stephen
himself. >
Such was the state of the King's affairs in England,
when Matilda, who had remained more than three years
apparently without a chance of forming a party in her fa
ther's territories, set sail for this country, accompanied by
her brother, Robert Earl of Gloucester, and one hundred
and forty knights. • The Earl indeed had added his name
to the roll of Barons who swore fealty to Stephen at Ox
ford ; but in the oath he took he expressly stipulated that he
should b.e no longer bound by it, than so long as Stephen
kept his engagements with him, and maintained to him his
dignity uninjured and entire. Stephen, however, had given
him fully sufficient cause to doubt his security at the Eng
lish Court, and he had consequently remained at a distance,
watching the progress of events, and preparing to take ad
vantage of the' first favourable conjuncture to' assert the
claims, of his sister to the crown.
Matilda and her brother reached the shores of Sussex on
the 30th September, 1139, and .were kindly received by
Adelais, the Queen-dowager. That Princess had married
the Earl of Sussex after her first husband's deathj but had

INTRODUCTION. 47
always preserved a tender regard for Henry's child, and
had kept up a secret correspondence with her during her
exile. The gates of Arundel castle, which was then in her
possession, were thrown open to the Empress and her fol
lowers ; and there the Earl of Gloucester left his sister,
trusting that the strength of the place would enable her to
resist aU the efforts of Stephen till he could raise an army
and march to her relief. The journey which he himself
then undertook was most perilous, for a wide track of coun
try lay between Arundel and Bristol, in the neighbourhood
of which city the Earl's chief partizans were to be found ;
and the intervening space was thickly covered with the
friends and supporters of Stephen.
Partly, it is supposed, by the connivance and aid of the
Bishop of Winchester himself, partly by the prompt and
vigorous assistance of Bryan Fitz-Comte, Constable of
Wallingford castle, Robert of Gloucester, pursuing by-paths
and unfrequented roads,made his way across the country in
safety. A great part of the west of England now declared
in favour of Matilda, as' well as Canterbury and -Dover in
the east ; but on the other hand, Stephen marching with
extreme rapidity from Marlborough to Arundel, laid siege
to the castle, and might have captured his rival with ease.
It was under these circumstances that the King, some say
at the treacherous suggestion of his brother, some say from
a spontaneous movement — a folly which is hardly credible
— entered into a convention with Matilda, by virtue of
which she was conveyed safely under an. escort of his own
troops, to join her brother at Bristol.
As soon as this extraordinary compact was executed,
both parties took the field ; but a great part of the nobility
held aloof from both, and satisfied themselves with plunder
ing and making war upon their neighbours. Various changes
of fortune then occurred ;. but after a desultory struggle, a
battle ensued, in which Stephen was taken prisoner. The

48 INTRODUCTION.
Clergy sided with Matilda ; the Barons did so likewise,
though by no means universally ; and the citizens followed
where the others led, with the exception of the inhabitants
of London, who with laudable firmness maintained their
faith to the sovereign they had chosen, as long as it was
possible, and in the end gave but very faint tokens of acqui
escence in the substitution of Matilda. The Bishop of
Winchester, the brother of the imprisoned Prince, after
some faint dalliance with the successful power, had like
wise acceded, and affecting to blend justice to Matilda and
the nation with a decent love for his brother, he admitted
in full synod that Stephen had failed in all his engage
ments, and, therefore, that the people were free from the
restraint of their oaths.
The character of the Empress was one in which the evil
spots are more clearly seen under the full sunshine of suc
cess than in the dim twilight of adversity. All her arro
gance and harshness of character now appeared, and she
soon taught the people of England to regret Stephen and
abhor herself. She insulted and injured the citizens of
London, whose adherence to their oaths should but have
excited her respect ; and in an outburst of popular feeling,
excited by the sight of a small troop of horse belonging to a
feeble party which the wife of Stephen had raised in his
favour, the burgesses rose and rushed to besiege Matilda in
her palace. She escaped them but by a few minutes, and
with a small body of friends fled in haste to Oxford.
It would seem that the Bishop of Winchester was by this
time disgusted with the party of the Empress, and was
actually engaged in preparing for the restoration of his
brother. An intimation that such was the case having been
conveyed to the ears of Matilda, she determined to surprise
him in Winchester ; but failing in that attempt, she endea
voured to get possession of his wealth, and of a fortress
which he held in that city. While she was eagerly be-

INTRODUCTION. 49
sieging the latter, however, she was attacked by the Bishop
and a large body of his adherents, and was in turn besieged
by him. The fortunes of the day now became unfavoura
ble to the Empress, and she was forced to fly, while her
brother and a body of her most faithful friends attempted to
cover her retreat, and sacrificed themselves for her safety.
The Earl of Gloucester and several others were taken,
many more were slain, and the rest escaped with the great
est difficulty ; but Matilda herself was placed in security
by the gallant devotion of her friends, and reached the castle
of Devizes after extraordinary fatigues.
Stephen's partisans treated Robert of Gloucester with
much greater lenity than Matilda had shown towards the
usurper ;* and after various negociations, it was agreed
that the brother of the Empress should be exchanged for
the King. Thus when the two parties once more took the
field against each other, they were very nearly in the same
position in which they had commenced the war.
Though his situation seemed somewhat difficult, from the
fact of his having served both parties, the Bishop of Win
chester, formidable alike to each, easily prevailed upon
Stephen to regard his late services as full compensation for
his- former defection. At the same time, to the people and
the clergy he justified his political variations, in a manner
not very complimentary to either of the candidates for the
throne. He said, in effect, that although Stephen's conduct
had been so bad as to induce him, notwithstanding their
affinity, to abandon his cause, yet Matilda's had proved
so much worse, that he was fully justified in quitting her
party likewise. He added, moveover, that he had been
* By some we are told, that Matilda loaded Stephen with chains, and
treated him with the utmost severity ; by others, equally worthy of credit,
that the Earl of Gloucester " treated him with the greatest humanity*"
and "kept him in safe but gentle confinement :" which of these two
statements is correct may be difficult to decide.
VOL. I. — 5

50 INTRODUCTION.
compelled by circumstances to support the Empress for a
time, not led by inclination ; and that since then, God had
manifestly shown his disapprobation of Matilda's cause, by
the misfortunes with which he had visited her.
It is an extraordinary thing, that the quality of the human
mind which seems the most completely independent of all
adventitious aids — I mean common sense— -should be found
so very often wanting in barbarous ages. This reasoning
on the part of the legate was received as perfectly satisfac
tory by a .great part of his audience, and he proceeded with
an unblushing face to adjure the clergy to excommunicate
the supporters of her whom he had himself so lately served.
Before the struggle in the field, which had been for a
time suspended, was fuUy renewed, Stephen fell danger
ously ill. The Earl of Gloucester, with that penetration
which always distinguished him, had long seen that the. two
parties in the country were too nearly balanced to admit a
hope of speedy success to either unless some new elements
could be thrown in, to give a preponderance to the one or
the other ; and in the hope of gaining this point -in favour of
his sister Matilda, he had sent over deputies to entreat the
presence of her husband in England. Geoffrey, however,
refused even to treat upon the subject with any one but
Matilda's brother, and the Earl, though unwillingly, now
seized the time of Stephen's illness to hasten back to
France, and beseech Geoffrey to come over to his wife's
aid with all troops that he could levy.
Geoffrey's affection fof Matilda, however, was but small;
and although he sometimes made a show of yielding to her
appeal, and thus detained the Earl of Gloucester in Nor
mandy for several morjfhs, he ultimately refused to accom
pany him back to England, but permitted him at his wife's
request to carry over Henry, the eldest son of the Princess,
in the hope of exciting some new interest'in her favour.
Before the Earl left Normandy he aided the Count of

INTRODUCTION. 51
Anjou in gaining possession of a great part of that Duchy ;
but towards the close of the year 1142, the progress which
Stephen was making in England rendered it absolutely ne
cessary for the Earl to fly to the aid of his sister. Matilda
by this time was closely besieged in the castle of Oxford,
where she soon found herself straitened for provisions ; and
Gloucester setting sail as soon as he received intelligence
of her situation, arrived soon after at Wareham on the coast
of Dorsetshire, which was then an important city, belonging
to himself. The castle, however, which had been taken
by Stephen, was garrisoned with his troops '; and. the Earl
anxious to draw the King from Oxford, besieged Wareham
and Lulworth castles, and reduced the Isle of Portland,
which had been fortified by the enemy. Finding, however,
that nothing could induce Stephen to abandon the operations
against Matilda, he determined to join the army which had
been collected for her service at WalHngford, issuing at the
same time a summons for his own partisans to meet him at
Cirencester. His force now increased every day, and he
was marching rapidly to his sister's deliverance, when to
his surprise and joy, he found that she had made her es.
cape from Oxford, had passed through the midst of the hos
tile army during the night, had crossed the Thames, which
she fortunately found frozen over, on foot, and after a long
journey through the snow, had reached the Castle of Wal
Hngford in safety.
The miraculous nature of this escape served Matilda
nearly as much as a victory ; and the meeting with her
brother and son increased her joy. The young prince was
left under the care of the Earl of Gloucester, who, it would
seem, during the rest of his life bestowed particular pains
upon Henry's education. But neither for that nor any other
occupation did Gloucester neglect the cause of his sister ;
and after frustrating the King in various attempts, he attack
ed and totally defeated him in the neighbourhood of Wilton.

52 INTRODUCTION.
About the same time Geoffrey Plantagenet made himself
master of Rouen, assisted in the siege, strange to say, by
Louis King of France, and by a number of persons who
had hitherto displayed the greatest zeal in the service of
Stephen. It was the character of this war, however, never to con
tinue long favourable to one or the other of the two parties.
If success in arms was obtained, the balance was soon re
stored, by some unexpected misfortune ; and scarcely had
the battle of Wilton been gained, when one of the most
faithful and talented of Matilda's followers, Milo, Earl of
Hereford, was accidentally killed whilst hunting. One
half, however, or nearly one half of the country, remained
in the possession of the Empress ; and in that portion some
degree of order and regularity was maintained, which was
not the case in the rest of the kingdom. There rapine,
murder, torture, pestilence, famine, and despair, raged
amongst the people ; whilst a multitude of feudal lords, own
ing the authority of none, sanguinary, remorseless, and ra
pacious, dwelt within the walls of their well-guarded cas
tles, and only issued forth to scourge with new devastation
the miserable country round them.
Perhaps on the whole, at this period Matilda was in a
better situation than her rival ; and Stephen, by the various
violent acts which he committed, contributed to render his
own position worse. He alienated the brave and remorse
less Earl of Essex, and also estranged one who had served
him well, Bigod, Earl of Norfolk. Several other noblemen
of great power and influence were arrested by his orders
and deprived of their castles ; and he gave much offence by
various of his measures to that important body, the Clergy.
His losses, however, were more than compensated by the
attack and capture of the castle of Farringdon, under the
very eyes of the Earl of Gloucester, who could do nothing
to relieve it ; and this terrible blow to the cause of Matilda

INTRODUCTION. 53
was .followed by the base defection of the Earl of Ches
ter, as well as that of her own brother's youngest son.
The townnf Bedford was also taken by Stephen, and more
than one half of Matilda's possessions and followers were
lost in the space of a few months. Certain it is, that in all
the transactions of these times, her overbearing arrogance,
and violence of temper, did her more injury than the arms
of her enemies ; and neither the mildness, the justice, the
abilities, or the devotion of her brother, the Earl of Glouces
ter, could counterbalance the effects of her own unhappy
disposition. Her husband, the Count of Anjou, however, was now in
possession of Normandy, and many of the faults which he
had displayed 'in youth had been, corrected by experience ;
but- hopeless of his wife's success in England, and anxious
to see his eldest son, he besought the Earl of Gloucester to
send the young Prince back to Normandy. With this re
quest the Earl complied, though it would seem unwillingly ;
and shortly after, Gloucester himself being attacked by fever,
died in the month of November, 1146, leaving the cause of
Matilda entirely hopeless. In the beginning of the foUow-
ing year, after a vain struggle to maintain her party in the
kingdom, the Empress herself set sail, and abandoning
England, took refuge with her husband in Normandy.
She left behind perhaps scarcely one person who loved
her, and her absence was probably advantageous to her
cause. Stephen's own disposition had been soured by re
verses ; he had become jealous, suspicious, morose, inexo
rable. One by one, he drove many of the principal nobles
into revolt, the chief of whom was that Earl of Chester, who
had so lately abandoned the cause of Matilda. New inju
ries were offered to the Clergy, and quarrels ensued between
the ambitious Bishop of Winchester and the Archbishop of
Canterbury, in which Stephen took part, and soon brought
upon his territories the evils of an interdict.
5*

54 INTRODUCTION.
These events occupied the greater part of the next two
years ; and though in that time the hatred of the people to
wards Matilda had not decreased, yet the eyes of men began
to turn towards her son Henry, who having now reached
sixteen years of age, displayed the promise of great abili
ties, and already possessed many graces of person and de
meanour. An invitation to return to England was accord
ingly sent to him ; and many motives induced him to com
ply. He felt certain of support from the Pope and the Arch
bishop of Canterbury, who had now risen superior to the
Bishop of Winchester ; the Earls of Chester and Hereford,
with the young Earl of Gloucester, called eagerly for his
presence, and promised him their fealty ; and his mother's
uncle, David, King of Scotland, held out to him hopes of
still more important assistance ; though this was coupled
with a demand, that he should not be disturbed in posses
sion of the three Northern counties which he had obtained
during the struggle between Stephen and Matilda. Every
thing promised him success; and escorted by a chosen body
of troops, he landed on the coast of England — it is supposed
in Dorsetshire ; and proceeded to join the King of Scot
land at Carlisle. From the hand of that monarch he re
ceived the honour of knighthood, and nothing was thought
of during the winter months but the invasion of England.
Henry, however, had either accepted the invitation too
sOon, or his friends were timid or faithless. Stephen ad>
vanced with an army to York, and his son, Prince Eustace,
made incursions upon the territories of the inimical Ba
rons. David remained at Carlisle with a force strong
enough to protect his own territories, but not sufficiently
numerous to attempt the invasion of England. The noble
men who had promised Henry their full support failed to
join him. The King of Scotland would not march without
them; and Henry, after seeing great part of the year wasted
in inactivity, returned to Normandy in 1150, though not till

INTRODUCTION. 55
he had created a strong interest in his favour amongst the
Barons of England and Scotland.
His return to the continent was very soon followed by
an act which affected the fortunes of Henry during his
whole life ; and a few preliminary words are necessary in
order to explain the events which succeeded. Not many
years before, the well known Crusade under Louis the
Young had taken place, the French King being moved to
the enterprise both by remorse for some acts of inhuman
barbarity which he had committed, and by the preaching of
St. Bernard, one of the most singular and eloquent men of
his age. Some years previous to the period of his taking
the Cross, Louis had married Eleanor, eldest daughter of
the Duke of Aquitaine, a princess of beauty, wit, and talent,
eager passions and flexible principles ; who readily agreed
to accompany her husband to the Holy Land, determined,
as it would appear, from the very first, to turn the whole
crusade into a matter of gallantry and amusement. She
was accompanied by almost all the ladies of her court ;
and certainly from the accounts we possess of the levity
with which the expedition was undertaken and carried
on, the result that followed might have been fairly anti
cipated. In regard to this crusade I shall have more to relate
hereafter. Suffice it to say at present that both the King
of France and the Emperor, who had also taken the Cross,
were deceived entirely by those whom they beUeved to be
their friends. Louis was misled by guides, assailed unex
pectedly at every turn by enemies ; and it was not till his
forces were diminished in a lamentable degree, both by car
nage and sickness, that he found a temporary shelter within
the walls of Antioch. There, however, he was hospitably
received by Raymond of Poitiers, the sovereign of that city,
who was also uncle to Eleanor, the young wife of the French
King.

56 INTRODUCTION.
If Louis found repose in Antioch from the fatigues and
dangers of the march, his mind was not suffered to enjoy
lengthened tranquillity. The levity of his wife's conduct,
if we may not caU it by a harsher name, soon troubled his
domestic peaces and drove him from his place of temporary
repose. Her uncle Raymond, one of the most accomplish
ed men of his day, endeavoured, it would seem, to engage
his niece in the views he entertained of extending his terri
tories in the neighbourhood of. Antioch, and, through her
means, to obtain the assistance of Louis and his forces.
What mode of persuasion the Prince of Antioch employed,
we do not know; but it is certain that Louis became jeal
ous of Raymond's favour with his Queen, and assured his
council, that he had discovered a design on the part of the
former to deprive him of Eleanor by force, to which scheme
he asserted Eleanor throughout was a consenting party.
Whatever cause of jealousy might really exist in regard
to Raymond of Poitiers, there can be no doubt whatever,
if the concurring testimony of all the writers of the day
mey be believed, that Eleanor's incontinence, while in the
east, was great and notorious. She is not only generaUy
supposed to have entered into a criminal intrigue with her
uncle, but she is accused of the same crime with a young
convert from Mahommedism, and also with a Mahometan,
named Saladm. In regard to the latter, however, it may
be necessary to remark, that if the writers who made the
charge, intended to designate the famous Saladin as the
lover of Eleanor, they committed a great error ; as it is.
proved by the Arabic, as weU as the European writers, that
not the slightest communication could ever have taken place
betwen Saladin and the French princess ; and even if it had,
it must necessarily have been of a. very innocent nature, as
Saladin-was at that time under eleven years of age. The
fact of her incontinence, however, is placed beyond all
doubt, by the testimony of William of Tyre, who would not

INTRODUCTION. 57
have perpetuated the scandal had not his vast means of in-
formation satisfied him of the truth of the tale.
However that may be, Louis was himself convinced of
his wife's guilt ; and, with all the intemperate fury of jeal
ousy, he carried her forcibly out of Antioch in the midst of
the night, and marched on as fast as possible to Jerusalem.
From the holy city, Louis wrote to the famous Suger, Ab
bot of St. Denis, asking counsel as to how he should deal
with Eleanor. Suger, whom he had left in France as Re-
gent of the kingdom, and who was more a statesman than
a prelate, replied by advising him strongly to smother his
anger towards Eleanor, at least till his return to France ;
and the monarch wisely followed his advice. It was less
easy, however, to make Eleanor forget her anger at the
treatment she had received. Her husband had become
hateful to her. She declared that she had married a monk
and not a king ; and she did all that was possible after her
return to France for the purpose of driving Louis to propose
or consent to a divorce.
In the meantime the prospects of Henry Plantagenet
were daily becoming more bright. Before the absolute re
turn of the King of France from the crusade, Robert, Count
of Dreux, his brother, who had preceded him, endeavoured
to raise a civil war in the land, for the purpose of deposing
Louis. It would appear that Geoffrey, the father of Henry
and husband of Matilda, strongly supported the power of
the Regent Suger, and thus aided to save the crown for the
king. Nevertheless, various causes into which it is not
necessary to enter, induced Louis to espouse the cause of
Stephen on his return, and to make preparations for' depriv
ing Geoffrey of the Duchy of Normandy, with the design,
it would appear, of bestowing it upon Eustace, Stephen's
son, who had married Constance, sister of the French mo-
narch. Through the mediation of Suger, however, a treaty
was concluded between the weak king of France, and

58 INTRODUCTION.
Geoffrey Plantagenet, by which Geoffrey agreed to make
over Normandy itself to his son Henry, the King of France
giving that prince full investiture thereof. On his part,
Louis received the Norman vexin, and thus became pledged
to support the family of Plantagenet in the Duchy of Nor
mandy. , As soon as these points were settled, the king proceeded
to the Duchy, and performed his part of the agreement, b.y
formaUy giving it up to. Henry and receiving his homage ;
and on this occasion, it is supposed, the young Duke for
the first time beheld Eleanor, Queen of France. He was
destined, however, to be very soon in arms against her hus
band. That weak and unstable prince soon found occa-
sion of quarrel against Geoffrey of Anjou ; and instead of
attacking the father in his dominions, he attacked the son
in those with which he. had just invested him. Henry,
however, was prepared to receive him ; but the war passed
off without any remarkable action, and the King of France
had the mortification of being obliged to retire from Ar
ques, before his own vassal, at the head of a superior
force. A treaty of peace succeeded ; and in the autumn of the
year 1151, Geoffrey of Anjou died of a fever, leaving to
Henry, his eldest son, besides the duchy of Normandy, with
which he was already invested, the three remaining coun
ties of Anjou, Touraine, and Maine, comprising one of the
richest and most beautiful districts in France. In order to
do homage for these new possessions, Henry was once
more obliged to visit the court of France ; and there he
again met with Eleanor, the wife of the French King. It
is asserted that on these occasions that Princess' became
fascinated with the demeanour and appearance of Henry
Plantagenet, and conceived for him the passion which after
wards terminated in their union. Whether this might or
might not increase her efforts for a. divorce, I cannot tell;

INTRODUCTION. 59
but at all events, she employed every means to urge that
step upon the King. There can be no doubt that her mar
riage with Louis, her fourth cousin, was contrary to the
canons of the Roman Church ; and Eleanor took.advantage
of the fact to press upon the timid conscience of Louis,
that they were living in a state of incest, their marriage
never having been legalized by a dispensation from Rome.
Louis, on his part, had long entertained a wish to sepa
rate from his criminal wife, who, it must be remembered,
had brought no male heirs to the throne of France : but
motives of policy had hitherto restrained him ; for Eleanor
had brought him as her dower the vast duchy of Aquitaine,
which comprised a large portion of the south of France,
and the evil consequences of suffering such an inheritance
to become the prize of any new suitor, had been laid before
Louis in the strongest language, by -his great minister Su
ger. That minister, however, died on the thirteenth of
January, 1152 : and immediately after, Louis, calling a
council at Beaugency, laid before them his scruples regard
ing the consanguinity of Eleanor and himself, together with
the fact that no dispensation had been received from the
Pope. The Clergy pronounced the marriage null ; the
sentence was confirmed by Papal authority ; and Louis,
who had no pretence for keeping possession of the territo
ries which Eleanor had brought him in marriage, immedi
ately resigned to her the duchy of Aquitaine, and all its
dependencies. Eleanor, who had most likely already fixed- upon her fu
ture husband, set off with aU speed for her duchy j and so
great, in those days, was the desire of wealth and the care
lessness of reputation, that both the nephew of Stephen,
now .become Count of Blois, and a younger brother of Henry,
Geoffrey Plantagenet, endeavoured to' stop this fair Proser.
pine in her' course, and make her a bride by force. The
first laid an ambush at Tours — the second somewhere far-

60 INTRODUCTION.
ther on ; but Eleanor contrived to escape both, and as soon
as she arrived in Aquitaine, dispatched a messenger to
Henry, giving him notice that she was ready to become his
wife. It is probable that this was not the first intimation of her
feeUngs which he had received ; her call at all events found
him ready and willing ; and he immediately set off to join
her at Poitiers, where they were married with somewhat
indecent haste, within six weeks after her divorce from her
former husband.
This marriage surprised and incensed Louis not a little ;
but the deed was done ; and Henry Plantagenet had added,
by his marriage with Eleanor, the Duchy of Aquitaine, to
Maine, Anjou, Touraine, and Normandy.
The indignation of Louis, or rather his mortification and
disappointment, induced him to seek confederates amongst
his own vassals, in order to make war upon Henry, who, in
fact, had injured him in nothing. In Anjou he stirred up
against that Prince his young brother Geoffrey; and,
leaguing himself at the same time with the other disap
pointed suitor for Eleanor's hand, with Eustace, the son of
Stephen, King of England, and with his own rebellious
brother the Count of Dreux, he attacked the frontiers of
Normandy, and laid siege to Neufmarche.
It is probable that the confederates imagined that Henry
had quitted Normandy, for since his marriage with Eleanor
he had been collecting troops to assert his right to the
throne of England, and had reached Barfleur for the pur
pose of embarking. The news of the invasion of his terri
tories reached him there, however, and immediately alter
ing his course, he took the field against Louis, at the head
of a brilliant and chivalrous army. Neufmarche he could
not save, for either from weakness or treachery it had sur
rendered before his arrival ; but he drove the French out of
Normandy, and punished the King of France by ravaging

INTRODUCTION. 61
his territories before his face ; after which he proceeded
into Anjou, and suppressed the insurrection which had been
raised by his brother.
On his return, which was ^peedy, he found that Nor
mandy had been again attacked ; but Henry was ready to
act promptly against his assailants ; the Norman Barons
supported him vigorously, and willingly ; Louis fell ill of a
fever ; his army mouldered away ; and the overtures for
peace which were made by the young Duke of Normandy
were gladly received by the French King, who was by this
time heartily weary of a war in which he had reaped little
but disgrace. A truce was accordingly concluded, and ne
gotiations were entered upon for the arrangement of a more
durable peace.
Henry, in the meanwhile, rewarded with great discrimi
nation and HberaUty the Barons who. had shown their at
tachment to him in the late war ; and the wisdom of such
conduct .soon became apparent, for no sooner did he attempt
to renew the expedition to England, than he found himself
once more threatened with war from the side of France.
In this instance Louis was actuated by the solicitations of
his brother-in-law, Eustace, the son of Stephen, who was
now so peculiarly situated, that it was of the utmost impor
tance to him and to his father that Henry should be delayed
in Normandy,, even for a few weeks. It may be necessary,
however, to show the circumstances by which the tottering
throne of. Stephen was surrounded, before we proceed to
notice the further proceedings of Henry and the French
King.' ,
The minor events which took place in England, after
Henry had. left David, King of Scotland, at Carlisle.and had
returned' to Normandy, we may pass over in silence ;
merely stating that almost every act of Stephen was calcu-
lated to alienate more and more the- affections . of his peo
ple—or rather that portion of the people which adhered to
VOL. I.  6

<**mm,_

62 INTRODUCTION.
his cause ; for it must not be forgotten that besides the par-
tizans of Matilda and her son, there were many of the no
bles of the land who boldly dealt with all the affairs of life
as if England were in a state of anarchy, and who recog
nized no authority but their own will.
In this state of things, Stephen, with an infatuation
scarcely credible, endeavoured to procure the consent of
his lay and clerical adherents to the coronation of his son,
Eustace, as his heir and successor. He assembled a par
liament of all those who had not abandoned him, and pre
senting himself with his son, made the proposal which had
previously been concerted between himself and Eustace.
The Bishops and Clergy, however, unanimously rejected
the demand, declaring that the Pope had forbidden the
Archbishop to consecrate the son of a King who, against
his oath, had usurped the throne, and who, consequently,
had no hereditary right to transmit to his children. Even
his own turbulent brother, Henry of Winchester, did not
raise his voice in favour of Eustace ; and Stephen now
saw, apparently for the first time, that he had sought and
won tlje universal hatred of the clergy.
Rage and disappointment drove the King and his son into
acts approaching those of madmen. They first caused the
Bishops to be confined to the house in which the delibera
tions had been held, and vowed that they should never~go
forth till they had yielded to the royal commands. But the
clergy maintained their resolution with firmness and dig
nity ; and after some short confinement, the Archbishop
contrived to effect his escape, and fled to France. The
rest of the prelates were then liberated, but their estates
were immediately seized by the King with impotent rage,
which soon subsided, and the temporalities of all were re
stored, except those of the Primate, which were retained.
A sentence of excommunication and interdict however was
immediately fulminated by the Pope against the King, in

INTRODUCTION. 63
case of his remaining contumacious, and the Primate was
consequently recalled to his see.
As soon as these unhappy disputes were somewhat
tranquiUized, Stephen turned his efforts against various par-
tizans of Matilda ; but in so doing, he in one or two in
stances gave offence to members of his own faction, who
were allied to the objects of his vengeance. He at length,
however, undertook an enterprise aimed more directly at
the Empress herself than at any of her supporters. This
was the siege of the castle of WalUngford, which was held
out against him by Brian Fitzcomte, a firm and steady
friend of Matilda.
Finding that fortress impregnable by any means then
known, except famine, Stephen constructed a number of
castles round it, by which it would have been completely
cut off from all communication with the neighbouring coun
try, had it not possessed a bridge over the Thames, which
for a time enabled the garrison to obtain provisions. To
deprive them of this resource, Stephen erected a fort at the
end of the bridge, which, together with one of the castles,
called Craumer's, completed the blockade, and left the gar
rison utterly without resource.
On finding himself thus shut out from all supplies, Brian
Fitzcomte found means to communicate his situation to
Henry Plantagenet, then in Normandy, and besought him
either to come personally to his aid, or to permit him to
surrender the castle, while there was yet a chance of ob
taining tolerable terms. Such was the summons which
induced Henry so soon to make preparations for quitting his
bride and taking the field against Stephen. But the policy
of his enemies was of course, if possible, to detain him in
Normandy ; and Eustace, Stephen's son, applied, as we
have seen, to his brother-in-law the King of France, repre
senting to him how necessary it was to prevent Henry from
passing into England, at least till the castle of WalUngford

64 INTRODUCTION.
had surrendered. Under these circumstances, Louis im
mediately prepared to renew the war, returned the hostages
which he had received from Henry, and demanded back
his own ; thus putting an end to all those expectations of
peace which the Duke of Normandy justly entertained.
The situation of Henry was now a very difficult one :
he commanded a large and brilliant army, which would
have been quite sufficient, as the parties were then situated,
to seat him on the throne of England; but he could not
leave his prosperous and attached provinces of France at
the mercy of a fickle, savage, and restless Prince. Those
subjects who had shown him the greatest attachment, would
have had just cause to complain, and abandon his cause,
had he done so ; but at the same time it was evident that
upon the fall or relief of the castle of WalUngford depended
his chance of obtaining the crown of England.
Circumstances had disposed a great party in this country
to support his cause as soon as he appeared ; but many
dared not avow their attachment to him, until they were
assured of assistance and protection. At the same time,
while he had morally gained ground in England, he had
lost much in extent of territory and military strength, and
it was consequently necessary for him to give the moral
power of the nation an opportunity of developing itself, so
as to recover for him the physical power which had been
thrown away. This could only be done by showing his
avowed adherents, that he was ready at their call to support
and defend them, and by thus encouraging those who were
really disposed to support him, but had not yet declared
themselves openly, to come forward and give his party that
strength and consistence which would render it overpow
ering. He had thus a choice of difficulties ; and in endeavouring
to meet at once the calls of England and Normandy, he
took a step which probably might have lost him both, had

INTRODUCTION. 65
not his own skill, courage and activity, his affable manners,
and his wise foresight, supplied in the kingdom the place
both of arms and men, while the popularity he had ac
quired in the duchy, by his liberality, humanity, and resolu
tion, raised up for him a bulwark in the affections of the
people against the attacks of France. He determined then
upon dividing his power ; and, leaving a large body for the
defence of Normandy, he set sail for England, in person,
with three thousand foot, and one hundred and forty knights.
His passage, though undertaken in the winter season,
was rapid and prosperous ; but when he arrived, and ifwas
noised abroad how small was the force he had brought
with him, the hearts of aU his English partisans sunk ; and
those who were doubtful, held back from a cause which
seemed so feebly supported. The fate of Henry trembled
in the balance ; and had he not displayed at that moment
a degree of firmness and decision which was sometimes
wanting in after years, his cause most likely would have
sunk never to rise again. Very few of the nobles of Eng
land joined him, and those who did so, were those only who
had ever shown themselves the steadfast friends of his
family, and who had nothing further to fear from the en
mity of Stephen. Others, it would seem, who had given
him the most positive promises of support, now failed to
join his standard ; and Henry found that the force with
which he was to take the field was quite out of proportion
with the magnitude of the occasion.
He did not suffer his courage to sink in the least, however,
nor his confident demeanour to be changed. He^called his
friends to council ; he spoke to them words of comfort and
assurance ; he held out to them the prospect of a speedy
augmentation of their numbers, and he only demanded of
them with what great action he had better commence the
campaign. Such conduct renewed hope and expectation.
It was determined to besiege Malmesbury, as the first step
6*

66 INTRODUCTION.
to relieving WalUngford, and thither Henry marched at
once, receiving but small reinforcements by the way. He
was nevertheless successful ; the town was speedily re
duced, and the castle, with the exception of one tower, fell
into his hands. This sudden and brilliant success, together
with his unexpected appearance in England, when Stephen
thought he had provided a sufficient diversion to keep him
in Normandy, roused the King into activity, while it gave
fresh hopes to the partisans of Henry.
Collecting an army in haste, Stephen marched to attack
his adversary at Malmesbury; but Henry was strohgly post
ed between the walls of the town and the river Avon, and
remained in his camp till Stephen prepared to cross the
river, and risk a battle. The elements, however, fought
against the unfortunate usurper. As he approached to the
attack, a violent stOrm of hail and snow dashed directly in
the faces of his troops, while a cold and cutting wind be
numbed the powers of men who were not accustomed to
fight atthat season of the year. A retreat was consequent
ly inevitable ; and discomfited and disheartened, Stephen
left Henry to pursue his course, and retired to London.
Now, for the first time, a great accession of strength was
gained by the Duke of Normandy. The Earl of Leicester,
who had long been, wavering, joined him ; Warwick castle
was- given up to him, and thirty other places almost imme
diately fell into his hands. But WalUngford castle was
already reduced to a terrible state of famine, by the forts
which Stephen had built round it ; no time was to be lost ;
and notwithstanding the inclemency of the weather, Henry
marched to its relief, passed in arms through the midst of
the enemy's forts, threw provisions into WalUngford, and
then proceeded to lay siege to the principal castle which
Stephen had built in the neighbourhood.
In the meanwhile, the King once more took the field ;
and accompanied by his son Eustace, by William of Ipres,

INTRODUCTION. 67
and a large body of Brabancpis, by the Earl of Arundel, and
by many others of the English nobility, and outnumbering
the army of Henry, notwithstanding all the accessions it
had received, he marched towards WalUngford, with the firm
determination of giving battle to his enemy. Henry, on his
part, no sooner heard of the King's advance, than he deter
mined to meet him in the field. Though he knew his own
force to be inferior to that of Stephen, he judged well, that a
display of valour and enterprise is never lost upon brave
men. In order -to open the passage across the river, he
attacked and took by storm the fort which Stephen had
built to command the bridge, and then marched out of his
camp to meet his adversary, leaving, as if to mark his con
fidence in his own powers, a considerable body of his army
to carry on the siege of Craumers.
The battle, which seemed inevitable, did not however
take place. The Earl of Arundel, it would appear, had al
ready opened a secret communication with the Bishop of
Winchester, and with many other nobles and prelates, re
garding some means of terminating the civil contest which
had so long desolated the land. The Earl himself was per
haps influenced by patriotic motives ; but there is every
reason to suppose that the Bishop of Winchester, and the
persons with whom he was concerned, had no other views
than those of so balancing the two contending parties in the
kingdom, as to retain the real power in the hands of the
Clergy, and to place the greater share in those of Henry of
Winchester himself.
In the present instance, however, the Bishop did not ap
pear in the transaction at all ; but while Stephii was con
certing the plan of the approaching battle with his son and
the leaders qf the mercenaries, the Earl of Arundel called
the principal English noblemen in the camp together, and
addressed them, we are told, with great eloquence. The
exact words used, by the Earl cannot of course be given ;

68 INTRODUCTION.
but Lord Lyttleton, from a comparison of various authorities,
has composed a speech, which we may regard as substan
tially, though not actually, Arundel's address to the Barons
of Stephen's army ; and offering so masterly a picture of the
evils of the times, that I cannot forbear giving a part, not
withstanding the length of the quotation.
" It is now about sixteen years,'' said the Earl, " that on
a doubtful and disputed claim to the crown, the rage of civil
war has almost continually infested this kingdom. During
this melancholy period, how much blood has been shed !
What devastations and misery have been brought on the
people ! The laws have lost their force — the crown its
authority ; licentiousness and impurity have shaken all the
foundations of public security. This great and noble nation
has been delivered a prey to the basest of foreigners, the
abominable scum of Flanders, Brabant, and Bretagne, rob
bers rather than soldiers, restrained by no laws, divine or
human ; tied to no country, subject to no prince, instruments
of all tyranny, violence, and oppression. At the same time,
our cruel neighbours, the Welsh and the Scotch, calling
themselves allies or auxiliaries to the Empress, but in reality
enemies and destroyers of England, have broken their
bounds, ravaged our borders, and taken from us whole pro
vinces, which we never can hope to recover : while, instead
of employing our united force against them, we continue
thus madly, without any care of our public safety or nation
al honour, to turn our swords against our own bosoms.
What benefit have we gained to compensate all these losses,
or what do we expect ? When Matilda was mistress of the
kingdom, though her power was not yet confirmed, in what
manner did she govern ? Did she not make even those of
her own faction and court regret the king ? Was not
her pride more intolerable still than his levity ; her ra
pine than his profuseness 1 Were any years of his reign
so grievous to the people, so offensive to the nobles, as

INTRODUCTION. 69
the first days of hers ? When, she was driven out, did
Stephen correct his former bad conduct ? Did he dis
miss his odious foreign favourite 1 Did he discharge
his lawless foreign hirelings, who had so long been the
scourge and the reproach of England? Have not they
lived ever since upon free quarter, by plundering our houses
and our cities 1 And now, to complete our miseries, a new
army of foreigners, Angevines, Gascons, Poitevins, I know
not who, are come over with Henry Plantagenet, the son of
Matilda ; and many more no doubt will be called to assist
him, as soon as ever his affairs abroad will permit ; by
whose help if he be victorious, England must pay the price
of the services ; our lands, our honours, must be the hire of
these rapacious invaders. But suppose we should have
the fortune to conquer for Stephen, what will be the conse
quence 1 Will victory teach him moderation ? Will he
learn from security that regard to our liberties which he
could not learn from danger ? Alas ! the only fruit of our
good success will be this : — the estates of the Earl of Lei
cester, and others of our countrymen, who have now quitted
the party of the King, will be forfeited, and. new confisca
tions will accrue. But let us not hope that, be our victory
ever so complete, it will give any lasting peace to this king
dom. Should Henry fall in this battle, there are two other
'.rothers to succeed to his claim, and support his faction ;
perhaps with less merit, but certainly with as much ambi-
tion as he. What shall we do then to free ourselves from
all these misfortunes ? Let us prefer the interest of our
country to that of our party, and to all those passions which
are apt in civil dissensions to inflame zeal into madness, and
-,o render men the blind instruments of those, very evils
which they fight to avoid. Let us prevent all the crimes
and all the horrors that attend a war of this kind, in which
conquest itself is full of calamity, and our most happy victo
ries deserve to be celebrated by tears. Nature herself is

70 INTRODUCTION.
dismayed, and shrinks back from a combat, where every
blow that we strike may murder a friend, a relation, a parent.

It is in our power to end the controversy both safely and
honourably, by an amicable agreement, not by the sword.
Stephen may enjoy the royal dignity for his life, and the
succession may be secured to the young Duke of Nor
mandy, with such a present rank in the state as befits the
heir of the crown. The bitterest enemies of the King
must acknowledge that he is valiant, generous, and good-
natured ; his warmest friends cannot deny that he has a
great deal of rashness and indiscretion. Both may there
fore conclude that he should not be deprived of the royal
authority, but that he ought to be restrained from a farther
abuse of it ; which can be done by no means so certain and
effectual as what I propose ; for thus his power will be
tempered by the presence, the counsels, and influence of
Prince Henry, who from his own interest in the weal of the
kingdom which he is to inherit, will always have a right to
interpose his advice, and even his authority, if it be neces
sary, against any future violation of our liberties, and to
procure an effectual redress of our grievances, which we
have hitherto sought in vain. If all the English in both
armies unite, as I hope that they may, in this plan of paci
fication, they will be able to give the law to foreigners, and
oblige both the King and the Duke to consent to it. This
will secure the public tranquillity, and leave no secret
stings of resentment to rankle in the hearts of a suffering
party, and produce future disturbances. As there will be
no triumph, no insolence, no exclusive right to favour on
either side, there can be no shame, no anger, no uneasy
desire of change. It will be the work of the whole nation,
and all must wish to support what all have established.
The s.ons of Stephen, indeed, may endeavour to oppose it ;

INTRODUCTION. 71
but their efforts will be fruitless, and must end very soon
in their, submission or their ruin. Nor have they any rea
sonable cause to complain. Their father himself did not
come to the crown by hereditary right. He was elected
in preference to a woman, and an infant, who were deemed
not capable of ruling a kingdom. By that election our alle
giance is bound to him during his life ; but neither that bond,
nor the reason for which we chose him, will hold as to the
choice of a successor. Henry Plantagenet is now grown
up to an age of maturity, and every way qualified to suc
ceed to the crown. He is the grandson of a king whose
memory is dear to us, and the nearest heir male to him in
the course of descent. He appears to resemble him in all
his good qualities, and to be worthy to reign over the Nor
mans and English, whose noblest blood united, enriches his
veins. Normandy has already submitted to him with plea
sure. 'Why should we now divide that Duchy from Eng
land, when it is so greatly the interest of our nobility to
keep them always connected ? If we had no other induce.
ment to make us desire a reconciliation between him and
Stephen, this would be sufficient. Our estates in both
countries will by that means be secured, which otherwise
we must forfeit in the one or the other, while Henry re
mains possessed of Normandy ; and it will not be an easy
matter to drive him from thence, even though we should
compel him to retire from England. But, by amicably com
pounding his quarrej with Stephen, we shall maintain aU
our interests, private and public. His greatness abroad
will increase the power of this kingdom ; it will make us
respectable and formidable to France. England will be
the head of all those ample dominions, which extend from
the British Ocean to the Pyrennean mountains. By gov
erning in his youth so many different states, he will learn
to govern us, and come to the crown after the decease of
King Stephen, accomplished in all the arts of good policy.

72 INTRODUCTION.
His mother has willingly resigned to him her pretensions ;
or rather, she acknowledges that his are superior. We
therefore can have nothing to apprehend on that side. In
every view, our peace, our safety, the repose of our con
sciences, the quiet and happiness of. our posterity, will be
firmly established by the means I propose. Let Stephen
continue to wear the crown that we gave him as long as he
lives ; but after his death, let it descend to that prince who
alone can put an end to our unhappy divisions. If you ap
prove my advice, and will empower me to treat in your
names, I wiU immediately convey your desires to the King
and the Duke."
Whether such was the substance of the Earl's speech or
not, the effect of what he did say was to win over to his
opinion all the Barons present, apparently without excep
tion. The arguments he had used were repeated to the
soldiery, and the truth of his statements, the inflvTence of
the leaders, and probably the instigation of secret agents
employed by the Earl and his friends, had as great an effect
in their ranks as amongst the nobles ; so that ere the King
had concluded his consultation with William of Ipres, there
was a general outcry in the army for peace on the terms
proposed by the Earl of Arundel. The Earl himself com
municated what may be termed the decision of the nobles
to the King. Eustace, and William of Ipres' assembled in
council, arid the effect upon each was such as might be ex
pected from their various characters.. Stephen was over-
whelmed, and thunderstruck. William of Ipres, not less
surprised,' was enabled by cunning to restrain his rage and
vexation, Well knowing that his mercenaries were fewer
than the English in Stephen's army, and very far inferior
in numbers to the two armies, should they join" together,
which was not at all unlikely to be the case, if the Earl's
proposal, were rejected by the King. Eustace was all fire
and indignation to see himself thus by a word stripped of

INTRODUCTION. 73
all hope of that crown which he looked upon as his heredi.
tary right.
Stephen, however, was obliged to yield, where he had
no power to resist ; and the Earl of Arundel proceeded to
offer the same terms to Henry, having prepared the way by
secret intrigues with the English leaders in that Prince's
army. Henry was as unwilling as Stephen, and as confident
of success if the contest were left to the decision of arms ;
but he also was obliged to submit, and a conference took
place between him and Stephen, with the infant stream of the
Thames between them. The two princes were without at
tendants, so that no one can tell what passed during this in
terview ; but the result was a short suspension of hostilities,
for the purpose of negociating a peace on the basis proposed.
Eustace, however, on his part, declared that he would
consent to no treaty so injurious to his interests, retired to
Cambridge, gathered together a small army,- and supported
by the Earl of Northampton and some others, waged war
upon his own account. Henry kept the truce with good
faith ; but one of the conditions most advantageous to him
he took care to see executed. This stipulation was, that
Stephen himself should destroy the castle of Craumers,
which was accordingly done. The formal treaty of peace
however was still unconcluded when the suspension of arms
terminated ; and the war was resumed On both parts, though
with much greater advantage to Henry than to his adversary.
The young Duke of Normandy had soon an opportunity
of showing himself superior to his adversary, not only in
military skill, but also in moderation and justice. The
Governor of Oxford and a large body of Stephen's soldiery,
having made an incursion into the territories possessed by
Henry, that prince put himself at the head of the troops he
could most speedily collect, met the enemy, attacked and
routed them, taking prisoners no less than twenty knights.
The rest of the routed force was pursued to the gates of
vol. i. — 7

74 INTRODUCTION.
Oxford by his cavalry, under inferior officers, who then
proceeded to retaliate upon Stephen, by pillaging the coun
try far and wide. On their return, however, they were not
a little surprised to find that Henry commanded every thing
which had been taken as booty, to be restored as far as
possible, and he added words which rapidly spread from
mouth to mouth : " It is not to plunder the people, that I
came into England," he said ; " but to deliver them from
the exactions of the great."
Nottingham and Stamford fell into Henry's hands very
shortly after the recommencement of hostilities, the former
being taken by storm, the latter costing only the siege of a
few days ; and though Stephen in return captured Ipswich
castle from the Duke of Norfolk, yet the balance of success
was much in favour of Henry.
In the midst of these events, Eustace, the chief obstacle
to the conclusion of a peace on the terms proposed by the
Earl of Arundel, was removed by death from the troublous
scene into which his violent, impetuous, and daring spirit
must inevitably have brought new elements of confusion,
had he lived. Although those were ages of suspicion, and
although poison was as common as the dagger, or the
sword, in removing an obstinate enemy, I have never found
the death of Eustace ascribed to any unfair means. He
had commanded his men, on some occasion of offence, to
pillage the lands of the Abbey of Saint Edmond's-bury, and
even to cut down the ripe corn belonging to the monks.
He remained under the heat of the summer sun, it would
seem, to see these orders performed, and was immediately
seized with a calenture, attended with violent frenzy, which
ended his Ufe in a few days. A similar fate attended his
friend the Earl of Northampton, to whose instigation many
of his evU actions are attributed.
The death of another great nobleman, distinguished by
more than ordinary rapacity and baseness, is recorded about

INTRODUCTION. 75
the same time. This was the Earl of Chester, who was
poisoned by one of his own vassals, and whose death was
in some degree a relief to both parties, from each of which
he had endeavoured to extort advantages in the most un.
worthy manner.
Stephen's spirits sunk upon the death of Eustace. His
other son, William, was in no degree fitted to fill the throne
of England, or to contest the crown with Henry Plantage.
net. The King was aware that such was the case, as well
as the Prince himself; and all obstacles being removed
from the scheme proposed by the Earl of Arundel, the
Bishop of Winchester and the Archbishop of Canterbury
took it up with much eagerness, supported by the great
majority of the Barons of the kingdom. It is supposed that
they thus acted with a view of neutralizing the power of
Henry by the power of Stephen, and the power of Stephen
by that of Henry: whereas had either of those two princes
totally overcome his rival by force of arms, the authority so
gained would have been sufficient to afford the means of
punishing past offences, of resuming grants unjustly made,
of revoking dangerous privileges, and doing away unreason
able immunities. Such power, men who had lived a cor
rupt life, and were filled with evil desires, were not likely
to see placed, without reluctance, in the hands of any one ;
and they laboured therefore effectually to bring about an
agreement between Henry and Stephen. A parliament was
summoned to meet at Winchester, in the end of November,
1 153, by writs from both princes, and there a treaty was
drawn up upon terms previously arranged. But as this
council was scantily attended by the lay Barons of the
empire, another parliament was called to meet Stephen and
Henry at Oxford, and by it the convention agreed upon was
confirmed and ratified.
By the agreement now entered into, Henry was adopted
by Stephen as his son and successor, and his heir by here-

76 INTRODUCTION.
ditary right. The words are extraordinary, but it is clearly
proved by the whole context of the document, that Stephen-
merely intended to imply that the kingdom was to descend
to Henry's heirs by hereditary right. For this concession
on the part of the King, Henry did homage, and swore
fealty to Stephen, and at the same time granted and .con
firmed to William, Stephen's surviving legitimate son, all
the possessions which his father had enjoyed in England
or France before his usurpation of the throne, and also all
that William himself possessed in right of his wife, or which
had been given to him by Stephen ; adding to all this, seve
ral other estates of considerable value, amongst which was
the honor of Pevensey.
Thus this most singular document proceeds with the most
extraordinary anomaUes. Henry, who appears to have been
contending for the kingdom, from his birth, as his Own he
reditary property, now claims all rights to it by the gift of
Stephen. It is upon that concession, and upon Stephen's
adoption, that he builds his claim ; and yet he himself con
fers upon William, Stephen's son, all the territories and
estates which he is to possess, while Stephen's son agrees
to hold them of the Duke of Normandy, and does homage
to him for the very lands in England which had been given
him by his father. In his homage, however, there is a
saving clause to the purport that he shall be free from feudal
service to the Duke, if Henry fail in his engagements to the
King ; and the same is observable in regard to the oaths of
the nobles to Henry, and to Stephen : the first receiving the
homage of his former adversaries, with a saving of their
allegiance to Stephen, and also with the intimation that the
homage was only so long binding, as he should keep his
engagements with the King. To Stephen, the Barons of
Henry's party did homage, and swore allegiance, upon con
dition that he kept his engagements with the Duke ; and
the Clergy, shielded under the happy plea of neutrality,

INTRODUCTION. 77
held out to both parties the menace of ecclesiastical cen
sures in case of any infraction of the treaty ; implying
thereby the much more important threat, of employing their
temporal and spiritual influence against the defaulter. This
they were not only likely, but certain to do, as by the con
vention they assured to themselves the confirmation of all
grants and restitutions which had been made by the King to
the Church. This was in fact putting the great seal upon
the treaty. But Henry took care to stipulate for some ad
vantage to himself, beside the remote prospect of the crown
after Stephen's death. He required and received proper
security that the forts and castles of the kingdom should be
given up to him, on the decease of the King, and that Ste
phen should act in all affairs of the kingdom, except the
mere administration of justice, by his advice.
Henry was now King of England, in almost everything
but name ; and other secret articles it would seem were
added to the treaty, though not published in Stephen's de
claration, which increased the power of the young Duke.
We cannot very well trust to the historians of that time for
the wording of each article ; but two of them which were
speedily afterwards published under the authority of the
great council, provided that all castles built in the reign of
King Stephen should be immediately demolished, and that
all foreign troops should be sent out of the kingdom.
The evils committed by the mercenaries, I have already
spoken of. The evils of the castles which had been built
were certainly not less, for they had almost universally
become dens of petty tyrants, within the walls of which
every sort of horror and abomination was perpetrated.
Thus, these additional articles of the treaty were amongst
the most popular that it contained ; and it was moreover
known, that these two articles had been insisted on by
Henry. Stephen, however, though weaker than his rival,
in every respect, though unable to resist him in the field,
7*

78 INTRODUCTION.
or to contend with him in the cabinet, had once again the
folly to select the most unpopular act that he could commit,
as his point of resistance "against his competitor. He was
easily prevailed upon, to perform neither his dangerous task
of demolishing the castles, nor to take the unpleasant step
of dismissing the mercenaries. Henry remonstrated, but in
vain. He exposed to the ¦ parliament of Dunstable, the in
fraction of the treaty which had been committed by Ste
phen, and though that monarch scarcely thought fit to cover
his evasion with a decent veil, the Duke of Normandy chose
rather to submit than plunge into a new war : satisfied with
having gained the great advantage of displaying himself as
the champion of the popular cause, against two of the great
est nuisances of the times.
Other causes perhaps might combine with wise modera
tion to prevent him from resenting the conduct of Stephen.
He was now anxious to return to Normandy, which pro
vince, as he had expected, had been assaUed by Louis
during his absence from his continental dominions. The
French monarch, however, had not shown any great acti
vity, or reaped any very remarkable success. The town
and castle of Vernon taken, and the destruction of a part of
the town of Verneuil, comprised all the feats he had per
formed, if we except the fact of his having excited Some of
the Nobles of Aquitaine to revolt against their new sove
reign. No sooner did Henry arrive in Normandy, than he has
tened to quell the insurrection excited by Louis in Aqui
taine, nor did he find any difficulty in accomplishing that
object. He showed himself lenient and moderate to the
rebels ; and with the same wise policy, on his return to
Normandy, he sought not to take vengeance upon Louis,
but obtained from him by negociation, a restitution of all
which had been captured, on the payment of a trifling sum.
He left no means untried, indeed, to- gain the good-will of

INTRODUCTION. 79
the French King, and found it not difficult to do so, though
the favour of one so weak and unstable was too uncertain
a possession to be a very valuable acquisition.
Henry had now been married two years and a half, and
Eleanor had already given an heir to his dominions. She
was again pregnant, when messengers from England an
nounced to Henry the unexpected death of Stephen. The
young Sovereign, however, as if to show his confidence in
his own power, refused to rise from before the castle of a
revolting Baron, which he was then besieging, even to put
on the crown of England. But as soon as he had reduced
his vassal to obedience, Henry hastened to Rouen, where
he conferred with his mother, the Empress Matilda, who
now agreed to remain in Normandy ; and though she made
no formal renunciation of her title to the crown, she left her
son to base his claim both upon her own rights and upon
the treaty of Winchester. This being settled, Henry and
Eleanor proceeded to Barfleur, in order to embark for Eng
land ; but the weather was tempestuous, the wind contrary,
the knowledge, of seamen in those days but small, and
Henry and his wife were detained upon the coast of Nor
mandy an entire month before they could pursue their
voyage. The state of England, during this delay, furnishes a valu
able indication of the progress made by society, even
amidst the horrible anarchy and confusion of Stephen's
reign. No preceding King, since the Norman Conquest,
had died without the most terrible excesses and outrages
taking place ere his successor could ascend the throne and
grasp the sceptre firmly ; but between the death of Stephen
and the arrival of Henry, everything remained tranquil and
-orderly ; and we may well believe that, as evil often pro
duces good, the turbulence, the bloodshed, the rapine, and
the anarchy, which had disgraced the land for so many
years, tended to make men appreciate law and justice, see.

80 INTRODUCTION.
the sad consequences of faithlessness and treachery, and
perceive the beauty of faith, harmony, and social order.
Henry and Eleanor, with a brilliant train, landed on the
coast of Hampshire, in the beginning of December, after a
tempestuous voyage, in which their fleet was dispersed,
and their own vessel very nearly wrecked. The mon
arch's reception in England, however, was quite sufficient
to obliterate all recollections of the discomforts of the sea.
At Winchester, to which he immediately turned his steps,
the nobles and prelates of the land gathered round him
from every part of the kingdom. All men felt that they
were delivered from an intolerable yoke : all but those who
had plunged deeply into the rapine and corruptions of the
times, rejoiced at the prospect of restored tranquiUity ; and
aU, either sincerely or hypocritically, hailed Henry as a
benefactor and deliverer. His journey from Winchester
to London was a continual triumph, of the most glorious, be
cause of the most bloodless kind. The citizens of the
capital received him with joy and acclamations ; and on the
nineteenth of December, 1154, Henry and Eleanor were
crowned in the Abbey of Westminster, without any condi
tion being presented to the monarch, or any terms being
wrung from him, but simply upon his taking the oath usu
ally administered to the ancient Kings of England.
Thus was raised to the throne of this country, Henry the
Second, not only the first of the Plantagenet line of our
kings, but the first who reaUy looked upon himself as King
of the English people, since the overthrow of Harold. He
had many advantages on ascending the throne : he was a
direct descendant both of the Saxon and Norman king's of
England, but he was neither a Norman nor a Sa^pn, and
was without the peculiar prejudice of either. William the
First, with the exception of a short period at the commence
ment of his reign, governed England as a foreign con
queror, and we can only regard as his people those Nor-

INTRODUCTION. 81
man nobles whose swords upheld him. William Rufus
was even more distinguished than any of his race as a
Norman tyrant ; and Henry the First, though a wise and
politic prince, and far superior to his predecessor, still
treated England as a tributary country, to be drained of its
treasures, and to contribute its forces of all kinds to aug
ment the possessions of his family on the continent. He
was still merely King qf the Normans in England, like all
his predecessors ; and as I have before said, the race of the
English Kings may be looked upon as commencing with
Henry the Second ; for the turbulent reign of Stephen can
hardly be considered as affording any means of judging in
what way his affections might have turned, had he been left
free to act the monarch of a united land. As it was, he sel-,
dom if ever reigned over more than one half of the country
at once ; and where he did reign, he was a king of foreign
mercenaries, and not of the English nation.
I have now given a brief and very imperfect view of the
state of this country, just before the birth of Richard the
First, and of the events which through a long series of
changing fortunes, placed the family of Plantagenet upon
the throne of England. I must next proceed to speak of
what followed immediately after the birth of that monarch,
though of course his own individual acts can form no part of
the tale during those years of infancy, in the course of which
the lives of few men afford little matter of interest, and re
specting which authentic records are in almost all cases ex
tremely scanty. It may be well, therefore, to continue this
sketch of the general history of the country, and of the
provinces then joined with it under one sceptre^ till such
time as Richard began to take an active part in the affairs
of life, when it will be time to relate all that we know of
his younger days.
We have seen that Eleanor had borne her husband one
son in France, who was named William ; and shortly after

82

INTRODUCTION.

his accession to the throne, the Queen, who was pregnant
at the time of their tempestuous voyage to England, was
delivered in the city of London of a second son, named
Henry, in March, 1155. Amongst the first proceedings of
Henry the Second, was to settle the succession of the
crown upon these two sons ; and the lay and spiritual Ba
rons assembled in Parliament at WalUngford, took the oath
of fealty accordingly. Not the slightest difficulty was made
on the part of the Barons to the performance of this act ;
for Henry, since his accession, had fully maintained his
popularity, even while he had taken measures for correct
ing abuses and remedying evils, which struck many a se-
vere blow at those who had unjustly profited by the distur-
bances of the last reign.
The most popular of these measures he began with first ;
namely, the dismissal of all the mercenaries ; which was
carried through with the consent and approbation of ParUa-
ment as then constituted. There were great murmurs, and
apparently some indecent threatenings on the part of the
foreign troops ; but the King's order for them to quit the
country was obeyed without resistance, though to the lead
ers Stephen had granted immense possessions, especially
to William of Ipres, whom he had created Earl of Kent.
All these grants were now resumed ; and stripped of every
thing but their moveable wealth, which their dissolute habits
probably rendered comparatively small, the mercenary cap
tains quitted a country which they had desolated, and more
than one retired in despair to a monastery.
The demolition of the fortresses which had been left by
Stephen, remained to be accomplished, and this was also
done without any serious difficulty or resistance : but a more
dangerous task was next undertaken by Henry, which was,
the resumption of those crown lands which had been alien
ated both by Stephen and Matilda. It was held to be a
fundamental principle of the monarchy, that all the ancient

INTRODUCTION. 83
demesne lands of the crown were inalienable, and conse
quently all these grants were contrary to law. No length
of possession could render them valid, and the mainte
nance of the royal dignity required a revenue which
could not be supplied without them. But still Henry had
to consider that there was scarcely a great Baron in the
empire who would not be more or less damaged by their
resumption, and he might very well expect opposition, from
first to last, in the council and in the field.
He was prompted to undertake the resumption, however,
not only by the duty of vindicating the law, but by the ne
cessities of the crown, and by his own disposition, which
was of a grasping nature ; and upon the whole, the resist.
ance that he met with was very much less than might have
been expected. His first step in the proceeding was to lay
the matter before the great council of the nation ; and al
though in this council sat a great many persons who were
to suffer from the measure he proposed, yet he succeeded
in obtaining the consent of that assembly. In conducting
this proceeding, however, Henry showed a much greater
acquaintance with human nature, and the springs which
moved the politics of that day, than Stephen ever displayed.
In resuming the grants he proposed to make an exception
in favour of the clergy. The superstitious devotion of the
times prevented the lay Barons from murmuring at this as
an act of unlawful partiality, and the Clergy were all eager
and desirous that a proceeding should take place, marked
by an exception in their favour, which confirmed in the
strongest manner a principle that they had always main
tained in their dealings with other men — namely, »that no
grant to the church could ever be resumed.
This probably may be the secret of the ready assent
which Henry's proposition met with ; and no sooner was
that assent obtained, than he proceeded to put the proposed

84

INTRODUCTION.

measure into execution, showing therein a vigour and
promptitude which increased his power and authority, and
a moderation and clemency which maintained his popularity
undiminished. The first that attempted to oppose him was
the Earl of Albemarle, who during the reign of Stephen
had ruled Yorkshire with almost sovereign sway. It would
seem that he did not absolutely refuse to surrender the
grants now resumed, but that he certainly hesitated to ex
press his acquiescence, and was making preparation for
actual resistance.
Henry, however, marched at once in person to settle the
question, ere open rebellion broke out, and the Earl found
himself compelled to obey, and make entire restitution of
all the crown lands. Almost at the same time, Roger Mor
timer and the young Earl of Hereford took arms on the
frontiers of Wales, arid refused to' resign what they had
received for good and meritorious services. The case of
the "Earl of Hereford, indeed, seems peculiarly hard, for
those lands which were now demanded, had been granted
by Matilda to his father Milo Fitzwalter, one of the noblest,
most disinterested, resolute, and unchangeable of aU her
friends. But Henry founded the resumption upon the
general illegality of all such grants ;¦ and' there were many
others similarly situated with the young Earl of Hereford.
He could therefore make no distinction in resuming the de
mesne, but he might have granted the lands afterwards to
the Earl in the nature of a benefice; to be held for his life,
which wOuld have been consonant to law and justice, and
honourable to the King's gratitude, and good feeling. Mor
timer, however, and his ally, waited Henry's coming in
arms ; but the Earl was detached from the conspiracy by
the exhortations of the Bishop of Winchester, "who per
suaded him to resign the two castles in dispute, and submit
to the King's pleasure.
Mortimer, thus left alone, nevertheless determined to

INTRODUCTION. 85
I
hold out, and defended the three castles of Clebury, Wig-
more, and Bridgenorth, against the forces of the King. All
three were speedUy captured ; but the career of Henry
had very nearly terminated before the castle of Bridge-
north, into which Mortimer had thrown himself, and against
which the King commanded in person. While he was
directing the operations within a very short distance of the
walls of the castle, an arrow was aimed at Henry with un
erring skill ; and, had not one of his most gallant officers,
Hubert Saint Clare, cast himself between the King and the
missile, it must have pierced the monarch's heart. Saint
Clare received it, however, in his own bosom, and died
shortly after in the arms of his grateful sovereign ; recom
mending his only child, a daughter, to the care of him for
whose life he had given his own. To the honour of Henry
be it said that he nobly fulfilled the trust. Bridgenorth
soon after surrendered at discretion ; and to the surprise
of all, Henry pardoned Mortimer freely the resistance he
had made, contented himself with resuming the grants, the
restitution of which he had at first demanded, and took no
other vengeance of his revolted subject.
It need hardly be pointed out what a remarkable influ
ence such acts of clemency and moderation must have had
in humanizing the hearts of men, and softening the asperi
ties of a barbarous age. No other resistance, that I have
discovered, was made to the resumption of the grants ; and
Henry proceeded in the same course of policy, temperance,
firmness, and mildness, pardoning offences against himself,
and even against his crown, with perhaps excessive mode
ration ; trusting to the vigour and sternness with which he
punished offences against social rights and the general se
curity, to maintain that respect for his authority, which
could alone enable him to be lenient without danger. In a
very rapid manner, considering the long period of anarchy
which had just passed, law and order, and the even admin-
vol. i. — 8

INTRODUCTION.

istration of justice were re-estahlished ; and to this happy
effect, the King's frequent presence in different parts of the
country, seeing with his own eyes, and hearing with his
own ears, greatly contributed.
. Another act of much importance took place in this most
bright and honourable period of the King's reign, which
was the fenewal or Confirmation of the famous charter of
Henry I.
Everything now promised Henry, in England' at least,
internal peace ; but there remained much still to be done :
he had to guard against attack from without,' to suppress
civil wars in his continental possessions, and to risk a strug
gle upon his northern frontier for the recovery of those
English provinces which David, King of Scotland, had con
trived to seize upon, during the late contest for the throne.
No moment could be more favourable for the attempt to re
gain these provinces, than that which Henry chose, while
Malcolm, King of Scotland, who had now succeeded to Da
vid his grandfather, was yet under seventeen years of age.
There was but -one impediment in the way of the Eng
lish monarch : namely, the oath which he had taken while
at the court of King David at Carlisle, never to resume
those counties, if he should obtain the crown of England.
Henry, however, was not a great respecter of oaths, and in
this case he did not treat that which he had taken at all
tenderly. He held, and probably with justice, that in this
instance, it was in no degree binding, for if had been ex
tracted from him at a time when he was completely in the
power of the King of Scotland — when that monarch had
promised to make great efforts in his favour, which were
never accomplished — and when he had every reason to sup
pose that the attainment of the crown of England, which
was contemplated in the oath, was likely to ensue as a-con-
sequence of David's assistance. The corresponding en
gagements of the King of Scotland, had not been fulfilled.

INTRODUCTION. 87
Henry had derived no equivalent advantage whatsoever,
and, consequently, he might well regard his oath as of no
avail. He accordingly sent ambassadors to the Court of
Scotland, to represent that it was not rightor just, that this
large portion of England should remain dismembered from
the empire. The King of Scotland did not resist ; but, by
the advice of his council, restored to Henry, Westmoreland,
Cumberland, and Northumberland, and agreed to do homage
for the county of Lothian, which had been conferred by Ed
gar, one of our Saxon monarchs, upon Kenneth III.
I have dwelt more particularly upon the circumstances
which induced Henry to pay no attention to his oath in re
gard to Scotland, because another event took place in the
commencement of his reign, in which a solemn engagement
was directly violated on political motives, no less strong
than those which actuated- him in the transaction with
Scotland, but without any moral justification. In order to
make the proceeding to which I allude plearly understood,
it may be necessary to go back to the period of. Geoffrey,
Count of Anjou, Henry's father. By the will of that prince,
as we have seen, he left the three provinces of Maine,
Anjou, and Touraine to his eldest son : but, by an extraor
dinary disposition made by him On his death-bed, he forbade
his own- body to be buried, till Henry should take an oath
positively to perform every part of the will, before he knew
the contents thereof. The dying prince inducedthe nobles
-who were about him to swear that they would not permit
the funeral to take place till such time as the 'oath had been
duly administered to his son. Henry, however, very na
turally objected to promise such blind obedience to injunc
tions of whose nature he was ignorant ; but at length, after
having held out for some time — sooner than see his fa
ther's body remain unburied— he consented, arid took the
oath. As soon as the wiU was opened, he found that the Count

88 INTRODUCTION.
of Anjou had only left him the important territories named,
on condition that he should give them up to his brother
Geoffrey, in case the hereditary dominions of his mother,
Matilda, should ever be fully recovered by him.
This clause of the Count's will, and the oath Henry had
taken, were well known at the time of his accession to the
crown of England ; but with the condition of the will —
which he was now called upon to perform — he was not in
any degree inclined to comply. In short, though fixed
upon the English throne, and in full possession of Norman
dy, Henry resolved to defeat the wiU of his father, and to
violate the vow which he had taken to maintain it. Whe
ther or not, if he had refused to take the oath at the time, the
feudal law, — as effected by the customs of Anjou, Touraine,
and Maine, — would have put him in possession of those
provinces by right of primogeniture, can hardly be told ; but,
at all events, on the condition of that oath, he had received
very great benefits. He had obtained investiture of the
three provinces in a tranquU and easy manner, whereas, in
other circumstances, he would have had to fight every foot
of the ground, and, very likely, would have lost possession
of the country altogether ; and he also derived considerable
advantages in point of reputation and character, by taking
that oath, which he would have lost altogether, had his fa
ther's body been suffered to remain unburied in consequence
of his refusing to bind himself to perform the will. Having
gained all the superiority which was to be obtained by tak
ing the oath, however, and benefitted to the utmost by the
favourable terms of the will, he now refused to perform the
less agreeable clause, and applied to the Pope to be set free
from the engagement into which he had entered.
The Pope thought it reasonable to grant the request of so
powerful a prince. The King of France had received
Henry's homage for the whole of the provinces now in
question, and did not think fit to oppose him ; and Geoffrey

INTRODUCTION. 89
Plantagenet was left to break out into ill-considered revolt,
which wassoon crushed by the superior skill and power of
his brother. Henry contented himself with demolishing the
fortresses possessed by Geoffrey, giving him an annual
sum of money instead, and leaving him in possession of his
other estates — an act of clemency the more extraordinary,
as Geoffrey had committed the rarely pardoned offence .of
being in the right.
About the same period, some disturbances took place in
the province of Aquitaine, which have very generally been
connected by historians with the revolt of Geoffrey. I do.
not, however, find any proof that such was the Gase. Any
symptoms of insurrection which Henry might perceive in
the territories he had received, were soon put a stop to, and
he remained in peaceable, possession of all his continental
dominions, notwithstanding the just claims of his brother,
and the favourable opportunities which those, claims affofd;
ed to the King of France to promote a diyision in the terri
tories of a vassal far too powerful.
Henry, however, though now fixed firmly in possession
of England — comprising the counties which Stephen had
suffered to be dismembered by the King of Scotland, and
though established peaceably in provinces embracing one-
third of France, meditated new augmentation of territory, in
the conquest of Ireland, and the subje.ction of Wales. Nor
would he probably have bounded his ambitious efforts there,
had not a weakness of his own character raised up that in
ternal foe, who first sapped the foundation of his greatness,
and gave opportunities for refractory subjects and foreign
enemies to trouble his peace at home and to assail^him from
without. It does not come within the scope of this introduction to
notice more particularly the King's expedition against
Wales, than merely to give an outline of the causes which"
produced it, and the general results. The hardy, resolute,
8*

90 INTRODUCTION.
and active character of the Welsh people found a fair field
for action during the troubled reign of Stephen ; and con
tinual ravages on the English border marked how danger
ous they were as neighbours. Henry had passed a con
siderable period of his early life within the districts subject
to their incursions ; and his knowledge of their habits would
have been sufficient cause for so vigilant and active a mo
narch as Henry to undertake the subjection of the turbulent
people who had such good reason to be the persevering
enemies of the Anglo-Norman race.
The Welsh, it would appear, did not fully comprehend
the character of the monarch who now ruled the English
nation, and thought they might pursue the same depreda
tions as in former years, so that Henry was in some degree
compelled to take measures for their repression. His first
steps were such as might be expected from his prudence ;
and he employed means to strengthen a colony of Flem
ings, which had been early planted in South Wales, and
had proved, on many occasions, a strong bulwark to the
English frontier. The importance of the occasion, how
ever, rendered it necessary to use much more vigorous
measures ; and, as soon as possible after his accession, he
undertook boldly the conquest of the whole country. That
this attempt was dangerous and difficult Henry must have
known, both from the opposition and reverses which attend
ed the arms of his grandfather Henry I., and from the fre
quent defeats which some of the bravest and most skilful of
the Norman nobles had undergone not long before his ac
cession. Notwithstanding these defeats, the most signal
Of which was that of the Earl of Chester and Madoc, Prince
of Powys land, by the famous Owen Gwyneth, much ground
had been gained in South Wales by the English and Flem
ings. Henry, therefore, determined to turn his arms di
rectly against Owen Gwyneth, prompted, it is supposed, by
Cadwallader, one of the Welsh princes. The latter had

INTRODUCTION. 91
been driven out of his territories by Owen, King of North
Wales, who, there is every reason to believe, had never yet
either done homage to the English crown, or owned any
allegiance to the King of this country.
The army which Henry now assembled was large, well
appointed, and brilliant; but in the very outset he suffered
himself rashly to be drawn into an ambuscade in the moun
tains, where he was attacked by the Welsh, and lost a very
great number of his men ; he himself being forced to retreat,
and narrowly escaping with his life. He contrived, how
ever, to rally his men, and to retrieve in some degree the
disasters of the day, which ever after proved a warning to
the English King. He now laid out a plan of operations
totally different, and, avoiding the mountains, took his way
by the sea coast, his fleet following him, and insuring to
him support in case of need. In vain Owen Gwyneth
endeavoured to lead him into fresh ambuscades, or, encamp
ing on the side of Snowden, like an eagle perched upon the
rock, watched the progress of the enemy for the purpose of
attacking him unprepared. Henry was neither to be again
deceived, nor turned from his purpose ; and, confining his
operations to the more open country, he subdued a great
part of it, making roads, and building and repairing castles
to render any future proceedings against the Welsh more
easy and effectual.
The progress made by the English King could not escape
the eyes of Owen Gwyneth ; and, finding he had no power
sufficient to resist the united forces of England, that Prince
proposed to open negociations for peace, which Henry only
granted on the condition of his doing homage, restoring all
the lands which had been conquered during the reign of
Stephen, and reinstating Cadwallader in his territories.
Two of the Welsh monarch's sons were given as hostages,
and Henry returned to England, leaving his principal
officers to carry on the war against the inferior Princes of

92 INTRODUCTION.
Wales, who, one. by one, were brought to' submission, and
did homage for their lands. : "¦
The last that submitted was the famous Rees ap Gryffyth,
who "was welcomed and honourably treated by Henry, the
attention of that Sovereign being now caUed to. another
quarter. Such was the result of the English monarch's first expe
dition into Wales. The conquest of Ireland — which would
appear to have been one of the great objects of Henry's
ambition — we shall have to notice casuaUy hereafter, and
therefore I will not dwell upon it now ; more especially as
it does not in any important degree affect the history -which
is to follow.
Various abuses still existed in England, which it was
necessary for Henry to sweep away ; and a part of the
year 1157 and the commencement of the year 1158 were
spent by th|it monarch in going from one part of the coun
try to another, endeavouring as far as possible to remove
the last remnants of all those evils which had been engen
dered by the civil wars. One of the most important trans
actions of those . two years was the calling in of- the old
coinage, which had suffered, during the reign. of Stephen,
the most terrible debasement, and the reissuing it restored
to the proper weight and standard. Another very important
transaction that occurred in the year 1157 was the admis
sion' of Malcolm, King of Scotland, to do homage to the
English Sovereign, which act took place at Chester, whi'
ther that monarch came to perform it, according to the pro
mise he had given immediately after Henry's accession to
the throne. This homage was rendered generally for all
the fiefs which he held of the crown of England, but was
guarded by a clause saving the royal dignity of the young
Scottish king:
These peaceful occupations, however, appeared likely to
suffer an interruption from some transactions which took

INTRODUCTION. 93
place on the continent. The Duchy of Brittany was at
that period, in point of feudal institutions, somewhat behind
the rest of France, and it had also been for some time filled
with confusion and civil contention, in consequence of the
dying act of Conan the Fat, Duke of Britanny, by which
he disowned Hoel, his reputed son, declaring positively
and distinctly, that he was not, and could not, be his child.
The Duchy was immediately divided into two factions.
Eudes or Eudo, Viscount of Porhoet,* — having married the
eldest daughter of Conan, widow of Alain le Noir, Count of
Richmond — laid claim to the succession, and was recog
nised by the people of Rennes, and by a great part of upper
and lower Britanny ; but the important towns of Nantes and
Quimper, with various territories attached to them, main
tained the party of Hoel, and a civil war of an anarchical,
but not very desolating character, took place. Little is
known of these wars : but it seems that the greater part of
Britanny never recognised Hoel ; calling him merely Count
of Nantes, but never denying his right to that part of the
territory. In the meantime a new claimant to the often contested
Duchy of Britanny started up in the person of Conan, son
of Bertha, Countess of Porhoet, by her first husband, Alain
le Noir. If Hoel was illegitimate, the young Conan's right
cannot be doubted as the representative of his mother, but
she herself gave countenance to Hoel's claims by siding
with him so far as the County of Nantes was concerned,
and receiving from her brother, in 1 1 53, a donation for her
son Conan of the town of Villeneuve.f It is worthy of
* This name is confounded by Lord Lyttleton, with that of Pontieure,
or Penthievre. Eudes, however, was of a distinct Breton race, and was
son of Geoffrey, "Viscount of Josselin.
t Lord Lyttleton imagines that Conan the Less did not assert his title
till after his mother's death, and that she died during the struggle be
tween her husband and Hoel. Such, however, is not at all the case.

94

INTRODUCTION.

remark also, that, in the act of donation, she suffers Hoel
to style himself Duke of Britanny, and, - at the same time,
or shortly afterwards, her husband Eudes styles himself
likewise Duke, and, with the consent and approbation of
his son by Bertha, named Geoffrey, performs acts of sove
reignty in the Duchy?*!
Thus, at the time of Henry's expedition into Wales, there
were three candidates for the- ducal coronet of Britanny.
Conan the Less, however, who had been in England, it
would appear, during the last year of Stephen's reign, had
returned in 1156, supported by a large party in the duchy,
and took arms at once against his stepfather. His first ¦
attempt was upon the town of Rennes, which he besieged
and took ; and, shortly after, Eudes himself was captured
by a partisan of Conan, from which time the Duchy was
generally recognised as his. Nantes and its territory still
remained in possession of Hoel, and against the people of
that city Conan next prepared to turn his arms.
The inhabitants of Nantes, however, having, in the course
of Hoel's government, discovered his incapacity, expelled
him with very little ceremony, and called to their aid
Geoffrey Plantagenet, brother of Henry the Second of
England, offering him the title of Count. Geoffrey, stripped
by his brother of his inheritance, gladly availed himself of
the opportunity of aggrandizement ; and Henry Willingly
saw his brother placed in this honourable situation ; which,
beside other advantages to be derived from the establish
ment of a Prince of the house . of Plantagenet in part of
Britanny, offered such occupation to a gallant and enter
prising spirit, as might prevent the Count of Nantes, em
barrassed as he was likely to be in a war with Conan, from
disturbing Henry in the possession of Anjou and Maine.
Bertha did not die till the year 1163, and she is mentioned in the Char
ters of the Abbey of Redon, and other places, up to that period, as still "
living, and confirming the acts of her son."

INTRODUCTION. 95
He therefore consented readily to his brother's acceptance
of the coronet, left him in the enjoyment of his pension, and,
we are told, held out to him a promise of support in case he
should be attacked. The knowledge that his rival would
be thus powerfully assisted, probably withheld Conan from
any vigorous efforts against the Count of Nantes ; but still
Henry kept a watchful eye upon the province during the
years 1157 and the beginning of 1158, while he himself
was engaged in the struggle with the Welsh, in all proba
bility looking forward to the future for a union of that
Duchy with the other immense continental possessions of
the Crown of England. In the year 1158, however, he
received intelligence of the decease of his brother, which
took place in the month of July ; and about the same time
came the news that Conan had made himself master of the
town of Nantes, immediately after Geoffrey's death.
What right or title Henry had to claim that city as a part
of the succession of his brother, has never very clearly
appeared. Lord Lyttleton supposes that some testamentary
gift of the County was made by Geoffrey to his brother
Henry; with the consent and authorization of the people of
Nantes : but I can discover by no means any proof that such
was the case. It seems to me probable that the King him
self manufactured the claim, rather than that he possessed
it by any right ; for the history of his whole life shows fre
quent instances of the same grasping at every advantage.
He now, however, proceeded to take measures for obtaining
Nantes, and at the same time he carried on a negociation
with the King of France, having for its object the recovery
of the Norman Vexin, which had been ceded to the French
crown by his father Geoffrey.
With these views, he went over to Normandy as soon
after the death of his brother as the state of England would
permit, and held a conference with the French King upon
thefrontiers of the Duchy, in regard to a marriage between

96

INTRODUCTION.

his son named Henry — who now, in consequence of his
elder brother's death, was heir apparent to. the crown of
England, and Margaret, daughter of Louis, the French
Icing, by Constance of Castile, whom .that monarch had
married after his divorce from Eleanor. The dower de-
manded with the Princess was the Norman Vexin ; and,
as Constance and her husband had no male issue, they were
extremely glad to grant the territories required, in order to
secure for their daughter a seat upon the throne of England.
The youth of the two principal parties, however, left much
to futurity ; for the Prince was but seven years old, and the
Princess but three. Henry, however, skilfully turned the
apparent obstacle to his own advantage ; and, sending his
famous minister Becket to the court of France, he exacted
and obtained the following extraordinary conditions : that
the Princess should be confided to his care, and sent
into Normandy to be educated as a wife for his son ; and
that the castles of the Norman Vexin should be placed in
the custody of three Knights Templars, to be held by them
till such time as the marriage could be consummated, when
they were to be given up to England. He thus stipulated,
in fact, that he should hold the daughter of the French King
as a hostage, and secured the neutrality of three important
castles upon his Norman frontier.
All this, however, was not sufficient. Becket having
completely won the favour of the King of France, Henry
was invited to Paris in order to receive the Princess from
the hands of her parents, and to conduct her into Normandy.
At the French court the monarch aided by his minister
proceeded so artfully, as to obtain permission from the
King of France to march into Britanny, and in the quality
of Grand Seneschal of France, which he held as Count of
Anjou, to decide between the young Duke Conan and his
old rival Eudes, who had escaped from prison some time

INTRODUCTION. 97
before, had served the King of France, and whose claim to
the Duchy of Britanny was now resumed.
Monstrous as was the weakness of Louis in a political
point of view, it was scarcely less so in a moral light, if we
consider that the person into whose hands he gave the
judgment of so important a dispute, was himself a claimant
of part of the territory in question. He was, moreover, an
interested party in consequence of an old claim — appa-
rently a just one — of the Dukes of Normandy to hold Bri
tanny as a fief. Notwithstanding Henry's quality of Grand
Seneschal, the natural resort of the claimants to Britanny
was to the King's court of Peers so long as the claims of
the Norman Dukes were not allowed ; and thither, had
Louis been politic or just, he would have brought the cause
for decision. Such, however, was not the plan which he
pursued ; and the determination of the whole was left to
Henry, who had previously issued a summons for all his
Norman vassals to meet him in arms at the town of Av-
ranches on Michaelmas-day, 1158.
The young Duke of Britanny hastened to avert the storm
that was now gathering over him. Everything indeed
seemed to indicate that it would crush him : Eudes had
established, by services in the field, great claims upon the
King of France, and was now making use of them in order
to deprive his stepson of his patrimony : . Henry of England
was offended by Conan's seizure of Nantes, and the King
of France left the decision of the whole dispute to that
monarch ; while Henry, gathering his soldiers in Norman
dy, was preparing to enter Britanny in the two incompati
ble offices of enemy and judge.
In mollifying him, then, lay Conan's only hope, and he
consequently hastened in person to Avranches, immediately
ceded the town of Nantes to Henry, and gave up to him also
the territory then called Pays de la Mie, that is to say,
everything between the Loire and the Vilaine. Such an
vol. i. — 9

98 INTRODUCTION.
important argument immediately gained the decision of the
judge, who pronounced a sentence favourable _o Conan, fixed
him in the Duchy, and took possession of the acquired ter
ritory, with a force which seemed more than proportioned
to the undertaking. It might be intended to overawe any
partisan of Eudes ; but Henry employed it, immediately
after, to punish the revolt of one of the nobles of Poitou,
which probably might have, ended in a more general insur
rection, had it not been promptly quelled. About the same
periodf'he induced the Count of Blois to cede Amboise- and
another fortress, which he held upon the frontiers of his
dominions, and recovered various places that had been dis
membered from Normandy, during the conteritioris between
Matilda and Stephen.
Henry was now beyond all doubt the most powerful mo
narch in Europe : he possessed, in right of his descent from
Matildai and the approbation of his vassals; all Normandy
and England. The Pririces of Wales had been reduced to
do homage, and to promise peace. Anjou, Maine, and Tou
raine. descended to him from his father ; Aquitaine was his,
in right of his wife. His subjects were obedient and con
tented ; his vassals, brave, warlike, and experienced ; his
revenues vast and increasing ; his renown high for wisdom,
poUcy, and arms. But all these vast possessions could not
diminish — perhaps they rather increased — r the spirit of
acquisition which was the ruling passion of his nature.
There yet remained something to be gained, and Henry
prepared to risk a general war rather than not obtain it.
In the year 1158 or 1 159, a crusade, against the Moors of
Spain, was proposed by Louis King of France, to Pope
Adrian, and Henry promised to take part therein with his
firm friend and ally, the French monarch. Louis even be
gan to levy troops, and carried on his preparations very far ;
but Adrian refusing to sanction the crusade, the King of
France submitted, and gave up the project. Whether

INTRODUCTION. 99
- Henry, in listening to the proposal of the neighbouring
king, had in ^jiew to favour his own purposes in another
quarter, without ever really intending to pursue the enter
prise; .of whether he seriously thought of joining in the
crusade, and only turned his mind in another direction
when the project was abandoned, I cannot tell. Certain it
is that he continued his preparations, gathered together large
forces in all his continental states, and, while Louis believed
that he was occupied with the design of driving the Moors
from Spain, he was in fact putting himself in readiness to
assert an old claim of his Queen, Eleanor, to the rich
County of Toulouse. In pursuit of this object, he entered
into, alliance with the Counts of Blois, Nismes, and Mont-
peUier, and for the same purpose negociated a treaty with
Raymond, Count of Barcelona, who was virtually sovereign
of Aragon ; though it would seem he did not assume the
name of King, in consequence of his marriage with Petro
niUa, the heiress of that kingdom. In these negociations
the name of Richard Plantagenet, afterwards King of Eng
land, appears, for the first time in any great diplomatic trans
action, and we shall therefore now proceed to the history of
that Prince himself, although, of course, for many years after
this period, his individual history merges in that of the
nation.

HISTORY OF THE LIFE

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION.

BOOK I.

Richard Plantagenet, afterwards King of England,
was born at Oxford, in the month of September, 1157. He
was the third son of Henry the Second and Eleanor of
Aquitaine. His eldest brother William being born in
France, before his father's accession to the throne, had
been acknowledged heir-apparent by the great Council of
the nation ; while the second son, Henry, was formaUy re
cognised as second in the succession. We may deduce,
perhaps, from the fact of Henry having required his parlia
ment to acknowledge his second son, then an infant, as
heir to the crown in case of his brother's death, that the
eldest son of Henry and Eleanor was from his birth of a
weak and sickly habit. Certain it is, however, that he died
soon after ; and the other ehildren of the King aid Queen
appear to have inherited a constitution of iron. Thus at
the time of Richard's birth very little probability existed of
his ever ascending the throne of England. Nevertheless,
it would appear that from the very earliest period, Henry
the Second destined for his son Richard an important share
' 9*

102 THE LIFE OF
of his continental dominions. Although the promises" of
monarchs as well as those of other men, are,Vunfortunately,
not always to be depended upon, and although the treaty,
in which the name of Richard first appears in any matter
of importance, was afterwards abrogated by unforeseen
events, yet we discover therein distinctly the intention of
his father, both to divide that territory amongst his children,
which he had been at so much pains to unite in his own
person, and to bestow upon Richard a large portion in the
partition. The treaty to which I Tefer was concluded between
Henry II. and Raymond, Count of Barcelona, the actual
sovereign of Aragon ;* and, by this treaty, the English
king engaged that Richard his second surviving son, should
marry the daughter of Raymond and PetroniUa, the King
undertaking to give Richard the Duchy of Aquitaine, on
the consummation of the marriage. The prospect indeed
was remote, for Richard was at this time less than two
years old ; and it is very possible Henry might justly cal
culate that a thousand things would intervene to change his
relations with the Count of Barcelona, before the period
arrived for fulfilling his engagements. StUl the treaty,
though it did not prove binding in regard to his arrange
ments with Raymond, implied a promise to his second son,
which might be difficult to evade at an after period.
There can be little doubt indeed that, in this instance,
one of the weaknesses and contradictions of Henry's char
acter displayed itself. He was, it would appear, politic,
far-seeing, prudent, and cautious even to an excess ; and
* Raymond, I believe, as I have said before, never did assume the
name of King, and we are told that he actually refused to take that
title, which the Aragonese nobles wished to confer upon him. Accord
ing to William of Newbury, after having pointed out the superiority of
Barcelona over all other counties, he ended his speech. " Proinde
malo esse comitum primus quam regum nee Septimus."

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. , 103
yet, such was the strength of his passions and the vehe
mence of his desires that, when any object was to be
gained which he had very much at heart, he forget every
consideration of the future, rather than forego his purpose.
This peculiarity is apparent in a thousand acts which he
performed in the course of his life, one of which we shall
have to notice very shortly.
In the present instance, the advantages to be gained by
an alliance with the Count of Barcelona overbalanced all
those considerations of policy which led him to strive for
the augmentation and consolidation of his dominions, and,
as we have said, he promised to bestow Aquitaine upon his
son Richard. Many other causes, besides the inducement
of this alliance, led Raymond of Barcelona to join eagerly
in the warfare against his namesake of Toulouse ; and
while negociating with him, Henry had contrived to en
circle the lands which he himself claimed, by persons who
were enemies to the actual possessor, and whom he had
bound to himself by treaties and promises. One of the
principal of these was Trencaval, whom William of New
bury calls Trenchveil, Viscount of Beziers and Carcas
sonne, who had many ancient causes of hostility towards
the Count of Toulouse. It would appear, indeed, that a
league had existed between various noblemen in the neigh
bourhood of the County previous to the assertion of Henry's
claim,* and that the English monarch took advantage of
* Nothing has been more thoroughly confused and mis-stated than
the whole of these transactions. The account which I give in the sub
sequent paragraphs contains nothing that has not been proved beyond a
doubt by Dom Vaissette, in his History of Languedoc. All his sur
mises, and very often indeed, his deductions, I have not admitted, be
cause he evidently wrote with a view to support a preconceived opin
ion. Various gaps in the chain of cause and effect will therefore be
found, where positive proof of the facts could not be obtained, and these
the reader must supply as his judgment may suggest. The facts ascer
tained, however, show Lord Lyttleton's statement to be incorrect in

104

THE LIFE OF

that league to secure his operations against his adversary,
by binding all the confederates to himself.
many particulars ; though not nearly so much so as that-which has since
been put forth by Dr. Lingard, for which I can find no authority whatso
ever. He says, "The father of Queen Eleanor had possessed the Duchy
of Toulouse in right of his wife Philippa, but, under a pretence of a sale
or a mortgage, had conveyed it to her uncle Raymond, Count of St.
Giles. At his death, the right of succession to all his dominions de
volved on his daughter ; and Raymond, that he might retain Toulouse,
concluded a treaty with her husband, the King of France, by which the
territory was secured to him as the dower of his wife Constance, the sis
ter of Louis." Now, there is not one single assertion contained in the
above sentences that irrefragible facts do not prove to be erroneous.
William X. Duke of Aquitaine, Eleanor's father, never possessed a foot
of ground in the territory of Toulouse, and it is very doubtful whether
he ever put in a claim to the ' eounty, which was not named a duchy.
Next, Eleanor never had an uncle Raymond, Count of St. Giles. Her
uncle Raymond was Prince of Antioch, and never, by mortgage or any
manner, possessed an acre in the County of Taukrase. The Count of
St. Giles here spoken of by Dr. Lingard must either be the famous Ray
mond of St. Giles, to whom Lord Lyttleton supposed the county mort
gaged, or the younger Ray mon d of St. Giles, who possessed Toulouse
when Henry attacked it. Now, if the first be meant, Eleanor's father,
William X. of Aquitaine, was four years old when that prince died, Wil
liam being born in Toulouse, in 1100, and Raymond dying in Syria,
where he had been some years, in February, 1 105. • If it be the Raymond
who held the city in the days of Henry II., that prince was born in 1134,
and Eleanor's father died in April, 1137. No such transaction therefore
as a mortgage could have taken place between- either of those parties.
We are next told that, " Raymond, that he might retain Toulouse,' con
cluded a treaty with her (Eleanor's) husband, the King qf France, by
which the territory was secured to him as the dower of Constance, the
sister of Louis." Raymond succeeded his father Alphonso in 1148,
being then between thirteen and fourteen years of age: Eleanor was
divorced from Louis the Young in 1 152, and, on Whitsunday of the
same year, gave to Henry of Anjou her hand, and with it her claim upon
Toulouse. Thus, if any treaty took place between Raymond and Louis,
in regard to the claim- qf the latter upon Toulouse, it must have been
between 1149, when Louis returned from the Crusade, and the spring
of 1152, when he divorced Eleanor. However, poor Constance could

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 105
The claim put forward by Henry to the County of Tou
louse, is one of the most obscure and difficult points in the
history of the times : the statements made by many con
temporary writers, especially those on the part of the Eng
lish monarch, being distinctly proved to be erroneous, by
the dates of deeds and charters, which show what is false,
without giving any direct clue to the truth. The title set
forth by Henry was that the grandfather of his wife, Elea
nor, having married the heiress of the County of Toulouse,
had afterwards mortgaged that territory to the Count of St.
Giles. Neither the mortgagor nor his son had ever been
able to redeem the mortgage ; and the county had still re
mained in the hands of the Counts of St. Giles, who took
also the title of Counts of Toulouse. The rights of Elea
nor, however, remained entire, and were transferred to
Henry after her divorce from Louis, the King of France.
Such was the statement of the English King, and he now
determined to advance his claim without further delay :
but at the same time he endeavoured to guard against any
interference on the part of the King of France, by assert
ing — it would appear justly — that the same claim had been
made by that monarch at the time that Eleanor was his
wife ; so that he had absolutely recognised her right to the
County. How this is to be reconciled with the known
facts is difficult to discover ; but the following particulars
may serve to show, that some considerable mis-statements
were made by the partisans of the King of England, in re
gard to the history of the County of Toulouse.
have no share in the matter ; for she was at that time marrjed to Eus
tace, son of Stephen, King of England, to whom she was united in 1140,
and who did not die till the summer of 1153. Thus Louis had no claim
whatever to Toulouse, in right of his wife Eleanor, at any period of time
when Constance's hand was at liberty, so that the County could not
have been given as her dower. Constance did not marry Raymond till
1154, the first year of her widowhood.

106

THE LIFE OF

Pons, Count of Toulouse, left two sons, William and
Raymond, the first named of whom succeeded to the Coun
ty towards the year 1061. His second son, Raymond, on
the decease of his mother, succeeded to the County of- St.
Giles, and, at' the death of William his brother, which took
place about 1093, he took possession of the whole of the
territory of Toulouse, having accumulated in his own per
son, previous to his brother's death, a number of the adja
cent Lordships, which rendered him already one of the most
powerful princes in France. His brother William, how
ever, left one daughter named Philippa, who was first mar
ried to Sancho, King of Aragon, and afterwards to William,
Duke of Aquitaine. How it- occurred that this Princess'
did not succeed at once to her father's territories, is by no
means clearly shown ; but it is a very curious fact, and one
which strongly confirms the assertion that Raymond had
acquired some hold upon Toulouse, by lending money to his
brother, that he had taken the title of Count of Toulouse, in
many of his public acts, before his brother's death, even so
far back as the year 1088.*
The testimony of William of Malmesbury, Ukewise, is of
very great importance, as that writer died before the pre
tensions of Henry had been mooted, and from him we dis
tinctly learn that William, the father of Philippa, had sold
the territory of Toulouse to his brother, for a sum of money,
several years before his death. Whether such a sale, if
absolute, and not by way of mortgage, was legal, might be
a question ; but it is perfectly clear that Raymond, con
tinued in undisturbed possession of the County till his de
parture for the Holy Land, which took place in October of
the year 1096. Sancho of Aragon, the husband of Phi
lippa, was killed by an arrow at the siege of Huesca, in
' * It is clearly shown, however, that Raymond's claim was resisted by
- many of the vassals of his brother, which is admitted even by Dom
Vaissete.

RICHARD CC3UR-DE-LI0N. 107
June, 1094 ; and it would appear that.his widow, after the
short mourning of a few months, matried the Duke of Aqui
taine, named- William IX. What transactions took place
between that Prince and Raymond of St. Giles, between
the period of his marriage at the end of the year 1094 and
the pilgrimage of Raymond, two years after, there are no
means of ascertaining ; but it is certain, however, that al
most immediately upon his departure, William IX. and Phi
lippa seized upon the County, to the exclusion of Bertrand,
the eldest son of Raymond St.. Giles, whom he had left in
possession,- and that they therein exercised sovereignty
until the year 1100, calling themselves in their public acts,
Count and Countess pf Toulouse. Two sons were born to
them in the town of Toulouse ; and it would appear by a
codicil to the will of Raymond, dated from Syria, in the
year 1105, that he had dropped the title of Count of Tou
louse, on quitting Europe for the Holy Land. - It is evident
that their hold of the County was forcible, however, for it
cannot be doubted that Raymond left his son Bertrand in
possession ; but what the claim was which they made to
justify their entrance into Toulouse, does not appear. It
would seem not to be doubted, indeed, that Bertrand was
not legitimate: either he was the son of a concubine, or
he Was the son of one of the relations of Raymond, whom
that Prince had married, notwithstanding her being within
. the prohibited degrees of consanguinity, and from whom he
was obliged to separate by the menaces of the church.
However that might be, the Duke and Duchess of Aqui
taine dispossessed Bertrand, and held the County till 1100,
when, as strangely, they seemed to have yielded y again to
Bertrand, from whom they had taken it, without any of the
reasons which have been assigned for such conduct being
supported by sufficient proof.
The account given by Henry's partisans, however, is sup
ported by two or three known facts. In the first place it is

108 THE LIFE OF
proved that William IX. took the cross at Limoges, in the
year 1100, almost at the very time that he yielded the
County to Bertrand ; and it seems very generally admitted
that Bertrand entered peaceably into the County, and paid
or lent a sum to William and Philippa. From that time it
would appear that Bertrand remained in quiet possession,
till he also took his departure for the Holy Land, in imita
tion of his father and in accordance with the spirit of the
age. In the mean time, Raymond of St. Giles, having
married again before his departure for the Holy Land, had
another son by his wife, Elvira of Castile. This son,
named Alphonso, was born in Syria while his father was
carrying on the siege of Tripoli. He was baptized in the
river Jordan, and was brought over into. France, while still
in his infancy, towards the year 1 107. Not long after that
period, his brother Bertrand, having taken the cross, as we
have said, departed for the Holy Land, carrying with him
his only son, and leaving Alphonso in possession of the
County of Toulouse and all those European territories
which he had obtained either by succession or by negocia-
tion with the Duke of Aquitaine.
This proceeding would seem as strange as any other
part of the history. It is very true that men were prompt
ed by the spirit of the age to abandon their territories in
Europe, and to seek establishments in the East ; but Ber
trand, on various occasions, showed a grasping disposition
which would lead one to suppose that, if he had held the
County of Toulouse in any other manner than conditional
ly, he, like many other Crusaders, would have put his do
minions under the protection of the Church, in order to in
sure himself against any reverses which he might meet with
in Syria.
How long William of Aquitaine remained in Palestine
does not appear ; but he suffered Alphonso, though a mere
youth, to hold Toulouse till the year 1114, when he again

RICHARD COEUR-DE-LION. 109
took possession of the County, and. his wife therein exer
cised acts of -sovereignty during that and the following
year. We are assured that it was not Without bloodshed,
that Alphonso was dispossessed,, and that hi the strife, the
Bishop- of Pampehma was killed in the streets of Toulouse.
¦ It is proved, however, that from the year 1-114 to the year
1119 William and Philippa were recognised as Count and
Countess of Toulouse, not only by' the great' body of the
people,'but by the famous Bernard Aton, Viscount of Be
ziers, and a near relation of the race of Toulouse.
Philippa died, it would seem, about the' year 1119,
though the history of her life is very obscure after 1 115.
Her husband, however, married again after .her death, and
led ail army into Spain, in-order to support Alphonso, King
of Aragon, against the Moors, leaving Toulouse but weakly
guarded. His absence afforded an opportunity which the
friends of- Alphonso did not neglect ; and we find that prince
fully re-established in the County in the year. 1122, after
which period it was never regained by WilUam IX. of
Aquitaine, though he continued to assert his claim, and
waged War, from time to time with his competitor till his
own" death, which took place in 1127.
Up to that date it is distinctly proved that the claims of
Philippa and her branch were never entirely abandoned ;
but during the "reign of her son, William X., over Aquitaine,
I do not find that any fresh attempt was made to recover
Toulouse. His daughter Eleanor, however, was married to
Louis the Young, King of France, in 1 1 37, immediately
after her father's death, and she conveyed to her husband
her claims to the County of Toulouse. In 1141, Louis
advanced at the head of an army towards the capital of
Alphonso, and laid siege to. it upon grounds that are not
distinctly stated by the historians of the time ; but there
can be scarcely a doub* in the mind of any one that the
pretensions of Eleanor upon Toulouse were those which
vol. i. — 10

110

THE LIFE OF

brought the arms of the King of France before, that city,*
especially when we are told by William of Newbury, who
may be considered as contemporary, that Louis did make
application for the restitution of Toulouse, t
A vigorous resistance was offered by the citizens to the
efforts of the French King ; and Louis, as was always the
case when long protracted operations were necessary, got
weary o£ unfruitful warfare, and withdrew his troops. J His
quarrels with the Count of Champagne succeeded, and
those again were followed by the Crusade, which occupied
all the time that intervened ere his divorce from Eleanor
and her marriage with Henry. Thus the claim of that
princess had never, in fact, been abandoned, and Henry
merely renewed an application which had been frequently
made before. The situation of Louis indeed was changed ;
and it was as much his interest to oppose the claim of
Eleanor now as it had formerly been to support it. Her
husband was already too powerful as a neighbour and too
powerful as a vassal ; but, besides such political motives
for taking a new view of the question, Louis had a strong
incentive in his affection for his sister Constance, who,
after the death of her first husband, Eustace, had married
Raymond, the actual Count of Toulouse.
Nevertheless, it would seem that Henry — either too con
fident in the influence he had acquired over Louis, or be
lieving in a sense of justice in kings, and trusting that the
French monarch would be ashamed to oppose in the pre-
* We find (lib. iv.), the states which Eleanor was supposed to bring
to her husband, thus named in the history of Vezelai, by Hugh of Poi
tiers—all Aquitaine, Gascony, the land of the Basques, Navarre, as far
as the Pyrenean mountains, and as far as Charles's Cross.
t The words of William of Newbury are : " Reliquit autem unicam
filiam heredem, quae cum Regi Francorum Ludovico nupsisset, idem Rex
uxoris nomine Tolosam repetiit." — Lib. ii. cap. x.
t Adrian Vital gives us to understand that Louis met with difficulties,
dangers, and discomforts, on which he had little calculated.

RICHARD CC3UR-DE-LI0N. Ill
sent case pretensions which he had formerly advocated — >
imagined that the King of France would remain neuter in
his strife with the Count of Toulouse. That monarch, in
deed, did suffer him to make preparations unopposed, and
also to form alliances with the enemies of Raymond of
Toulouse : but he might imagine that the forces levied
beneath his eyes were still destined for Spain ; and he
might be ignorant of the negociations which were carried
on both within and without his own territories. Some of
the many writers of the life of Becket, however, assert,
that Louis positively promised to remain neuter ; and, if
the authority for this fact were not somewhat doubtful, we
might conclude that the French monarch very basely vio
lated his promise.
Meeting with no opposition from the crown of France,
Henry proceeded with his preparations for a war, the suc
cess of which he would hardly doubt when he content-
plated the vast forces at his command. Not contented,
however, with the power which he could draw from Nor
mandy, Touraine, Anjou, Poitiers, and Aquitaine, he deter
mined to apply to his English subjects also for assistance
in establishing his claim to the County of Toulouse. He
accordingly returned to England in the spring of 1159, and
found his nobles ready and willing to support him, though
there may be some reason to suppose that representations
were made to Henry by such as were not inclined to go,
in regard to the hardship of serving at such a distance from
their native country. Whether remonstrances were actu
ally offered or not, certain it is that Henry felt the hard
ship, and assigned it as his motive for an act* which, though
* Robert de Monte gives it as Henry's express motive, " Conside-
rans longitudinem et dimcultatem viae, nolens vexare agrarios milites,
nee burgenses nee rusticos, sumptis xl. solidos Andegavensium, in Nor-
mannia de feudo unius cujusque loricae." The scutage in England was
fixed at three pounds for each knight's fee, and was apparently assessed

112 THE LIFE OF
undoubtedly most convenient and agreeable to him as a
King, was an infraction of the grand principle of feudality,
greater perhaps than even the establishment of communes..
This was an extension of the right of commutating military
service for a sum of money, which had long been possessed
by all Abbots, and Bishops, to inferior vassals who held by
knight service. He had already made a similar arrange
ment with his Norman feudatories; and no difficulty was
found in England, where we are told the enormous sura of
one hundred and eighty thousand pounds of silver was
raised by this new tax. . At Worcester, where there is
reason to believe that Henry obtained the sanction of the
great council of the nation for. this innovation upon -feudal
institutions, the King and. Eleanor caused themselves to be '
crowned for the third time ; but, at the offertory, the mo
narch and his queen laid down their crowns upon the altar,
solemnly vowing to G°d never to be crowned again.* All
by the King himself, with the consent of the council of Worcester.
Some copies of the Norman Chronicle say forty solidi of Anjou, some
sixty. It is difficult to ascertain the -true value of money at that time,
as it had suffered great depreciation ; but I find a curious document in
Le Blanc, p. 153, which shows that the mark of Anjou was equal to 15
sous Tournois, and that the mark-of silver was equal to 13 sterling solidi
4 denarii of England, or 53 sous 4- deniers Tournois.
* I have to apologize for the frequent repetition of the word crown in
the above sentence ; but in this and in many other instances, I have
thought it better to seek for accuracy of expression rather than sweetness
of sound. In the present case I have ventured to differ from a great
authority. Lord Lyttleton translates Hovedon thus : " But when they
came to the oblation, they laid them down on the altar, and vowed to
wear them no more." I -am inclined to think that this was not the exact
meaning of the author, whose words seem to. me to imply that a solemn
coronation of the King and Queen took place, and that they vowed not
to have so expensive a ceremony performed again. H's words are, —
" Idem' rex Henricus, tertio, fecit se et Elienor ux'orem suam coronari in
solemnitate Paschali apud Worecester : ubi cum ad oblationem veni-
rent, deposuerunt coronas suas, et eas super altare obtulerunt, voventes

RICHARD CC2UR-DE-LI0N. 113
Henry's greater vassals prepared with alacrity to accom
pany him ; and even Malcolm, the young King of Scot
land, put himself under the banner of his cousin of Eng
land, in order to win his knightly spurs in the ranks of one
who had already acquired such great renown.
The person, however, who displayed the greatest zeal in
the cause, and the most ostentatious alacrity in taking the
field, was no other than Thomas Becket, Archdeacon of
Canterbury, the King's Chancellor. Very few years had
elapsed since the Bishop of Winchester had been seen in
arms during the civil wars of England ; and the Bishop of
Beauvais was still somewhat notorious for his military pro
pensities. It could not therefore astonish any one in those
days to see a personage who had not taken priest's orders
— which was then the case with Becket — at the head of an
armed force ; but it might very well surprise all Europe to
hear that a man who five years before possessed nothing but
an inferior dignity in the English church, was now able to
maintain in the most sumptuous and ostentatious manner a
force which no other leader in the realm of England could
bring into the field.
Armed as a warrior, and with certainly the wisdom of the
serpent, if not the harmlessness of the dove, the future saint
followed his monarch at the head of seven hundred knights
paid and entertained by himself. It is not to be supposed
that the forces of the other vassals and adherents of Henry
were at all in proportion to those of the Chancellor ; but
there can be no doubt that the army which the English
king collected in Perigueux and Aquitaine, and which con
tinued to assemble from the middle of Lent till the end of
June, was fully sufficient to overthrow the whole power of
the Count of Toulouse, had that prince remained unaided.
Deo quod nunquam in vita sua de caetero coronarentur." Don Vaissette ,
in his History of Languedoc,' mistakingly asserts that this took place at
Winchester. 10*

114 THE LIFE OF
The Count, however, appealed for assistance to Louis the
Young ; and adjured him by all the ties of kindred, as well
as the principles' of sound policy, to prevent a faithful vas-.
sal and near connexion from being overwhelmed by another
vassal already more powerful than his sovereign. Louis
was moved ; and acting by impulse, as he generally did,
he determined to succour the Count of Toulouse. Policy
pointed out the same line of conduct ; but had policy at all
weighed with the King of France in this matter, he would
have interfered in favour of the Count sooner, and would
have also interfered in a Very different manner. As it was,
Louis suffered H.enry t0 commence his march, and then
threw himself suddenly into Toulouse with a handful of
men. This event greatly disconcerted the King of England.
There were many in. his camp who urged him to attack
Toulouse at once, and make the King of France a prisoner,
as a just punishment for his inconsistency and breach of
faith. But the English monarch listened to more cautious
counsels : Louis was his Sovereign as far as his continen
tal territories were concerned ; and though the vassal had
an undoubted right to make war ofi his feudal lord when
that lord injured him or opposed him in his just claims and
pretensions, yet Henry, both a sovereign, and a vassal, was
inclined to give more weight to the deference due to sove
reignty than to the extreme rights of a feudal tenant. He '
therefore determined not to. attack the city of Toulouse-
itself; and contented himself with subduing a great part of
the Count's territories'.* The important town of Cahors
* Few rqatters have been rhore. strenuously contested than the ques
tion whether Henry did or did not. besiege the city of Toulouse. Don
Vaisset.te, writing as a Frenchman, labours hard to prove that Henry did
besiege the city, and finding he could not- take it, made, the presence of
the King of France within, the walls an excuse for retreating. That'
could be no excuse, however, if, as the historian himself shows, Louis

HICHARD CCEUR-Dfc-LION. . 115
was taken, and nearly the whole, if not the whole, of
Quercy was subdued.
In the meantime, however, the King of France, whose
presence had only been sufficient to deter Henry from cap.
turing the capital of the county itself,' had taken better
means for protecting the territories of -the Count of Tou
louse, by creating a diversion in his favour, and causing an
attack to be made on the frontiers of Normandy. The in
cursions in that quarter were carried on by the King's two
brothers, Robert, the turbulent Count of Dreux, and the
sanguinary Bishop of Beauvais. . It is true that they effect-.
ed but little, in a military point of view, though the-ravages
which they committed caused great suffering amongst the.
subjects of the English King. The reports from that part
was in Toulouse before Henry commenced the siege at all. He cites,
however, 'strong authority to prove that there actually was a siege,
namely, Galfridus ofVigeois and Hovedon, the-latter of whom, certainly,
has these- explicit -words : " Eodem anno Henricus rex Angliae, magno
coiigregato exercitu, obsedit Tolosamet quamvis ibi diu sedisset." I am
disposed, however, to agree with Lord Lyttletori, in relying upon the'host
of authorities which are opposed to Hovedon. William of Newbury,
Robert of Mount Saint Michel, in the Norman Chronicle,. Diceto and
Brompton, all- agree in using such terms as leave no doubt that they did
not. believe Henry had ever laid siege to that town ; and Matthew Paris,
copying Roge.r 'of Wendover, says distinctly that Henry only went
towards Toulouse, capturing the. cities in the neighbourhood. • "Sed
Rex Anglorum 'ipsam civitatem not assiluit, ob reverentiam Regis
Francorum.'' It is true that not much faith is to be placed in tlie histo
rians of Becket!s life, I therefore do riot rely here on Fitz-Stepheri ; but
there is another writer whom Lord Lyttleton does not cite, and whom
he probably had not read, but- whose authority as a Frenchman, arid be
longing to an Abbey greatly favoured by Louis the Young, is of weight,
though not absolutely contemporary. William of Nangis, a monk of St*
Denis, who was probably born toward 1240, possessed every meaps of
information ; and he distinctly-stat;es that Henry advanced towards Tou
louse ; "but as the King of France, Louis, had entered.it in order to
defend it, the King Henry retired, not daring to besiege his Lord."

116 THE LIFE OF
of his dominions, however, alarmed Henry ; and after
having detached the Count of Blois to attack the territories
of the King of France in the neighbourhood of Orleans, he
followed himself soon after with the main body of his army,
leaving his bellicose Chancellor to pursue the war in the
County of Toulouse. Nor did Becket carry it on ineffective
ly ; he showed more energy than Henry himself had done,
and in a wonderfully short space of time he had captured
three fortresses, it is said by storm, each of which had been
deemed impregnable ; and with his own hand he overcame
a French knight of great renown in single combat, bringing
away his horse as a trophy.
Henry, in the meantime, had hastened back into Nor
mandy, with a numerous force, although he lost a considera
ble number of distinguished noblemen by the way. Amongst
others was William, the young Count of Boulogne, the only
surviving legitimate son of Stephen, Henry's predecessor.
Hamo, the son of the Earl of Gloucester, another cousin of
the King, also ended his life in this expedition. Malcolm,
King of Scotland, however, shared a better fate, and return
ing with some distinction in arms, received what he had
so long coveted, the honour of knighthood* from the hand
of the King of England.
Henry's force, together with the troops which he had
left in Normandy, proved quite sufficient, not only to pro-
tect the province, but to carry the war into the enemy's
country ; and immediately entering the Beauvoisis, with
the usual horrid barbarity not only of those but of much
later times, he retaliated upon the unhappy people of that
district, all the cruelties which had been committed by the
* Some say that the King of Scotland was knighted by Henry in a
meadow near Perigueux ; and such probably was the case, for the ac
count of Geoffrey of Vigeois, a contemporary, and one who lived amidst
the scenes he describes, confirms that statement. Hoveden, however,
says it was at Tours.

RICHARD CO-UR-DE-LIO-T. 117
Bishop of Beauvais in Normandy. An act of vengeance
which probably might be more serviceable to himself, was
effected in the capture and destruction of the. strong town
of .Gerberoi, and several other lesser fortresses. Henry
always obtained, however, far greater advantages by negp-
ciation than he gained by arms ; and in the present instance;
by a treaty with Simon de Montfort, Count of Evreux, he
acquired the three important towns of Montfort, Epernon,
and' Rochefort, which brought his garrisons within a few
imles of Paris itself, and affected in a very dangerous de
gree the communication between the French capital, and a
great part of the Orleanois.'.
This situation of affairs alarmed, as it well might, the
King of France ; and the arrival of Becket in Normandy,
bringing with him reinforcements of twelve hundred
Knights, and a body of inferior cavalry, to the amount of
four thousand men, soon put it in the power of the English
monarch to punish the inconsistency and injustice of Louis
far more severely than he had hitherto done. Henry, how
ever, with that moderation in success, Which was one of the
finest, traits of his character, did not exact more than he
might reasonably expect.- Negociations took place ; and •
in the first instance a truce was concluded from Christmas,
1159, to Whitsuntide, 1100 ; which was followed by a
treaty of -peace in the subsequent- year, every article of
which evidently shows how tired of the war .Louis had
become— we might indeed say, -how terribly humbled he
appeared to be by its consequences. All that Henry could
possibly demand was granted by the French King. He
retained every thing he had acquired, in the County of
Toulouse, except some towns which he restored, not to the
King of France, or his brother-in-law, but to his own ally,
the Viscount of Nismes. These, however, were merely
ancient possessions, of which the Count of Toulouse had
formerly stripped the sovereign of Nismes, All Henry* g

118 THE LIFE OF
allies were$protected by the treaty, not even excepting
Simon de Montfort, though that Nobleman had undoubtedly
been guilty of a most notorious act of treason. Henry, on
his part granted to the Count of Toulouse, as we find by the
treaty, a truce from the first day of Pentecost next ensuing,
for the period of one year, which suspension of arms is ex
pressly stated to be consented to by the English monarch
for the love of the King of France ; but Henry does not in
the slightest degree abandon thereby his title to the whole
County of Toulouse, his right being in some measure ac
knowledged by the terms used by the French monarch.*
At the same time the Count of Toulouse is bound not to
molest Henry in the possession of the conquered territories
during the truce : though he, and the allies of the King of
England, are left at liberty to wage war upon each other if
they think fit.
The most important part of the treaty, however, in a
historical point of view, is to be found amongst the first
clauses. It is there declared that the King of France does
render unto the King of England all those rights and terri
tories in France which had been enjoyed by Henry I., ex
cepting the Vexin, of which certain portions are declared
to belong to the King of England, and certain portions are
retained by the King of France. Even these, however, he
agrees to give up to Henry as the marriage portion of his
daughter on her union with the son of the King of England,
and promises seisin thereof, at all events, within three
years from the next day of Assumption, after the conclusion
of the peace. It is, moreover, distinctly stipulated that, if
the marriage of the Princess of France with Henry's son
take place before that term of three years was expired,
* Louis does not say that he grants, but that he restores to Henry
those rights and possessions of the county of Poitou of which he speaks.
The words used are, " Praterea rex Francia- reddidit regi Angliae omnia
jura et tenementa comitis Pictavensis."

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 119
with the cognizance and consent of the Holy Church, the
seisin and possession of the whole shall be given to Henry.
In the meantime, the castles of the Vexin were placed in
the custody of the Knights Templars till the specified pe
riod for delivering them up to the English Monarch. Three
great fiefs of the Vexin, comprising a large extent of terri
tory, were secured to the King of England immediately,
and for ever ; but the whole territory was the object in
view, and that was speedily obtained.
The treaty had not been signed six months, when Con
stance of Castile, the second wife of Louis the Young,
died in childbed of a daughter named Adelais ; and with
indecent haste the King of France proceeded to marry
again within one fortnight of the death of Constance. The
funeral baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage
tables, at least to Henry, who was, it would seem, in Paris
at the time of Constance's death, having gone thither in
order that his son Henry might do homage to the French
King for the Duchy of Normandy. Constance had ever
been a firm friend to the King of England, and her death
itself was a serious calamity to that Monarch ; but when
Henry saw that the new bride chosen by the King of
France was a sister of the Count of Champagne, who had
long been inimical to him, he felt both grieved and alarmed,
and quitted Paris hastily, without waiting to witness the
nuptials of the widower of fourteen days.
The English King seems at once to have perceived that
a change of policy would take place towards him ; and his
first step on returning to Normandy was to devise measures
for rendering the engagements of the King of France with
regard to the Vexin, irrevocable. His proceedings, indeed,
must have been very quick ; for we find that he was in
Paris in the beginning of October, and that in November of
the same year he had every thing prepared for putting his
plan in execution. Circumstances indeed favoured him

120 THE LIFE OF
greatly. It happened that, at that time, a schism. which'
disturbed the church caused the Pope Alexander to send
the cardinals of Pisa and Pavia, as legates to the King of
England. These legates were' now with Henry in Nor
mandy ; the Princess Margaret of France was in the cus
tody of Robert de Neuburg, one of Henry's vassals. The.
three Knights Templars, Robert of Pirou, Tosfes of Saint
.Omers, and Richard of Hastings, were gathered together
in the palace of the King of England. The legates gave
the full eonsent and approbation of the Church to the mar
riage of the Princess Margaret with, the- young Prince
Henry ; the ceremony was performed between them — the
bridegroom heing seven, and the bride. not four years. old—.
and the Templars, on the summons of the King of Eng
land,- having witnessed the marriage, and knowing the ex
isting treaty, gave up the strong castles of Gisors, Neufle,
and Neufchatel, with the whole of the rest of the Norman
Vexin. It might perhaps be necessary for the King of England
to proceed in this hurried and clandestine manner, but
Henry's dignity, if riot his policy,, would have been better
secured by pursuing a more open Gourse ; and the secrecy
and haste of the transaction cast suspicion in the eyes of
Europe upon the rectitude of his conduct and the justice of
his claims. That his claims were perfectly just, and that •
there was nothing in any degree fraudulent in the transac
tion, nobody who reads the treaty can in any degree deny.
Whatever the writers on the French side of the question
might say, there, was no doing away the fact that, not only
had the marriage been contemplated as a thing likely to take
place speedily, and provided for by the treaty itself, but.
that the marriage so provided for was exactly the sort of
marriage that was now solemnized. Louis called it indeed
but the shadow of a marriage ; but the union which he had
referred to in the treaty could be by no means of a more

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LI0N. 121
complete' kind, inasmuch as no period, within the specified
limits of three years, could have brought Henry and Mar
garet to a really marriageable age. ¦ Espousals, such as took
place in- the present instance, were perfectly common in
those days, and even to a time nearly approaching our own.
As much solemnity had been given to them as was possi
ble, by the presence of the Legates and the full con-sent of
the Church. The marriage was therefore in every respect
what had been contemplated by the treaty, and the Tem
plars merely did their bounden duty in giving up the Vexin
to him who had now the only just right to claim it.
Justice, however — at least in the interpretation of trea
ties — was not in those days more to be found than at pre
sent. Louis, stimulated into wrath, by the instigations it is
supposed of the Count of Champagne and his brothers, the
Counts of Blois and Sancerre, accused Henry, in vehement
terms, of fraud and deceit, drove the Knights Templars>
who had delivered the castles to Henry, out of Ms king
dom, and instantly commenced-, preparations for war, instead
of remonstrating in moderate terms, as he might have done
with dignity and justice, upon the secrecy with which the
King of England had thought fit to envelop his proceedings.
While the -King of France thus made ready to attack
Henry in the spring, his three new brothers-in-law were
not idle ; but with activity far surpassing that Of the King
himself, prepared to carry on a desultory war against the
English mpnarch from the side of Blois. This sOrt of
predatory frontier warfare was. one of the most annoying
features in the contests of those days ; but the. purposes of
the three Counts were soon made evident to the King of
England, by their assembling a large body of troops, and
proceeding to fortify, in a' very strong manner, the castle of
Chaumont, in the County of Blois.
Henry, however, on his part, had not taken the decided
step which he had adopted, without being prepared for the
vol.- i. — II

122 THE LIFE OF
consequences ; and he no sooner received intelligence of
the measures pursued by his adversaries, than he took up
arms to meet the coming evil. Without waiting for any
more formal notification, he marched at once with a large
force towards Chaumont, which was claimed as #n old fief
by Hugh of Amboise, one of his own vassals. The Counts
of Champagne and Sancerre, thinking their proceedings
quite secure, had retired with their forces, leaving their
brother, the Count of Blois, to complete the fortification
which they had begun. The news of Henry's rapid march
caused that Prince also to retire, and the English monarch
seized upon the town and territory in question, which he
immediately gave or restored to Hugh of Amboise, who
was a hereditary enemy of the house of Blois.
This done, the King of England returned into Normandy,
and employed the winter season in putting all parts of his
continental territories into a state of complete preparation
to resist the efforts of his adversaries. The Vexin of
course obtained a particular share of his attention, both as
a district peculiarly necessary to the security of Normandy,
and as one which opened the way almost to the gates of
Paris. The strong castles which it contained were put in
the most perfect condition of defence ; men and provisions
were supplied wherever they were wanted ; and the whole
frontier, before the spring had advanced far, was bristling
with spears and armoured with fortresses.
As soon as the weather would permit him to take the
field, Louis sent an army into the Norman Vexin ; but
every dty, town, or castle that he approached, was found
completely prepared for resistance, and he dared not under
take any siege, but retired before Henry, who, at the head
of a large force, followed him across the frontier, and
seemed determined to bring the quarrel to the issue of bat
tle. Henry, however, was as cautious as he was active,
and was very willing to hear proposals of pacification at

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 123
all times, well knowing that whatever was gained must be
upon his own part, if he granted, rather than demanded, a
peace. The Pope interfered to reconcile the two monarchs
of France and England ; several of his envoys busied
themselves to remove any difficulties that might lie in the
way ; and a truce was concluded in the month of June,
almost as soon as the war had begun.
The fickle character of Louis rendered such changes in
his determinations by no means extraordinary ; but in the
present instance there might be motives of a very powerful
kind operating upon his weak and bigotted mind. A schism
at that time divided the church, and caused great scandal
in Christendom, in consequence of a double election which
had taken place after the death of Pope Adrian IV., if that
could be called a double election, indeed, in which three
votes were given to one candidate, and twenty-three to the
other. The person who obtained the greatest number of votes,
was Orlando of Sienna, Cardinal of St. Callisto, and Chan
cellor of the Roman Church. His opponent was Octavian,
Cardinal of St. Cecilia. The former had already shown
himself a marked enemy of the Emperor, Frederick Barba-
rossa ; and we are even told that he had bound himself by
an unlawful oath, with other confederates, to pursue mea
sures the most hostile to the Emperor and his party in Italy.
So much party rancour indeed ensued, and so many false
hoods were propagated on both sides, that the above state
ment may possibly be a calumny, as the moral and religious
character of Orlando stands very high. It is evident how
ever that he was decidedly opposed to the Emperor, and
that Frederick strove, with undisguised anxiety, to raise
Octavian to the Papal throne.
The Popes had been daily encroaching upon the old
rights and privileges of the empire ; and after a struggle
of centuries, had succeeded in excluding the Emperors

124 - THE LIFE OF
from all power in the election of the Bishops of Rome.
On the other hand, as it could be clearly' proved that the
Emperors had formerly the right of confirming the election,
Frederic made every effort, if not to resume the full exer
cise of that right, at least to regain some portion of the
authority which his predecessors, had weakly abandoned.
The opportunity afforded by the double election of Orlando
and Octavian was of course taken advantage of by the Em
peror. He did not indeed pretend to resume at once the
power of deciding between the two candidates, as such a
proceeding might have armed against him the jealousy of
the whole church ; but he declared that the election should
be investigated before a council of the Roman empire, and
that by its decision the claims of the two Cardinals should
be judged. In the meantime, Orlando took the name of
Alexander III., and Octavian assumed the name of "Victor
III. The latter, however, was recognized in Rome, while
Alexander made his escape with difficulty from the Impe-
lial city, where he ran some risk of his life, and was con
secrated by the Bishop of Ostia, on the twenty-ninth of
September, 1159.-
Frederick proceeded immediately to summon a councU
to meet at Pavia, for the purpose of trying the election and
deciding between the two claimants. The actual judges
on this occasion, were the clergy of the empire ; but a
number of other persons attended, amongst whom were all
the great Princes of the Germanic body, or envoys from
their courts. The Kings of England and France, too, had
ambassadors present to watch the proceedings. Fifty
bishops, and a number of the inferior clergy* presented
themselves, and Victor attended in person, submitting en
tirely his claims to the assembly.
* William of Newbury says, that there were, none but Italian and
German bishops, but with an immense multitude of the inferior orders of
prelates, meaning of.course abbots. — Lib. 2. Cap. 9.

RICHARD CCEUR- DE-LION. 125
Alexander had also been summoned ; but though a man
of high character, devout, and respectable as well as wise,
he took a step which was so far imprudent, that, as a ne
cessary consequence, it determined the decision of the
council against him, and might have also added to the party
of his opponents a power which would have rendered that
party overwhelming. The ambition of Victor was per
sonal ; that of Alexander clerical ; Victor sought to ele.
vate himself; Alexander to extend the power of the Church.
The latter was in fact, the representative of papacy with
all its grasping ambition, with all its perversion of reason
ing, with all its assertion of false facts, and assumption of
unreal rights ; but it was only as a representative that he
was all this : as the pope, not as the man, so that the evil
points of his official character gained an undue lustre from
the brightness of his personal virtues. In his character of
Pope, then, he refused to be present at the council of Pavia,
or to submit to its decrees ; and, besides assuming that he
was Bishop of Rome, which was the very point in ques
tion, he put forth an assertion perfectly false and ground
less, as his reason for not yielding obedience to the sum
mons. That assertion, however, comprised a principle
which, though never perhaps so distinctly announced be
fore, had been laboriously and studiously inculcated and
assumed in every indirect manner by many other pontiffs
his predecessors. The reason he gave for not attending
the council, was " that Christ had given to St. Peter and
his successors the privilege of judging all cases in which
the Church was concerned, which right the see of Rome
had always preserved, never having submitted to afey other
judgment." He must have counted very much upon the ignorance of
Europe in matters of history, and he must have counted
very much also on the weakness of Louis, King of France,
and Henry, King of England. The feebleness of the first
11*

126 THE LIFE OF
he might '.well "reckon upon ; but that Henry should so
much forget his own policy, and the warnings which the
whole reign of Stephen afforded, as to give any support
whatsoever to a prelate who put forth so monstrous, so
¦false, and so' unreasonable a doctrine, Alexander had cer
tainly no right to believe. The Popes by one step had put
¦themselves above the authority of the -Emperors ; by ano
ther they had put themselves above the interference of the
people Of Rome.: Alexander now aimed to put them above
the authority of- the councils : and certainly it was a daring
and extraordinary act. .
The admission of such a doctrine as that which Alexan-
ander propounded would have left -no known power of de
ciding between any two candidates for the papal dignity,
and the only appeal left would have been to the. sword,
which, indeed, in those days was very generally considered
as affording the best means Of arriving at the decision of
the Almighty. The council of Pavia, however, was not
inclined to admit the plea of Alexander, and pronounced
him guilty of contumacy for not appearing.
Victor and his friends : or rather Frederick Barbarossa,
for he undoubtedly was the soul of the opposition to Alex
ander : .urged two strong objections against the latter Pon
tiff; first, that he. and the .Cardinals, who had elected him
had taken ah Unlawful oath, which disqualified them by the
canons from electing at all ; and in the next place they
rested, it would seem, though not so strongly, on the fact, of
the Roman people not having sanctioned .the election of
Alexander. ' The council of Pavia examined witnesses,
took what information it- thought necessary, and, as might
well be expected, decided with very little hesitation- in fa
vour of Victor;
It is not at all necessary here to investigate who was
really the duly elected Pope, to ascertain Which, fact would
require an examination into many of those obscure parts of.

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 127
history, which it has been the interest and practice of the
see of Rome to darken and perplex. In the first place, to
arrive at any thing like a decision on that point, we ought
to inquire in whom the power of election did really exist —
whether there was a right of confirmation in the Emperor,
whether the people of Rome participated in any shape in
the electoral "authority ; for we cannot suppose the mere
bull of any Pope could take away the rights of the persons
who elected him. In- the next place we should have to
discover what portion of truth and falsehood was to be
found in the statements of Alexander and of Victor, which
perhaps could never now be ascertained.
The principal question before us, and one of much im
portance to the sequel of this history, is the. part which
Henry took in the controversy, the policy by which he was
guided, and the effect which that policy produced upon the
authority which he transmitted to his son. We may infer
from various acts of the King of England, that he had very
early conceived the design of diminishing the exorbitant
power which the Church had acquired in England during
the troublous and unhappy reign of Stephen ; and had de
termined not to suffer the clergy to withdraw themselves
altogether from the reach of the civil law. Taking it for
granted, then, that he had conceived this design as a well-
considered part of his great scheme of policy, the reason
assigned by Alexander for not attending the council of Pa
via' should have led Henry at once to oppose the elevation
of a man who so distinctly claimed exemption from every
authority upon earth, and who thus announced, that if he
made his pretensions good, the ecclesiastical matters of the
Christian world would have no other judge but himself,
that neither synods, nor kings, nor emperors, no, nor coun
cils themselves, which had always hitherto been held su
preme in authority, would have any power in restraining
the despotic sway of the Bishop of Rome.

128

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In this mighty controversy, however— one of the most
important in its character and its results that modern
Europe has ever seen — Henry does not appear to have
given the 'slightest consideration to the effect which its
termination would have upon his great scheme of policy.
The only object which he seems to have considered, was
how his leaning to this or to that side would affect the ob
jects of his ambition at the time, how he could gain
advantages here or there, remove the animosity of the
King of France, or retain possession of territories that
were in danger. It is curious and instructive to trace how
passions and weaknesses, turning us in a small degree from
the course laid out before us by reason and experience,
work out sooner or later the bitterest of disappointments,
and in many instances, the complete frustration of the
object desired. From the recognition of Alexander by
Henry the Second, sprang the long series of misfortunes
which attended the strife with Becket, the overthrow of all
his best schemes for emancipating England from a part at
least of the tyranny of Rome, and the defeat of his efforts
to render the civil law of the land the judge of aU men in
civil cases, under whatsoever denominations the parties
might appear. This is clearly and distinctly shown in the
history of a more advanced period of Henry's reign.
After having made his escape from Rome, and having
been driven by the dangers that surrounded him into Cam
pania, Alexander sent legates to the Kings of England and
France, in order to claim their assistance in establishing
his right. Similar legates were despatched about the same
time to those monarchs by Victor ; and the mind of the
King of France was now far more taken up and affected by
the schism in the Church, than by the wrongs which he
conceived had been done to him by Henry, or by the war
which he had commenced against that prince. The envoys
of Alexander were busy in France at the conclusion of the

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 129
truce which we have noticed, in the end of June, 1161,*
and had' evidently a share in bringing it about. Scarcely
was it concluded, when Louis caUed a synod to meet at
Beauvais,"|" in order to examine into the rights of the two
claimants to the papacy, and to determine upon the course
of France. It would appear that Henry was now com
pletely reconciled to the French monarch, and co-operated
with him in regard to the papal controversy ; for almost at
the same time that Louis held the Synod in Beauvoisis,
Henry called a similar assembly of the clergy of his con
tinental dominions to assemble at Neufmarche, in Norman
dy. Shortly after a synod was called in England like
wise ; and the result was in all instances the same — the
recognition of Alexander, and the rejection of Victor. One
particular, however, is worthy of notice in the reply of the
assembly held in England, which is, " that the Council
declared it would be contrary to their duty, and to the pre
judice of the majesty of the crown, to pass any judgment
upon the matter ; and they therefore merely tendered their
approbation of the claims of Alexander as advice to their
sovereign." Perhaps the very tone of this reply might
mislead Henry into a belief that he would always find pre
lates as humble and unambitious as those who now dictat
ed it
It appears that Louis and Henry agreed in the most cor-
* It is not known whether Alexander dated his letters from the period
of his election, or the period of his consecration ; but I find a letter from
him, dated in September, in the third year of his pontificate, and address
ed to Henry, and urging him to make peace with the King of,France ;
the date assigned to it is 1162, but it bears on the face of it no other date
than the year of the pontificate, and I am rather inclined to imagine that
it should be placed earlier.
t Lord Lyttleton implies, that the Synod of Beauvais was held in
1160, after Henry's return from Toulouse; but it is clearly proved by
Don Vaissette that it took place in the month of July, in 1161.

130

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dial manner to act together in regard to the papacy ; and
immediately after the decision of the Gallican and Angli
can Churches had been obtained, they determined to call a
new general council to assemble at. Toulouse, and examine
once more the claims of the two prelates. This fact evi
dently shows, both that the Kings of England and France
were once more upon terms of friendship, and that Henry's
claim to Toulouse had been silenced for the time either by
admission or compromise ; as the treaty of peace, which
he had concluded with Louis in the preceding year, had
ended at Whitsuntide, 1161. As Henry and Louis were
both to be present at the Council, it is not probable that the
EngUsh monarch would have consented that the place of
meeting should be at Toulouse, had he not been able to
appear there as a friend rather than an enemy.
Though matters had been thus proceeding unfavourably
to Victor in France and England, neither that Prelate nor
the Emperor had been inactive in endeavouring to promote
his interests in those countries. Messengers had been
sent by Frederick to urge both upon Henry and Louis the
decision of the Council of Pavia. The English monarch
was the Emperor's friend and ally ; and it was certainly
far more Henry's interest to conciliate Frederick, and sup
port his power, than to follow where Louis led, and seat
one of the French faction in the chair of St. Peter. Frede
rick's influence might therefore well be great with the
English monarch. Such, however, was not the case with
Louis ; but there, Victor employed interest of another kind.
The Count of Champagne was his relation, and was at this
time very powerful in the Court of the King of France.
His voice, then, was constantly and eagerly raised in favour
of Alexander's opponent ; while Victor applied himself
earnestly to engage some of the Bishops and Nobles of
France to support him, writing with his own hand to many
of them, and, as in the case of the Lord of Montpelier,

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 131
sending a legate to some even of the nobility, as to sove
reigns of the highest station.
Little progress, however, was made either by the repre
sentations of Frederick, or the solicitations of Victor him
self. The King of France, indeed, wavered in some degree,
in consequence of the entreaties and remonstrances of the
Count of Champagne ; but still the opinion of the English
and French clergy was of much weight ; and the greater
part of those who appeared as judges at Toulouse, had al
ready announced their sentence in the synods of Beauvais
and Neufmarche. The cause of Victor, therefore, was not
likely to be more fortunate at Toulouse, than that of Alex
ander had been at Pavia. The assembly was respectable,
indeed ; for besides the Kings of France and England, there
were the Legates of the two aspirants to the Tiara, five
Cardinals, a hundred Bishops and mitred Abbots, and Am
bassadors from the Emperor and the King of Castile, as
well as a number of noblemen and gentlemen of France and
Normandy. As far as we can now judge, however, the
meeting was not near so numerous as that of Pavia ; but it
immediately proceeded to go through the appearance of ex
amining the claims, and then unanimously decided in favour
of Alexander.
It would have seemed after this event, that nothing re
mained for the monarchs of France and England, but at
once to, acknowledge Alexander in such a manner as to
pledge themselves to his cause for ever. Such was not
the case, however, though they both in all their acts recog
nised his authority, and suffered him to exercise the juris
diction of Supreme Head of the Church, both in France and
England. The Council of Toulouse excommunicated Vic
tor, and all his adherents ; and, as a matter of course,
Victor, having possessed himself of a share in the thunder
bolts of the Church, did not think fit to let them lie idle.
The authority of the Council of Toulouse was denied by

132

THE LIFE OF

Victor and the Emperor, its decrees were held to be schis-
matical, . and its Pope worthy of excommunication. In
order that all this might be solemnly announced, a new
Council was called by the Emperor at Lodi, where Victor
was once more declared Pope ; and Alexander and his
faction were excommunicated.
It was after his authority had been fully recognised,. and
his election declared' valid by all the clergy of France and
England, that the title of Alexander ran the greatest risk
of being denied in one, if not in both of those kingdoms.
The Count of Champagne, with his two brothers, possessed
territories sufficient to make them very formidable to so
weak a monarch as Louis ; and they had also obtained a
degree of influence over him, after his marriage with their
sister, which rendered them the most dangerous opponents
that Alexander could encounter. If Henry, seeing the
great political mistake that he had committed, had joined
with the Count of Champagne in the beginning of the year
1162, there cannot be the slightest doubt that Louis would
have gone over to the party of the empire ; and that if the
clergy had not resisted such mutability of conduct,- France
would have led the way in acknowledging Victor. Henry,
however, refrained, affecting to be entirely guided by the
king of France ; and, in the meanwhile, Frederick employed
the Count of Champagne to influence the mind of the French
monarch by every means in his power. The first step
which the Count gained, was to persuade Louis to receive
a letter from Victor, brought by the hands of one of that
Prelate's agents, who was admitted to the French Court.
The next point "was to bring' the king. to listen to a new
suggestion from the Emperor regarding the means to be ¦
taken for the purpose of terminating the schism in the
Church. The proposal was to hold another general Coun
cil, in the town of Avignon, at which both Popes were to
be present, and once' more to investigate the whole facts of

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 133
the election, and either acknowledge one Pope and depose
the other, or depose both, and elect another. The next
effort was to induce Louis to send an ambassador to the
Emperor for the purpose of treating upon this matter. Not
only were all these steps gained, but the wily Count of
Champagne obtained for himself the post of ambassador, and
set out with all speed to confer with the Emperor at Pavia.
Such was the state of affairs in France at Easter, in
1162; and on the I lth of April, in that year, the Pope
Alexander, feeling fully convinced of a warm and favoura
ble reception in France, landed at Maguelonne, and made
his arrival known to the king of France. He was gratu-
lated by the nobles and the people of the south of France,
with the utmost joy and enthusiasm ; the Count of Toulouse
went down to Montpelier to receive him; all the other
princes of Languedoc gathered round him, and rivalled one
another in showing him respect : and the lower orders
crowded upon his path wherever he went. All this, how
ever, was not sufficient to compensate for the first news that
Alexander received after his landing in France. It was,
that new hesitation had taken possession of the mind of
Louis ; that he was listening to proposals from the Em
peror, all of which tended to call his election in question,
and that he had even sent an ambassador to the imperial
court of Pavia, to treat in regard to the assembling of a
new Council. Alexander's indignation at the unworthy
conduct of the king of France overcame his prudence ; and
when two envoys from Louis, chosen — as if for the purpose
of marking his change of feeling — from an inferior order of
the clergy, came to offer him formal congratulations, he
received them with coldness and haughtiness so marked
that the weak king gave way to a violent fit of passion, and
committed himself with the Emperor so far that it was
scarcely possible to retract. The Bishop of Orleans was
immediately despatched to communicate with the Count of
vol. i — 12

134 THE LIFE OF
Champagne, and to bear to that nobleman a letter from the
King of France, in which Louis acknowledged that he
regretted having recognised Alexander. He also gave his
ambassador full power to agree to the convocation- of a new
Council, and to settle all the particulars regarding it with
the Emperor. Very seldom, indeed, has so much been
left to the discretion of a minister, as was now trusted by
Louis to the judgment of the Count of Champagne. That
prince, of course, took advantage of his power to for
ward his own purposes, and entered into a treaty with
the Emperor, by which it was agreed, that Louis and Fre
deric should meet at St. Jean de Losne, where the Safine,
at that time, formed the boundary between France and the
Empire, accompanied by the Bishops and Nobles of both
countries, and also by the two claimants of the Papacy. A
number of persons were chosen to judge the cause of Alex
ander and Victor ; and the Emperor on his own part, with
the Count of Champagne on that of Louis, promised to
abide by their decision, and instantly to recognise the Pon
tiff who should be declared duly elected.
One or two particulars are worthy of notice, in regard
to this agreement. In the first place, the decision of the
cause was not left to ecclesiastics alone, it being expressly
stipulated, that a number of knights were to be among the
judges. In the next place, the idea of deposing both Popes
was abandoned ; although there can be no doubt that, if the
allegation of the Emperor was true— that Alexander, by
taking an illegal oath, had rendered, himself incapable^—
such a proceeding would have been perfectly just, as Victor
couldnot pretend to a sufficient, number of votes to give, him
the Papacy, from' which Alexander had excluded himself.
The Count of Champagne, however, suffered this pro
posal to be dropped entirely ; and haying -obtained the
powers already mentioned from his sovereign, he gave
Frederic the fullest: assurance that Louis would abide by

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 135
the decision of this new council. There can be no doubt
that both the Emperor and the Count were perfectly certain
of what the decision, of the council would be, for they were
both well aware that Alexander, who had refused to submit
- his cause to a court composed entirely of ecclesiastics,
would by no means present himself for judgment before an
assembly where laymen assumed to themselves the right
of dealing with the highest ecclesiastical affairs.
How far the promises of the Count of Champagne went
cannot weU be told, nor is it possible to discover to what
length his newly kindled anger at Alexander carried the
unstable Icing of France. It is certain, however, that Fre
deric and Victor both entertained the most sanguine hopes
of winning France from the party of their opponent ; and
that Victor actually despatched nuncios to the court of the
French king.
Rumours of all'these transactions reached Alexander at
Montpelier, and of course alarmed him greatly, especially
when he found that his enemies were daily making pro
gress, notwithstanding his holding a council in the south of
France,* at which a number of Bishops and Abbots were
present from the distant parts of that kingdom. He ac
cordingly endeavoured, as far as possible, to do away the
effects of his imprudent conduct, and employed the good
offices of the Bishops of Langres and Senlis to work upon
the mind of the king, while at the same time he gained
the more powerful influence of the king's own brother,
whom we have had occasion to speak of as the Bishop of
Beauvais, but who had now been elevated to Rheims. Not
long after, namely in the month of July of the same year,
he wrote to the Bishop of Soissons also, beseeching him to
employ his whole influence in his favour with the King of
France, and if possible to prevent him from going to the
meeting with Frederic. This letter was written from
* At Montpelier, 17th May, 1162.

136 THE LIFE OF
Mende, while the Pope himself was hurrying from Mont-
peUer to intercept Louis on his passage towards the Sa6ne.*
The excuse which Alexander made to cover the real pur
pose of his journey, was that a severe famine was at that
time felt in Montpelier. But such could not be his true
motive, as we learn from William of Nangis, that the same
famine desolated the whole of France. There can be no
doubt, that having learnt the exact time when Louis pro
posed to set out to meet the emperor, he now hastened to
confer with him by the way, in order, if possible, to pre
vent him from keeping the engagements entered into by the
Count of Champagne. It is possible, indeed, that Louis
himself may have summoned him, as he had promised the
emperor to bring him to the conference ; but at all events,
the Pope hurried his journey as soon as the king's inten
tions were known, and arrived in Avergne towards the mid
dle of August, while Louis on his part advanced into the
Bourbonnois, and took up his abode at the monastery of
Souvigni. At the latter place, conferences took place be
tween the Pope and the king ; and although Alexander
firmly refused to go to the proposed meeting, he gained an
influence over the mind of the French monarch, which
never after failed.
Louis was perplexed by his resolute opposition, and
more than once became angry, insinuating, that if Alexan
der were really innocent of the charges brought against
him by the emperor, he would not shun an investigation in
which his innocence must appear ; but nevertheless, he
appears to have been much impressed with the dignity and
imposing demeanour of the Pontiff, while all his habitual
* Lord Lyttleton and many other historians have mistakingly assert
ed, that Alexander quitted Montpelier in the month of June ; this could
not be the case, for there is still extant a Bull signed by his hand, in the
ides of July, 1162, dated from the City of Montpelier. This document
is dated in full, both with the year of indication of the Papacy, and of
Christ,

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 137
thoughts and feelings took part with Alexander, and ac
knowledged the principle upon which he grounded his re.
sistance; a principle to which Louis had been devotedly
subservient during the whole of his reign and life ; name
ly, the supremacy of the Roman Church, and its indepen
dence of all temporal authority.
A smaU concession made by the pontiff in this part of
the transaction, in all probability, did much to regain the
favour of the king, without at all sacrificing his own views.
He agreed that Louis should be followed to the meeting
with Frederic by some of the cardinals who had accompa
nied hirti into France ; but it was expressly stipulated and
understood, that they were not there to plead his cause, or
to make the slightest submission on his part, but merely to
declare his right before the bishops and nobles there' as
sembled. This was all that Louis could obtain, and he
then set forth to meet Frederic, very much perplexed by
the determination of Alexander, though resolved, it would
seem, not absolutely to abandon his cause.
On the arrival of the King of France at Dijon, the situa
tion of all parties in Europe was very extraordinary. Louis
himself was accompanied by very few military followers,
being surrounded, as was usually the case,, by a number of
ecclesiastics. The emperor, on the. contrary, had collected
an immense force immediately On the other side of the
Safine, being followed to the place of conference by a mul
titude of the princes and nobles of the empire, forming a
large body of well:discipUned soldiers, whom he had just
led to victory under the walls of the devoted city of Milan.
In the meanwhile, Alexander remained at a distance from
the scene, watching the events ; and Henry the Second of
England,, at the head of a considerable army, which he had
not been weak enough to disband in consequence of a truce
with so fickle a monarch as Louis, held himself ready
12*

138

THE LIFE OF

within his own continental dominions, to act as circum
stances might require.
The whole fate of Europe was at this moment in the
balance, and a few hours decided some of the greatest *
events in history. At Dijon, the King of France was
met by the Count of Champagne, who immediately com
municated to him the treaty he had entered into with the
emperor ; but Louis would willingly have denied that the
powers of the count had been sufficiently extensive to
pledge his sovereign to such important acts. The count
of Champagne, indeed, had the king's own letter for his
authority ; but the consequence of the situation in which
they were respectively placed, was a sharp altercation be
tween the monarch and his ambassador, which of course
tended to irritate the mind of Louis against Victor. The
Count of Champagne, however, had pledged himself to the
emperor in a manner which rendered any breach of the
agreement on the part of Louis, a most dangerous step. In
signing the treaty with the emperor, it would appear, the
count promised on oath, that if the sovereign whom he re
presented failed to perform the conditions which he sub
scribed, he would convey his homage from Louis to the
emperor, and hold his vast and important territories, on
the north and east frontier of France, as a fief from Fre
deric. Louis hesitated, and at the time appointed for the first
conference, the emperor and Victor appeared upon the
bridge of St. Jean de Losne, with a splendid train of no
bles and ecclesiastics ; but Louis and Alexander did not
keep the engagement. Alexander, on his part, it was well
known, would not come ; and Frederic, after waiting a
short time for the appearance of the King of France, re
tired with indignation, reproaching Louis bitterly for his
want of faith and courtesy.
At his departure he left some deputies to confer with the

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 139
French monarch in case he should come in the end, but
those deputies had no power to agree to any proposal re-
specting new arrangements ; and the very next day the
Count of Champagne notified to the French king, that,
according to the oath he had taken, he felt himself bound
immediately to transfer his homage to the emperor, the
King of France having failed to keep the engagement
which his ambassador had been authorized to make in his
name. The situation of the King of France was now
lamentable. He could expect nothing but immediate war
at the hands of the emperor, and he was totally unprepared
to resist it. Frederic was within a few miles of him at the
head of a large army, which might make him a prisoner at
any time by a sudden advance ; and one of the principal
vassals of his crown was about to abandon him, in order to
swell the party of the monarch he had just incensed. Un
der these circumstances, Louis acceded to a proposal which
he would not have entertained for a moment, in a less des
perate state of affairs, and bound himself to attend a coun
cil at the end of three weeks, to bring with him Alexander,
to hear the cause of the two pontiffs tried, and to abide by
the decision of the notables of France and Germany, by
whom it was to be judged.
Louis, even while he made this agreement, well knew
that Alexander could not be brought to the council ; but
after having been obliged to give hostages of such quality
as the Count of Nevers, the Count of Flanders, and the
Duke of Burgundy, it seemed absolutely impossible that he
could escape from ultimately recognizing Victor.
In the meantime, however, Henry the Second of Eng
land, towards whom the King of France had displayed but
scanty ceremony in treating concerning a new Council
without him, had sent neither Barons nor Prelates to the
bank of the Saone ; but on the contrary, had some time
before despatched the Archbishop of York, and the Bishops

140

THE LIFE OF

of Lisieux and Evreux, to attend upon Alexander, who- was
now in Berri. The King himself had remained at the
head of his army ; but the moment Alexander heard of the
jeopardy in which the French king had placed himself, he
besought the English monarch to march with all speed to
his rescue, in order to counterbalance by his power and
military strength the dangerous preponderance of the Em
peror. Henry paused not to deliberate, but marched into
France at the head of a large army, entered Berri, and ad-"
vanced as far as Bourgdieu, where Alexander then resided.
At the same time he sent messengers before him to an
nounce his approach, and intelligence of his coming soon
reached both Louis and the Emperor; ;
There was another foe, however, in Frederic's camp,
which was much more terrible and difficult to oppose than
even the arms of the English monarch. A general dearth
reigned upon the banks of the Saone, as well as through the
rest of the land. Louis could find food in Dijon for. him
self and his priests ; but Frederic, with his mounted barons
and their long trains" of soldiery, found neither corn nor
grass ; and, after having endured the pressure of famine in
his camp as* long as possible, he was forced to yield to cir
cumstances and retire to his own country.
To what extent he was influenced, in thus leaving the
field, by the approach of Henry's army, can hardly now be
told, nor does it at all affect the .course of history. He
knew that the King of England had marched to the assist
ance of the King of France, and his friendship towards his
British ally was of course cooled in proportion. On the
other hand, however, Louis was, for the time, as grateful
for Henry's prompt assistance, as Frederic was offended
by his interference. To him he seems to have attributed
entirely his deliverance from the dangerous situation in
which he had placed himself ; and, at the meeting which
took place immediately afterwards between Louis, Henry,

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 141
and Alexander, on the banks of the Loire,fa peace was
concluded between the two monarchs, by which Henry
was permitted to retain every thing that he had acquired,
without the restitution of any part of the territory in dis
pute. The most remarkable incident, however, of this
meeting on the banks of the Loire was, that Henry and
Louis received the Pope on foot, and while he, on a horse
splendidly caparisoned, rode towards the pavilion prepared
for him, the two monarchs held the bridle on either side, to
do him honour. Whether the motive of Henry, in perform
ing this act of degradation, was to secure the friendship of
the Pope, or to please the priest-ridden King of France,
certain it is, that, in holding the bridle for the Pontiff, he
virtually brought his head below the stirrup of Thomas a
Becket. o
His dissentions with that prelate I shaU have to speak
of hereafter ; and it will be enough to notice, in this place,
the elevation of Becket to the highest dignity in the Eng
lish church. In the year 1161, died Theobald, the good
old Archbishop of Canterbury, and for a considerable time
no new Archbishop was appointed. The advocates of the
Roman CathoUc Church have asserted, that this long inter
val was owing to Henry's desire of appropriating as long as
possible the revenues of the vacant see. It is clearly
proved, however, that the delay proceeded from the con
scientious opposition of a great body of the English Clergy
to the person whom the king thought fit to nominate, whose
habits and "character rendered him most unfit for the archi
episcopal dignity, and most obnoxious to the EngUsh
Clergy. That person was Thomas Becket, Archdeacon
of Canterbury, Chancellor, and favourite of the king. He
had not yet taken priest's orders ; he had distinguished
himself as a soldier, as a courtier, and as a negociator ;
he had lived a luxurious and worldly life ; he was extrava
gant in his apparel and his household ; he was notoriously

142 - THE LIFE OF
ambitious and grasping ; and he had caused the- scutage
for the war of Toulouse to faU with such peculiar weight
upon the clergy, that the Archbishop Theobald had threat
ened with excommunication aU who should be concerned
in exacting the second instalment.
It is not wonderful, therefore, that the great body of the
ecclesiastics of England should as strongly as they dared
oppose the nomination of such' a person. The famous
BishOp Foliot, who perhaps hoped for the dignity himself,
most decidedly endeavoured to delay, or to prevent his
election ; -and even the people murmured at the elevation
of a man so thoroughly worldly, to the highest spiritual
office in- the kingdom. The Empress Matilda, though she
had long ceased to take any part in the political events of
the day, remonstrated with Henry" on his purpose of placing
Becket in the archiepiscopal chair, and it was necessary
for the king to make a very harsh and unscrupulous use of
his authority, before he could force the obnoxious archdea
con into the Cathedral of Canterbury.
Nevertheless Henry persevered ; for Becket had con
trived to win at once the favour, the confidence, and the
respect of the monarch. He had shown himself, in all
their dealings, both subservient and successful, which too
frequently form the greatest recommendation to a monarch's
favour ; and Henry doubted not that in his projects regard
ing the Church, he should find in the new Archbishop the
same pliancy of will, with the same powers of mind, which
his Chancellor had displayed. Indeed, he had every rea
son to believe that such would be the case ; for Becket
had more than once signalized himself in supporting the
royal authority against the encroachments of the Church ;
and that he had still kept his eye upon the primacy, is evi.
dent, notwithstanding every thing that his eulogists thought
fit to assert after Henry had made him a martyr, and the
Pope had made him a saint.

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 143
In judging of the views arid proceedings of Henry and
Becket, a very nice and critical examination of the authori
ties is necessary ; for very few documents have reached
us free from a suspicion of partiality, except the records of
various matters which took place before Becket's elevation
to the dignity of primate and which were recorded pre
viously. These are the purest sources when they can be
found, but they are very rare, and do not embrace the most
important points in question. The next best source, pro
bably, are the letters written about the times of which we
now speak ; - for, though they are all glowing With the heat
of controversy, yet, as in the. pleading of a cause, the oppo
site statements are laid before us, and we can judge be
tween the parties. A more suspicious sort of authority
stiU, is found in the chroniclers who wrote shortly after
these events, when Rome had encircled the head of Becket
with a halo, which, though very different from the efful
gence that shone upon the countenance of Moses, as effec
tually dazzled the eyes of the monkish beholders! and we
- must recollect, that almost every chronicler of that age was
either monk or priest. The last and least worthy of all
sources of information, is that of the manifold writers of
Becket's life, professed eulogists, -who seldom or ever
suffered the undisguised- truth' to appear, except when
barbarism or superstition led them to mistake a vice for a
virtue. It is sufficiently ascertained, that Becket kept- his eyes
upon the Archbishopric, that he proceeded to England in
order to secure his election, and- that it was not till he was
perfectly certain of the determination of the king that he
affected to be indifferent to the matter, or unwilling to as
sume the dignity.* The. difficulty which Henry met with
* In. arriving at this conclusion, we must put aside the authority of
Becket's professed eulogist's,' who made " a point of declaring that the
humble and self-denying Chancellor, . whose train had surpassed that of

144 THE LIFE OF
in overcoming the'repugnance of the English clergy, was
far greater than any that he had to encounter in removing
scruples from the mind of Becket. Various means of me
nace and intimidation were resorted to, to drive the clergy
to elevate the king's favourite ; and we are distinctly told,
by the Bishop of London himself, that he and all his rela
tions were threatened with exile and proscription unless
he yielded to the royal mandate, which was borne to Eng
land by Richard de Lucy, the king's Justiciary, with orders
from Henry himself to use the same means for the eleva
tion of Becket to the see of Canterbury, that he would em
ploy for the elevation of the king's son to the throne of his
father, if that father were dead.
Such means, then, being used, nothing remained for the
suffragans, and other electors, but to accept the Archbishop
upon Henry's recommendation ; and Becket was accord
ingly elected on the third of June, 1162.* The royal
assent was immediately given by Prince Henry, who was
then in England and under Becket's tutelage ; and, shortly
any monarch, as they themselves admit ; whose table was that of the
most finished epicure ; whose horses and monkeys, and grooms leading
them, had dazzled and astonished the French peasantry ; who had ab
sorbed all favours, and had even received the homage of a number of
vassals in the county of Toulouse, was too humble and lowly-minded to
desire, or even accept, without the greatest unwillingness, a. dignity
which placed him at the head of his profession in England, and required
from him the renunciation of none of his posts and offices. The' autho
rity of Foliot is much better, though he was Becket's enemy ; and that
prelate boldly charges him in the face of the whole world— while Henry
and Becket were both still living — with keeping his eye fixed upon the
see of Canterbury, and coming over to strive for it, as soon as possible
after it was vacant. See an after note in reference to Becket and
Foliot. * This is the date mentioned by Lord Lyttleton. Dr. Lingard places
it on the 30th of May . Thomas Wikes says it was III. nones of June ¦
but the matter is of no great moment.

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 145
after, the new Archbishop proceeded to Canterbury, took
priest's orders one day, and was consecrated Archbishop
the next. We are told, that the only person who ventured
to make any observation upon this strange and indecent
transaction, was the Bishop of Hereford, who remarked
that the King had worked a miracle, having changed, with
in four and twenty hours, a layman and a soldier into a
priest and an archbishop. The King did not resent the
jest, even if it was related to him, for we find this same
Bishop of Hereford very soon after translated to London.
These events occurred while Henry was contending with
the King of France, or delivering him from the dangers
which he had brought upon himself. In the meantime,
however, other important changes had taken place in the
state of England, which strongly called for the presence of
the monarch ; and Henry having, somewhere about this
period, suppressed a revolt amongst the people of Aquitaine,
always a turbulent and excitable race, returned to Great
Britain in 1 163, to pacify, or to punish the Welsh princes,
who were once more in arms in the southern part of the
principality. The cause of this resumption of hostilities on
the part of the Welsh, was principally, it would appear, the
violation of Henry's own engagements with Rees ap Gryf-
fyth, to whom he had promised certain territories in a com
pact form and position. The King, however, had given
him nothing but territories scattered through various dis
tricts, by which his power was bridled, and his dignity de
creased. This injury he had borne more patiently than
could have been expected, but another inflicted upon him
by Walter de Clifford raised his indignation to a, higher
pitch, and he complained loudly to Henry himself. His
complaints produced no satisfactory results : Henry, de-
tained on the Continent, paid little attention to him ; and
Rees rose in arms, reducing, in a very short space of tine,
the whole of Cardiganshire to subjection, and destroying all
VOL. I.  13

146 y- THE LIFE OF
the castles which had been built for its protection. About
the same time also he overran Pembrokeshire, but was
forced to raise the siege of Caermarthen, by the Earls of
Cornwall and Pembroke, aided by some of the Welsh
princes of the English party. He then retired into the
mountainous districts of Brecknock, where he remained in
arms at the head of a large force, making war from time to
time upon the neighbouring nobles. Henry himself, as we
have said, returned at length to England, and advanced into
South Wales with a large force, which soon induced the
Welsh Prince to submit, upon the mild terms to which
Henry was willing to accede. Many of the demands of
Rees ap Gryffyth were granted, and he had the satisfaction
of obtaining possession of Dynevor, the residence of his
ancestors, kings of South Wales.
Thus happily terminated this insurrection ; but the dis
turbance which Henry was to receive from the valiant in
habitants of Wales was not yet at an end. Scarcely had a
year passed, ere Rees ap Gryffyth was once more in arms
against the King of England ; and it was more probable that
the growing dissensions which sprang up rapidly between
'- Henry and the Archbishop, encouraged the Welsh prince
to break the oath that he had so lately taken, than that the
murder of one of his kinsmen was really attributable to the
Earl of Pembroke. However that may be, Rees ap Gryf
fyth not only overran and' desolated the county of Cardigan,
but also carrying the war into Pembrokeshire, attacked and
greatly injured the colonies of Flemings, which Henry and
several other monarchs had settled there ; and moreover,
knowing now that he had little to hope from the clemency
of the. often offended King of England, he negotiated with
all the other Welsh princes, urging them by every argu
ment which could have weight with a high-spirited and pa-
triotic nation, to throw off the yoke of those foreign sove
reigns, who had, day by day, cooped them within narrower

RICHARD CCEUR-DE LION. 147
bounds, and imposed new badges of servitude upon them.
Nor was his oratory unsuccessful. All the Welsh princes,
almost without exception, comprising even those who were
the most deeply indebted to Henry's clemency arid to his
generosity, took up arms to cast off his sway, and to reco
ver the independence of Wales ; so that during the autumn
and winter of 1164 and 1165, the most formidable rising
took place which the English king ever had to encounter
in any part of his dominions. A parliament, which met at
Northampton in the former year, raised troops for the pur
pose of making head against Rees ap Gryffyth ; but such
were the embarrassments under which Henry laboured from
his dissensions with Becket, and from the part which the
King of France and the Pope, Alexander, had taken in the
dispute, that it was the middle of 1165 before he was en
abled to use any vigorous measures for subduing the insur
rection of the Welsh.
In order to see what the embarrassments were, which
thus shackled the active powers of Henry's mind, it may be
necessary now to give some account of the dissensions
which had arisen between the king and Becket since the
elevation of the latter to the see of Canterbury. Scarcely
had the prelate taken possession of his new dignity than a
change came over his whole demeanour. It might be that
he was seized with remorse for his former course of life ; or
it might be, that with the same skilful adaptation of means
to an end which he had displayed throughput his whole
career, he now made use of every appearance of profound
devotion and sanctity, seeing that the elevation which he
had so suddenly attained, required that ambitiqn should
change its path, and put on the flowing robes of zeal and
enthusiasm. If we reject the one or the other of these sup
positions, we can but conclude that the Archbishop was one
of those Protean characters, the whole form and feature of
whose mind suddenly yield under the pressure of circum-

148 ' THE LIFE OF
stances ; that he who was the general in the field, the knight
in the saddle, the courtier in the hall, the minister in the
council, the diplomatist in the cabinet, merely from an honest
and straightforward intention of doing well and skilfully in
the situation in which he was placed, became also, in one
moment, from the change of circumstances, the zealous and
devoted churchman, and cameleon-like, received from the
shades of his dim cathedral the grey hue of monastic enthu
siasm and religious fervour.
We would fain receive the best view of the prelate's cha
racter ; and did we not perceive that every change of direc
tion which his vast and versatile powers assumed, tended
to his own immediate elevation and the promotion of his own
interest, even to the subversion of principles which he had
at other times professed, we might conceive those changes
to have proceeded from the simple impulses of an honest
heart employing a subtle and powerful mind. Or did we
find that humility of conduct succeeded reformation of man
ners — that the hard bed and the frugal meal excluded pride,
haughtiness, subtlety, and love of power — we might ima
gine that his last alteration of demeanour took place from
penitence not ambition, and that the object was changed,
rather than the means.
However that may be, no sooner did Becket feel the
mitre on his brow, than all the externals of the man were
changed ; luxuries were banished from his table, long trains
of glittering domestics from his palace ; his conversation
was of spiritual things ; his companions clergymen and
monks ; he was regular and devout in the offices of reU-
gion ; and secret penances, and half-hidden mortifications
were whispered with wonder through the court of the new
Archbishop. While Henry was still zealous in his favour,
Becket sent him back the great seal, declaring that the post
of Chancellor was incompatible with the high duties of his
clerical station, for which he could scarcely suffice : but in

RICHARD CCEUR. DE-LION. 149
doing so, it would seem that he at once opened the eyes of
the king, who, notwithstanding • his long-established par
tiality, now saw, or believed he saw, that the Archiepisco
pal dignity had changed the object of Becket's ambition.
Perhaps Henry argued, that if Becket resigned his post out
of conscientious motives, and because he no longer regard
ed worldly wealth and authority, he would have given up
at the same time the Archdeaconry of Canterbury, which
was certainly not compatible with the mitre of the same
see. Many another office or emolument he might have
yielded also with equal dignity and propriety ; but we find
that the Archdeaconry was wrung from him with the
greatest difficulty, and that he defended his least posses
sion with the utmost pertinacity.
The doubts which had taken possession of the mind of
Henry in consequence of Becket's resignation of his office
of Chancellor, might produce the first coldness of the king
towards him. But certain it is, that on the monarch's re
turn from France in 1163, he received the Archbishop, who
met him at Southampton, with a demeanour greatly alter
ed, and it became evident to the whole court that Becket
was no longer the favourite. Other causes of dissension
speedily appeared ; but the first direct opposition which
Henry met with from his former chancellor, was in regard
.to some of the most useful and beneficial purposes which
that monarch ever entertained. The subject has been
embarrassed by long and complicated details which have
nothing to. do with it, and all the arts of sophistry have
been employed to give a colouring of justice to the resis
tance of Beoket ; but I find the main matter in dispute so
clearly set forth in the somewhat homely words of Roger
Hoveden, that I cannot do better than translate them in
this place.* " The king," he says, " desired by presby-
* The original words of Hoveden are as follows : — Rex enim volebat
13*

150

THE LIFE OF

ters, deacons, sub-deacons, and other rectors of churches, if
they should be detected in robbery or murder, or felony, or
arson, or similar things to these, should be brought to secu
lar examination, and punished like laymen : on the con
trary, the Archbishop said that if a clerk duly ordained, or
any other rector of a church should be accused of any
thing, he should be judged by ecclesiastics, and by an ec
clesiastical court, and if convicted, his orders should be
stripped off ; and thus deprived of office, and of benefit of
clergy, if afterwards he became criminal, he should be
judged according to the will of the king and hia bailiffs."
At the very first view, the king's purpose was evidently
just and'reasonable ; and the eagerness of determination
with which he pursued that purpose might have drowned
all opposition ; and most likely would have done so, if the
original grounds of the question had not soon been lost
sight of, in the fierce struggles of Becket to maintain the
unjust exemptions and privileges for his order. The
causes of Henry's eagerness, to which we have just al
luded, are thus described by William of Newbury : " The
king being busy in the care of his kingdom, and command
ing that all malefactors should be indiscriminately exter
minated, was informed by the judges that many -things
against public order, that is to say, robberies, rapes, homi
cides, were often committed by the clergy, to whom the

presbyteros, diaconos, subdiaconos, et alios ecclesia. rectores, si compre-
hensi fuissent in latroeinio, vet murdr _., vel felonia, vel iniqua, combus-
tione, vel in his similibus, ducere ad secularia examina, et punire, sicut
et laicum. Contra quod Archiepiscopus dicebat, quod si clericus in
sacris ordinibus constitutus, vel quilibet alius rector ecclesiae, calumnia-
tus fuerit de aliqua re, per viros ecclesiasticos et in curia- ecclesiastical
debet judicari, et si convictus fuerit, ordines suos amittere, et sic alienaf-
tus ab officio, et benefico ecclesiastico, si postea foris fecerit, secundum
voluntatem regis et bailivorum suorum judiceter.

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 151
power of the'lay jurisdiction could not be extended."* He
goes on to say, that Henry was informed of more than a
hundred homicides already committed by the clergy in
England under his reign. This might well move the in
dignation of the king, and he consequently determined to
bring ecclesiastics under the arm of the civil power in
cases where offences of such gravity had been perpetrated.

* His words are, " Pege quippe circa euram regni satagenti, et male-
factores sine delectu exterminari jubenti, a judicibus intimatum est, quod
multa contra desciplinam publicam, scilicet furta, rapina, homicidia, _.
clericis saepius committerentur, ad quos scilicet laicas non posset jurisdic-
tionis vigor extendi." These are the words of a monk ; and certainly
this respectable and independent man, living in the midst of the scenes
which he describes, may be trusted when he speaks against the preju
dices of his order, which as well in this, as in the case of Becket, he
does not unfrequently, condemning much of the Archbishop's conduct,
and plainly showing his approbation of the King's views, even while he
censures the weak violence with which Henry's pursued them. I shall
have frequently occasion to cite both Newbury and Hoveden, and it may
be necessary here to point out, that the latter was chaplain to Henry the
Second. He had, therefore, an opportunity of knowing, fully and com
pletely, all that took place in regard to the dispute with Becket, and
most likely had studied it deeply. It may be supposed that his situa
tion near the king's person gave him a prejudice against Becket ; but we
must remember that he wrote long after that prelate's death, as well as
after the death of his sovereign. Becket was by that time canonized,
the power of Rome completely triumphant over the weakness of John,
every thing was to be gained, and nothmg to be lost, by giving the most
favourable view of the Archbishop's proceedings ; and these circum
stances, as well as the spirit of his class, which he must have shared with
other ecclesiastics, may well be considered as sufficient lo counterba
lance any prepossession against Becket. His account, too, is simple and
straightforward, and deals more with facts than opinions. This part of
his narrative, too, may be considered as written purely from his own
knowledge. A great portion of the first part of his history is evidently
taken from Huntingdon ; and the Abbot of Peterborough has afforded
him materials for the latter part ; but between the years 1154 and 1170,
Hoveden, I am convinced, drew his information from original sources.

152 THE LIFE OF «
But it was the determination of the Church of Rome, and
of Becket, that such a purpose should not be effected. In
the very first year after that prelate's, elevation, a general
council was held at Tours, and one of the avowed objects
of the assembly was to provide forthe liberties of the cler
gy, which, as it had already deviated into license of the
grossest and most abominable description, evidently want
ed circumscription rather than extension. I know not, how
ever, that this object was announced before the council had
assembled, otherwise Henry must have been very weak in
deed to suffer the whole of his archbishops and bishops,
except three, to attend the meeting at Tours, as he did at
the solicitation of Alexander himself. What took place
between the Pope and Becket on this joccasion, can only
be matter of conjecture. William of Newbury, however,
declares it was reported, that Becket, in remorse at the
violent means which had been employed to force him upon
the clergy of Canterbury, resigned his see into the hands
of the Pope, who as a matter of course took it back to him,
and quieted his conscience by absolution. Certain it is that
Alexander received him with the utmost distinction ; and,
between the prelate and the sovereign pontiff a bond was
established, which strengthened by the superstitious zeal
.of Louis of France, enabled them to overthrow the wisest
and most admirable purpose which the EngUsh monarch
ever entertained.
In speaking as I am obliged to do on this and other oc
casions, I by no means intend to imply that degree of cen
sure of Alexander and Becket which their conduct would
have well merited had they lived in more enlightened times,
or been placed in circumstances wherein their eyes could
have seen clearly the paths of right and wrortg, unobscured
by the dim mists of self-interest, and undazzled by the fic
titious splendour with which Rome had invested herself.
Alexander, on his part, doubtless thought that he only claim-

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 159
ed for the Church that which was the Church's right ; and
forgetting the more bitter degradation of crime, he might
look upon it as derogatory to the clergy to submit to the
judgment of laymen. Nay more : he might remember how
ignorant, mercenary, and flagitious, as well as cruel and
remorseless, many of the judges of the land, and still more
the Barons who acted as judges, had proved themselves, not
only in England, but over the whole of Europe. He might,
at a later period, have urged, that not even the greatest ju-
risconsult of the day, the High Justiciary of England, was
free from suspicion of most iniquitous corruption. He
might have put forth the principle, that all men are to be
tried by their peers, and that in the age in which he lived
none could bear that relation towards the clergy, but cler
gymen themselves. He might have pleaded many other
things to support the claim which he conceived to be in
every respect just to the Church, of which he was the head.
But, on the other hand, Becket unfortunately, in former con
troversies with churchmen, had made such declarations of
the authority of the crown, that his present pretensions
could only be supported by a supposition that the miracle
which had changed him into an Archbishop and rendered
him devout instead of worldly, had at the same time opened
his eyes in regard to the respective rights of kings and
clergymen. From whatever source he derived his light,
certain it is that he now viewed all things in a different
manner, and that he returned from Tours with a full deter
mination to resign none of those privileges which his order
had so much abused. He began his proceedings, however,
in an unwise manner, claiming as the property of the
Church various estates belonging to English noblemen,
who had held them for several generations. His plea was,
zeal for the Church ; but as the proceeding was exactly in
accordance with the grasping spirit which he had pre
viously shown, while the zeal of the Archbishop had slum-

154 THE LIFE OF
bered in the Archdeacon, men believed him to be actuated
far more by avarice than by devotion. These, and various
similar acts, not only excited the anger of the king in a
tenfold degree, but called upon him the animosity of the
nobles, which was certainly contrary to the policy that
Becket should have pursued.
Another great error he committed, was, that — instead of
taking instant measures to purify the manners of the clergy,
to reform the ecclesiastical courts, and to punish with all
the severity which the canons permitted, the crimes of the
priesthood — he used all his authority to screen clerical
offenders, and in some instances to protect persons who
had committed the most dark and terrible crimes. This
excited still greater anger and indignation, and Henry sum
moned the bishops of his realm to meet him at Westmin
ster, in order to employ means for putting a stop to such
abuses.. In this assembly, the king did not make any direct charge
against the Archbishop ; but he demanded that the clergy,
when proved guilty of heinous crimes, should be given over
to the secular qrm for punishment.* The king, however,
* A modern writer, in a laborious defence of the clergy of that day,
which he has woven into his history, omitting all that would injure his
cause, insinuates that it was upon one single case — that of Pttilip de
Brois — that Henry called his clergy together, and " required their con
sent that for the future whenever a clergyman had been degraded for a
public crime, he should be immediately delivered into the custody of a
lay officer to be punished by the sentence of a lay tribunal." This is
by no means a just statement ; and if— putting aside the account of Ste-
phanides, who, where Becket is concerned, cannot be received by any
candid critic— we compare Diceto with Hoveden and with William of
Newbury, the one a priest, the other a monk, and inquire what the king
did demand, and upon what grounds, we shall find that Henry, discover
ing that the clergy were in the custom of committing robbery, rape, and
homicide with impunity, (vide Guil. Neubrig. lib. ii. cap. 16.) demanded
of his clergy and people, that according to the laws of his grandfather,
if any clergyman should be taken in (comprehensus) the commission of

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 155
weakly suffered Becket to confer with the rest of the pre
lates apart, and their reply went to sustain the archbishop's
views, as I have already given them from Hoveden. The
king next demanded, whether the bishops would observe
the ancient customs and laws of the realm ; and probably
there had never before been a period in England, when
that question would have produced any hesitation; but on
the present occasion, at the . dictation it would appeaj: of
Becket, the bishops,- with only one exception, replied that
they would observe those customs, as far as they could,
saving the privileges of their order, and the honour of God
and the Holy Church ; the interpretation of which reser
vation was not difficult.*
Henry, indignant, quitted the assembly, with very slight
effort to change this determination, saying, that he saw the
bishops were arrayed against him. The next morning he
deprived Becket of the preceptorship of his son Henry, and
took from him the custody of various places which had
long been entrusted to him. Becket was greatly mortified,
it would seem, at this result ; but his daring and determined
spirit rose to resist rather than to yield. We find, clearly,
. that the whole of the lay nobility were strenuous in support
of the king ; but the bishops on the contrary seem to have
been either overawed by the superior abilities of Becket, or
by the fear of offending Rome ; and nothing could induce
them to declare kopenly against that prelate, although the
robbery, murder, felony, arson, or any similar crime, he should be exa
mined and punished as a layman. Hoveden, pars post Henric. II.
* The account of Hoveden is slightly different, but in no material par
ticular. He says that of the convocation in 1164, Henry asked, if for
his love and service, and for the. stability of the kingdom, they would
receive and keep the laws of Henry, his grandfather. He goes on. to
state that Becket answered for them all, saying, " That they would keep
them, saving in all things his order, the honour of God, and the Holy
Church."

156 THE LIFE OF
good sense of many of them might lead them to side in
opinion with the king. This was the case probably with
the Bishop of London, and certainly with the Archbishop
of York and the Bishop of Chichester ; and a number of
those who did not choose to declare themselves openly,
laboured zealously with Becket in private for the purpose
of inducing him to make the promise exacted by the king,
without the saving clause, which rendered it of no effect.
No sort of influence was left unemployed, and the Bishop
of Lisieux is said to have come from France in order to
prevail upon him to enter into some compromise with Henry.
' Nothing was found effectual, however ; Becket remained
not only obdurate, but the Bishop of Lisieux, in one of his
letters, leads us to believe that he spoke with contempt of
the king, and utter disregard of his authority.* It would
appear that amongst those who pressed him the most
eagerly to submit to the royal authority, were two knights
* In the collection of Becket's correspondence, quite sufficient mate
rials are to be found forjudging of the character of the man, and refuting
the claims to sanctity which have been set up in his favour, though not,
perhaps, to elucidate all the events of his life. Much curious matter
is to be found in a letter (No. 85) from Ernulfus of Lisieux, which affords
proof — although a modern writer has asserted that " by his contempo
raries Becket's change of conduct on his elevation was universally attri
buted to a conscientious sense of duty," — that there were not wanting
many persons to assert that " his ambition was more fully gratified to
hold the power independently, and from reverence for his ecclesiastical
dignity, which he had formerly possessed from the favour and at the will
of another ; that being once thus raised; he could not be content to sit
at the foot of the throne, or even by its side, but menaced the crown
itself, intending to bring it so far into subservience to his authority, that
the power to bestow and support it should principally rest with the church ;
that he began with opposing the king's commands, in order that every
thing should seem to be absolutely under his rule, as no hope of resist
ance could be entertained by others, when the royal authority itself was
forced to succumb." This was the man whose conduct was attributed
' universally to a conscientious sense of duty.'

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 157
templars, Richard of Hastings, and Tostes de St. Omers,
to whom Henry had shown great favour, after they had
been driven from- France for yielding to him the castles of
the Norman Vexin ; and it would seem that they prevailed
more with him than any other persons. . Nevertheless he
still resisted ; and negociations took place between Henry
and the pope, in order to obtain a mandate from Alexander,
addressed to the bishops of England, and commanding
them to observe the ancient customs arid laws of the realm.
This was doubtless undertaken in the hope that Alexander's
infinite obligations to Henry would induce him to follow
the steps of Calixtus the Second, who had granted such a
confirmation of the customs of England to Henry the First.
It now appeared that Henry had made a lamentable mis
take in supporting Alexander against the Etnperor Frederic.
Had the King of England either maintained that prelate's
claims upon the papacy who had announced opinions favour
able to his own views, which was the case with Victor ;
or had he even refrained from aiding that prelate who had
openly declared principles totally subversive of his wise
intentions, till such time as he had established firmly the
laws with which he now sought to bridle the licentiousness
of the clergy, the English monarch would have found either
a willing co-operator in Alexander, under the fear of total
abandonment, or else a sure resource in Victor, whose
views were perfectly compatible' with his own. The pope
refused the king's request, except under conditions which
would have rendered his consent null ; and Becket had
now the clear and distinct support of the papal approbation
in his struggle with the king, with the nobility^ and with
the laws.
On various points connected with this part of the his
tory, different statements exist, which create considerable
confusion and obscurity. It is distinctly asserted by Hove
den, however, that about this time, Philip, the Pope's almo-
vol. i. — 14

158

THE LIFE OF

ner, was sent to England for the purpose of quieting the
dissensions which had arisen between Henry and the arch
bishop ; and that he was authorized by the supreme pon
tiff, and the cardinals, to command Becket to promise that
he would keep all the laws without exception. Nothing
can be more clear than the words of the historian ; and it
is also certain, that the archbishop did shortly after join
Henry at Woodstock and promise unreservedly to observe
the customs of the kingdom. The eulogists of Becket
have attempted to soften down this act with assertions so
ridiculous, as to be unworthy of any consideration.* It is
clear, if the best and most impartial contemporary histo
rians are to be believed, that he went to Woodstock ; it is
clear that he made this promise unreservedly ; and it is
clear that Henry relied upon it perfectly.
It remained, however, for the King of England, having
as he believed vanquished the obstinacy of his primate, to
obtain the same concession from the bishops whom Becket
had stimulated to oppose him ; and for that purpose he
summoned a great council to assemble immediately at Cla
rendon. The meeting took place in the spring of 1164.
The eldest persons there present were appointed to draw
up from memory the laws and customs of the realm, which
* They asserted that Henry assured Becket he would never require
anything of him to the prejudice of the church ; and that all he wished
for was, a testimony of respect and submission in the face of his barons,
for which purpose a mere shadow of consent would be sufficient. Were
it possible to suppose that Henry would be so foolish as to say such a
thing, or that Becket would be so foolish as to believe it, the circum
stances under which the promise was given would show the falsehood
of the assertion altogether. Becket went to Oxford to the king to make
this promise, after his conference with the Pope's almoner ; and Henry,
so far from showing any disposition to leave the promise vague, instantly
called a great council or parliament at Clarendon, for the purpose of de
fining what the customs were to which the promise referred, and of caus
ing the other prelates and nobles to make a similar promise.

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 159
had been so often referred to ; and certainly nothing could
be more just or straightforward than this method of defin
ing them. But, when it was proposed that the whole as
sembly should take an oath to observe them, Becket refus
ed positively to do so. Some writers declare, that the
archbishop asserted as his excuse that this was all very
different from the general promise he had made the king ;
but others, and amongst them Hoveden, state that he did not
deny the promise he had made, but only declared that he
had greatly sinned in making it, and would so sin no
more.* The king and his nobles were furious at this conduct.
Violent and irritable in the highest degree, we may easily
believe that Henry could scarcely bridle his indignation ;
and for three days the clergy, the monarch, and the barons
remained in fierce and menacing debate, in which, if we
may trust to the words of the Bishop of London, whose
high and severe purity of character renders his testimony
indisputable, the prelates resisted every effort to extort from
them the oath demanded : " ready to submit to loss of for
tune, anguish of body, endurance of exile, and if God will
ed it, even the sword itself," rather than abandon the course
in which their archbishop led them.
It would appear that the prelates from time to time con
sulted apart ; and " on the third day," says the Bishop of
London, " when all the princes and nobles of the realm had
been excited to the utmost fury, after a tremendous noise
and shouting, they entered the meeting where we sat, and
with their mantles cast back, and outstretched arms, ad
dressed us thus : ' Listen, oh ye who contemn the statutes
of the realm, and will not receive the commands of the
* Et Paulo post congregate clero, et populo regni apud Clarendum,
pcenituit Archiepiscopum, quod ipse concessionem feceret rigi. Et vo-
lens resilire a pacto dixit se in ilia concessione graviter pecasse, et quod
in hoc amplius non peccaret. — Hoveden, 493.

160 THE LIFE OF
king ; not ours are these hands that you behold, not
ours these arms, not ours even these bodies* but they
arethose of. our lord the king, ready at his nod to revenge
his injuries, ready to do his will promptly, let it be what
soever it will ; whatever shall be his mandate, shall be
to us most just, and we will execute it willingly. Change
your determination, incline your minds to obedience, in
order that you may avoid, while it is yet easy, a peril
which soon must be inevitable.' What then . " continues
Foliot, "Who fled? Who turned their back . Whose
spirit gave way ? "
The bishop goes on to. say that no one yielded ; and he
names all the prelates present, down to himself, with the
exception of Becket,- asserting that every one of them re
mained firm in the defence of the church ; but he then pro
ceeds : " The general of the host turned his back, the
leader of the camp fled from it, from his brethren, and from
the council ; the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury withdrew
himself, and after a space given to conference apart, he
returned to us, and spoke these words ; ' It is the wiU of
my lord that I should perjure myself, and at present I sub
mit, and incur perjury, for which I may do penance here
after.'" The bishop proceeds to describe the stupified astonish
ment into which these words cast the bishops. They
yielded, however, to the will of Becket, and led by him
like sheep, took the oath demanded of them, promising in
truth and sincerity faithfully to observe the ancient customs
of the country, which had been written down from the
general testimony of the elder members of the assembly.
In this transaction, while we see somewhat to regret in
the fact that a number of English prelates should ever have
combined to struggle for privileges subject to such dark and
terrible abuses, we cannot help admiring'the firmness, cour
age, and constancy with which they maintained that which

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 161
they believed to be right. The conduct of Becket, how
ever, in this instance, as in all that preceded the parlia
ment of Clarendon, shows the same mixture of greedy
ambition, of dark cunning, and base hypocrisy. If the
account of the Bishop of Londoji be correct, and if that
account was addressed to Becket himself by an eye-wit
ness, who took part in all that was there enacted, the arch
bishop's conduct on this occasion may very well be receiv
ed as elucidating the whole of his previous behaviour.
This letter of Gilbert Foliot, indeed, has been declared on
the most unreasonable grounds, to be spurious, having been
suppressed by the librarians of the Vatican.* It seems to
* The first person, I believe, who impugned the authority of this let
ter, was a gentleman of the name of Berington, somewhat about the
year 1790. This author assumes two grounds, changing from the one
to the other as he proceeds. He labours hard to show, in the first place,
that the letter was never sent to Becket, but was privately circulated by
Foliot ; or, having been written by him, was never sent, on account of
what he calls its libellous character, and was suppressed. His argu
ment to establish this is, that it could not have been sent, as Becket, or
John of Salisbury, could easily have refuted it, and never did.
As this is begging a part of the question, if not the whole, such a
course of reasoning requires no notice. The worthy gentleman, how
ever, admits that " Here the letter is (i. e. in the Cotton MSS.) and it
seems to be authentic. It is equally so with the manuscript itself,
which contains five hundred and sixty-two letters, and without date."
This is a very important admission, as the Cotton MS. is esteemed one
of the most ancient copies of Becket's letters extant. The letters are
illuminated, and I have taken means to satisfy myself fully that the
writing is considerably anterior to the Reformation.
Mr. Berington goes on next to impugn the credibility of Foliot's state
ments, principally resting his objections upon what that prehite says in
this letter regarding the election of Becket and the forcible manner in
which it was carried through. Against this he brings forward Becket's
answer to the same charges, when made by the suffragans, and John of
Salisbury's letter upon the same subject ; both of which distinctly deny
that the elevation was anything but regular and canonical, and declare
that it was approved of by all. John of Salisbury even goes on to as-
14*

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me that no dispassionate inquirer can for a moment doubt
that the letter is genuine ; especially as it is completely
sert, that the applause of the Bishop of London on Becket's election,
was more strongly marked than any other person. This, be it remark
ed, was but pleading, by Beckw and his most strenuous supporter, a di
rect denial to a serious charge made by the suffragans as well as the
Bishop of London. Such a denial, 'however, migbt be held as good by
some people against the Bishop of London and the suffragans, did it
not happen that two of Becket's most zealous and eager friends
give a strong contradiction, both to the assertion of the primate,
and to that of his clever but malignant follower, John of Salisbury.
In regard to the assertion of the latter that the applause of the Bishop
was more strongly marked than that of any one else, we have only to
turn to Fitz-Stephen,- the panegyrist of Becket, to find the bitter sarcasm .
with which Foliot vented his indignation on Becket's consecration ; and
with regard to the election, which Becket declares to have been perfectly
canonical, we have the unfortunate testimony of his friend and devoted
Companion Alanus, by which we find that he himself acknowledged to the
Pope every thing in regard to the election with which Foliot- charges
him. (See a note farther on upon this subject.) Moreover, the unca-
nonical character of Beckett's election has nothing to do with the pre
sent letter, which only repeats a charge contained in other letters, which
no one has ventured to doubt. All this while, Mr. Berington does not
advance the slightest doubt that the letter was written by Fpliot. He
only attempts to- prove that Foliot lied against Becket, But as Foliot
has the testimony of the Pope Alexander himself to his upright integrity,
this would be an indirect proof that the letter was not his, if by any
means it could be established that the charges of the letter were false ;
for then the Bishop of London could not have made them. What then
is- Mr. Berington's argument to prove that the rest of the charges were
false 1 First, that Roger Hoveden, and Diceto, both of whom were in
all probability present, give (he asserts) " a story, which hardly in a sin
gle instance accords with Foliot's." This worthy gentleman is fond of
assuming sueh things without any very great accuracy, and I will show
that the statements of this letter are confirmed throughout by the best
contemporary authority: The account of Diceto is extremely br ef, and
as he omits a thousand particulars regardmg the parliament at C laren-
don, he omits these amongst the rest, merely stating the broad result.
Hoveden, however, is much more ample ; and I do not scruple' to affirm,
that in every particular of which, by his station, he could have personal

¦RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 163
borne out in all its Statements by those other historians of
the time, whose account is not marked with suspicion by
cognizance, he confirms the account given in the Bishop's epistle. Foliot
puts Becket in mind, in his letter, of what had happened at London and
at Oxford. Hoveden tells us what t^at was ; namely, that Becket
refused at London to receive the laws of Henry I. without a saving of
the rights of his order and- the Holy Church ; and that upon Henry's
anger he followed him to Woodstock (which is what Foliot means by
Oxford) and promised the King to receive his laws bona-fide, and without
evil intention. " Se bona fide et sine malo ingenio leges suas servatu-
rum." The letter of Foliot then goes on to say, that at Clarendon,
when for three successive days the- King had tried to draw from the
Prelates a recognition of the ancient laws of the realm, and the Bishops
had refused-to give it unconditionally, the Barons entered and threatened
them-; upon which the Archbishop retired, consulted with some other
persons, and returning, declared that - he had made up his mind to per
jure himself, and do penance afterwards. How does Hoveden describe
the same matter 1 He says, that at Clarendon, Becket announced his
determination to break his word, plighted in good faith at Oxford, and
that the King was thereat so angry, that he threatened him with both
exile and death. Whether the Bishops consulted in a chamber apart or
not, he does not say ; but we must remember that in all such assemblies
it was the constant custom of the Prelates so to do. What took place
in the conference of the Bishops amongst themselves, Hoveden was in
no situation to witness, he being merely one of the King's chaplains ; but
he goes on to tell us what took place at a moment when his very words
show that Becket had separated himself, both from the general assembly,
then sitting at Clarendon, and from his -brother Bishops. He tells us,
that the Bishops of Salisbury and Norwich, the Earls of Cornwall and
Leicester, and two' Knights Templars, went to Becket, and prevailed
upon him to come, and swear to receive the King's laws. This was evi
dently when he had separated himself from his brethren, as Foliot de
scribes, and gone to. consult apart ; and the only thing that is here
omitted, is what took place in the chamber where the Bishops were
alone, which JrIov«den, not being one of them, couldnot oe" acquainted
with of his own knowledge. Neither he, nor other historians of the
time, except Foliot, describe -the entrance of the armed men into the
chamber where the Bishops were assembled ; but Hoveden himself
says that there was good cause for alarm, and another contemporary re
lates the menaces used towards the Bishops in such a manner as to

164

THE LIFE OF

their being the professed eulogists of the refractory pre
late.
confirm, perhaps more strongly, the truth of Foliot's letter upon this
point, than even if he had repeated exactly the same words. He says,
¦' There certainly were various pfficers rushing about the royal chambers,
brandishing their shining battle-axes, as if prepared to smite the heads of
the Bishops." This is the account of Gervase, one of the best and
most accurate historians of the day, connected with the Church of Can
terbury, and possessed of every means of information ; and it must be
contended that this in the strongest manner corroborates the account
given by Foliot. The only thing that now remains uncorroborated by
collateral proof, are the words used by Becket, that it was the will of
his lord that he should perjure himself and do penance after. On this
point we can surely have no stronger proof than his own actions. He had
already perjured himself to a certain point — that is to say, broken his
solemn promise to the King given at Oxford, there can be no doubt ; and
that he again did so on the present occasion, in taking an oath to observe
the customs, and then violating that oath, nobody has ever attempted to
deny. The only question is, whether he did or did not, as the Bishop of
London declares, meditate the perjury while he took the oath. Gervase
says, " He, the Archbishop, did certainly fall in words, but quickly com
ing back to himself, he rose again -all the stronger in works ,•" and we
find it proved beyond doubt, that Becket, immediately after having taken
this oath, sought absolution from the Pope for so doing, and suspended
himself from the service of the altar till he had obtained it ; which is
surely very like perjuring himself because it was the will of his Lord,
and doing penance afterwards. Thus, then, I assert, in opposition to
Mr. Berington, that the story which is told by contemporaries, several of
whom were certainly present, confirms in every respect the letter attri
buted to Foliot Bishop of London ; that Hoveden, Diceto, and Gervase,
prove that Becket first of all refused to consent to the King's views in
London, then followed him to Oxford, and promised to receive the laws
which he wished to enforce, retracted this promise at Clarendon, and
being threatened with the King's anger, separated himself from the
other Bishops, and consulted apart. They prove also, that many of the
King's friends and officers threatened the Bishops with their brandished
weapons, and that under these menaces Becket gave way, and took the
oath to observe the customs, which he instantly violated, and sought ab
solution, and did penance for taking it. Foliot tells exactly the same story,
and adds nothing but two facts which came more immediately under his

RICHARD CCSUR-DE-LION. 165
It is certain, however, if such a fact may be received as
any excuse for Becket's conduct on the present occasion,
own cognizance than under that of the historians — namely, that the
officers, who were seen brandishing their battle-axes, as if about to dash
the Bishops' brains out, as described by Gervase, did actually enter the
hall where they were assembled, and threatened them there, and that
Becket, while he took the oath, had not the slightest intention of keeping
it, which, indeed his whole subsequent conduct would prove, even if the
Bishop had never made the assertion. Thus, instead of being uncon
firmed by other historians, the letter is confirmed in every particular.
As far as we have hitherto gone, Mr. Be.rington see'ms not to have had
a doubt of the authenticity of the. letter. It is against Foliot that he
fights in defence of his favourite, Becket, and nothing is too bad for the
Bishop of London ; his letter is declared to be libellous and- false, and
the bishop is declared never to have sent it to Becket, because he knew
it could be refuted.
Rising, however, in his enthusiasm, Mr. Berington next proceeds a
step further, finds out that he has done tbe Bishop of London wrong, de
clares that the letter is a forgery, written by some anonymous enemy of
Becket, and attributed by him to the Bishop of London, in order to give
it an appearance of authority. The assertion is a very bold one, but it
is supported by an assertion bolder still. " The letter," he says, " must
be a forgery, because the Bishop of London could not in the short space
of two years, forget the events that had happened at Clarendon ;'' and
he goes on to say, " He, the writer, speaks of the bishops being shut up
in one room at Clarendon, and of a third day of the meeting, and of the
nobles violently entering their chamber, and of the primate's withdraw
ing. But none of these things happened at Clarendon. The bishops
were not shut up, the meeting lasted but two days, the nobles did not
enter their chamber, and the primate did not withdraw." Such is Mr.
Berington's very bold assertion. Whether the bishops were or were not
shut up in consultation together during a part of the time that they were
at Clarendon, we have no evidence but probability to show; but in no
other respect whatever, is Mr. Berington justified, even by the absence
of evidence, in making the assertions he has made. In two instances,
indeed, he goes directly in the teeth of historical facts. It may be a
difficult thing to prove how long the parliament of Clarendon did sit, but
there is no difficulty whatever in showing that it sat more than two days.
For its commencement, we will take the- authority which Mr. Berington
acknowledges to be the best — that of Diceto, who says that the parlia-

166 THE LIFE OF
that he was threatened in the most violent and angry man
ner by the king and by the barons ; and it would appear,
ment met on the eighth calends of February — in other words, the twenty-
fifth of January. Thus the commencement is ascertained, but Diceto
does not tell us when the session concluded. The constitutions of Cla
rendon themselves, however, were sworn to by the bishops on the fourth
day before the purification of the blessed Virgin — that is to say, on the
twenty-ninth of January ; and thus, including the day that the parlia
ment assembled, and the day of the swearing to the constitutions, there
were five whole days during which the parliament sat. Such are the
dates as given by the very best authority, the Dean of St. Paul's, who is
known to have been present on the occasion, who is extremely accurate
in his accounts, who had no motive whatever for falsifying the truth, and
who was certainly favourable to Becket rather than to Henry — such, I
say, are the dates given by him, and by the constitutions of Clarendon
themselves. The words of Diceto are, " Concurrentibus episcopis et
proceribus eput Clarendune "VIII. kal. Februarii." Now it is true that
the writers of those days did sometimes invert the Roman mode of
counting the calends, and instead of counting back counted forward ;
but I cannot find that this was ever the case with Diceto : and if it were,
it would only make the matter worse for Mr. Berington's argument, giv
ing three days more for the sittings at Clarendon. But let us see what
some other historian gives as the date. Gervase says that the meeting
took place on the festival of Saint Hilary — " in festivitate sancti Hylari."
This is carrying it still further back, and making the sittings of the as
sembly last more than a fortnight By a great stretch, indeed, of the
historian's language, one may suppose that Gervase meant that the meet
ing took place during the quindisme of Saint Hilary, which, though it
would make the matter vague as to the precise day, would not give any
support to Mr. Berington ; as the very last day of the quindisme still
allows three whole days for the sittings of Clarendon. Whence then is
it that Mr. Berington derives his date 1
Hoveden unfortunately does not give us any date, but he says nothing
whatsoever to support the assumption of Mr. Berington. In regard to
the two other points, the words of Hoveden show, as I have before de
monstrated, that Becket did withdraw from the rest of the persons as
sembled at Clarendon. He says that the bishops, and the Earls of Lei
cester and Cornwall, went to him, and begged him to come with them
to the king, in order to promise before the people to receive the constitu
tions. Gervase says that some of the bishops, who were afraid of the

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 167
that while he was absent from the bishops on the occasion
mentioned above, the Bishops of Norwich and Salisbury,
king's anger, on account of old offences, went to the archbishop, so as to
distinctly prove that he was not with the rest ; and the words of this
author would also lead one to believe that the king was not present when
Becket first announced his intention of breaking his word in regard to the
constitutions. Gervase says : " When it came to the knowledge of the
king, that he intended to recede from his word, the king became furious.''
Now he would have never made use of this form, if the king had actually
heard the prelate's declaration. He and Hoveden would both have used
the words, when the king heard, if the king had been present. We know
that the king was present with the nobles, but, from the words we have
stated, there is reason to believe that he was not present with the bishops ;
and therefore, we may imply that they conferred apart, as the letter
attributed to Foliot asserts. No historian except Mr. Berington, de
clares that during some part of the time at least, the bishops did not
confer apart ; and in regard to the threats used towards the bishops by
the friends and attendants of Henry, I have already shown that Gervase
completely bears out the statement of the letter, that armed men with
naked weapons, did pass to and fro through the chambers of the palace,
as if ready to slay the bishops. Let me remark here that there is a little
disingenuousness in Mr. Berington's translation of this phrase of Ger
vase. The historian says, " Discurrerunt certe quidam satellites per
cameras regis secures splendidar vibrantes, succincti, et quasi in capita
episcoporum irruituri." Mr. Berington translates it, "with their gar
ments tucked up and ready for execution," leaving out all about the
bishops. It would not, indeed, have suited his purpose so far to confirm
the statement of the letter. That it does confirm, it is evident ; for who
can doubt that these " Satellites secures splendidas vibrantes et suc
cincti," were the very same people who, according to the words of the
letter, rushed into the hall where the- bishops were, " rejectis palliis
exertisque brachiis ." No one who is in any degree capable of appre
ciating evidence. I have, I trust, now shown, that there is no founda
tion for Mr. Berington's assertion — " that none of these things happened
at Clarendon. The bishops were not shut up; the meeting lasted but
two days ; the nobles did not enter their chamber ; and the primate did
not withdraw." I have shown that the bishops did probably confer
apart, that the meeting lasted several days, that the nobles did threaten
the prelates, and probably enter the chamber where they were, and that
the archbishop did withdraw. I trust that I have proved, moreover,

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and- the Earls of Leicester and Cornwall, together with the
two knights Templars, of whom we have before spoken,
that Mr. Berington's assertion, that the account given in the letter
is at variance with that of contemporary historians, is equally destitute
of foundation ; and that the three contemporary historians, Gervase,
Diceto, and Hoveden, two of whom are known to have been present,
confirm in every material point the statements of the letter. The only
remaining objection which is urged against the epistle, is, that neither
Becket nor his friends replied to it. Whether this be really an objection
or not, must be decided in the minds of every one by the opinion enter
tained of thejnerits of the question between Becket and the Bishop of
London. Those who believe as I do, that the assertions of the
Bishop of London, borne out as they are by the concurrent testi
mony of many independent persons, were perfectly true, that Becket
knew them to be so, and tjiat the primate was well aware also that
— though none of the bishops had ventured to reveal that speech
which the Bishop of London now revealed, in the height of his in
dignation — all of them could bear witness to his having spoken it,
will very easily comprehend why he neither answered the charge
himself, nor suffered his friends to do so.
It seems to me that in every respect whatsoever, the attempt of Mr.
Berington to throw discredit upon this letter is one of the most lament
able and unsuccessful efforts which strong prejudice has ever made to
pervert the course of history. It is utterly baseless, and every assertion
by which it is supported, is found, upon examining the historians to
whom that author refers, to be borne out in no degree by the real sense
of the words that they used. Irritated by the violence and intemperance "
of Becket, it is very probable that the Bishop of London did give the
very harshest form to his accusations. : .and we. do know, from the friends
of Becket himself, that when sent by Henry to' the Pope, the Bishop of
London commenced a series of charges against the Primate, of so terri
ble a character, that the Pope stopped him, and would not suffer him to
proceed. Farther, I have only to state my own thorough conviction, that the
letter is the genuine composition of Foliot", Bishop of London, that it
was sent to Becket, and that Becket transmitted a copy of it to the •
Pope. My reasons forbelieying such to be the case, are these :
In the first place,. the manuscript in which it is found is very ancient,
probably the most ancient copy of Becket's letters extant ; the hand-

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 169
sought him out and besought him on their knees, and with
tears, to yield to the will of the king, and to receive the
laws in dispute.
writing leaves no doubt whatever of its antiquity. It forms then a part
of one of the very earliest copies of Becket's correspondence.
In the next place, by a careful comparison of that letter with other
letters of the Bishop of London, such as that to the Pope, I find a precise
similarity of style, the same sort of figures of speech, similes of exactly
the same character with each other, and especiaUy a, frequent reference
to the likeness between the head of the Church and the head of the
human body, and to the effects produced upon the limbs in the one in
stance, and the inferior members of the Church in the other, when any
thing affects the head. Besides this, as I have said, the concurrent
testimony of three contemporary writers sustains the truth of every im
portant point mentioned in this letter ; and in the next place when I am
told that it is a forgery, I ask myself ; first, why such a forgery should be
committed 1 secondly, could it be committed, and remain undetected so
long . In regard to the first question, I am answered, It was forged by
some enemy of Becket to do his reputation an injury. It was forged,
then, during the life of Becket. It must have been circulated very gene
rally to do him an injury, or else it lost its effect.- Did Becket himself,
then, never hear of it 1 Did none of Becket's friends never hear of it .
Did the Bishop of London never hear of it 1 Did the Pope never hear
of it 1 And if so, why did not the one party expose, if they could, the
falsehood of the facts ; and why did not the other expose the shameful
forgery of his name 1 Why, at some period, did not Alexander himself,
or the subsequent Popes, or any of the papal scribes, publicly declare
this charge against one of their great saints and martyrs, to be a noto
rious forgery 1 Why did they not call upon the Bishop of London to de
clare it to be such 1 It could not well have escaped the observation of
the Bishop of London himself; for that bishop survived many years the
contest between Becket and the king, and lived to see his opponent ca
nonized. Why then did not he disown it . It did not escape the know
ledge of the Pope, as I shall show hereafter.
But if the letter, on the contrary, were really written, a_id sent, and
contained the truth, there- was every reason on earth why Becket and
his friends should pass it over in silence, should affect very likely not to
have received it ; and, moreover, there is every reason why the Bishop
of London himself should not urge the subject home upon one, who,
very soon after that letter was written, being supported by the Pope,
VOL. I.  15

170

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Some persons have asserted that the laws were not col
lected and written down till after the consent of the bishops
and armed with all the thunders of the Church, returned to England but
to become a martyr, and to be canonized as a saint. In regard to the
Popes, it was very wise of them to say nothing of the document, so long
as the Bishop of London lived, and to suppress, it as far as possible when
he was dead. That he could not, and would not,, deny that he had
written it, they knew ; and therefore let it slumber during his life ; but
by suppressing it, by banishing it from all the manuscripts of the Vati
can, they judged, and judged rightly, that at some future period a docu
ment so condemnatory of their saint would either never be heard of, or
would pass for a forgery. Unfortunately for this purpose, however,
when they suppressed the letter in the manuscript, they forgot to erase ¦
the title from the catalogue ; and the first line of Foliot's letter — of Fo
liot's- genuine, indubitable letter to Becket — is to be found at full amongst
the Vatican catalogues ! ! This would seem to be the only link want
ing in the chain of evidence, to prove that the letter was written by
Foliot, was sent, and was received.
After this, I have not the slightest hesitation in receiving the letter
(Claudius, b. II., folio 92.) as the genuine letter of the Bishop of Lon
don, and asserting that it is so beyond all reasonable doubt. Neither
do I scruple to affirm, that, it conveys the most important- account of
Becket's conduct that the world has ever received ; inasmuch as it is
shown to be fully worthy of credit, by those contemporary historians
who were not the professed advocates of the Primate. Neither did
Lord Lyttleton, nor will I .assert, that Foliot's evidence was to be re
ceived in opposition to any impartial testimony, for he was himself an
opponent of Becket. But as the Pope himself bears witness to his in
tegrity,- as the Primate before their quarrel gave the same testimony, as
all the Bishops of England were there to refute his statement if it was
not true,. I must contend that Lord Lyttleton was justified in receiving
the authority of Foliot,' as more worthy of credit, than the accounts of the
panegyrists "and miracle-mongers in the Primate's. train. All the impar
tial historians of the time confirm the bishop's account in its' chief parti
culars ; and there are none directly .opposed to it, but those- whose
business was to raise the character of Becket, at the expense of every
other consideration.
It. may be asked, and I would wish to meet the objection at once,
upon what principles I admit, a little farther on, that a papal bull to the
Archbishop of York may very probably be forged. It is contained in the

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 171
had been given : but this can scarcely be supposed to have
been the case, and at all events, the question was, simply,
whether the old laws of the realm were to be maintained
or not ; the fact of their being the old laws and not new
ones, being ascertained by reference to the memory of the
eldest persons present. However that may be, Becket re
fused to put his seal to the laws that were then promul
gated, although all the other bishops were induced to do
so ; and it would seem that he affected to abstain from the
service of the altar, until he obtained absolution from the
Pope, for the wrong he had committed in consenting to the
constitutions of Clarendon. At the same time, however,
he joined with various other prelates in beseeching the
Eoman Pontiff to confirm the ancient customs of the realm,
although there cannot be the slightest doubt thathe well
. same collection of manuscripts, and is certainly of equal' antiquity with
the letter which I have proved to be genuine. Nevertheless, I say it
probably may have been forged ; though let it be remarked that I do not
say positively it is a forgery — of that I am doubtful ; but there was a
great object for forging such a document ; the great object of inducing
the Archbishop of York, and the other bishops, to perform, and to be
present at the coronation of the younger Henry. Here is . a reasonable
motive to be found for such a forgery ; and it appears to have been pro
nounced spurious by Alexander at once. It is scarcely possible to be
lieve that, if the Pope had really given that bull, and then punished the
bishops for acting upon it, they would not .have brought it forward iii
their own defence, had they not also been convinced very soon that it
was not a genuine document. The double-dealing of the Pope, indeed,
between Henry and Becket, is sufficiently proved by the letter which I
have given iri another place, the authenticity of which is universally ad
mitted ; but it is scarcely possible to conceive, that any man would have
the impudence to give two bulls directly opposite to each other within
the space of a few weeks, and to punish those who acted upon the first.
Besides, this has none of those collateral evidences of authenticity whieh
place the genuineness of Foliot's letter beyond all doubt. No contem
porary historians declare that the Pope really did permit the coronation
by the Archbishop" of York ; neither does the title of the bull appear in •
the Vatican catalogues.

172

THE LIFE OF

knew the request would be at once refused. The petition
was of course rejected by the ambitious priest who owed
his seat in the chair of St. Peter to the favour of the King
of England.
The constitutions of Clarendon — the separate articles of
which would occupy too much space for consideration in
this place — being thus agreed to by the bishops, and disal
lowed by the Pope, Henry's next object was to deprive
Becket, — of whose character he had now become fully,
aware, and whom he hated with a degree of virulence
which could only arise from mortified vanity added to dis
appointed affection — of a great portion of the authority
which he possessed, by obtaining for the Archbishop of
York, whom, it would seem, he had entirely gained, the
legatine power over all England. His application on this
point Alexander could not well refuse, after all the mighty
obligations which he owed to Henry ; but the politic Pon
tiff qualified the concession in such a manner as to render
it altogether impotent. He granted to Henry-tire tegatirre
powers, to be delivered by him to the Archbishop of York
whenever he should think fit ; but with the condition that
they should not be bestowed without the knowledge and
consent of Becket. The latter prelate, however, became
alarmed, notwithstanding the stipulation which the Pope
had made, and he obtained from Alexander a promise to
exempt his person, and the church and city of Canterbury,
from the legatine power of the Archbishop of York. But
Henry never made use of the commission entrusted to him,
seeing that it would be useless in consequence of the con
dition with which it was clogged. His indignation towards
Becket was not by any means diminished by that prelate's
forced consent to the constitutions of Clarendon, and he
now determined not only to proceed against the Archbishop
in another manner, but to use his whole power to punish
and annoy him. To this undertaking he was greatly stimu-

RICHARD CO-UR-DE-LION. i73
lated, there can be no doubt, both by the animosity which
the barons entertained towards Becket, and by the daring
attempts of that prelate himself to impede the execution of
the laws which he had just sworn to observe.
Knowing the enmity with which he was regarded by the
king and the nobles, and fearing, not unreasonably perhaps,
for his life, Becket endeavoured to make his escape from
England without the king's consent, which act was in itself,
as he well knew, contrary to the law of the land. He was
driven back, however, by contrary winds, and returned to
Canterbury just in time to prevent his temporalities from
being seized by the king's officers. It does not appear that
Henry proceeded any further against him for the attempt to
quit the kingdom : but he had at this time another accusation
to bring against the archbishop, of a more odious nature ;
namely, the having refused justice in his court to an English
nobleman, whom we find named John the Marshal ; and in
order to try this cause, Henry. called a great Council at
Northampton, to which Becket was formally cited. It
would seem that the king had previously called upon him to
present himself before him on a day fixed, but that Becket
had refused to come, some say without any excuse, while
others declare that the king had taken possession of his
lodging, and put horses and men therein, upon which the
archbishop had refused to appear till the king's servants and
horses were removed.
To Northampton, however, Becket came ; and the mo
narch there laid his formal complaint against him. for having
refused justice to John the Marshal, though all the proper -
forms had been gone through for obtaining redres*, and for
contempt of his court in n'ot appearing at the royal summons.
In regard, to John the Marshal, Becket pleaded that instead
of swearing before him upon the Evangelists, according to
the law of the land, that nobleman had brought in a book of
psalms or canticles, and sworn thereon.; but the archbishop
16*

174 THE LIFE OF
himself declared, that he knew not by whose advice John
the Marshal had done this ; and he only alleged that the
oath taken on this psalter was that which it was requisite to
take as a mere form before the cause could be removed from
his court to that of the king. Henry, however, would not
suffer this plea to prevaU, as the gravamen of the charge was
that he had not obeyed the king's first citation ; and on this
point the court adjudged the archbishop to lie at the mercy,
at it was called, of the monarch, who agreed to accept five
hundred pounds, which Becket offered to give, at the
prayers,* and by the advice of the barons. This was an
enormous sum in those times, amounting to several thousand
pounds of our present money ; and Becket not having come
prepared to pay it, found sureties amongst the bishops, with
which the king was satisfied. But Henry had evidently
arranged beforehand a cruel plan for persecuting the arch
bishop, and reducing him to resign his dignity ; and the
moment that this question was settled, he made another de
mand upon Becket, alleging that he had lent him five hun
dred pounds in the wars of Toulouse. Becket acknowledged
having received the money, but declared that it was a gift,
and not a loan. Henry maintained that it was merely a
loan ; and the parliament, having to judge whose assertion
was most worthy of credit, took, as a matter of course, the
word of the prosecutor, the defendant acknowledging that,
* The words of Hoveden, whom Lord Lyttleton cites, are as follows :
" Tamen prece et consilio baronum posuit se in misericordid regis de
quingentis libris." Lord Lyttleton says: "And it being understood
that a fine of five hundred pounds would be accepted by Henry, Eecket
submitted to pay that sum." This does not seem to me toi give sufficient.
weight to the words of Hoveden, who certainly meant to imply that
Becket only yielded to pay it at the earnest entreaty of the barons. Let
it be here remarked that Hoveden asserts that the first demand' made by
Becket on his arrival at Northampton, was for permission to go to France,
in order to confer with the Pope.

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 175
the money had been received, but being unable to show by
evidence that it was a gift. Had Becket foreseen what was
to follow, he would in all probability have pleaded in regard
to this demand, as he afterwards did in reference to others,
that the king's justiciary, acting in the monarch's name, and
confirmed by the voice of Prince Henry, had at his conse
cration set him free from all secular engagements whatso
ever. This immunity, however, did not seem to come to
his recollection at the time ; he pleaded to the charge that
the money was bestowed as a gift, and not being able to
establish the fact, was condemned to pay the amount.
Sureties for this second sum not being to be found amongst
the bishops, some of his vassals pledged themselves for the
payment, and were accepted.
All this, however, was but a prelude to the chief blow,
which was intended to crush him. On the third day of the
sitting of the parliament of Northampton, it was stated on
the part of the king, that while Becket was chancellor of
the kingdom, several abbacies and bishoprics had become
vacant, and the incomes thereof, of right belonging to the
king, had been left in the hands of his chancellor, together
with various other small branches of revenue, whereof no
account had been given for many years. The king alleged
that there was a deficiency of forty-four thousand marks,
and demanded that Becket should give an account of the
sums he had received.
The prelate, as he well might be, was astonished and
confounded. He replied, that this inquiry never having
been mentioned to him before, he had not come prepared,
even in thought, and he required time to consider, and
draw up his reply. The request was one that could not,
without the most flagrant injustice, be refused ; but Henry
demanded sureties on this point also — a demand which
might have appeared harsh, if not unjust, inasmuch as it
could not be supposed that any body could be suddenly

ITS THE LIFE OF
found to be security, for so enormous a sum, but that
Becket had, unfortunately for himself, given a plea for such
precaution, by attempting to flee from the land, without the
king's knowledge or permission.
. The Archbishop next requested to be allowed to confer
with his brethren, the bishops ; and to this Henry acceded.
The bishops, however, gave the primate but small comfort ;
they all saw and knew that the king's deterinination was to
crush him. He had disgusted them by his tergiversation,
falsehood,, and hypocrisy, very nearly as much as he had
disgusted the lay peers by his pride, his covetousness, and
his ambition. The Bishop of London, and almost all the
other prelates, strongly advised him to cast himself at the
king's feet, and to resign the archbishopric into his hands ;
but the Bishop of Winchester, on. the contrary, a man very
similar in various points of character to himself, recalled to
his mind that the king's Justiciary had in the most solemn
matter set him free from all obligations to the court, and re
commended him to plead that fact, and to deny the power
of any one to call him in question after his consecration for
• anything that had taken place before. The opinion of the
rest of the bishops was against the plan of Henry of Win
chester, reasonable as it was ; and after some debate, and
some silence, Becket sent for the Earls of Leicester and
Cornwall, and begged them to inform the king that he
would give his answer the next day, as God might direct
him. After a good deal of .misunderstanding, in regard to the
meaning of this somewhat ambiguous message, the king
gave Becket until the next day to consider ; and the Pri
mate, returning to his abode, found himself almost deserted
by the immense train of knights and nobles who had- ac
companied him to Northampton.
Even this sign of. fallen fortunes did not suffice to cast
down his haughty and determined spirit. Resolved to imi-

RICHARD CffiUR-DE-LION. 17T
tate with blasphemous minuteness the supper of the king
described in a parable of our Saviour, he sent out, and
filled his table with all the poor and the beggars that could
be found in the neighbourhood of Northampton ; judging,
shrewdly, that the only shield which could guard his head
from the indignation he had called upon himself, was the
affectation of superior sanctity. Nevertheless, the anxiety
and perturbation of his spirit produced a fit of sickness,
which reduced him to keep his bed ; and certainly a know
ledge of the profuse and extravagant manner in which he
had squandered the very sums he was now called upon to
account for, was not calculated to restore him to health of
body or peace of mind. Still the absolute impossibility of
attending the court on the day appointed, gave him time to
arrange his plans, and also afforded an opportunity of em
ploying means to intimidate or to gain over a part of the
many who were arrayed against him ; for although it was
at first believed by every one, that bis sickness was feigned,
yet upon its being^pravecl to be real, byl-Tie visit of two-no-
blerren, the investigation was once more put off till the
following day, when he promised to appear.
We are told that his resolution now wavered, and that
at first, he proposed to proceed barefoot to the palace, to
cast himself at the feet of the king, and to beseech him, in
memory of their old friendship, to consent to a reconcilia
tion. There can scarcely be a doubt that this plan would
have proved successful. Henry, though passionate to a
degree of insanity, was by no means tenacious of his
anger : having humbled the Archbishop so far as to prevent
him from becoining dangerous for the future, he might have
been contented with his submission, and moreover the king
might then perhaps have recollected, what he should have
recollected long before ; that Becket had expended enor
mous sums in his service ; that he had obtained for him
peace, and great extension of territories ; that he had cap-

178

THE LIFE OF

tured towns and fortresses, judged impregnable, for his
benefit and for his interest ;-' that' he had marched to his
assistance in Normandy with twelve hundred knights and
four thousand men-at-arms, all pf whom were paid, by him
self, and maintained at his expense.
On the other hand, however, it is not impossible, that
the very consciousness of such services rendered, acting
upon a proud and self-confident spirit, might tend, in com
bination with ambitious feelings, to make Becket resolve
upon resistance to one whom he considered an ungrateful
master. Certain it is, that after brief reflection he laid out
his plan with that mixture of hypocritical cunning and am
bitious. _ daring, which had distinguished his opposition to
the constitutions of Clarendon. - He determined to effect a
belief that his life was in danger, to baffle Henry's artifices
by bringing forward boldly the real, cause of the king's
indignation against him, rather than the matter immediately
under, discussion, to._overwnp.lm all considerations of the
-account required of his stewardship" inThe question" oT His
opposition to the constitutions of Clarendon, and to resume
the high ground of a defender <rf the clergy's privileges,.
rather than to remain in the low position in, .which the king
had placed him, as an insolvent, nay, a fraudulent debtor.
In accordance with this view, when a number of the
bishops visited his sick chamber, he reproached them bit
terly for having abandoned his cause. He told them that
he appealed from them to the Pope, he commanded them
on their duty to him and to the Church to abstain from
taking any part in the proceedings against him, he threat
ened them with all the papal thunders if they did not obey,
and- he directed them to launch an anathema at the head
of any ' one who should dare to employ the secular power
in his case.
The bishops were legally bound to take part in the pro
ceedings of the parliament'; and Becket now openly re-

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 179
fusing to submit to the highest tribunal of the land, in
reality committed a breach of his oath of fealty, and brought
himself under the law of high treason, as it then stood.
Still his menaces and exhortations were not without their
effect upon the bishops, the more, perhaps from the very
aggravated nature of his offence, which rendered him ob
noxious to very severe punishment.
Becket, having now chosen his part, proceeded to enact'
it, in a manner the most offensive and the most criminal.
Affecting to believe that . in presenting himself before a
high court of parliament, where all the lay peers and a
great body of the clergy were assembled, he was abso
lutely going to martyrdom, he prepared himself for it in an
ostentatious manner, celebrating the mass appointed for
Saint Stephen's day at an altar dedicated to the first, mar
tyr, and carrying a consecrated wafer upon his person.
He proceeded with such demonstrations of alarm to the
great council chamber, at the door of which he took the
archiepiscopal cross from the hands of the cross-bearer,
and carrying it himself, entered alone into the halj.
The king having notice of his coming, and of the extra
ordinary and indecent manner in which he came, and pro
bably having heard also that he had that morning caused to .
be sung " The princes sat and spoke against me, and the
wicked persecuted me," together with the psalm, " The
rulers take counsel together against the Lord and against
his anointed," retired from the hall on the approach of the
man who had thus insulted him, and gave way, it would
seem, in an inner chamber, to one of the wild and' extrava
gant fits of fury which So frequently disgraced him.
In the meanwhile, the bishops arose at the approach of
Becket ; but, astonished at his appearance in parliament
waving his silver cross in his hand, the Bishop of Here
ford, as his chaplain, advanced and offered -to relieve him.
of the crosier. But this Becket would by no means per.

180 THE LIFE OF
mit, asserting boldly, that he required it for his defence,
and to show under the banner of what prince he fought.
The Archbishop of York, however, reproved him severely
for presenting himself in a manner so insulting to every
one there, and more especially to the king ; and the
Bishops of London and Hereford still strove, somewhat
violently, to take the cross from him. The commotion
lasted some time ; and it would seem that the Archbishop
of York was neither very temperate nor considerate in his
words, telling the primate that the sword of the king would
be found sharper than the staff with which he came armed.
Becket replied with great readiness, " If the weapon of the
king carnally can slay the body, my sword can spiritually
cut through the soul, and cast it into hell ;" and still re
fusing to give up the cross, he sat down and waited the
result, taking care, however, to announce to all the prelates
present, that he appealed his cause to the Pope, and
strictly forbade them to take part in any proceedings
against him.*
In the meanwhile, Henry, after giving way to the first
burst of his fury, sent a herald to require the presence of
all the peers, both lay and spiritual, who had remained in
the first hall, and complaining with much indignation of the
insult that had been offered to him and them, demanded
their opinion as to the further proceedings against Becket.
It would appear that the reply generally made by the as
sembly was, that on aceount of his present conduct and
breach of his oath of fealty, the primate should be impeached
for high treason.
The king, however, did not suffer them to pursue this
* Hoveden says, that before he thus publicly notified to the bishops
his appeal, information had been secretly given to him that his death was
resolved upon ; and the same writer declares, moreover, that it was at
this time that the bishops eagerly pressed him to resign his archbishopric
into the hands of the king.

. =¦•*

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 181
course ; but sent out in the first place, to demand of Becket,
whether he would give a full account of the revenues
received during his chancellorship. To this message,
Becket replied that he had often given to the king an ac
count of all these things before he was archbishop, and
that at his election, Henry, the king's son, then custos of
the realm, with all the barons of the exchequer, and Richard
de Lucy, Justiciary of England, declared him free to God
and to holy church, from all receipts and computations, and
from every secular exaction on the part of the lord king.
Farther, he refused to plead.
The king, on this answer being brought to him, demanded
that instant justice should be done on Becket, his liegeman,
who refused to recognize the authority of his court. The
bishops, however, moved by the menaces which Becket
had addressed to them in the morning, besought the king's
permission to absent themselves from the judgment against
the primate, on the condition of their appealing in their
clerical capacity to the pope against him, and soliciting his
deposition. Although they were bound by the laws of the
land, and by the various feudal estates which they held, to
attend the judgment of the king's court, Henry weakly gave
way to their request ; and they went out to announce to
Becket their solemn appeal to the supreme pontiff.
The laudatory historians of Becket declare that the Arch
bishop of York and the Bishop of Exeter preceded the
other prelates in their retreat from the hall, the one telling
his clerks to follow, that they might not see the effusion of
blood, and the other informing Becket that the king had
threatened to put the first man to death who should speak
in his favour. But this statement is quite contrary to more
impartial and reasonable accounts. There could not be the
slightest fear of effusion of blood in the king's presence ;
such a thing had never taken place even in the most turbulent
times of Stephen, or during the tyrannical reign of Rufus.
vol. i. — 16

182 THE LIFE OF
All that theking demanded was, that the archbishop should
give an account of certain sums received, or be tried for
contumacy in refusing it ; and these. tales of his personal
danger at this time were evidently manufactured afterwards
to give an excuse for Becket's conduct. At length the great
body of the bishops appeared, and the Bish6p of Chichester,
acting asspeakerfor the rest, thus addressed the Archbishop.
" You were formerly our primate, and we were bound to.
obey you ; but because- you have taken the oath of fealty
to our lord the king, that is to say, an oath to.preserve, in the "
utmost in your power, his life, limbs and royal dignity, and to .
keep his statutes; which he requires to be maintained, and-be-
cause you do now nevertheless endeavour to destroy them,
especially those which immediately concern his dignity and
honour, we therefore declare you guilty of perjury, and
henceforth own no obedience to a perjured archbishop, and
putting ourselves and aU that appertains to us under the-
protection of the pope, cite you to. his -presence, there to
answer these charges."
It would appear that this solemn condemnation of his
conduct by his episcopal brethren took Becket by surprise,
and for a moment overwhelmed him. His only reply was,
" I hear what you say," and the bishops seating themselves
on the other side of the hall, the whole body remained in.
expectant silence for the result of those proceedings which
they knew were taking place within. In a few minutes, the
doors opened again, and the Earls of Cornwall and Leices
ter appearing, addressed the primate, once more command
ing him to come before the king, and ending, "Or otherwise*
hear your sentence."
* I have combined the account of Hoveden with that of other writers,
thinking it probable that the king did send a summons to Becket from
the inner chamber, where he himself was sitting, to the hall in which
the archbishop had remained, before he' called upon the peer's to pro
nounce any judgment at all. Tna- the summons was' repeated by the

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 183
.Here Becket interrupted the speaker, having, re covered
his presence of mind, and prepared himself to act vigorously. '
" My sentence ! " he exclaimed, starting up. " Nay, my
son, the earl, first hear you me ! You well know how
faithfully I have served the king in the matters of this world,
on. account "of which he was' pleased to raise me to the
'archbishopric of Canterbury — God . knows much against
my will! " He then went on to repeat what he had said
regarding the declaration of the Justiciary and Prince
Henry at' his consecration, and ended by the following
extraordinary declaration : " Attend, my son, to what I say.
Inasmuch as the. soul is more worthy than the body, so are
you more strictly bound to obey God and me, than any
earthly king. Neither does justice or reason permit chil
dren to judge and condemn their fathers ; therefore I do not
own the judgment of the king, of yourself, or of all the
other peers of the realm', being only to be judged, under
God, by our lord the pope. To him, before you all, I here
appeal, leaving the church of Canterbury, my order, dignity,
and all things appertaining to it, to his protection, and to
God's. Moreover, I cite, you, my brethren, the bishops,
because you obey man rather than God, to the presence
and judgment of the supreme pontiff; and relying upon
the authority of- the church and the Holy See, I depart
from this place.'?
Thus saying, he rose to go forth ; and the hall being filled
with a vast number of Henry's nobles, as well as with many
of the inferior clergy, a great noise - was made, and the
archbishop was assailed with gross and threatening lan-
i
Earl.pf Leicester before he proceeded to announce the sentence after
it was given, is proved by the concurrent testimony of many-. It will
be seen, however, that I .have rejected almost entirely the authority of
Fitz-stephen, whose testimony, if he had been unbiassed, would have
been invaluable, but whose determination to elevate Becket.in the eyes
of his readers, often reaches the burlesque.

184

THE LIFE OF

guage. Some called him perjured traitor, and some offered
him other insulting names, which roused the proud and
irritable spirit within him ; and turning round, he reviled
his enemies in turn with the foulest and most disgraceful
language. He declared, in the first place, that if his eccle
siastical station did not prohibit it, he would repel the charge
in arms ; and then singling out two of the most conspicuous
of his adversaries, he accused the one of having had a
relation who was hanged, and calling the other a bastard,
accused him of a monstrous ancU horrible offence.
In this manner, the future saint made his way out of the
hall, amidst evident marks of hatred and derision on the
part of those within it. On coming to the outer gates,
however, he found them locked and the porter absent, and
it is probable, as the judgment of the court was, that he
should be taken and imprisoned, he would have been ar
rested in this situation, had not one of his attendants observed
the keys hanging near, and given him egress. The mob
which was round the door, and which consisted principally,
it would seem, of the very lowest classes, with a few of the
inferior clergy, received him with shouts and congratulations,
and thus conducted him home ; and the king, to whom his
conduct was represented with much anger by the barons, be
came alarmed lest the nobles should carry their indignation
to too great a length, and published a proclamation forbid
ding all persons on pain of death to do any injury to the
primate or his retainers.
This was a very wise and prudent measure, for it de
prived Becket of any real cause for apprehension. That
prelate, however, as I have shown, had applied previously
to the trial, for permission to leave the kingdom, and he
now renewed his application through the Bishops of Here
ford and Worcester. The king replied, that he would
consider of his request till the following day ; but it is
probable, Becket knowing that his sentence was pronounced

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 185
imagined that Henry sought for a favourable opportunity of
Securing his person, which would have been utter ruin to
aU his hopes, and he therefore determined to fly immedi
ately. It is true that none of his biographers have assigned
such a reason for his flight, seeking to make us believe
that his life was in danger. Every thing, however, shows
that the sentence of parliament was pronounced, and Hove
den declares that sentence to have been incarceration,
which to -Becket perhaps would have been worse than
death : so that we may well suppose his purpose was to
avoid such a fate, although he himself affected to apprehend
a violent death, and his partizans have taken care toassert
that such a fate was likely to befall him. Being at the time
within the walls of a religious house — that of the regular
Canons of Northampton — he dared not assume that the
king would attempt to arrest him there ;' but affecting to fear .
the remorseless arm of assassination, he- caused his bed to
be removed into the church, and placed between two altars,
covering by these outward shows his real intentions, as he
did by the assumption of zeal for the church his views of
personal ambition. He supped, however, and went through
all the usual forms of clerical life, as if about to retire to
rest ; but as soon as every thing was still, he quitted the
convent by a back-door accompanied by two monks, with
whose aid he got out of the town of Northampton, by the
only gate which was left open and unguarded.* Taking
such a course as was most likely to deceive- his pursuers,
he fled, to Lincoln, and thence, disguised and suffering great
inconveniences, he made his way-to Sandwich, and a. boat
being procured with some difficulty, he was conveyed to
the coast of Flanders.
* The fact -of the gate being open and unguarded, is taken from
Hoveden, though- Herbert de Boseham, one of the writers combined in
the. Historia Quadripaftita, who accompanied Becket in his flight, -docs
riot mention by What means they got out of the city.
16*

186 THE LIFE OF
The sovereign of that country was bound by so many
ties to Henry, that Becket dared not cast off his disguise ;
and consequently in the dress of a monk, he entered the
town of Gravelines on foot, and took up his abode for the
night at an inn. The report of all that occurred in Eng
land, however, had already reached Flanders, and Becket
soon perceived that the landlord and his wife both served
him with greater demonstrations of respect than were likely
to be shown to a poor travelling monk in a common inn.
In order therefore to do away any suspicions which might
be entertained regarding his real name and character, he
treated the host familiarly, and bade him sit down to table
with him ; but the good man, whose penetration was not
to be baffled, sat himself down at Becket's feet, saying, " I
thank God, my lord, that I have been thought worthy to
receive you under my roof."
The prelate, judging wisely that any further attempt to
deceive his host might show a want of confidence which
would be dangerous, acknowledged his station, and was
not betrayed. He succeeded in making his way into
France, through various perils and difficulties, and was re
ceived with joy and distinction by Louis, although Henry,
to whom that monarch was under such vast obligations,
had sent ambassadors to him to notify the flight of the
archbishop, and to require that he might not be harboured
and protected in the French territory. Those ambassa
dors met with nothing from Louis but coldness, and we
may say insult, for the comments which he thought fit to
make upon Henry's conduct amounted to no less than in
sult to an independent sovereign.
Becket then joined Alexander at Sens, where he was
also welcomed with much satisfaction by the Pope. There
his conduct was applauded, the constitutions of Clarendon
publicly examined, ten out of the sixteen heads thereof con
demned, and Henry's ambassadors were treated with harsh-

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 187
ness, severity and reproof, by the pontiff who owed his sta
tion more to the English monarch than to any other man
on earth. All that the king required was, that the arch
bishop should be sent back again to England, accompanied
by legates empowered to judge between him and Henry
without appeal. This Alexander positively refused, upon
a plea not the most creditable to his court. He was afraid,
we are told, that the legates might be either convinced by
Henry's eloquence, overawed by his power, or bribed by
his money.* The latter, indeed, was not improbable,, if
the accounts given by some of Becket's own friends, re
garding the integrity of Alexander's papal court, may be
relied on. Whatever might be his motives, the ambassa
dors retired from Sens, angry and disappointed, and mark
ed their indignation by not demanding the blessing of the
supreme pontiff.
Such was the beginning and progress of that lamentable
dispute, which terminated in the murder of an archbishop
in his cathedral church, and in the abasement of an Eng
lish monarch before the pontiff of Rome. If we regard
impartiaUy the conduct of Becket and Henry, both in the com
mencement and the prosecution of this unhappy affair, we
shall find, that though there be some excuses for each, both
deserve great censure, though certainly not in an equal de
gree. That Becket's opposition to the statutes of Claren
don constituted a conspiracy with a foreign power against
the laws, of the land, and contrary to his allegiance, there
by amounting absolutely and distinctly to high treason, no
unprejudiced person at all acquainted with the codes of
those times can at all doubt. The case was one of resist-
* The words employed by the historian are .- — Sed dominus Papa
nullum cardinalem, nee aliquem legatum mittere voluit : sciens quod
rex Angliae potens erat in opere et sermone, et quod legati ex facili'pos-
sent corrumpi, utpate qui plus aurum, et argentum sitiunt,, quam justi
tiam et sequitateiu.

1,88- THE LIFE OF
ance, not to any arbitrary decision of the king, but both to
the received and customary laws of the land, and to the
same laws collected into statutes and sanctioned by the
great council of the nation assembled in parliament. Such
then, was the head and front of Becket's offence ; and in
pursuing his object, he was guilty, beyond all doubt, of re
peated perjury, of gross hypocrisy, and of a frequent viola
tion of the laws of the land. It was not indeed that he
wished to secure to the clergy a monopoly of rape, murder
and robbery ; but it was, that he sought to abstract them
altogether from theseeular power, in consonance with the
universal efforts pf :the church of Rome, -4o estabhsh an
empire of its own within all other empires, and render all
the crowns of earth, by one vast system of superstitious
privileges, tributary and subservient to .the tiara. In fol
lowing this object, there may be a question, whether Becket
was influenced merely. by the spirit- of his order and the
pecuUar character- of his age,* which might lead him to
strive in every way for the promotion of the power of the
clergy, or whether he was actuated by personal ambition,
which could only •be. fully gratified, after his' elevation to
the see of Canterbury, by extorting such privileges in favour
of the priesthood, as might serve him for steps to rise above
the sovereign who had raised him, and either make him
totally independent in England, of perhaps, enable him to-
obtain the supreme rule of all, and seat himself ultimately
on the papal throne. Either supposition is quite sufficient
to account for the primate'-s conduct ; and perhaps both
motives concurred, for Becket could scarcely have entered
* This epoch . may be considered as one of the great days of battle
between the power of the Roman see and its opponents, of which any
one . may convince themselves by examining the struggle" which took
place a little before this period between the Popes and Frederic Barba-
rossa, and tjiat which followed shortly after between' Philip' Augustus
and the Roman pontiffs.

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 189
so fully into the encroaching views of the see of Rome in
that age without having felt the spirit ; and yet every step
of his course is so marked by personal ambition, that it is
impossible to doubt the design of self-aggrandisement had
its share also in all his proceedings.
Henry, on his part, had a great advantage over Becket,
namely, that his object was just, reasonable, and worthy of
every effort ; but, on the other hand, he was embarrassed
by this disadvantage, that though supported by his own peo
ple, and by the peculiar institutions of his kingdom, he was
opposed by the general ignorance and superstition of the age.
It was in the means he employed to attain his object that
he erred, carried away by the peculiar weakness and im
petuosity of his own character. His vanity had been hurt
by his being over-reached by Becket, his indignation had
been excited by that prelate's ingratitude and insolence,
and he therefore suffered a great contest for principles to be
affected by selfish animosity, and deviate into a personal
quarrel. Becket made his great stand upon principles ;
and he very well knew, that however unjust those princi
ples might be, the whole army of monks and priests, who
were interested in their maintenance, would support him
as their general and their leader. Henry^ first error was
the forcible* intrusion of Becket into the see of Canter-
* How comes it that Doctor Lingard, in his laborious defence of Becke.
— for the part of his history of England which touches on this subject
can only be considered as such — how comes it that he entirely overlooks
the testimony of Alanus in the Historia Quadripartita, and affirms that
the primate's reply to the bishop of London in regard to the regularity
and propriety of his election " is satisfactory ? " See Lingagd, vol. 2,
page 205. Becket's reply might be looked upon as satisfactory, if a per
son who was with Becket when he joined the Pope at Sens, did not tell
us, even in the midst of his praises of that prelate, that Becket had him
self acknowledged to the Pope, " I went up into the fold of Christ, not
by the true door, not having been called to it by a canonical election, but
obtruded into it by the secular power." Becket's answer is not satisfac-

190

THE LIFE OF

bury ; for though the favourite had always' been subser. .
vient to him as long as the objects of ambition were in his
hand, the king should- have known very well that' by the
prelate's elevation .he opened a new. path before him, lead
ing in a direction immediately opposite to that in which
his own views were turned, .
All these were errors committed by Henry ; but he also
committed, wrongs, and the just repression and correction
of the archbishop's resistance to the constitutions of Cla
rendon soon deviated into persecution of the man : the pun
ishment of a .prelate's tergiversation and perjury was lost
sight of iii the assumed peculations or defalcations of a
chancellor, and the king entered into the arena with a sub
ject, in the character of a rapacious, if not an unj-ust, cre
ditor. At the same time the lamentable and disgraceful
display of passion, to which he occasionally gave way,
mingled scorn with the opposition of his enemies;, his
furious gestures, flashing eyes, and indecent words, show
ed how much personal hatred shared in his proceedings
against the, archbishop ; and the looks, tones, and language
of the King of England became matter for reprehension and
comment through half the refectories in Europe. Besides
all this, if we may credit the testimony of the best writers .
of that day, Henry was most unjust as well as unwise.
Whether. Becket did really owe him the sums that were
demanded, must ever remain uncertain ; but there can be
no earthly doubt — for Henry and his ministers never de
nied it— that the king's son and his justiciary both declar
ed Becket free from all obligations to the court, at the time
tory ; it is the answer of a man defending himself as best he may before
the '.eyes of the world, whereas his acknowledgment to. the Pope was
made in a vejy different and more private manrier, and was never;
in all probability, intended to be published, but that the indiscretion of
one of his friends luckily gave to the world what ought not td be sup
pressed.

RICHARD.. CffiUR- DE-LION. 191
of his consecration ; and Hoveden, who would not have
dared to say such a thing had it not been true, asserts that
the barons of the exchequer joined in the proceeding.*
The only objection Urged on the part of Henry is, that
Becket cOuld not prove the King had given authority to his
Justiciary to do that act ; but this was surely a pitiful eva
sion. Prince Henry was undoubtedly present at the conse
cration as Custos of the kingdom. The Justi3iary was
there with full and extraordinary powers from the King in
regard to the election — powers even sufficient to threaten
the Bishops with proscription and exile if they did not
elect the Chancellor. The Barons of the Exchequer were
there, consenting ; and it must be remembered that those
officers possessed at that time much more important func
tions than they do at present. All this .would seem to prove
that the emancipation of. Becket on his election from all .
pecuniary obligations to the Court was full and sufficient,
. though Becket should undoubtedly. have pleaded it in a
more orderly and formal manner. ¦ At the same time it must
be remembered that more than two years had elapsed since
his. election and yet the King had urged no such claim
* It is my firm conviction that the five hundred pounds, or five hun
dred marks as some call it, which Henry demanded of Becket as a debt,
had been given to the prelate, and not lent ; and in regard to the claim of
exemption made by Becket, I see no reason whatsoever why we should
not take the words of Hoveden in favour of the primate; as well as against
him. He especially names the barons ofthe Exchequer ; and in speak
ing of the Prince Henry, he;says, " Cui regnum adjuratum fuit," which
I conceive can only be translated, that he was Custos of the realm dur
ing his father's absence This office was very often bestovfcd upon
mere children, as was the case with Edward, the son' of . Edward the
Third. They acted with a council, such as the barons of the Exche
quer, could .very well represent in the present instance ; and I do not
know that the legality of any public act performed by the Custos and .
council, was ever called in question, unless there were other circum
stances to vitiate.it besides the want of the king's express orders.

192
during that period ; and there is also much reason to believe
that Richard de Lucy, who alone could have proved the
orders which Henry had given him, was sent out of Eng
land into Flanders about the time of the Parliament of
Northampton. It is certain that he was in Flanders before
the end of the year 1164, the Parliament of Northampton
having taken place in the month of November of that year.
This is a very suspicious circumstance ; especially as we
find the Earl of Leicester acting the part of Justiciary at
Northampton. At all events it is evident that Henry brought
against the Primate very donbtful charges of a personal
character when he had the fairest opportunity of urging
against him other offences of a grave nature, by the proof
arid punishment of which the great principles for which the
King struggled would have been fully established.
Such was the state of the contest between Becket and
Henry, in the early part of 1165 ; but the King of France,
besides his support of the fugitive Primate, had committed
another offence against the monarch to whom he owed so
much, by bestowing upon the Count of Blois, who had mar
ried his daughter, the office of Seneschal of France, an
office which was hereditary in the house of Anjou, and
which Henry himself had exercised in the disputes regard
ing Britanny. The anger of the King of England was so
much excited by these acts, and the language that he used
on the subject was so vehement, that his mother Matilda,
seeing nothing but the prospect of a sanguinary war between
her son and Louis, besought the Pope, it appears, to inter
fere in order to preserve peace. Alexander undertook with
some success the office of mediator, though it is clearly
proved that Henry at this time proposed to withdraw his
support from that Pontiff and his alliance from France, and
to unite with Frederick Barbarossa for the purpose of rais
ing a new Pope to the chair of Saint Peter, Victor having
died in the year 1164.

RICHARD.CCEUR-DE-LION. 193
Henry having gone over into France, a meeting took
place between him and Louis, at the town of Gisors, in
Easter, 11 05. This conference left matters much as they
were before. War was indeed averted for the time, but
that result was produced more probably by the terrible ra
vages which were committed on the English possessions
by the Welsh, than by any satisfaction which Henry re
ceived from Louis, who declined to abandon the cause of
Becket, and delayed restoring to Henry his due hereditary
right of Seneschal of France. The insurrection of Wales
had taken place before the meeting of the parliament of
Northampton, and troops for suppressing it had been raised
by that assembly ; but the flight of Becket and the events
which followed, had interrupted the king's proceedings, and
called him into France, while Rees ap Gryffyth, at the head
of the revolt, was gaining strength hourly ; and the other
Welsh Princes, believing Henry to be inextricably entan
gled in a contest with the Church, and perhaps in a war
with France, appeared day by day more boldly in the ranks
of the insurgents, and asserted more loudly their national
independence. These embarrassing circumstances might induce Henry
to temporize with the French king ; and as soon as the
conference at Gisors was over, and the province of Nor
mandy secured as far as possible, Henry returned to Eng
land, leaving his wife Eleanor to command in Aquitaine and
Maine during his absence. As speedily as possible the
king hastened towards the scene of strife, and increasing
as far as he could the numbers of the force which had been
collected at Northampton, he marched on into Wales, and
directed his arms against Flintshire. His first expedition
would appear to have been but little successful, the enemy
having retired before him into the vale of Cluyd ; but he
had now acquired a sufficient knowledge of the extent of
the insurrection to perceive that the forces at his command
vol. i. — 17

194 THE LIFE OF
were by no means sufficient, and he returned into England
in order to raise a more imposing army. Levies were
made in his continental dominions as well as in England ;
and at length he took the field, and marched to Oswestry
with a body of troops, the numbers of which we do not ex
actly know, but to describe which, the greater part of the
annalists of the time employ all the most .high sounding
words at their command. The Chronicle of-Mailros, using
more moderate terms, merely calls it a great army ; but we
know that it was by far more numerous than any that had
ever been led into Wales. The Welsh Princes, not inti-
midated, however, prepared to meet the English monarch,
with a force scarcely less in number than his own. Almost
all the Princes of North and South Wales and Powis-land,
were now collected, determined to struggle with despera
tion, as they fought without any hope of mercy from their
enemy. The strength of the country, their knowledge of
all the advantageous points, and the fitness of the ground
for their peculiar mode of warfare, were greatly in favour
of the Welsh ; but they were inferior in arms, in skill, and
in discipline, to the English and Normans, and they re
mained wisely in their mountains, without venturing to dis
pute with Henry the more open parts of the land.
That prince, warned by what had taken place on a for
mer occasion, did not advance so rashly as before, but
ordered the woods to be cut down as he marched on, to
guard against surprise by the enemy. The pioneers on
whom this duty fell were supported by the advanced guards
of Henry's army, in which were all the picked troops of
England and Normandy. Some of the Welsh, however,
ventured to attack this force, we are assured without orders
from their superiors ; a general battle ensued upon the
banks of the river up which Henry was advancing, and
though the inhabitants of Wales fought with desperate va
lour, and left a number of dead upon the field, the English

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 195
king slowly forced his way forward till the pass was gain
ed, and the Welsh retreating took up a position at the top
of a high mountain, while the English army encamped at
its foot. Scarcity of provisions, however, the sudden swell
ing of the rivers, and violent rains, forced Henry to decamp
in some confusion, and with the loss of his baggage ; but
the Welsh did not venture to take advantage of his retreat,
and he reached the city of Chester in safety.
Anger and mortification now induced the king to commit
an act disgraceful to his character as a man and a Christian,
and opposed to his general policy, which was mild and hu
mane. His grandfather, Henry the First, had committed
some acts of shocking barbarity ; and hostages and pri
soners were frequently treated ill, when those with whom
they were connected either violated faith, or proved very
difficult to subdue. But nothing of the kind had hitherto
taken place in Henry's reign ; a milder spirit was growing
up, and I am inclined to believe, from the manner in which
the act is marked in all the Chronicles of the time, that the
mutilation which Henry now inflicted upon the hostages
which he had formerly received from the Welsh PriDces,
excited both surprise and horror throughout the country.
These hostages were the children and near relations of the
Princes of Wales : and he had the barbarity to put out the
eyes of all the males, and to cut off the ears and noses of
the females.* As may well be supposed, such an act but
increased the hatred of the Welsh ; and not only gave mat
ter of triumph to the Icing's enemies, but in some degree
justified the belief which Becket seems to have entertained
* Lord Lyttleton, in one of the notes upon his work, seems to have
entertained sorne doubt as to this cruelty being exercised upon the female
hostages, from having found no other authority than Hoveden, who is
not confirmed by Powell. But Hoveden is fully supported by the Chro
nicle of Mailros, at the year 1165, which would appear to have been very
regularly and accurately, kept by the Abbots of that Monastery.

196 THE LIFE OF
himself, that to his councils and restraining influence was
owing much of the wisdom and moderation of Henry's
earlier years.
While this tragedy was in execution, Henry was busily
making preparations for renewing that course of operations
which had once before proved so successful against Wales.
This was to proceed with a large force along the sea coast,
supported and supplied by his navy ; but while the king
was waiting for the arrival of a sufficient number of ves
sels to put this plan in execution, he suddenly, from some
cause unknown, dismissed his fleet, broke up his camp,
and retired from Chester with precipitation. This unac
countable proceeding was immediately taken advantage of
by the Welsh Princes. Rushing forth from their strong
holds, they poured into the country still possessed by the
English ; the whole of Cardigan and the greater part of
Pembrokeshire were subdued by Rees ap Gryffyth, while
the castle of Basinwark, the great stronghold of the Nor-
man power in that quarter, was captured by Owen Gwy
neth. The friends of Henry mourned to see such a change
come over his fortunes, and Becket rejoiced in the reverses
of his master.
The conduct of Henry in this transaction was indeed
unaccountable. It is true, that while he was thus busily
engaged in Wales, the French king, though not actually
attacking his Norman dominions, was exciting his subjects
in Maine to revolt, and fomenting the troubles in Britanny,
the malcontents of which duchy now leagued themselves
with the rebels in Maine. But the peril was by no means
so imminent as to call for the presence of the English king,
to the detriment of his reputation, and to the danger of the
counties bordering upon Wales ; and yet no more reasona
ble cause whatsoever has been assigned for his extraordi
nary abandonment of all his plans and purposes at that mo
ment. Whether such was his motive or not, Henry did

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 197
not return to his continental dominions immediately after
quitting Wales, but passed some time in England, occupied
by various transactions, only one of which seems to have
been of any very great importance. This was the recep
tion of ambassadors from the Emperor Frederic Barbarossa,
whose envoys acted also on the part of Henry the Lion,
Duke of Saxony. Both those princes having acknowledg
ed Victor the anti-pope, were held by the English and
French churches to be schismatics ; both were also al
ready deeply engaged in the cause of Wido or Guido of
Crema, a new rival to Alexander, Nevertheless, indig
nant at the support shown to Becket, and the ingratitude
displayed towards himself, Henry received the ministers of
Frederic Barbarossa with joy and satisfaction, entered into
a strict alliance with the emperor, and contracted his eld
est daughter Matilda, not yet ten years old, to the Duke of
Saxony. At the head of the emperor's embassy was the
Archbishop of Cologne, a prelate of great powers of mind
and determination of character, who possessed vast influ
ence with Frederic, and who had taken a very decided part
in the schism which had desolated the church. With him
Henry now contracted a great intimacy ; and notwithstand
ing the position in which he stood towards the Pontiff re
cognized by the Anglican church, he was received by the
English king, by the bishops, and by the nobility of the
realm, with distinction and honour, such as had never been
shown to any ambassador before.
It is probable, by this conduct towards a prelate who had
been excommunicated by Alexander, that Henry wished to
give the Pope an intimation that he had not so far commit
ted himself in his favour as not to abandon him, and join
the party of his opponents, if he thought fit. Indeed, it
would appear, that either by the persuasions of the emperor,
or at the suggestion of some of his own counsellors, Henry
was led to contemplate a complete rupture with Alexander,
17*

198

THE LIFE OF

and even went so far as to threaten that pontiff, in no very
doubtful language, with the loss of British support. He
wrote to the archbishop of Cologne too, after the ambassa
dors from Frederic had quitted England, to announce his
determination of sending ambassadors to Alexander, with a
demand that he and the cardinals should abandon their
support of Becket, and recognize the ancient customs of
-the English realm, with the alternative of losing his assist
ance and support. He even -went so far as to send the
ambassadors named in this letter, who on their way to
Italy, reached Wurtzburg, where they found a diet of the
empire assembled, at which the emperor and all his princes
formally recognized the anti-pope Pascal the third, swore
never to obey Alexander, and bound the German empire to
oppose that Pope and any other who at an after period
might be elected by his party in the conclave. The empe
ror even asserted openly, that Henry had pledged himself
by his ambassadors to abandon Alexander, and no longer to
give him his countenance. Whether such was the fact or
not, upon the angry remonstrances of Alexander, Henry
only so far- retreated from this promise, if it really was
made, as to say, that he would always recognize and obey
Alexander so long as he showed him fatherly affection,
saving his own royal dignity and the rights of his kingdom.
But Henry was not steady in his purposes — not sincere in
his menace. Had he determined fully and firmly to perse
vere in the course which he pretended to have adopted,
and to abandon Alexander in case of his attempting to
maintain the unjust authority which he had usurped or sup
port the ambitious pretensions of Becket, it might have
been wise to make the threat, and to take such preparatory
steps as those displayed in the negociations with the empe
ror. Nor can it be doubted that the apprehension of such
conduct, and of the utter destruction which was likely to
ensue to him and his party in consequence of a strict alii-

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 199
ance between Henry, Frederic, and the Duke of Saxony,
might have induced Alexander to abandon the cause of
Becket, and to desist from his opposition to the English
customs. But there is an energy and a simplicity about truth,
which to the eye of experience is not to be mistaken. Alex
ander saw clearly that all these negociations with Frederic
implied a menace, but did not display a determination, and
consequently they produced no effect. He still supported
Becket, temporizing indeed with Henry, and from time to
time, yielding, more than he ultimately intended to concede ;
but he never gave up any important points ; and yet the King
of England was weak enough to leave his threats unsup.
ported by his actions, to suffer the menacing envoys whom
he had sent to the Pope to pause by the way, and not even
to make that denunciation to Alexander, which he had as
sured the Archbishop of Cologne should take place with
out delay.
It may be well supposed, that such conduct greatly de
creased that proud reputation with which the King of
England had at first set out in his royal career. The
character of Becket, and his firmness, seemed to rise by
the contrast ; and other people, as well as that prelate him
self, might believe that Henry had lost his wisdom, when
he lost his minister.
In estimating the motives of the King of England, one
fact is to be remarked which has not been sufficiently no
ticed by any one, and which in Lord Lyttleton's anxiety to
elevate the character of this monarch, he has attempted to
controvert, as it seems to me, without just grounds. Henry
was by no means without his share of the superstition of
the age. Reverence, or the capability of conceiving great'
veneration for any being, he probably did not possess.
His whole words and actions indeed show that such was
the case. His various blasphemous expressions testify
that he wanted respect for the Almighty himself ; and he

200

THE LIFE OF.

certainly was not likely to entertain any for a body of men,
who were daily convicted, as were the EngUsh priests in
those times, of all sorts of crime and wickedness. It was
not probable, therefore, that he should pay any great re-
spect to their pretended privileges ; but this is a very dif
ferent thing from being free from superstition ; and in an
age when saints and popes were supposed to work mira
cles, Henry might very well apprehend evil consequences
arising to himself, ill success attending his arms, or danger
threatening his kingdom,, from the excited indignation of
that representative of Saint Peter, whom he had acknow
ledged, and whose personal character, as weU as holy
office, rendered his authority more than usually impressive.
In the early part of Henry's reign, while visiting the
town of Lincoln, he had resided in the suburbs, from a
superstitious dread, it would appear, of the fulfilment of
some old prophecy menacing to the king who should be
crowned in that city ; and in this very year, we have an
other instance both of how great was the superstition of
the age, and • how completely Henry shared therein. I
allude to the apprehension of some unfortunate heretics,
and the cruelties to which they were subjected.
These unfortunate beings are said by some writers to
have fled' from France into England,* where, it would ap
pear, they remained some time unmolested. The chief
or leader, we are told, had some portion of learning, but the
rest were rude and illiterate, and we are assured that they
had only contrived to make one convert in the kingdom.
Nevertheless their fame had spread abroad, for we find
that it had reached the remote abbey of Margan, improved
* The Annales de Margan say, they came " Petragorica. regionis,"
but others again declare that they were Germans, and of the sect called
Publicans. This is the name given to them by William of Newbury,
who also says that they were Germans, though he implies that the sect
had its origin in Gascony.

RICHARD C03UR-DE-LION. 201
by the wonders with which the superstition of the age
generally decorated every novelty in religion. The annal
ist of that abbey describes these heretics as praying often,
preaching continually, going about with bare feet, refusing
to receive money of any one, eating no meat, drinking no
wine, and partaking but frugally of any other sort of suste
nance. The same annalist tells us, that they imitated the
apostles ; and they certainly met with the fate of many of
those whom they had thus adopted as types. William of
Newbury furnishes an account of the principal errors into
which they had fallen. They were Christians, he says,
venerating the doctrine of the apostles ; but they repudi
ated all the sacraments, baptism, the eucharist, and mar
riage, and entertained other notions derogatory to the faith.
They would not dispute upon their tenets, nor would they
yield them either to admonition or to threats.
Having been examined before Henry at Oxford, these
unhappy people were condemned as heretics, and delivered
over to the secular arm. The monarch, without remorse,
ordered each to be burnt in the forehead, their leader being
burnt likewise in the clun ; and then all but their English
convert, who abandoned them, had their clothes cut down
to their waist, and their backs scourged till the blood
flowed. They were thus driven out of Oxford, bearing the
horrible cruelty of their persecutors with the utmost for
titude, singing, " Blessed are ye, when men hate you," and
rejoicing in their sufferings. Death of the cruelest kind,
however, was to be their ultimate fate ; for an express
proclamation of the king forbade any one to receive them
into a house or to give them support, and they perished
miserably of cold and hunger, having no shelter but the
open fields in the midst of an inclement winter. The
annals of Margan indeed inform us that these heretics
worked miracles, changed water into wine, and performed
other wonderful feats, which the Saints of the Roman

202 THE LIFE OF
Church had rendered somewhat too common in those
days. We find the record of another prodigy about the same
period in the chronicle of Mailros, which being made with
perfect gravity, may serve to show the general superstition
of the age almost as strongly as Henry's treatment of these
unfortunate persons, although it does not exactly bear upon
the character of the monarch. A tremendous tempest took
place in the province of York, " and the old enemy," the
chronicler says, " was seen by many to go before the tem
pest on a black horse of immense size, and to fly still to
wards the sea ; while the thunder, and the lightning, and
the hail, destroying all things, pursued him with . a horrid
noise. Moreover, foi tsteps of an enormous size are re
maining from the aforesaid horse of the wicked one."
These were most plainly to be seen about Scarborough,
we are told, where Satan took a spring into the sea from
the hill.
In the same year, 1165, two comets were seen, from
which portent many evils were anticipated ; but the appa
rition the most baneful to England which that year wit
nessed, was in the birth of a son to the King of France.
He received the name of Philip at his baptism, to which
was afterwards joined, not undeservedly, that of Augustus ;
and in him appeared one of the most successful enemies
that the Kings of England ever encountered. Henry, in
deed, could not anticipate the greatness of the future sove
reign, nor the evils that he would inflict upon his posterity ;
but with his birth vanished the hope which it would seem
the English monarch entertained of seeing his son ascend
the throne of France, by his marriage with the daughter of
Louis. As some compensation for this disappointment,
however, about this time another great acquisition was
made by Henry. This was no less than the Duchy of
Britanny, which gave the King of England command of

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 203
the whole-French coast from the Pyrennees to a spot near
the mouth of the Somme, with an extent of territory com
pact and united, which left the King of France scarcely an
equal share of his own dominions. How this was brought
about must now be related, especially as a very false view
of the acquisition of Britanny has lately been put forth.
We have seen how Henry the Second acquired posses
sion of the town and County of Nantes ; and we must not
forget that Britanny, as a fief, was claimed as a feudal de-
pendance of Normandy. . During the absence of the Eng
lish monarch from his continental possessions, he had left
the government of Maine and Aquitaine in the hands of
Eleanor his queen ; and although Louis of France did not
think fit actually to attack the Queen of England in her
husband's absence, yet there can be no doubt that he ca
balled with the nobility of Maine, prompted by that inimi
cal spirit which he had conceived towards Henry, since
that monarch's quarrel with Becket. Neither did he fail,
it would appear, to promise the malcontents in that pro
vince assistance, and they had the weakness to trust to the
assurances of a monarch so fickle and faithless. They had
not actually taken arms against Eleanor, but they had
shown such a disposition to resist her authority as to cause
her great uneasiness, and probably to disquiet Henry him
self in his warfare with the Welsh. Previous to this time,
however, the dissensions which had at one period kept
Britanny in a continual state of agitation and alarm, had
been renewed by the re-assertion of the claims of Eudes,
Viscount of Porhoet, although his only title to the Duchy
had been totally extinguished by the death of his wife Ber
tha. He nevertheless formed for himself a considerable
party in Britanny, and that party he contrived to increase
by marrying the daughter of Guiomarck of Leon, a distin
guished leader, who, with his father, now attached himself

204 THE LIFE OF
to the faction of Eudes, although he was bound by strong
ties of gratitude to Conan the legitimate Duke.
One occasion on which Conan, by rendering a vast ser
vice to the house of Leon, might imagine that he had gained
that family for ever to his cause, must be mentioned here,
not simply to show their ingratitude only, because that was
and is too common a vice to require any remark, but in
order to display the barbarous state of the Duchy of Bri
tanny at that time. The nobles of that province maintained,
in its full force, the ancient feudal right of private warfare,
which existed, indeed, with various restrictions, throughout
the greater part of France for many years after this period,
but had been nearly extinguished in England and Nor
mandy. Every petty lord, as opportunity served or pas
sion dictated, declared war against his neighbour, ravaged
his lands, slew his serfs, and attacked his castle ; and a
feud of this kind existing between the Lords of Leon and
Fou, the latter laid an ambush for Herve Viscount de Leon
and his son Guiomarck, into which they both fell, and were
taken. The Bishop of Saint Paul, son of the one and brother of
the other, instantly raised the vassals and retainers of the
family, and marching to attack a castle in which they were
confined, called Chateaulin, despatched at the same time a
messenger to the Duke, informing him of 'the condition of
his relations, and beseeching some reinforcements. Conan
without a moment's delay put himself at the head of his
forces, marched to the attack of Chateaulin, took it with
great bravery, and delivered the Viscount de Leon and his
son Guiomarck, made prisoners the Viscount du Fou, his
brother, and his son. These three were immediately shut
up in the Castle of Daoulas. where they were left to perish
with hunger and with thirst, offering to the barbarians of a
later epoch an example of cruelty, which was followed al
most to the letter. This event took place in 1 163 ; and

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 205
early in the following year, we find that the Viscount de
Leon and Guiomarck, whose daughter was by this time
married to Eudes, were arrayed in favour of that Prince
against their benefactor and deliverer. At the same time,
and acting on the same side, appears Raoul de Fougeres,
.who had previously shown himself one of the firmest
friends of Conan.
Thus deserted by some of his most powerful supporters,
Conan had no resource but to seek some foreign aid ; and
in 1164 he applied to Henry, to whom indeed he had a
right to appeal for assistance as to his feudal superior.
Henry, then embarrassed by the disputes with Becket, and
by the insurrection in Wales, could do no more than order
one of his officers in Normandy, named Richard of Hu-
mieres, to raise some' forces in the duchy, and march to '
support the Duke of Britanny. This was done with some
success, and the towns qf Combour and- Dol were taken'
from the enemy in the autumn of 1164.
The nobles of Britanny, however, were by no means
subdued ; and accustomed to resist all authority, they were
probably but the.more inclined to cast off the yoke of Conan,
from his having called upon the King of England for aid.
This disposition of the barons of Britanny was encouraged
by the -promises' of Louis ; and the revolt of Maine would
appear to have been planned between the .discontented.
lords . of. that province itself, the King of France, and the
insurgents of Britanny. According to the usually received
rules of policy,- Louis was undoubtedly better advised- in
this instance, than in any- of'the steps he had taken, since
the death of Suger ; for Henry was by far too powerful in
France ; and to give occupation to his activity in his own
territories, if it could be done without actually calUng his
arms into French territory, was the best course that the
sovereign of that country could pursue.
Henry, however, warned of what was going on, and
VOL. i. — 18

*

206 THE LIFE OF
eagerly entreated by the Duke of Britanny to put down the
rebellion, returned to France early in the year 1 1 66, and
directed his first efforts against the malcontents of Maine,
who were soon reduced to obedience, and were punished
by the loss of their strongholds, and in many instances by
the imprisonment of their persons. He next marched into
Britanny at the head of a large force, and instead of wast
ing his vigour in desultory efforts against the inferior in
surgents, he turned his arms at once against Fougeres,
which was at that time a place of very great strength.
This town was in fact the key of the duchy ; and, built
upon a hill, with the two small rivers Nanson and Ccesnon
wandering through the plains at the foot, it commanded the
whole country round, and was at all times extremely diffi
cult of attack. Into it the lord of Fougeres had thrown
himself, having had time to collect a large force, to
strengthen the place as far as possible, and to cut down the
green corn, and all the forage for many leagues around.
Thus, at the approach of Henry, in the end of June, 1166,
that monarch found the fortress filled with troops command
ed by an able general, amply suppUed with provisions, am
munition, and every implement of war, the country round it
completely desolated, the roads blocked up with stockades
and thorn-bushes, and the plains and fields, in which his
cavalry might have acted, pierced with innumerable pitfalls,
which rendered every movement dangerous.
His honour, however, and reputation, were now com
pletely at stake, and he felt that he must not only capture
Fougeres, but must do so in a brilliant and a notable man
ner. After having overcome the first difficulties, which im
peded his near approach to the town, he determined rather
to hazard much to gain much, than to wait the slow pro
gress of a lengthened siege, during which the King of
France might rouse himself into activity, and attack some
other part of his territories in order to withdraw him from

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 207
Britanny, or else the other insurgents in the duchy itself
might be encouraged by the slowness of his progress, and
assemble sufficient force to raise the siege of Fougeres.
He determined, therefore, upon the bold, perhaps the rash
measure, of attempting to take a town so situated by storm.
The assault, however, succeeded completely ; the English
and Normans poured in sword in hand, and the insurgents
within were forced to throw down their arms, after a gal
lant but ineffectual resistance. I do not find that any cruelty
was committed. The chiefs remained prisoners of" war
and the castle was pillaged and rased to the ground.
It would appear that before the capture of Fougeres, an
understanding, if not an actual treaty, existed between Co
nan and Henry, regarding the possession of the duchy of
Britanny. In the year 1 160, Conan had married the sister
of Malcolm, King of Scotland, by whom he had only one
daughter, Constance, afterwards celebrated for her own
misfortunes, and for the tragic fate of her son Arthur.
The Duke of Britanny himself, though he had shown some
activity in the earlier part of his career, and still from time
to time exerted himself for a brilliant effort, was fond of ease,
and was of a ductile and not very vigorous mind. The tur
bulent state of the duchy, the frequent necessity of contest
ing the possession with his stepfather Eudes, the persua
sions of the English monarch, and very probably the influ
ence of his own wife, who, like her brother Malcolm, was
strongly attached to the house of Plantagenet, easily induced
Conan the Less to consent to a treaty of marriage between
his daughter Constance, and Geoffrey, the third son then
living of Henry the Second. It was arranged between the
Duke of Britanny and the English monarch, that the young
prince and princess should be solemnly affianced to each
other, and that the duchy of Britanny should be given up to
them on the consummation of their union. In the mean
while, however, the custody of the heiress of the duchy,

208 THE LIFE OF
together with all power and rule therein, was to be vested
in Henry, Conan only reserving to himself the county of
Guingamp, which was sufficient for that prince's ambition.*
At what precise point of time this treaty was entered into,
I do not know ; but it is certain that before the capture of
Fougeres, Henry levied a sort of contribution or tax in Bri
tanny, for the support of the Christians in Palestine. He
had also levied the same in Normandy ; but there it was
done with the full consent, or rather by a vote of the nobles
of the province, which does not appear to have been the
c ase in Britanny. After the fall of Fougeres, the greater
part of the barons of the duchy, intimidated by his brilliant
success, submitted, and did homage to the English king, but
Henry did not remain long to secure his newly-acquired
possession. Indeed the" extraordinary rapidity of this
prince's movements almost leaves the slow march of hisr
tory behind. At one hour we find him in the heart of "Bri-
tanny, the next he is making war in Aiivergne.
The county of Auvergne was a fief of the Duchy of Aqui
taine, but the bonds between the two were very slight, and
I do not find any act by which the feudal connexion was
marked during the lapse of many years, before the present
time. William VI.> Count of Auvergne, left-two sons, Ro
bert, who .succeeded him, and William. Robert died, leav
ing another son named William VII., who was almost im
mediately dispossessed of the county by his uncle, and
sometimes took the title of Count du Puy, though both
princes are more usually called Counts of Auvergne. The
two were reconciled after a certain time, and appear to have
* It is certain that such a treaty did' take place, and that in virtue
thereof Henry exercised sovereignty in Britanny, and received the ho
mage of the .Breton nobles ; and yet I find in the curious old chronicle of
iMantes, usually called the Chroniques Annaulx, under the year 1170 :
" Conanus in Leone cum Guihomaro' congreditur," as if Conan was still
recognised as Duke, and waging war with one of his revolted vassals.

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 209
been amongst the most notorious plunderers of the age.
To put a stop to their malefactions, Louis, King of France,
marched into their territories, defeated them, made them
both prisoners, and kept them in confinement for a consi
derable time. From their prison, they applied for aid to
the King of England as their feudal lord, and he, in return,
claimed their deliverance from the French-monarch. After
some delay, in order apparently to save the dignity of Louis,
the two Counts were set at liberty ; and almost immediately
their ancient quarrel concerning the succession of Auvergne
broke out afresh, upon which Henry was appealed to as
their sovereign. Henry accordingly advanced into the
county, ordering the two Counts to meet him on a day which
he fixed ; but the elder, not trusting to his right of posses
sion, did not appear, appealed to the court of the King of
France, and, it would seem, sought the protection of that
monarch in person. Henry, in the meantime, decided the
cause in favour of the nephew, whose just right the county
was, and very shortly after the siege of Fougeres, attacked
some territories of the usurping Count of Auvergne as a
punishment for the violation of feudal law which that noble
man had committed in carrying the cause between himself
and his nephew to the court of the King of France. Louis,
it would appear, contrary to the legal rights of Henry, had
thought fit to act as judge ; and the war which the latter now
waged in Auvergne thus personally affected the King of
France, who, instigated by his nobles, immediately pro
nounced it an injury to himself, and in retaliation attacked
the Norman Vexin, and ravaged a considerable part of that
territory. Henry returned in haste, and held a conference
with Louis, in the hope of adjusting their claims amicably.
But the jealousy or the patriotism of the French King's
courtiers, the instigations of Becket, and the great prepara
tions which had been made for the war, all combined to ren
der Louis obdurate and difficult to be satisfied. The confer-
18*

210 THE LIFE OF
ence broke up, without producing any pacific result, and
hostilities were almost immediately renewed.
In the early part of 1167; the French forces continued
their ravages on the frontiers of Normandy, and the Andelis
were burnt by the troops of Louis. Henry however car
ried hostilities into the French Vexin, and knowing that
Louis had established his chief magazines at Chaumont, a
place considered almost impregnable, he attacked, took,-
and burnt the town to the ground ; destroying or seizing all
his enemy's stores, as well as his military chest, which act,
in fact, put a stop to the war, as Louis's means of protract
ing it were lost in Chaumont ;.and a truce was agreed upon
in August, to last till after Easter in' the following year.
In the meantime, circumstances had arisen in Britanny
which rendered this suspension of hostilities a very season
able relief, to the King of England. I cannot discover
whether the . Viscount de Leon, and his valiant son Guio
marck, had been amongst those who actuaUy did homage to
Henry after the fall of Fougeres, though there can be but
little doubt -that they affected submission ; but taking adj
vantage of the dissensions between the King of England
and Louis, they were already in arms before the end of the
year 1 167. The name of Guiomarck stands at the head, of
the list of insurgents ; but Elides, Viscount of Porhoet, was
also a party fo the revolt, as well as almost all the noble
men of any consequence who -had formerly given him sup
port, except indeed the Lord of "Fougeres. Henry imme
diately marched from .the Vexin into Britanny, -and fol
lowing his usual policy of always striking first at the chief
of his] enemies, he advanced into the territories of Leon, at
tacked aud took, one after another, the castles and fortresses
of Guiomarck and the Viscount, and reducing them both to
submit, demanded and obtained hostages from them, and
from the other insurgents,* one. of the hostages given by
* The historians of Britanny leave no doubt that Henry was in that

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. .211
Eudes being Alice, his daughter by Bertha, and conse
quently half-sister of Conan- Henry was called into Nor
mandy by the death of his mother Matilda, before he had.
time to complete his measures for maintaining the peace of
the duchy of Britanny ; and the instigations and promises
¦ of the King of France once more had their effect upon- the
discontented nobles of that province and Aquitaine. ' The
revolt in the latter district we shall have to notice hereafter ;
but in Britanny the unfortunate Eudes. again conspired and
leagued himself "with-the Viscount of Thouars and various
discontented nobles of Poitou, not without some prospect of
success. The truce with the King of France was soon
about to expire ; and though Henry endeavoured to make
it the basis of a soUd peace, the French king took advan
tage of every accident to avoid such a result, sOught every
Occasion of offence, and in a conference at Bourges, Louis
and the insurgents mutually bound themselves not. to make
peace separately. with the' King of England.
The affairs of that monarch wore a very formidable
aspect towards the commencement of 1168 ; a sentence of
excommunication hung over his head in consequence of his
quarrel with Becket ; Britanny, Aquitaine, and Poitou, were
either in actual insurrection, or on the eve of a general re
volt ; and the King of Frapce had so positively pledged him.
self to support the insurgent barons of -all those provinces,
that it was impossible for him to recede with honour. .
About the same time two events occurred, which' still far
ther incensed the King qf England ' against his continental
nobles, and 'those nobles, against the King. The Earl of
Salisbury, who had been, left by Henry in Pcjtou, as his
lieutenant, was treacherously murdered by Guy of LuSsig-
nan, afterwards more famous in history ; but on'the other
province in 1167 and -gained, the advantages here stated over the .Breton
insurgents. Lord Lyttleton passes over the events of this expedrtidn in
silence, or confound, them with those of the preceding year.

212 THE LIFE OF
hand the English monarch exasperated his adversaries to
the highest pitch of fury, by an act of the most brutal and
shameless kind.
As is well known, the moral character of Henry, through
out life, was anything but pure ; but at this period there
appears a charge against him of so foul and base a nature,
that we may wish for the honour of human nature there
was any means of disproving it. It must be remembered
that the daughter of Eudes had been given as a hostage for
her father's faith and submission, and that, unmindful of the
brutality which Henry had displayed towards the Welsh
hostages, he had again broken out into revolt. In revenge
for her father's perfidy, Henry is said to have forcibly vio
lated the person of the unfortunate girl.* The king's for
mer treatment of his hostages was certainly cruel, although
it has been*defended upon tha grounds of necessity ; but
this was an act of baseness scarcely paralleled in the his
tory of modern Europe. The effect was, of course, but to
aggravate the rancorous animosity of Eudes, and he was
busily taking measures to render his insurrection success
ful, when all his plans were frustrated by the extraordinary
activity of the English monarch.
Without giving himself any time for repose, Henry, after
having chastised the insurgents and criminals of Poitou, as
will be shown hereafter, marched at once into Britanny and
attacked Eudes in the midst of his own territory. With a
rapidity truly wonderful, he reduced almost every castle and
town belonging to the Viscount, and then turning to the
inferior insurgents, he took the high fort of Becherel, and
many other small places, meeting with no check or repulse
during the months of May and June. At the end of the
latter month, he hurried across the' country to confer with
* The historians of Britanny assert that force was used, though the
English and Normans are silent on that point.

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 213
the King- of France at La Ferte Bernard, where a meeting
which had with difficulty been concerted, was to take place
between them. The Breton nobles, as well as others
whom I shall have occasion to mention in another place,
appealed to Louis more as a judge than an ally, and Henry
could of course only act towards the French king as mo
narch with monarch. The bonds were drawn closer be
tween Louis and the insurgents, the breach between Henry
and the French sovereign was widened ; and, as we shall
see hereafter, the meeting did not take place, though the
parties approached within a few miles of each other.
The two kings returned to their territories with the inten
tion of immediately resuming hostilities, and carrying them
on with greater activity than before: The effect, however,
was not such as might be anticipated from the enmity of
two powerful monarchs, and the strife of two mighty na
tions. Little was done on either side ; and at the festival
of the Epiphany, in the following year, a more satisfactory
arrangement of their differences took place between Henry
and Louis, in- which the English monarch's skillahd perse
verance obtained many objects which he sought, even while
he appeared to be making concessions.
In the meantime, however, Henry had continued un-
. shaken in the exercise of sovereignty in the Duchy ; - and
the possession thereof was secured to him and to his son
Geoffrey, by the- treaty of peace which was soon after
entered into between him and the King of France,, and. of.
which I shall speak when I proceed to notice more fuUy the
events that had been faking place in Poitou.
To all the particulars, indeed, of that treaty I shall havei
to return shortly, in order to notice various clauses con
tained in it, which have an especial reference to this his
tory ; but it may be necessary, for the purpose of showing
the exact position in -which the English monarch was
placed, to give an account of several other events which

214 THE LIFE OF
occurred during the struggles of Britanny, and the desul-
tory warfare with France, before I turn to the affairs of
Poitou and Aquitaine.
In the midst of the difficulties and embarrassments
which surrounded Henry at this time, while in open hos
tility with the Archbishop, with the thunders of Rome
hanging over his head, with his subjects in revolt in many
of his hereditary territories on the continent, his newly-
acquired possession of Britanny shaken by the resistance
of some of the most distinguished nobles of that country, his
Welsh vassals waging a successful warfare for the recovery
of their independence, and the French monarch repaying
his great services by ravaging his territories and supporting
all his enemies, Henry suddenly found two princes, who
had ever been friendly towards him, join the party of his
foes, and prepare to invade his dominions. These were
the Count of Flanders, and his brother, the Count of Bou
logne, one of whom had been under Henry's guardianship,
while the other was indebted to him for the very territories
that he possessed. Nevertheless, the present enmity of the
Count of Boulogne and his brother was not without some
cause, to explain which, it may be necessary to go back,
for a few particulars, as far as the reign of Stephen.
It will be remembered that on the conclusion of the
treaty between Stephen and Henry, which secured the
succession of . the crown to the latter, the only surviving
son of Stephen, named William, was assured possession of
the County of Boulogne, and all the other hereditary terri
tories of his father Stephen, comprising the County of
Mortagne in Normandy. Besides these, various estates in
England, which had been given to him by his father, were
also secured to him by Henry. I am not aware, whether
there were or were not also some hereditary lands in Eng
land granted by WilUam the Conqueror to Eustace, Count
of Boulogne, and conveyed to Stephen by that Count's

RICHARD CC-UR-DE-LION. 215
daughter, whom he married. Neither do I know whether
the territories which Stephen had granted to his son were
secured to him by Henry as hereditary possessions or not ;
nor upon what terms the manor of Pevensey, and some
other estates which Henry spontaneously added, were con
ceded to William. However that may be, the son of Ste
phen not only enjoyed the whole of these territories during
his life, but seemed perfectly contented with the treatment
he received from Henry, attached himself much to that
Prince, and accompanied him during the campaign against
the Count of Toulouse. In returning from that expedition,
William of Blois died childless. The hand of his widow,
together with the large estates she had inherited from her
father, Henry conferred upon his own natural brother,
Hamelin ; and the County of Mortagne he gave to his
own younger brother William. The English estates also
were, I doubt not, bestowed by the King upon some of his
faithful followers, being considered as escheats, in which
point of view Henry indisputably regarded the County of
Mortagne. So far all was well, and no one could complain of the
King's acts ; for the legitimate posterity of Stephen was
now extinct, with the exception of one daughter, Mary, who
might be considered as dead in the eye of the law, having
taken the veil in the Abbey of Romsey, in Hampshire. The
County of Boulogne still remained to be disposed of ; but
that being a fief of the County of Flanders, Henry had now
no power over it ; and it might have become a subject of
contention amongst the collateral relations of William of
Blois, as the Count of Flanders could not bestow it except
according to the feudal law, had not Henry consented, and
probably suggested, a measure very gratifying to the Count
but which now ended in producing enmity between his son
and Henry. As we have seen, a great friendship existed
between the King of England and Thierry, Count of Flan-

216 THE LIFE OF
ders, whose son was for some time under the guardianship
of the monarch; and towards the beginning of'the year
1160, which was a few months after the death of William
of Blois, it was arranged between the two princes, that
Matthew, a younger son of Thierry, should marry Mary, the
nun of Romsey.
A papal dispensation could have been Obtained easily,
had not a schism existed in the church, which rendered it
dangerous for "Henry to apply to either of the rival Popes
in a manner that might be considered as a recognition of
his authority. To obviate, this difficulty, Henry permitted
Matthew to carry off Mary of Blois from the Abbey of
RomSey ; and the princess gave her hand, very willingly
it would Seem, to her young deliverer in the month of
May, 1160. By her he obtained possession of the County ,
of Boulogne ; but I do not find that he asserted any claim,
either to the County of Mortagne, or to William of Blois'
estates in England, till after the death of Henry's brother,
which took place in 1164.
The embarrassing Situation in which Henry was now
placed, certainly offered a favourable moment for making
such a demand, though expediency, that great enemy of aU
that that is noble and just', in the dealings of states and
princes, was opposed by both gratitude and generosity. It
is probable., however,' that Matthew was inst_js;ate'd- to claim
aU the possessions- of William' of Blois by the eager coun
sels of the King of France, who was now paying great
court to the Count's of Flanders, and had invited Philip, on
whom his father Thierry had devolved the cares of govern
ment, to act as godfather to his son, in the year i 165.*
* I have given a somewhat different aSc6unt of these , events 'from
that afforded by Lord Lyttleton, who says," I- cannot help thinking by
mistake, that the County of Mortagne " was' on the decease of that
monarch (Stephen) considered as an escheat." Now there cannot be
the slightest doubt, that William of Blois. had possession- of Mortagne

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 217
At all events we find, that in 1166 the applications of the
Count of Boulogne to be put in possession of Mortagne,
and of the English estates which he now claimed, became
urgent ; and upon Henry's refusal to accede to his demand
he and his brother Philip collected an immense fleet and
army, and prepared to invade England, while Henry was
in the midst of contentions with the King of France.
Six hundred vessels are said to have been engaged ;
but luckily,^|he assembling of such forces could not take
place upon the coast of Flanders, without being known
both in Normandy and England. Every freeman in the
land was, in those days, bred to the use of arms ; and the
Saxon obligation of realm-defence was, as I have shown
in another place, in full force, notwithstanding the changes
produced by the complete introduction of the feudal sys
tem. Richard de Lucy, the High Justiciary, was entrusted by
Henry, who was detained in France, with the protection
of England ; and drawing out the whole of the array of
the maritime counties, he made such a formidable display
of native - strength, that the Counts of Flanders and Bou
logne did not dare to land, and turned their arms to another
quarter. In the meanwhile, however, Henry had entered
into negociations with those princes, concerning an amica
ble arrangement of the claims of the Count of Boulogne ;
and in the end, that nobleman agreed to compound all his
demands for the sum of one thousand pounds sterling per
till his death, which took place five years after the decease of his father.
This is clearly established by the date of the gift of the County to "Wil
liam Plantagenet, which did not take place till after the ojpath of Ste
phen's son in 1159. I have also ventured to state, that Philip of Flan
ders was invited to the baptism of Philip Augustus, in direct opposition
to one of the commentators upon D'Oudegherst, who quotes Suger's
History of Louis the Seventh, to show who were the sponsors of Philip
Augustus, when it unfortunately happens, that Suger was dead fourteen
years before Philip Augustus was born.
VOL. I. — 19

218

THE LIFE OF '

annum, which has ' been supposed equal to about sixteen
thousand pounds of our present money. The treaty, by
which this agreement was concluded, was extremely bene
ficial to Henry; for the Count of Boulogne, by the terms
thereof, bound himself to receive this annuity as a benefi-
cium, for which he engaged to do military. service, and to
render homage and fealty to the King of England, so that
thereby, he was changed from an enemy into an ally ; and
a new hold was obtained by the crown of England upon
the Counts of Flanders.
It .may be necessary, however, to notice here, that pre
vious to this period, namely, in the year. 1163, Henry had
entered into a subsidiary treaty with Thierry and his son
Philip, shortly before the former departed for the Holy
Land, by the terms of which Henry granted an annuity to
the Count upon the condition of military service ; and it is
not easy to discover upon what plea the Sovereign of Flan
ders so far broke the engagements of this convention, as
to appear in arms against England in 1 166.
A brief summary- must now be given of the progress of
the dispute between Becket and the king, from the period
of the unsuccessful embassy which Henry sent to Pope
Alexander at Sens ; though we have already noticed some
of the principal facts, and need not trace the course of this
affair very minutely during Becket's .exile, as but few events
affecting greatly the general course of this history present
themselves in that space of time.
The death of Victor, the confederation of several Italian
cities in favour of his opponent, and other .circumstances of
a similar kind, had induced Alexander to try his fortunes
once more in Italy, and he had succeeded in establishing
himself in Rome. We have seen, that Henry's indigna
tion t _ wards Becket had in no degree decreased ; and that
he had even extended that indignation towards Alexander,
in the menaces written to the Archbishop of Cologne, and

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 219
pronounced by Henry's ambassadors at Wurzburgh. Nei
ther, on the other hand, had Becket or the Pope in the
least receded from their pretensions ; and the acts and the
threats of the King of England only irritated, without dis
maying, them. All the relations and dependents of Becket
were driven out of England; and we are told that an oath
was exacted of them to join the exiled prelate at Pontigny,
whither he had gone, after leaving Alexander at Sens.
Near four hundred persons, men, women, and children at
the breast, were comprised in this proscription, their lands
and goods were confiscated, and they were thus sent to
Becket in misery and want. But this base and cruel act
did not produce the effect that Henry intended ; for the
very name of the prelate had become a recommendation to
the princes and nobles of Europe, and in general his rela
tions and friends thus banished, found plenty to support
them and promote their fortunes. About the same time, or
a little before, the payment of Peter pence to the Pope was
stopped, the revenues of Becket himself, and of all the
ecclesiastics who followed him into exile, were seized, and
the clergy were strictly forbidden to pray for him in the
churches. In return, Becket thundered forth denunciations against
the monarch, wrote to him letter after letter of an insolent
and a menacing character, and loudly announced his deter
mination of excommunicating his king, and persecuting, to
the utmost of his power, the bishops and clergy who had
supported Henry. The bishops again appealed to the
Pope ; and Alexander, embarrassed with his own dangers
and difficulties, left many of their addresses either unno
ticed, or very briefly answered ; but. in the meanwhile he
gave Becket full power to try and punish, by ecclesiastical
means, all those inferior persons who had done him or his
friends any injury, thereby making him judge in his own
cause. In regard to the King of England, the Pope left to

220 THE LIFE OF
Becket the discretionary power of acting in whatever way
he might think his archiepiscopal station justified ; and that
prelate instantly determined to proceed, without remorse,
to the excommunication of his sovereign and his benefac
tor. He was preparing for the execution of this resolution
in the manner that he judged most likely to produce a great
effect upon the minds of men, visiting shrines, and holding
vigils by the tombs of saints, when a change took place in
the fortunes of the Pope Alexander himself, which brought
about an alteration of measures very unfavourable to the
views of Becket.
The news of this change, indeed, would not have reach
ed the exiled Archbishop in time to prevent him from ful
minating his sentence of excommunication at Henry him
self, had not that monarch been seized with a dangerous
illness, which induced Louis King of France to entreat or
to command the prelate to suspend his purpose for a time.
There can be little doubt that but for the intercession of the
French monarch, no pious considerations would have
caused Becket to pause in the course of his revenge ; and,
in order to sate himself as far as possible, he proceeded at
once to excommunicate a number of the king's most faith
ful friends and servants, using the legatine power with
which the Pope invested him in October 1165 in the ser
vice of his angry passions.
In the meantime, however, Henry, before he was seized
with the illness we have mentioned, had called an assembly
at Chinon, and in consequence of the advice he received
from the bishops and nobles present, had interposed an
appeal to the Pope against the authority of Becket. This
was an inconsistent act, as he had himself forbidden his
clergy to have recourse to the same expedient, and Becket's
friends triumphed in proportion ; but Becket himself did
not receive intimation of the appeal till after he had sus
pended the sentence of excommunication which he had

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 221
been about to pronounce. At the same time, negociations
were going on between Henry and Alexander, which
wrought an extraordinary change, for the time, in the posi
tion of both parties. The Marquis of Montferrat, anxious
to increase his power, which was- already very great, by an
alliance with a monarch of such authority as the King of
England, sent ambassadors to Henry, beseeching him to
give one of the daughters of the house of Plantagenet in
marriage to his heir ; and it is moreover asserted these
ambassadors were instructed to promise the king, that if
the request were granted, the Marquis would take such
measures as to lead to the deposition of Becket from the
archbishopric of Canterbury.
What assurances the Lord of Montferrat could give Henry
in regard to his power of performing so mighty an under
taking, we cannot now tell ; but that he possessed some
strong influence over the mind of Alexander there can be
no doubt. Henry immediately acceded to the request of
the Marquis, and, apparently at his -suggestion, sent three
ambassadors to treat with Alexander, the chief of whom
was no other than that John of Oxford, who, in execution
of the king's commands, had already been excommunicated.
Henry must have been very well assured that his minis
ters would meet With a favourable reception, before he
chose so obnoxious a person, as one of his envoys to the
Pope. The embassy. was undoubtedly successful in a much
greater degree than could have been-expected ; the pontiff
received the. present representatives of Henry with far
more kindness than -be had displayed towards the king's
former ambassadors. John of Oxford surrendered into his
hands the Deanery of Salisbury, which Becket had declared
uncanonically conferred, and immediately received it back
again from the pontiff, with . absolution for that and all his
other sins. Presenting letters from the English monarch
to the Bishop of Rome, in which Henry declared that he
19*

222 $' THE LIFE OF
would preserve to his clergy the liberty they had possessed
from the time of his grandfather, Henry the First, the
ambassadors obtained a distinct promise, that two legates
should be sent to examine and judge both between Becket
and the English bishops, and between him and the king.
Their sentence was to be definitive, and one of the legates
named was William of Pavia, who had always shown
himself devoted in his friendship towards Henry.
This was even more than the King of England had de
manded at first by the ambassador sent to Sens ; but pro
bably the dangerous situation of Alexander himself, against
whom the tide of fortune was once more beginning to turn,
and who varied his conduct towards Henry according to
the fluctuation of the stream, was one of the chief causes
of the placability of the papal court.
The Emperor, Frederic Barbarossa, had, in the com
mencement of 1166, assembled a sufficient force to recover
his power in Lombardy, and to threaten the security of
Rome itself. Alexander had done the worst that he could
do by the thunders of the church, and had produced little
or no effect either in reducing Frederic to obedience, or in
detaching his subjects and vassals from him; and thus
nothing remained for the defence of the reigning pontiff,
but an inferior fraction in Italy itself, and the support of
France and England. The friendship of the latter power
was already terribly shaken. Not only had Henry himself
held out threats not to be misunderstood of abandoning the
party of Alexander, and going over to Pascal; but the
bishops had at various times informed the pope whom they
recognized, that such was very likely to be the case. The
present then was the moment when Alexander had most to
fear that Henry, taking advantage of Frederic's first suc
cesses, would join the emperor in his operations for the
elevation of Pascal, and render his power irresistible.
Many other causes might combine to affect the papal

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 223
policy. The authority of the Marquis of Montferrat was
very considerable, and his influence in the north of Italy
great. Henry also might — and the friends of Becket as
serted that he did — once more use the potent eloquence of
gold, to gain the pliant cardinals ; but whether any secret
motive combined with those which are apparent to influence
the pope in Henry's favour, a greater change was certainly
effected in the views of the pontiff, than could be brought
about by anything but a very powerful cause. Not con
tented with the concession he had at first made, he sent
back by John of Oxford the papal dispensation for the mar
riage of Henry's son Geoffrey with Constance of Brittany,
they being within the forbidden degrees of consanguinity ;
and he moreover prohibited Becket from troubling Henry
or his kingdom in any manner, and declared null and void
any sentence of excommunication or interdict which the
archbishop might have pronounced before the receipt of his
letters. He promised the king, also, that the legates should
absolve all his friends and servants from the excommuni
cation under which they already lay, and at once authorized
them to receive absolution from the hands of any bishop or
priest in case of illness producing apprehension of death.*
These provisions were indeed very necessary, for before
they arrived, Becket had received from the pope, as I have
before shown, a commission, giving him the complete lega
tine power over the whole of England, except the Diocese
of York, which authority Becket had immediately proceeded
to employ in the most intemperate and furious manner.
* The pope's letter upon this subject is so extremely curious, that I
cannot refrain from transcribing it as it appears in Hoveden : " Alexan
der Episcopus servus servorum Dei, illustri Anglorum regi Henrico salu-
tem et Apostolicam benedictionem. Magnificentia_ tuas nuntios, scilicet
dilectos filios nostras Johannem Cumin et Radulfum de Tamwerde nobis,
et ecclesia- Dei denotus, regiae sublimitati (sicut credimus) per omnia
fidelissimos, et literas, quas excellentia tua nobis per eosdem transmisit,
tanto benigniori mente suscepimus, et tanto eos majori gratia prseveni-

224 THE LIFE OF
Henry, on his part, had done all in his power to guard
his kingdom against the vengeance of Becket armed with
mus, et honore, quanto plenius scivimus ipsos a magnifico principe, et
rege Christianissimo fuisse transmissos : cui utique omnem, quam cum
Deo possumus, gloriam cupimus et honorem, et ad cujus incrementum
modis omnibus quibus honeste poterimus, nos et fratres nostri ac tota
ecclesia quanto devotissimae sinceritatis tuse affectum in. majori sumus
necessitate experti, tanto ardentius intendimus aspirare. Non enim tua.
devotionis insignia nobis tempore tam opportuno exhibita a nostra in pos-
terum memoria, ulla poterit ratione diy elli, vel in conspectu ecclesia. aliqua
desuetudine inumbrari. Petitiones qubque tuas, quas nobis per jam
dictos nuntios misisti, in quibus cum Deo et honestate nostra potuimus;
sicut iidem magnificentis. tuse nuntii viva voce plenius enarrabunt, cu-
ravimus executioni mandare. Personas siquidem de latere nostro,
juxtaque rogasti, licet nobis gravissimum, ac difficilimum hoc tempore
maxime videatur aliquos a nobis emittere; cum fratrum nostrorum et
eorum praesertim quos tu desideras praesentia et concilio opus habeamus,
illius tamen recolendae, ac magnifies, devotionis tuse, ut diximus, non
immemores existeijtes, ad subli'mitatis- tuae prsesentiam duximus desti-
nandas cum plenitudine potestatis, ecclesiasticas causas, qua. inter te et
venerabilem fratrum nostrum Archiepiscum Cantuariensem hunc inde
vertuntur, et illam que inter eundeni archiep.- et episc. regni tui super
appellatione ad nos facta movetur, necnon alias causas terra; quas nove-
rint expedite; cognoscendi judicandique et prout sibi dominus admihis-.'
traverit, canonice terminandi. l_idem quoque archiepiscqpo ne te aut
tuos seu regnum gubernationi tua. commissum, donee causae ilia, debitum
sortiantur effectum in aliquo gravare vel turb'are aut inquietare attentet,
omnimodis inhihemus. Verum si praefatus archiepiscopus in te, aut
regnum tuum, vel personas regni interim aliquam sententiam tulerit,
nos earn irritam esse, et non te tenere censemus, ad indictfonem autem
hujus rei, et argumentum nostra- voluntatis, literas pra_sentes, si articul'us
ingruerit necessitatis ostendas. Alioquiri serenitatem tuam rogamus et
attentius commonemus, ut literas ipsas, aut earum tenorem a nullo sciri
permittas, sed eas habeas omnino secretas. Elos autem familiares et
consiliarios tuos, quos jam dictus archiepiscopus sententiae excommuni-
cationis subjecit, persona, de latere nostro transmissab, domino auctore,
absolvent. Si £utem aliquis illorum interim metu mortis laboraveritj
pr.iestito secundum ecclesiae consuetudinem juramento, quod nostro si
convaluerit debeat parere mandato, ipsum ab aliquo episcopo vel reli-
gioso, et discrete viro, absolvi concedimus.."'

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. * 225
the artillery of Rome ; and, in this respect, the insular situa
tion of England gave him some facilities. He ordered that a
strict watch should be kept upon all the ports, lest persons
bringing over anything in the shape of an interdict should
find their wayinto the country. If any one were detected in
the attempt, various punishments were denounced against
the offender according to his profession : if he were one
of the regular orders of monks, his feet were to be cut off;
if a priest, his eyes were to be put out, and he was to be
castrated ; if a layman, he was to be hung ; if a leper —
and numbers of these unfortunate beings were at that time
wandering about Europe — he was to be burnt alive. If,
in consequence of an interdict, any priest were to refuse
the services of the Church, he was likewise to be emas
culated. These were terrible denunciations ; but nevertheless it
must be admitted that the very fact of aiding to produce
in any country the horrors of an interdict was also a ter
rible crime. Nevertheless, notwithstanding these severe
laws, and all the care that Henry's officers could employ,
some persons found means to bring into England, not in
deed an inderdict, but letters from Becket to various pre
lates, and the Pope's mandate appointing him legate for
England. The mandate, and a copy of a letter from Becket
to all the bishops of England, with the exception of those
of the province of York, commanding them in his quality
of legate to appear before him within forty days, were
delivered to the Bishop of London at the high altar of Saint
Paul's Church, as he was performing the mass of that
Saint on the day of his conversion. There were^ various
other injunctions contained in these letters ; and so alarm
ing was this display of power, even to such a strong-
minded man as the Bishop of London, that he besought
Henry's permission to execute all Becket's commands, and
notwithstanding .an express prohibition, prepared to obey

226 THE LIFE OF
the summons he had received to appear in the presence of
the legate, and even proceeded to Winchester, for the
purpose of going over into France. At Southampton, too,
the Bishop of Hereford was waiting for a fair wind to ac
complish the same object, when by one of those extraor
dinary coincidences that occur from time to time to affect
the fates of men, the wind which detained him, wafted to
the shores of England, and to the same port, John of Ox
ford, the King's chief envoy to the Palpal court. He an
nounced to the "glad ears of the Bishop of Hereford the
tidings which he brought from Rome; but that prelate
would not be satisfied, till he was fully assured of the con
tents of the papal letters; and, as John of Oxford had sent
them on with his baggage to Winchester, the Bishop's.
chaplain was despatched to read them there. This quite
satisfied the Bishop, and he turned upon his Steps with
joy, doubtless very grateful to the wind, which had stayed
his progress into France.
Henry rejoiced and triumphed ; but Becket burst into
fury and the most indecent expressions of indignation
when informed of what had taken place. He reproached
the Pope loudly amongst his friends ; but whilst he de
clared openly that Alexander had strangled the Church of
England, he addressed to him a load of blasphemous adu
lation, which might well have disgusted a .wise man, and
horrified a pious one. The King of France too, indignant,
at the Pope's concession to his enemy the King of Eng
land, made his anger loudly known ; and it is probable that
this intimation, on the part of Louis, had more effect than
the invectives or supplications of Becket. Alexander,
whose policy was rather to temporize with Henry than to
yield to him, limited the powers of the legates by the way,
and sent them on their journey with a commission totally
different from that which had been first granted to them
at the solicitation of John of Oxford. There can be but

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. . .* 227
little or no doubt, also, that they received instructions to
spend as much time on the road as possible ;* for although
the north of Italy was infested by the troops of the Em
peror, whx> was on his way to Rome, so that some time
might be wasted in avoiding the dangers of the way, yet
the extraordinary delay which occurred ere the legates
entered even the territory of France, can only be accounted
for by the supposition that they were directed not to make
more speed than necessary. The conduct of Alexander,
indeed, through the whole of this business, offers! a con
trast to that of Becket, very favourable to the latter. Becket
was at least consistent after he. quitted England. He
never varied ; he uniformly maintained the same, doctrines,
he always kept up the same fiery zeal in their support ;'
his tone, his conduct, and his object-were the same ; and
one might well believe that the great motive of all his
actions was an enthusiastic and superstitious, veneration
for the Church of which he was a member, did not pas
sages in his own writings and the evasion of any sacrifice
on his own part, which would have restored peace to Eng
land, as well as the very objects which he pretended to
seek, prove incontestably, that pride was the grand prin
ciple of his conduct, and self-elevation, whether as priest,
saint, or martyr, the abject of all his endeavours. Never
theless, in contemplating his conduct at this time, and also
his demeanour on the day of his death, one cannot help
feeling a certain degree of admiration mingle with our
thoughts, and perhaps pervert our judgment, at the sight of
such powers of mind, such strength -and firmness of charac--
ter, such resolution, and fearlessness of heart, although the
high qualities that we may justly venerate were employed
for an unworthy and evil purpose, and subservient to selfish
passions and individual ambition.
* We know that they received orders not to enter England till the
dispute between Henry and the Archbishop was.adjusted.

228

THE LIFE OF

On the other hand, Alexander displayed a temporizing
policy, which, however successful, can never be carried on
without some loss of character, either by men or by states.
As soon as fear seized him or danger threatened him, he
made concessions to Henry, which he rendered impotent,
or revoked altogether, either as soon as the peril was
passed, or the risk of conceding became, through the anger
of the King of France, greater than that of resisting.
Whenever he was powerful and triumphant, he showed
himself arbitrary and imperious, but he was always as
ready to stoop for the purpose of rising again, as he was to
ascend at first. We thus see various changes of policy
on the part of Alexander towards Henry and Becket very
discreditable to the Pontiff, and which can hardly bear any
other name than that of dishonesty, when joined with those
injunctions to secresy which his letters display. In fact
Becket was the lion of the struggle, Alexander the fox,
and what between the sagacity of the one, and the vigour
of the other, Henry's whole power was unable to resist
them. Alexander, however, had not yet reached the point to
which his fortunes were once more to descend ; and while
the legates were slowly pursuing their way towards France,
Frederic advanced, subduing as he went all things in the
north of Italy before him. The people of Tusculum and
Albany had always shown themselves favourable to the
Emperor, and were looking for his approach with gladness,
when a Roman army marched out to ravage their terri
tories, contrary, we are assured, to the wishes and exhorta
tions of Alexander, although one of the assigned causes of
the attack was their refusal to pay the papal tribute.
Frederic was at this time besieging Ancona, and to him
the people of Tusculum applied for immediate aid. After
some delay, owing either to the incapacity or neglect of
Frederic's officers, during which the partisans of the general

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 229
Father of the Christian world ravaged in the most brutal
manner the lands of his ifhfortunate children of Tusculum,
cutting down the wheat, the vines, and even the trees, and
straitening the city closely, a force consisting of picked
troops, marched to the relief of the besieged town, and a
battle took place between the Germans and the Romans.
The former were not many more in number than a thou
sand ; the latter, between cavalry and infantry, Muratori
states to have amounted to well nigh thirty. thousand armed
men. To the former, however, must be added, the garrison
of Tusculum, which sallied- out during the battle, and at
tacked the Roman rear. Thirty thousand of the children
of those who had conquered the world were utterly de
feated by a ha.ndful of barbarians, and, as usual, -all sorts
of statements remain regarding the number of killed and
prisoners. The most probable account is, that six thousand
were kiUed, and that a great number were taken, though
one of the Papal writers makes the loss amount to two-
thirds of the whole, and. declares, that since the field of
Cannas, there had not been so great a slaughter of Roman
troops. Alexander, we are told, burst into tears at these tidings,
and in vain endeavoured to collect such a force as might
defend Rome. So -marked a success, however, gave new
energy to the Emperor Frederick. Instead of pressing the
siege of Ancona to a surrender at discretion, which he pro
bably intended, he received the submission of the people of
that city, upon their paying a large fine and giving hos
tages ; and marching on with the utmost rapidity towards
Rome, he led the way himself at the head of his cavalry
and accompanied by the Empress. Coming up with some
of the troops of the King of Sicily, who had advanced to
the aid of Alexander, he drove them before him, making
a number of prisoners, and with uninterrupted success he
hastened on to Rome itself, at the gates of which city he
vol. i.— 20

230 THE LIFE OF
arrived about the middle of the year. It was not without
a struggle, however, that he gained possession of Rome
itself ; but that object was effected at length, and he caused
himself and the Empress to be crowned in the church of
Saint Peter, by the hands of Pascal the Antipope.
Rome was at that time full of fortresses ; and, in fact, the
house of each of the great Barons was in itself a castle.
Alexander remained in Rome, at the fortified house of the
Frangipani family, after Frederick was in possession of the
greater part of the city ; but finding the neighbourhood dan
gerous, and the people of Rome anxious to be freed from
his presence, he made his escape in disguise to Terracina,
and passing by Gaeta, found refuge in Beneventum. The
Emperor Frederic remained in Rome for some time : too
long, indeed, though by so doing he extended his influence
far around him in Italy ; for a pestilential fever broke out
in his army, which in a very short space of time diminished
it in a terrible degree. The Archbishop of Cologne, the
-Bishops of Liege, Spires, Ratisbon, and a number of other
prelates, with some of Frederick's near relations and prin
cipal officers, died in the space of a few days. As is com
mon with fevers in Rome and its neighbourhood, the disease
attacked the strangers and spared the inhabitants ; and
Frederic, obliged to fly from Rome and the Campania, took
his way back towards Lombardy, carrying with him nume
rous hostages, taken from the principal inhabitants ; but
bearing with his army the fever which it had contracted in
the imperial city. Alexander rejoiced at the news of the
unexpected destruction of such a number of the enemy ;
and he, as well as Becket, taking the pleasantest view of
the year's history, ascribed the pestilence to an immediate
judgment of God on the head of Frederick.
To what cause they a/ttributed the capture of Rome by
the Emperor, and the terrible reverses that Alexander him
self had met with, does not appear ; but they certainly

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 231
never thought of ascribing those evils to pride, ambition, or
corruption on their own part.
It is necessary now to leave the affairs of Italy, and to
turn once more to what was passing in France, in order to
bring the affairs of Aquitaine and Poitou, which -we have
sUghtly noticed in speaking of Britanny, up to that point
where we have left the other affairs of Henry the Second.
I have shown that after the suspension of arms in 1167,
Louis had taken advantage of some causes of discontent
which existed amongst the Barons of Britanny, Poitou, and
Aquitaine, to urge them, into revolt against their sovereign.
It is probable Louis intended that the flame should not
break out till the truce had expired, and till he himself had
recovered from the capture and destruction of Chaumont.
But the wary eye of the King of England was upon the
insurgents ; the rebellion of Aquitaine and Poitou assumed
a tangible form towards the end of the year 1167, and in
the midst of the winter which succeeded, Henry marched
into those provinces at the head of a considerable force,
took and burnt the Castle of Lusignan, and reduced the
whole to apparent subjection.
As soon as this was done, the King returned to the north
of France, and resumed the negociations which were going
on with Louis regarding a treaty of peace. Those negocia
tions had already continued some time ; and in order to bring
them to a definitive issue, Henry had commissioned the
Count of Flanders to confer with the Count of Champagne,
and to draw up such conditions as, without being derogatory
to him, might be acceptable to the King of France. The
paper thus drawn up was laid before Louis at Soissons,
shortly before Easter, 1168. Though desirous of war, the
terms proposed'were so reasonable that the French monarch
consented to receive them as the basis of a treaty of peace ;
and he sent the Count of Champagne to meet Henry at a

232 THE LIFE OF
place appointed, in order to receive the King of England's
signature to the treaty.
In the meantime, however, new signs of revolt had ap
peared in Poitou, and Henry had hurried thither to prevent
the mischief in the beginning. Louis, taking the absence
of Henry at the place of meeting as an insult, hastened, as
I have before said, to Bourges, and pledged himself to the
revolted nobles of Aquitaine and Britanny, that he would
never sign a treaty of peace with the King of England, till
all they had forfeited had been restored to them. This
might seem an insurmountable bar to any pacific arrange
ments ; but Henry found means to renew the nego'ciation,
and yielded so much, that the King of France was ashamed
to remain obstinate. It was accordingly again agreed by
Henry and those who treated for Louis, that a treaty of
peace should be drawn up, very nearly on the conditions
proposed at Soissons. At this period occurred the assassi
nation of the Earl of Salisbury ; and while Guy of Lusig-1
nan fled to the Holy Land, his accomplices, whom Henry
had punished for that offence, by confiscating their property
and ravaging their estates, took refuge at the court of Louis,
and loudly complained of the punishment they had received!
as if Henry had exceeded his power as sovereign. Louis
was very ready to assert their cause ; and in truth he only
sought for an opportunity of breaking a promise he had
made to meet Henry at La Ferte Bernard for the purpose
of concluding the peace which had been before arranged.
He therefore insolently demanded not only that the English
monarch should suffer the revolted Barons of Poitou and
Britanny to be present at their meeting, but should give
them hostages for their safety in coming and going. With
this, also, Henry complied ; but before the expiration of the
truce, he had, as we have shown, punished the fresh revolt
of Eudes in Britanny, both by the very justifiable means of

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 233
confiscation, and by the infamous act of dishonouring his
daughter. The complaints and solicitations of all the insurgent
nobles who now thronged, about him from the territories of
his rival, the instigations of Becket, and the insinuations of
many members of his own court and family inimical to
Henry, sent Louis to the proposed meeting at La Ferte, in
a state of fury, which made him forget all kingly modera
tion. On arriving at the town of Chartres, on his way to
the place of meeting, a new dispute arose between him and
the King of England, both in regard to the murderers of the
Earl of Salisbury, and to some clerical lands, respecting
which Louis made unjust pretensions. Henry yielded more
perhaps than was either just or prudent ; and at length, in
regard to the lands, he sent back a message that, for the
love of God, of the Count of Flanders, and of the good
Cardinal, William of Pavia, who was then at his Court,
he would not contest the matter, though he still denied the
right of the King of France. On receiving this message
and hearing that William of Pavia was in the camp of
Henry, the King of France fell into a new fit of passion,
avowing that the Pope abetted his enemies, and that he
would not receive any concession on such terms.
Thus the conference seemed unlikely to take place, as
Henry would not of course acknowledge the right of the
French king ; but Louis suddenly sent messengers, re
quiring the King of England, more in the tone of a sove
reign than an equal, to come immediately to the place of
meeting, which was upon the banks of the small river
Huisnes, between Chartres and La Ferte, and .about two
miles from the latter town.
Many circumstances might render Henry unwilling to
obey this imperious order. The camp of the King of
France was filled with his enemies ; and he had reason to
know that besides his revolted subjects, Louis had with,
20*

234

THE LIFE OF

him at that time envoys from William the Lion, king of
Scotland, who had succeeded his brother Malcolm, and
had shown .himself as hostile as his brother had been
friendly towards the English monarch. The very messen
gers which that Prince had now sent to the King of France
came with views mimical to the King of England ; and at
the same time envoys from the insurgent Welsh were
eagerly soliciting' protection ¦ and support from France..
A. just consideration of the dangers which might arise from
an unprepared meeting with a monarch so fickle, violent,'
and easily led as Louis, has been- assigned as the reason
why Henry did not obey his summons ; but I find no record
to guide me to the real cause of the conduct of the King of
England. It is certain that he did not make his appearance
during the greater part of the day ; arid the French monarch
having washed his hands in the stream, called every one to
witness that he had kept his appointment, and that Henry
had broken faith ; and sending away the greater part of the
force which had accompanied him' thither, he remained on
the banks of the river with the rest, having despatched a
messenger to require satisfaction of Henry for the breach of
his engagement. Before night, the English monarch sud
denly appeared, armed, and at the head of a considerable
body of knights. The French king and his companions
seem to have been really alarmed at this sudden display of
force, and catching up their arms in haste^they prepared
for battle rather than for conference. But Henry, perceiving
the apprehensions that he had caused, and that night'was
coming on, retired quietly to La Ferte. Louis returned to
Chartres ; and some sharp but tedious disputes took place
in regard to the conduct of the two monarchs on this occa
sion, each accusing the other ; and Louis, as was natural,
justifying the alarm he and his nobles had experienced by
asserting the existence of a real danger. The negociations

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 235
for peace were broken off in consequence of these events,
and war was immediately renewed.
The French king, on his part, effected but little ; for the
burning of a few villages, and the ravaging a few fields,
which was the extent of his success on this, as on other
occasions, could not be considered as very glorious. Hen
ry,. on the other hand, carried forward the same savage and
iniquitous system on a larger scale ; for having summoned
the Count of Boulogne to do him feudal service according
to treaty, and the Count of Ponthieu having refused to give
a passage to'that nobleman's troops, Henry marched into
the territories of the latter, and lighted the whole land with
the flame of forty villages and small towns.
The success of his enemy, the misfortunes of his vassal,
and the impotence of his own efforts,, all tended to discour
age the King of France ; and about the same time, the re
putation and even power of the English monarch was great
ly increased by a new embassy which he received from
the emperor, of so splendid a description that the report
thereof ran through Europe. At the head of the mission
was Henry the Lion, Duke of Saxony, one of the most
powerful, if not the most powerful, of the imperial electors.
He was, at this time, son-in-law to the King of England,
having now consunimated his marriage with the daughter
of Henry, who had been escorted, to his dominions by the
Earls of Arundel and Pembroke, though little more than
twelve years of age- The embassy was in every point of
view agreeable to the English monarch ; for besides the
effect produced by such a testimony of respect, other re
sults might be anticipated from an offer on the p*rt of the
emperor, which was soon made known, to support Henry
in arms, should he need it, in his war with the King of
Frahce. An alteration however soon came over the counsels of
the last-named monarch. It would appear that the Count

236 THE LIFE OF
of Champagne had laboured sincerely to promote a peace,
and that Henry had found means to change, in some de
gree, the disposition of the house of Blois towards himself.
The contest regarding the office of Seneschal of France
between Henry and the Count of Blois, might indeed have
protracted their enmity ; for it was a point which the Eng
lish monarch could not give up with honour ; but a com
promise of the matter suggested itself, which Henry eager
ly seized ; and though I do not discover at what period the
arrangement which was afterwards adopted, first occurred
to either, yet it is evident that between the conclusion of
the truce in 1 1 67, and the rupture of the conferences of
La Ferte, the views both of the Count of Blois and the
Count of Champagne were turned from war to peace.
With these dispositions in his principal counsellors, with
his adversary's arms far more successful than his own, and
with a new league ready to be formed against him, Louis
in the end of 11 68 began to listen with complacence to the
proposals for peace, which Henry did not fail to renew
from time to time ; and at Montmirail, in January, 1169, a
definitive treaty was signed, one of the most important arti
cles in which had for its object the endowment of Richard,
the second son of Henry, with the territories which his
father intended to constitute his portion for life. These
dispositions, it is true, were altered entirely by many un
expected events ; but nevertheless, the clause regarding
Richard affected the whole course of his after life, and
was productive of results the most opposite to those which
might have been anticipated.
The stipulations of the treaty were briefly these,
First, it was agreed that Henry should renew his hom
age and fealty for Normandy in the accustomed form.
Secondly, that he should give up the provinces of Anjou
and Maine, and the fealty of the vassals thereof, to Henry,
his eldest son ; who should do homage for them to the

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 237
King of France, and owe nothing more either to his father
or brother,* with respect to these provinces.
Thirdly, that Henry's second son, Richard, should in
like manner pay homage and fealty to Louis for the duchy
of Aquitaine, and should espouse Adelais, the youngest
daughter of that king. It is to be remarked that no pre
cise dowry was settled upon her, but it was left to her
father to fix its nature and amount at an after period.
Fourthly, it was agreed that the office of great seneschal
of the kingdom of France should be given up by the Count
of Blois, on whom Louis had bestowed it some years be
fore, and restored to Prince Henry, in right of the county
of Anjou, to which it belonged.
Fifthly, that the King of England should hold Touraine
as a fief from the Count of Blois.
Sixthly, that the hostages given to Louis by the insur
gent nobles of Poitou and Bretagne should be given up by
him to Henry ; and that they themselves should return to
their former allegiance, upon condition of pardon for their
revolt, and the restitution of all the castles and lands,
which had been taken from them since the troubles in those
countries began.
It wiU be seen, that in entering into this treaty, Henry
still kept in view the chance of one of Louis's daughters
succeeding to the throne of France ; and although he dis
severed the various provinces which he had united in his
own person, it evidently appears that he did not intend at
once to. give up all rule therein, prpbably trusting to contin
gencies, as was very frequently the case with him, to obvi
ate any inconveniences which might arise from the arrange
ments now made.
Richard, to whom he transferred the duchy of Aquitaine,
was not yet twelve years old, and Adelais was still young-
* This clause would seem to relate to some claim which his 'brother
Geoffrey might have upon a part of Maine.

238

THE LIFE OF

er ; so that several years were to elapse, ere the govern
ment could possibly be entrusted to that, prince. It might
well happen also that in the succeeding years, relieved
from Becket's pretensions, aud having subdued his other
internal enemies, he might follow the example of Louis
himself in regard to the cession of the Norman Vexin, and
object to the fulfilment of the covenant he now made.
However that may be, the treaty was extremely gratify
ing to the French nobles, who had long beheld with rea
sonable alarm the consolidation of such immense territories
in France in the hands of the English monarch. The
Count of Blois, too, who had undoubtedly no small share
in promoting the treaty of peace which was now signed
had every reason to be satisfied with the result; as in re
turn for the sacrifice of an office to which he had no right,
and which must always have proved a matter of strife be
tween him and each succeeding Count of Anjou, he obtain-
ed, as a voluntary act from Henry, a feudal honour, which
.might at an after period be turned to much greater advan
tage. To Richard, Henry gave nothing, in fact, but that
which had been before promised when, in order to secure
the alliance of the Count of Barcelona, a marriage had been
negociated between the young prince and the daughter of
the Count. The promised bride of Richard had. died in
infancy, and Henry could hardly do less in betrothing his
son to the daughter of the king of France, than he had done
on the former occasion. Perhaps, too, he might hope that
the Barons of Aquitaine, who had never shown themselves
well pleased with their subjection to the crown of England,
might be more submissive to his rule, as well as that of his
son, when they had the full assurance of being ultimately
governed by a Prince of their own.
If such was his hope, the very first proceedings that took
place in Aquitaine must have shaken those expectations,
for dissensions almost immediately ensued between the

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 239
monarch and a number of the former insurgents, regarding
the restitution of the lands that had been promised. The
Barons insisted that the terms of the treaty were not fully
and properly observed towards them, and they consequently
remained in arms, with the powerful Lords of Angouleme
and La Marche at their head. From the grasping charac
ter of Henry, we might be led to suppose that the charge of
the Barons was not unfounded ; but the silence of the King
of France, to whom recourse was open, and from whom
every favour was to be expected, affords a strong motive
for believing that justice was on the side of the English
monarch. Henry, however, whose activity knew no pause,
marched at once into the south, invaded the territories of
the Lords of Angoule'me and La Marche, captured several
strong places, and succeeded in reducing the whole pro
vince to obedience. He then returned to Normandy, where
he employed himself in the more beneficial works of peace ;
and to this period of his reign are ascribed various public
buildings of importance ; amongst which was an immense
dyke of thirty miles in length, constructed with a view to
restrain the Loire from overflowing the lowlands in the
neighbourhood of Angers. The frontiers of Normandy,
too, he strengthened by lines and fortifications, in order to
guard, as far as possible, against those desolating incur
sions which had so frequently occurred during the late war.
In the meanwhile he had sent his son Henry to Paris, in
order to take possession of the high office of Seneschal, in
right of the County of Anjou ; and at a great banquet the
EngUsh prince served the King of France at table in that
capacity. Nor had he neglected the affairs of Britanny,
although the resistance of the Barons of Aquitaine had
called him sooner than he probably intended from that
duchy. He had, nevertheless, very shortly after the signa
ture of the peace of Montmirail, taken his son Geoffrey into

240 THE LIFE OF
Britanny, and caused the nobles of the land to do homage to*
him in the town of Rennes.
. In the south.of France he had still some embarrassments
to contend with, as his claims upon the county of Toulouse
had been in no degree affected by the late arrangements.
The count remained virtually, unsubdued, and Henry re
solved* to bring him to do homage. We find that his in
tention of so doing must have been openly avowed; for at
a meeting that took place between the English monarch
.and the King of France at the Abbey of St.* Denis, in
November, 1169, the affairs of the county of Toulouse
came. under discussion between him and -Louis; and in
order to' counterbalance the evil, impressions which that
pririce had received from some late transactions regarding
Becket, Henry promised to treat the Count of Toulouse
leniently, out of regard to the French monarch. The os
tensible motive of Henry's journey to Saint Denis was to
accomplish a pilgrimage, or to perform some religious vow ;
but the real object was to recover, as far as possible, the
good will of the French king, and apparently to diminish,
in some degree, the influence of Becket. Amongst other
concessions or promises which the EngUsh sovereign made
to Louis, was an engagement to send his son Richard to
be educated at Paris by that king ; but Henry was always
liberal of promises Which could be evaded, and this was cer
tainly one which he did not intend to keep unless compeUed
to do so. At this meeting with Louis, other transactions
took place regarding Becket, which will be noticed shortly
hereafter. But it is worthy of remark, that kings and
princes in that day, notwithstanding the barbarism of the
age, and the frequent acts' of violence committed, trusted
themselves in the hands of other monarchs whose amity
was very doubtful, with a degree of frankness and confi
dence which the progress of civilization nnfortunately ban
ished too soon.

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION.. 241
After the meeting- at Saint Denis, Henry's attention was
turned once more towards Britanny ; and, proceeding thi
ther, he held his court in the town qf Nantes, celebrated
the festival of. Christmas with the greatest '.splendour, re
ceived- with hospitality arid magnificence a number of the
principal nobles "arid ecclesiastics of the Duchy, and then
made a complete tour through the whole of Geoffrey's pos
sessions, causing the nobles, to- do homage to the prince
who accompanied him, and preparing the province as far
as possible for his own return to England, which was now
about to take place. It would appear that he was followed
by a- considerable force, for his progress through the country
is marked by an act, most of the circumstances attending.
which are. left in darkness ; but. which — whatever was the
necessity^must have been. painful, to Henry, if-he had any
human feeling left. It is evident, frOm the words used by
aU the historians of the time, that the unfortunate Eudes,
Viscount Of Porhoet, must have still been in arms against
Henry at this period,- or that he refused " to do homage to
Geoffrey; for it is certain that early in the year 1170,
Henry entered his territories, destroyed almost every
thing that he found therein, forced Eudes to surrender at
discretion, arid had him trie'd and condemned to lose the
whole of his possessions. Various historians of Britanny
censure Henry's conduct in this instance, and declare that
he violated the articles of M'ontmirail ; but as' they throw
no light upon the causes of Henry's conduct, and as the
King of France, to whom any infraction of that treaty was
both an injury and an insult, did not, that we can- discover,
either remonstrate against Henry's proceedings, or support
the cause of Eudes in any manner, we are bound to sup
pose in this instance, as we did in regard of the Barons of
Aquitaine, that Henry was justified in the course he pursued.
The whole of Britanny being reduced to obedience, the
indefatigable King of England set out for his insular domi-
vol. i. — 21

242 THE LIFE OF
nions in the first week of March. He was accompanied
by a considerable armament ; but a terrible storm overtook
him in the Channel, and for many hours he was in danger
of being wrecked. His whole fleet was dispersed, and one
of the best of the ships by which he was escorted, and
which contained his physician, several other officers of his
household, and some noblemen of the highest distinction,
perished, with more than four hundred persons on board.
The number of persons this vessel contained is worthy of
remark, as the size of the ship itself, which does not call
for any particular observation on the part of the contempo
rary historians, must have been much larger than we are
accustomed to ascribe to ships of that day.
Henry himself escaped from the storm, and arrived in
safety at Portsmouth. His presence in England was greatly
wanted ; for peculation to an immense amount had taken
place in this country during the long period of his absence,
and one of his first acts after his return, was to caU a par
liament at Windsor during the festival of Easter, when
with the consent and authority of his council, he appointed
an ambulatory commission of some of the most dignified
and respectable men of his realm, for the purpose of in
quiring into the malversations which had taken place during
the absence of the king. This commission is one of the
most extraordinary on record, and was probably modeUed
on that appointed by William the Conqueror for the purpose
of compiling the famous Doomsday book. The commis
sioners in this instance, as. in that, were empowered to
examine all persons upon oath, of whatsoever rank they
might be, regarding the subject of their inquiry ; and the
result was, the discovery of a mass of fraud and viUainy
which induced the king to have recourse to another mea
sure of a very extraordinary kind, namely, to dismiss almost
all the sheriffs in the kingdom, with their inferior officers,
and to take measures for punishing those persons who,

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 243
holding hereditary jurisdictions, were not dependent for
office on the king's pleasure.
The immediate object of the monarch, however, in return
ing to his kingdom, was to cause the coronation of his son
Henry to be performed. It was a frequent custom* in those
days, when hereditary succession, either to estates or to
the royal dignity, had not been clearly and firmly established
upon the basis of long and indisputable habit, for monarchs
to guard agamst the caprices of their subjects, the pretences
of ambitious relations, and all the many accidents which
might occur to prevent a son from inheriting his father's
throne, by causing the heir-apparent to be crowned during
his father's life-time, and thus to render it impossible for
after opposition to take place, without the clear commission
of treason. This act by no means implied either an abdica
tion of the crown on the part of the father, or an association
of the son to the royal authority. As far as I can discover,
it only gave to the prince the name of king, and enabled
him to rule, of right, in cases of his father's absence or
incapacity. But Henry had many motives at the present moment for
performing a ceremony which was scarcely necessary in
order to render the succession of his son secure. In the
first place, he loved that son with a degree of weakness,
which in all probability nurtured in him many of those
gross faults and failings which rendered him an undutiful
child, and which would have made him, there can be but
little doubt, a cruel and tyrannical monarch. To do this
favourite son honour, and to gratify his pride by the title of
king, was certainly one of Henry's objects in his present
proceeding. We find that he had entertained. this purpose
a considerable time before he put it into execution ; but it
is very clear that the design was renewed and carried
* The last time that this was done in Europe, was I believe in the case
of Philip Augustus, which took place not long after.

244 THE LIFE OF
rapidly forward, in order' to obviate some of the evil conse- .
quences which might ensue from the peculiar position of
the king arid Becket.
To that part of the affairs of Henry which refers to the
prelate we must once more turn ; for the disputes with the
archbishop now became so complicated with all the other
events qf the' day, and have sp great an effect upon the his
tory of the years which follow, that they can be by no means
omitted here.
I have mentioned the mission of the legates from Pope
Alexander, during the time that his fortunes were at a low
ebb; and I have shown that the' pope falsified his .word to
Henry, by diminishing, at the request of Becket .and the
French king, the powers, which he had strictly promised to
give, and which indeed he had actually given at the 'setting-
out of the legates. ¦ He had promised in a most decided
manner to furnish them with power to inquire, judge and
terminate, and he reduced that power to a mere shadow,
only permitting them to inquire and. mediate. For this
conduct, Henry reproached him- in a 'bitter manner in the
year 1169 ;* but Becket, of course, rejoiced, treated the
power of the legates with contempt, showed the utmostviru-
lence and malignity towards William of Pavia, and endea
voured to sow divisions between him and his colleague by
courting the one while he abused the other. It may be easily
supposed that the mission -was ineffectual ; . though, had the
legates proceeded with the powers which had been first
entrusted to them, the dispute would have terminated in
the only, way in which it could end with safety to any of
the parties concerned; namely, by the abasement of the
stubborn pride of Becket.
* In Rymer, the words he makes use of to the pope are : " Qui cum
in potestate sicut nuncii vestri ad nos reportaverunt, et litteris vestris
continebatur expressum, quas adhuc penes nos. habemus, quod missi
fuissent, sicut per eosdem legatos, cum ad nos pervenisseht accepimus,
potestas ilia, ad injuriam nostram, illis subtracta est.."

RICHARD CC3UR-DE-LI0N. 245
Thus failed the negociation of the legates ; and, although
we do not find it positively stated, yet there is reason to
believe that about this time the protectors of Becket began
to be somewhat weary of his ambitious resistance. When
the two kings of England and France met at Montmirail,
Becket was brought thither by the mediators, and was in
some sort forced by the King of France to kneel to Henry
and make submission ; but the wily prelate contrived so to
frame his speech, as to leave himself a reserve, which the
king perceiving, refused to receive such an ineffectual act
of submission. The monarch proposed other forms, but
Becket refused to adopt any without conditions derogatory
to Henry's dignity. On one occasion, the king suggested
that the Archbishop should promise to do for him what the
greatest and holiest of his predecessors had done for the
least of the kings of England ; but Becket would not agree
to this, even though the French monarch exclaimed with
some indignation : " Would you be greater and wiser than
all those holy men ?"
Thus these dissensions remained unabated ; and from
that time it would seem, the dispute between Henry and
Becket assumed the form of a struggle of wits, both striving
to prove which, by the cunningest and best covered artifice,
could devise such a form of words as would bind the other
to more than he meant, without his perceiving it. Fairly
viewed, there is not perhaps in the whole course of history
such a display of meanness and duplicity, as that which is
afforded by the conduct both of Henry and Becket at this
period. Becket, however, had this great advantage, that
the Pope, now rising again in power and authority, was
driving on the King of England to hear new proposals
every day by threats of using all the thunders of the see of
Rome against him. It is true that all the terrors in which
the Roman church armed itself in the middle ages were
ideal ; but when ideal terrors, by the power of superstition,
21*

246 THE LIFE OF
become influential .with great masggs of mankind, they are
rendered substantially .darigerous to those superior, minds
who understand . them- and abstractedly contemn them.
Henry was himself superstitious ; and though his contem
porary, Frederick,would not have entertained the slightest
apprehension of his own salvation, if all the popes and
bishops of the last thousand years had anathematized him
for what he knew to be right, yet the King of England
might feel some dread. But had such not been the case,
he might weU and reasonably fear that the papal condem
nation Would gain power from the superstition of his people
and his clergy, and that his authority might be shaken — :
•even- if the' very bonds of society in his dominions were not
dissolved— by the full expression of the indignation of
Rome. He endeavoured, indeed,. to keep the furious, man
dates of the Archbishop 'out of England, but even in that
attempt he .was not successful; and "he knew that at any
time a sentence of excjommunication or interdict could be
diffused over the whole of his continental possessions. He
had soon to learn to what an extent the clergy of England
would be. affected by the conduct of the Roman see.
Becket; in spite of remonstrances even from the Pope, ex
communicated at once every one who Was inimical to him :
the king's officers, the king's, servants, the Bishop of Lon
don, the Bishop ¦ of • Salisbury. In regard to the latter,
Becket would not hold his hand nor recal. the blow, even
though Alexander himself entreated him to do so. Indeed
for that Pope he seemed every day to be losing respect, in
consequence, probably, of' Alexander's tergiversation and .
double-dealing ; and from some of his furious epistle's, when
Alexander -did not do exactly what he wished, as well as
from the account given by John of Salisbury of various let
ters that he wrote, but did not send, there is every reason to
believe that he would have excommunicated the Pope him
self, if he had dated. I write these words without levity ;

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 247
for the extent of his wra&h and pride was such, as to involve
him in contradictions to the tenets of- his church fully as
extraordinary ; and, on one occasion, referring to the Bish
ops of London and Salisbury, when the Pope absolved
them, he forgot altogether the very foundation of the supre
macy which he " claimed for Rome, and declared that St.
Peter himself, if he were on earth, could not absolve such
sinners. The Bishops whom Becket excommunicated appealed to
Rome, and on the appearance of new danger renewed their
appeal. To pursue the whole course of the efforts made
to bring about a compromise between him and Henry would
occupy too great a space in this work ; suffice'-' it to say,
the Cardinals Gratian and Albert were sent to negociate
once more between the King and Becket, threatening the
former with excommunication of his person and interdict
upon his realm, if he did not grant peace to the Archbishop
within. a certain time. The conferences were renewed
frequently, but still without effect. Henry employed those
•means which he knew to be so effectual with the Court of
Rome : bribes, promises, and advantages ; but Louis was
once more eager in the cause of Becket, and the Pope did
not think fit both.to sacrifice a great principle for which
Rome had so long struggled, and the friendship of the
French monarch. The danger of the inderdict being pro
nounced thus became imminent.
Once more Henry renewed his prohibitions in regard
to the. introduction of - the interdict, or any mandate of the
kirid, into England ; and the terms of the Kin a's orders
now show him at open war with the Church of Rome.
Not only are those who introduce the interdict or obey it,
threatened with the most severe punishments of the law,
but those also who ". favour the Pope or the Archbishop ;"
and the officers of counties and of towns are commanded
to assemble the inhabitants, and to swear them to obey the

248 THE LIFE OF
King's mandate. This was done without the slightest re
sistance or opposition, and there cannot be any doubt that
the whole laymen of the kingdom were universally in fa
vour of Henry. The clergy, however, resisted. None of
the Bishops would take the oath ; Becket's mandates and
denunciations found their way freely into England ; many
of the high beneficed ecclesiastics retired into monasteries,
declaring their resolution of obeying both the Pope and the
Archbishop of Canterbury ; and everything showed Henry
that, should the interdict be passed, and sentence of excom
munication pronounced upon himself, the whole clergy of
his realm would not only resist his authority, but would
use every means which superstition supplied, to induce
the laymen of the kingdom to disregard the oath they had
lately taken.
Under these circumstances, by causing his son Henry
to be crowned King of England, he gave the nation a
sovereign who had in no degree offended the Church of
Rome, or merited her censures — from which substitution
much obvious good might arise — while he retained to him
self all the real power of the state, and only interposed the
shield of his son's innocence between his realm and the
papal thunders. But a difficulty existed : it had been held
a prerogative of the see of Canterbury — though not without
frequent dispute — that the Primate should anoint the kings
of England. No Archbishop of Canterbury was in the
kingdom to perform this office ; and Henry determined that
it should be executed by the Archbishop of York, who had
from the first shown himself inimical to Becket. The
exile himself had ever been most anxious to perform the
ceremony ; and having gained some information of the
King's design, he obtained hastily from Alexander a man
date, forbidding any other bishop than himself to consecrate
Henry's heir, and declaring the coronation of the kings of
England to belong of right to the see of Canterbury. This

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION.. 249
mandate, however, he was not able to make known in Eng
land till long after Henry's object was accomplished ; arid
in the mean time a letter from the Pope, bearing every ap
pearance, of authenticity,* was given to the Archbishop of
York, directly opposed to that which was shortly after
wards received by Becket. By this the Archbishop, of
York was authorized to perform, the ceremony, and the
coronation of the Prince accordingly took place at his
hands. Henry's fondness for his son is said to have led him on
this occasion into acts unbecoming his dignity, both as a
father and a king; During' the banquet which followed
the .ceremony, he placed a dish with his own hands upon
the table of the prince; and if we may believe the ac-.
* It has been loudly asserted by Catholic writers that this letter was
a forgery. It would- seem improbable, indeed, that- Alexander would so
far commit himself as to- give under his' hand, within the space .of a few
weeks, two' mandates perfectly contradictory of each other, and always
to' mention the. one opposed to this as the only one he had given. Nei
ther have we any proof that Henry, even in the slightest degree, at
tempted to justify his own act, or that of the Archbishop of York, by
authority given to him by the Pope on this occasion ; though he refers
to an ancient mandate giv en.before Becket was raised to the see of Can
terbury.- . On the other hand, in support .ofLord- Lyttleton's view of the
genuineness of this document, is the. fact of the Pope acting at that very
time similar double-dealing in regard to other matters. It will be seen,
by the letter that I have transcribed regarding the legates, of the genu
ineness of which there is not the slightest doubt, that Alexander • was
playing an insincere game with Becket, entering' into engagements ob
noxious to Becket's views, and beseeching Henry to ke.ep his promises
profoundly secret, and to suffer his letter to be seen by no one, The
same was also the case in regard to that negociation which enoed in the
nominal reconciliation of Becket and the King, Alexander having set
tled the whole with Henry, even to the very form of words to be used,
keeping it profoundly secret from Becket. In addition to these facts,
the letter is to be found in the' two best manuscripts of the correspond
ence in regard to this dispute ; arid its exclusion from the castrated
manuscript of the Vatican is no impeachment of its authenticity.

250 THE LIFE OF
counts of a writer not exactly contemporary, but very nearly
so, the younger Henry, on the Archbishop of York noticing
the honour which was paid him, replied that " it was no
great honour for the son of a king to be served by the son
of a count." But as this was written after the Prince had
displayed his haughty and ungovernable temper, it is not
at all improbable that the saying was manufactured to suit
the character. The coronation took place in June ; and it
is particularly remarked, that all orders of the state gladly
consented to the act that was now performed.
Scarcely was the coronation of Henry completed, how
ever, when the act produced consequences of a disastrous
nature. The King of France, indignant that the ceremony
had been performed without that of the Princess Margaret
of France, the Prince's wife, instantly took arms to avenge
the insult which he thought had been offered to his daugh
ter, and attacked the frontiers of Normandy with his usual
furious intemperance. As soon as Henry was informed
that such had been the case, he hastened back with aU
speed into France, to soothe by fair words, rather than to
oppose by arms, the French monarch. It was not difficult
for him to show, that, if he had not proceeded with some
degree of secresy,* he might have encountered opposition
from Becket, which would have greatly embarrassed his
proceedings ; and he assured the King of France, that the
ceremony should be repeated, as soon as the pageantry of
royalty could be prepared for the Princess.
The Count of Blois would appear to have been the me-
diator on this occasion ; and Henry's excuse was probably
the true one ; for there is some reason to believe that the
young Prince himself was not made acquainted with his
* This would appear from the manner in which the Prince was sud
denly called to England, Richard of Ivelcester being sent for him sud
denly to Caen.

RICHARD CGEUR-DE-LION. 251
father's intention till within a short period before his own
coronation. As soon as this matter was fully explained, Louis con
sented to meet Henry in a meadow at Freteval,* in the
neighbourhood of 'Vend. me, where peace was restored
between them, and where Henry was prevailed upon to
receive Becket upon an agreement in regard to his submis
sion, which specified distinctly the terms of their recon
ciliation. These terms were no other than those which
Henry himself had shortly before proposed to the Pope ;
but the English monarch having made up his mind to a
disagreeable task, in his effort to overcome his repugnance,
went beyond the point at which he ought to have stopped ;
and he displayed much greater familiarity and good-will to
wards the refractory prelate than was dignified or safe.
He received him in the midst of his court, surrounded by
a number of French and English nobles, though the King
of France himself was not present. As soon as he beheld
the Archbishop, he advanced some Way to meet him, spoke
to him. familiarly, promised to restore all things which had
been taken from the church of Canterbury, as they were
set down in a schedule drawn up by Becket, and to give
peace and security to all his friends. Perhaps the king
was a little elated by the triumph which he had gained, in
causing his son to be crowned in opposition to all the efforts
of Becket ; for the Archbishop had written mandates to
the other English prelates, forbidding them to be present
* The name of this place has been wrongly written, and the place
itself mistaken. Dr. Lingard calls it Freitville, but I am rather in
clined to believe that there is no such place upon the face of the earth.
I know of none such in France. Freteval is situated very near to
Vend&me, on the Loir, which in that neighbourhood is employed in the
various purposes of paper-mills and cloth manufactories. This river, be
it remarked, is not the Loire, though the similarity of name has proba
bly caused some of the many mistakes which have been made regarding
Freteval.

252

THE LIFE OF

at the coronation of the young king upon pain of anathema.
These letters, indeed, as well as the one formerly men
tioned from the Pope, the terror of Henry's late proclama
tion and the fact of the king's presence- in. England, pre
vented from being delivered, or at least published, till the
coronation was over ; but the king was undoubtedly aware
'that they had been sent, -and was also informed of various
other measures which Becket had taken to prevent or delay
the ceremony. He now, however, took Becket apart, con
versed with him for some time, and seemed "to have for
gotten almost entirely their long enmity, and aU the morti
fications which-he had received from the Archbishop.
Notwithstanding these .demonstrations of a full recon
ciliation with.Becketj Henry refused, on the present occa
sion, to give him the kiss of peace; as was usually done in
such circumstances. On this, point Becket had insisted
with great determination, but it had been left open in the
agreement between Henry and the Pope, whether Henry
was to do it in person, or to command his' son the- young king
to perform that ceremony. It was indeed but a ceremony ;
yet we .may easily conceive that it was a very distasteful
one to the English king after all that had passed, especially
if any -portion of the insolent triumph which Becket dis
played in his letters now appeared in his demeanour. The
gracious behaviour of the King, however, so far elated the
presumptuous prelate, that, if we may believe his own state
ments, he ventured in bold language to harangue his sove
reign on this very first meeting, in regard to the faults
which he thought fit to attribute -to him. Henry received
his admonitions with hypocritical meekness, though there ¦
can be little or no doubt that he was-'indignant at them in
his heart. We have indeed no account but Becket's of
the. conversation which took place ; and there is every pro-
"bability that in his letter to the pope, he employed no slight
exaggeration regarding both his behaviour to the king and

RICHAUD CCEUR-DE-LION. 253
the king's demeanour towards him ; for it is very natural
that such should be the result of success upon a proud, and
triumph upon a vain, man. He says that the king spoke
upon the subject of their late disputes with tears in his
eyes, and calling those who had advised him traitors, pro
mised to cast them off. If Henry did do all this, his weak
ness was as inexcusable as his hypocrisy was disgusting ;
but, nevertheless, we have great reason to suppose, as I have
said, that there- was a good deal of exaggeration in all this
statement ; for we find that in various substantial points
the king, by Becket's own admission, would not a* all give
way, even in a matter where the Archbishop evidently
considered refusal as painful and humiliating. Henry thus
forced Becket to make a petition to be received into grace
and favour, in the presence of all the bishops that surround
ed him ; and though the prelate took advantage of the
favourable circumstances of the occasion to make a varia
tion from the words which had been originally agreed upon,
and softened the task by inducing the Archbishop of Sens
to speak for him, he evidently considered the act a great
humiliation. The king, it would appear, did not think it
worth while to renew the dispute on account of the change
which Becket had made in the terms of his petition ; and
the meeting concluded without any unpleasant circum
stance, except a discussion in regard to some of Henry's
friends and servants, with whom the Archbishop, notwith
standing the urgent prayers of the Bishop of Lisieux, re
fused to be reconciled, and who in return treated him with
contempt and reprobation.
From the demeanour of the Archbishop at this mf eting,
Henry might very well judge that no concession on his
part would ever make his former courtier his friend. In
fact, he had armed the pride of his servant against himself,
and the rebellion of pride ismever to be quelled. A num
ber of absurd stories were propagated, both at the time and
vol. i. — 22

254 THE LIFE of
afterwards, regarding Henry's private feelings towards
Becket, and the monarch's words and actions in his own
court. Some jof these were reported to the prelate, and
probably 'believed by him ; but some have certainly been
manufactured since, for the purpose of blackening the cha
racter of Henry. Thus it was said, that the king had
sworn, immediately before the meeting with Becket, never
to give him the kiss of peace ; and William of Nangis de
clares that he caused a mass for the dead to be celebrated,
on his pretended reconciliation with his Archbishop. The
latter tale is certainly false, and the former probably so,
though Henry had undoubtedly sworn long before, not to
give him the kiss of peace, from the obligations of which
oath he had been absolved by the Pope.
The first proceedings of the monarch promised fairly for
the fulfilment of all his engagements towards the Arch
bishop. He immediately sent messengers into England,
bearing letters to his son, with an express command to re
store to the see of Canterbury, and to all Becket's friends,
the lands and possessions which had been taken from them,
exactly as they, had enjoyed them three months before they
had quitted England. Becket indeed sought to obtain more
- — namely, compensation for aU.that had been received by
the king during his absence ; and though the Pope pre
vented hirh from urging this point at the time, the prelate
never pretended that he would ultimately give it up. Thus
the' King of . England and the Archbishop parted, with the
seeds of fresh dissensions ready to burst forth, and bear -bit
ter fruit. Henry returned hastily from Freteval, into Nor
mandy j *but scarcely had he arrived, when-^-perhaps in
consequence of the suppression of his feelings and the
struggle with himself .which must have taken place during
his meeting with Becket, — he was seized with a violent fit
of illness, and for some time Ms life seems to have been
despaired of. In this, state the king made a disposition of-

RICHARD CC3UR-DE-LI0N. 255
his territories by will, leaving to his son Henry Normandy
and Touraine, in addition to Anjou and Maine, confirming
the gift of Aquitaine to Richard, and putting the solemn
sanction of his last act to the establishment he had formed
for Geoffrey in Britanny. For his youngest son John, who
was yet in infancy, he made no provision of any kind, but
left him to the generosity and affection of his eldest bro
ther ;* and with this exception, his wiU would seem to
have contained Very nearly the same disposition of his pro
perty, as might have been made at present under our exist
ing laws and customs. The eldest son enjoyed the whole
hereditary estates of his father, the second son inherited
the portion of his mother, and the third received that which
had been ohtained fof him by marriage with an heiress, to
gether with the territory which his father "had acquired, —
namely, the County, of Nantes, which Henry had re-an
nexed to Britanny, as soon as that Duchy was assured to
his son Geoffrey. Another point in this will I must notice,
as marking that superstition which I have before mentioned
as one of the prominent inconsistencies in the character of
Henry the. Second. Looking forward to his death, he or
dered himself to be buried in the Abbey of Grammont, and
at the feet of. one of the Abbots. It is also to be remarked
that during his illness/Henry made a vow to Notre Dame
. de Roque Madour in Quercy," to perform a pilgrimage to her
shrine if he recovered ; and on his fever taking a fortunate
turn, he -attributed that event entirely to the beneficent influ
ence of the saint, -and fulfilled his engagement with the
utmost devotion.
In the meantime, however, it is probable that^both the
insolent triumph which Becket displayed in all his letters,

* Hoveden differs from this statement ; but if anything was left to
John, it was of little importance. I am inclined to believe, that in the
passage of Hoveden, which reports the king's will, an erroneous trans
position of some words hse b.en made by the copyist.

256

THE LIFE OF

and the exertions which that ambitious prelate employed to
gain from the Pope such unlimited authority as must have
brought all the Clergy of England to his feet, and left the
King, as far as clerical power could go, entirely at his.
mercy, had been fully exposed to Henry ; and it is very
clear that much was made known, which showed the mo
narch more distinctly than ever, that Becket was determin
ed still to pursue that course of exaction and menace by
which he had already succeeded in carrying so many points
of importance. The King, however, committed a great
error in neglecting to enforce the restitution which he had al
ready ordered. That this neglect was wilful, there can be no
doubt ; and when, some time after his recovery, Becket
visited him, and accompanied him to a meeting with the
Count of Blois, Henry received him coldly. In answer to
the prelate's remonstrances, regarding the non-restitution of
the sequestrated estates, he retaliated by a charge of ingra
titude, and bade Becket return to England, that he might
see how he would behave in that kingdom. He added,
however, a renewal of the promise, that full restitution
should be made to him. On a second visit, made by
Becket to the king at the town of Chaumont, no such bitter
discussions took place, and Henry received him with more
affability and kindness. Still the restitution was shame
fully delayed ; and Becket prepared to return into England,
having engaged the Pope once more to insist that the
estates should be restored, which was only ultimately done
in consequence of a renewed threat of excommunication
and interdict.
However factious and turbulerit was the conduct of the
prelate, that of Henry was certainly mean and unworthy.
He suffered himself to be driven slowly to fulfil his pro
mises, and even in accomplishing them he permitted his
servants and ministers to commit disgraceful acts towards
Becket and his friends, which they dared not have done,

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 257
had he' not connived at their proceedings. Ranulph de
Broc, into whose custody the estates belonging to the see
of Canterbury had been given, pillaged' and wasted the
lands in a disgraceful manner ; and there is every reason
to believe, that in many other instances where the friends
of Becket were concerned, the same- conduct took place.
Instead of giving back the estates as they had. been three
months before the exile's departure, de Broc swept them of
the whole produce on the tidings of his return, and laid up .
the stores in his Own castle ; and Henry, who had certainly
given Becket reason to suppose that he would furnish him
with a sum . of money to pay his debts and defray the
expenses of his journey, pitifully withheld the supply, arid
left him to find his way back without assistance.
At the same time, warning after warning poured in upon
Becket that his life was in danger, if he set foot in England
without having taken means to effect a more sincere recon-
ciliation with the King. It was represented to him, and
truly, that the friends and servants of Henry, knowing that
their master was in reality as inimical to him as ever,
would not hesitate to insult and injure him. Ranulph de
Broc had been heard to swear that he should never eat a
loaf of bread in England; and' it is evident from Becket's
own letter's, that on the present occasion he entertained
serious apprehensions of the consequences which would
ensue from his return to his native country. He was
resolved to do so, however, at all risks ; for there can be
no doubt that personal ambition was now so thoroughly
blended and intermingled with clerical enthusiasrn and
superstitious devotion as to be perfectly inseparable from
them, and that he was sincere in his belief, that in labour
ing for his own purposes, he was labouring also for the
Church ; that his own heart in fact deceived him, and that
he was not aware of the real motives on which he acted.
In these circumstances, he wrote a letter to Henry, taking
22*'

258 THE LIFE OF
leave of him before he went, in a totally different style from
any of his other epistles, mild and benevolent, though calm
and dignified ; and had the rest of his actions, even at this
time, been consistent with the tone of that letter, he might
have averted the fate that befel him, and have deserved, if
he had not obtained the name of Saint.
Such, however, was by no means the case. Whatprompt-
ed him to write that letter, it is scarcely possible to tell ;
but nearly at the same period he was engaged in instigating
the Pope, by gross misrepresentations, not only to suspend
the Archbishop of York and all the suffragans of Canter
bury who had taken any part in the coronation of the young
King Henry, but to renew the excommunication of the
Bishops of London and Salisbury. When he found, how
ever, that the Pope mentioned openly in his mandate the
false reports on which his sentence was grounded, and even
carried his indignation farther than was prudent, Becket
took credit to himself for beseeching him to alter his severe
decree, without however confessing that the basis on which
it had been pronounced was not a just one. He most art
fully contrived to assume the character of mediator, and at
the same time to solicit the discretionary power either of
suspending, or merely admonishing the suffragan bishops,
and of threatening or actually excommunicating the king,
the Bishop of London, and the Bishop of Salisbury, which,
had it been conceded, would have given him the most
enormous authority in England that was ever possessed by
one prelate.
The Pope did not in every point grant his request ; but
he sent him letters of excommunication and of suspension,
to be despatched by him to the Bishops of London and Sa
lisbury, as he might judge expedient. Alexander also fur
nished him with various other powers, enabling him to re
call the sentence upon those two prelates when he thought
fit ; though the sentence of suspension which the Pope him-

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 259
self pronounced upon the Archbishop of York, he reserved
altogether in his own hands.
One of the remarkable points in Becket's letters at this
period is, that while he was writing to Henry in a strain
with which a Christian prelate might well address his sove
reign, he was, in his letters to the Pope, comparing his mas
ter to a wild beast, requiring a strong chain and a- hard stick
to keep him in order ; thus at once insulting the person and
assailing the authority of one whom he had sworn to honour
and defend.
Henry was not deceived by the apparent humility and
charity of Becket's letter to himself ; and indeed it is very
probable that some of his emissaries at the court of the
Roman Pontiff furnished him with a copy of all that the
Archbishop wrote to the Pope. We know that shortly
before this period, a complete transcript of all the corres
pondence had been brought over from Rome by one of his
envoys ; and it is not to be doubted that he obtained rapid
information of all that was said or done by Becket himself
or his agents at this time also. Indignant, therefore, as he
well might be, he made an excuse not to give the Arch
bishop a last meeting before he went over, but sent one of
the prelate's bitterest enemies, John of Oxford, to accom
pany him to England,.on the pretence of doing him honour.
This was malevolent and unworthy ; but at the same time,
Henry on essential points demeaned himself with greater
generosity. We have reason to know, that John of Oxford
was commanded to provide strictly for Becket's safety, and
to guard him against any insult or injury at his landing ;
and he also bore a letter from Henry to his son, who had
remained in England, directing him to put the prelate into
possession of all that belonged to him, and to amend all
that had been left undone, which ought to have been done.
This, if not as much as could have been expected of the
King, was certainly a great concession ; but on Becket's

260 THE LIFE OF
arrival at Whitsand, on his way to Sandwich, he was in
formed that Ranulph de Broc, Reginald de Warrenne, and
others, instigated, he was fold, by the Bishops of London
and Salisbury and the Archbishop of York, were Waiting'
on the opposite shores of England to search his haggage
on his landing, and take from him the mandates of. the
Pope. He was already furious at those prelates,. not only
on account of their opposition, but on account of a plan
which they had drawn up for the king, in regard to fillino-
up the vacant bishoprics, which would have. diminished the
Archbishop's influence, or have brought him info opposition
. with a great number of the most respectable members of
the elergy'. . The tidings which he received at Whitsand,
acting upon a mind already highly irritated, induced -him to
take that step which ended fatally for himself. He con
trived to find emissaries to carry over the mandates the day
before he himself crossed the water, and to deliver them
immediately to the Archbishop of York and the two bishops.
He then proceeded boldly to Sandwich, where Ranulph
de Broc and his companions were waiting, though the
threats which the first of those gentlemen had used was
not unknown ; and some of the. prelate's, informants had
told him at Whitsand, that it was the intention of de Broc
and his comrades to put him to death on his landing. No
sooner, however, did John of Oxford perceive them in arms
with a large body of followers, than he advanced, and pro
hibited them, on pain of the king's utmost displeasure, to
offer either insult or injury to Becket or any of his foUow-
ers, and he obliged them to suffer the prelate to proceed
without any search whatsoever.
The lower orders of people received the exile on his
return with demonstrations of the utmost joy and satisfac
tion; and both at Sandwich and at Canterbury acclama
tions and gratulations greeted him as he passed. The in
ferior clergy came forth to meet him with banners and cru-

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 261
cifixes ; the monks of his own abbey followed ; and hymns
and psalms, and texts of Scripture, found a new and some
what blasphemous application to the return of the Arch
bishop. The close of all, however, was now near at hand, and
Becket seems to have felt that fate was pressing him hard
on every side ; yet still he went on in the same course,
probably believing that he was serving God, when in truth
he was serving only his own pride and resentment. The
bishops whom he had excommunicated sent to notify to him
their appeal to the Pope ;* but at the same time it would
appear that they had applied for protection to the young
king, for he also sent messengers to Becket, commanding
him strictly, to absolve the archbishop and the two bishops,
inasmuch as the act of excommunication was injurious to
the king and subversive of the laws of the kingdom.
The young king, however, informed him, at the same
time, that the two bishops, after having received absolu
tion, should come to him and submit themselves to the
canons of the church, saving the honour of the kingdom.
* The tremendous sentence of excommunication was pronounced upon
these prelates, solely upon the charge of their having been present at the
coronation of the young King Henry, a ceremony which Becket claim
ed a right to perform as Archbishop of Canterbury ; and in regard to
which, the Pope himself was so very uncertain as to where the right
lay, that the terms he makes use of in one of his undoubted letters are
" contempto eodem archiepiscopo, ad cujus hoc omcium de antique jure
dicitwr pertinere ;" and in another part of the same letter, he marks it as
doubtful, whether the Archbishop of York would not have had a right to
perform the ceremony in his own province. Yet merely upon liie charge
of what he only judges on hearsay to be a fault (ut dicitur) he permits
Becket to fulminate the severest sentence that the church could inflict
upon two prelates, on one of whom the Bishop of London, he had him
self passed the highest eulogium, and to the other of whom he was bound
by old friendship and affection. The tender mercies of his Holiness
were certainly somewhat sharp, as well as somewhat capricious.

262 THE LIFE OF
Becket now made a double and deceitful reply. It is
proved beyond all doubt, that although he had no 'jurisdic
tion in the case of the Archbishop of York, he had autho
rity if he thought fit to revoke the sentence upon the other
two prelates ; but he replied, that an inferior judge had not
the power to release from the sentence of a superior judge,
and that no man could undo what the apostolic see had done.
Had he added the' words " without, the authority of that
see," he would have dealt more honestly.
A vehement discussion ensued between. Becket and the
officers of the young king, in which very violent threats
were used towards the Archbishop, who was at length in-
.duced to offer to .absolve the Bishops upon their taking 'a
certain oath, which the Archbishop of York pronounced to
he unlawful and contrary to the king's dignity. Sharp dis
cussions were renewed upon this subject %, and at length
¦ the bishops determined to proceed to Normandy, and in
quire the will of their sovereign. At the same time they
sent messengers to the younger Henry at Woodstock', tell
ing him that the Archbishop of Canterbury was endeavour
ing to tear the crown off his head.
Much has been said about this expression by writers on
both sides ; but in the only sense in which it could be un
derstood at that time, it was perfectly correct. Becket's .
view in the whole of these latter proceedings, was at once
to take vengeance on the bishops, and to prove the corona
tion of the young king null and of no effect, thus virtually
taking the crown off his head. His objept was self-evi
dent ; and the imperious youth with whom he had to do
was indignant and em-aged in proportion. With this re
sult, Becket was much mortified ; for he had reason to be
lieve that the younger Henry was friendly towards him, and
he ¦ accordingly set out to make his peace at Woodstock,
followed by a, large train and. three fine horses, which he
intended to offer to. the Prince as a propitiation. In Lon-

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 263
don, however, he was met by messengers from the young
king, commanding him in severe terms to retire immediate
ly to • the precincts of his church with all that belonged to
him. The prelate returned a haughty answer, but obeyed
the order ; and, seeing that no measures would now be
kept, he determined to commence the war himself, and on
Christmas-day anathematized a number of persons attached
to the court, at the same time telling the congregation that his
dissolution was near. It is probable that he really felt the
probability of the event he predicted : for the higher classes
of the country, in whose hands reposed the power of the
realm at that time, held aloof from him, and few, if any
visited him in Canterbury. He stood unmovedj however,
and firm, with a constancy and courage worthy of a better
cause, showing no fear, or doubt, or hesitation.
In the meanwhile, the excommunicated bishops had
joined, the king in Normandy ; and on hearing what had
taken place, Henry burst into one of those fearful and fren
zied fits of passion which too often assailed him ; he vowed
with blasphemous oaths, that he would not be omitted in the
number of those who were excommunicated solely because
they had been present at his son's coronation ; and in the.
madness of his rage he said,' v I am very unfortunate to
have maintained so many cowardly and ungrateful men in
my court, none of whom will revenge the injuries I- have
sustained from one turbulent priest."
Henry probably forgot the words as soon as they were
spoken, but they were taken up by others ; and four gentle
men of his bedchamber engaged to do away the reproach
which the King had cast upon them, binding themselves
by oath one to another, either to force Becket to. absolve
the bishops, to carry him out of- England, or to slay him if
he resisted. Thus resolved, they set off instantly for Eng
land without the King's knowledge, and after a speedy
passage and short journey, arrived at -the cagtle of Ranulph

264 THE LIFE OF
de Broc, where they found an adviser of no very scrupu
lous or tender nature. With him they took council during
that night, and prepared to execute their determination on
the following day.
In the meanwhile, Henry's anger against Becket as
sumed a more rational and definite form than at first ; and
finding that no peace was to be kept with that prelate, he
determined at all risks to deal with him as a sovereign
correcting a subject.* Before he could take measures in
consequence of this resolution, however, it was discovered
that four noblemen of high familyf and gentlemen of his
bedchamber, William de Tracy, Hugh de Moreville, Regi
nald Fitzurse, and Richard Brito, had suddenly left the
court without leave, and were said to have gone to Eng
land. Henry might recollect that it was in the presence
of these gentlemen that he had spoken the rash words
which implied a wish that some one would chastise his
enemy Becket ; and fears lest they should meditate the
death of the prelate seemed at once to have taken pos
session of his mind. It is probable that many accidental
circumstances attending the mode of their departure tended
to confirm these apprehensions, and the King sent forth
messengers to all the ports of Normandy to stop the four
* I cannot suppose that Henry's determination to arrest Becket
merely proceeded from a desire to place his person in security, as Lord
Lyttleton has supposed. I have no doubt at all that his purpose was
formed very soon to arrest the prelate, and not to suffer him to escape
so as to hold communication with the see of Rome ; and that his words
that if allwere excommunicated who had attended his son's coronation,
lie would not be exempt, referred to this design.
t It is always particularly noticed by the historians of that period,
that the four murderers of Becket were persons of the highest distinc
tion, both by birth and military renown. Thus William of Newbury
says : " Tunc quatuor assistentium procerum vh'i genere nobiles, et
militia, actibus clari." And Hoveden calls them, " Viri quidem generis
prominentia conspicui."

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 265
knights ere they could cross the channel. At the same
time he despatched Richard de Humet, the Grand Jus
ticiary of Normandy, into England with all speed, bearing
a message to the young King, to the effect that he should
cause the primate to be arrested without loss of time.
Richard de Humet arrived in England almost as soon as
Fitzurse and his companions. He was accompanied by a
number of noblemen of the King's household, and imme
diately on landing he despatched two of them to the young
King, in order to obtain the assistance and countenance of
that prince's officers in executing the commands of his
father upon the Archbishop ; Humet himself remaining, to
take measures for guarding the coast, lest Becket should
obtain information of the orders issued for his arrest, and
once more escape to the continent, where he had already
done so much mischief. By this time, however, the pre
late was under the arrest of a more powerful arm.
In the castle of Ranulph de Broc, the four conspirators
found every assistance that they could desire for the exe
cution of their purpose. Their host had been entrusted by
Henry with the defence and guardianship of the coast of
Kent ; and he had consequently at his command a con
siderable body of soldiers, which he placed immediately at
the disposal of the four knights. How many of these they
took with them in their further proceeding's does not appear ;
but, at all events, they were so strongly accompanied, that
they could have overpowered any resistance which was
likely to be made.
Concealing their arms, and dividing their force, so as
not to alarm their victim, before the object was effected,
they approached Canterbury in the morning of the twenty-
ninth of December, 1170, and the four leaders proceeded
unarmed to the Archbishop's palace. They there sent in
an attendant to inform Becket that they bore him a message
•from the King, upon which they were immediately admit-
vol. i. — 23

266 THE LIFE OF
ted to the chamber where he was conversing with several
clergymen. The knights, with threatening looks, and with
out answering his salutation, demanded if he would hear
the King's message in private or in public. He replied,
as they pleased ; and Fitzurse accordingly bade him dis
miss the clergy. Becket thereupon requested his friends
to retire into another room ; but some one kept the door
open ; and the fierce tones and angry gestures of the knights
soon caused Becket to call the clergy to his side again.
In their presence Fitzurse then commanded him in the
King's name to absolve the excommunicated bishops.
Becket replied at first in the same deceitful manner that
he had done once before ; saying that the sentence was
the Pope's, not his, and that he could not revoke it ; but
the moment after, he boldly and more honestly acknow
ledged that the punishment of the bishops was not dis
pleasing to him. Thereupon Fitzurse burst forth into
furious invectives, and a long dispute ensued between him
and Becket regarding some words which the primate as
serted the King had spoken in the presence of Fitz
urse, and which he construed into a justification of what
he had done in respect of the bishops. Fitzurse told him
repeatedly that his assertion was false, and in the end com
manded him in the King's name to depart, with all who
belonged to him, out of the kingdom of England, as he had
broken the agreement by which only he obtained peace
from the King. In reply, Becket declared positively that
he would not obey, and they in return informed him that it
would be at the peril of his head if he did not. The Arch
bishop then asked, " Have you come to kill me ?" adding,
that their swords were not more ready to strike than he
was to suffer martyrdom.
It is evident that the four knights had not yet fully made
up their minds to the terrible act which they ultimately
committed ; for they now turned tj the clergy in Becket's

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 267
presence, commanding them to secure the person of the
Archbishop, and telling them that they should be answer
able for him if he escaped. Becket, however, scoffed at
the idea of flight ; and the four noblemen leaving him, com
manded the knights of his household, as they passed out,
to follow them in the King's name, which would appear to
have been executed without resistance.
In the course of the day proclamation was made in the
town of Canterbury for all persons to remain quiet, waiting
the execution of the King's will upon the Archbishop ; and,
though an awful apprehension of what was coming was
general throughout the city and neighbourhood, yet, strange
to say, no measures were taken to prevent it. Becket
himself seems now to have been perfectly prepared for,
and ready to meet his fate. When some of his companions
reproached him for the sharp and angry terms with which
he had answered Fitzurse, and said that he should have
taken counsel, the Archbishop replied, " There is no need
of more counsel now ;" and when told that his enemies
were arming, he said, " Well, let them arm ; what matters
it ?" His servants, however, barred the doors of the abbey ;
and at the hour of vespers his friends led him into the ca
thedral by his private way, thinking that security would be
found in the house of God.
The four knights in the meantime had consulted long
together, and we find that at this period Robert de Broc was
with them. There was evidently some hesitation remain
ing in their minds, and they afterwards declared that even
when they returned to the abbey their design was merely
to arrest the Archbishop, and carry him in chains to the
King ; but it is not unlikely that they suffered the vague
idea of killing him to mingle with their purposes, as a thing
that might happen in the course of events, rather than as
a definitive purpose ; for men very seldom allow their minds
to form a clear picture heforehand of the crimes they are

268 THE LIFE OF
about to commit. They go to the scene not unwilling
to commit them, but without forming any intention, leave
accident to produce the impulse, which carries them on to
the extreme.
The knights, however, armed themselves, |nd followed
by the soldiery, proceeded to the abbey a little after three
o'clock in the evening. On finding the doors closed, they
prepared to break them down ; but Robert de Broc, who was
with them, and who seems to have known the locality well,
pointed out a window by which they could enter more
easily, and of this they immediately took advantage. They
then ran hastily through the palace, searching for the
Archbishop ; but not finding him there, they hastened to
the cathedral, from which was proceeding the sound of the
evening service. By this time, the rnonks had become
aware that the knights and their followers were in the pa
lace, and they hastened to lock the door which led thence
to the cathedral. Some of the monks, it would appear, even
placed themselves on the outside of it, probably with the
generous view of interposing between the Archbishop and
his pursuers. Becket himself, however, unlocked the door,
saying, " You must not make a fortress of the church ; I
did not come hither to resist, but to suffer." He then call
ed in the irionks who were without, and walked calmly up
to the high altar.
It was now twilight ; and the knights with twelve folT
lowers rushing in, demanded loudly, " Where is the trai
tor ? " Becket made no reply ; but when Fitzurse exclaim
ed, " Where is the Archbishop ?" he turned towards him,
saying, " Here am I — a priest, but no traitor ; what would
you with me ?"
The knights thereupon, in the King's name, commanded
him once more, to absolve the bishops. Becket replied,'
that they had not made satisfaction for their offence, and
that he would not absolve them. His murderers then told

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 269
him he should die if he did not ; and he replied firmly, " I
am ready to die that the church may obtain liberty and
peace by my blood ; but in the name of God I command
you not to hurt any of my people."
The barons and their followers now rushed forward and
seized him, endeavouring to drag him out of the church,
most probably with the purpose of killing him in a less
holy place ; but Becket resisted ; and being a strong man,
they could not force him from one of the columns of the
choir, to which he clung. The struggle excited the pas
sions of aU ; and unhappily, Becket, at that moment, once
more forgot the high and dignified demeanour which had
characterized his latter actions, and as Fitzurse pressed
harder on him than any of the rest, the Archbishop thrust
him violently from him, and called him by an opprobrious
name. The baron, furious at the insult, drew his swoTd,
and aimed a blow at the head of the prelate. All the Arch
bishop's foUowers had fled but one devoted friend, his
cross-bearer, who, seeing the descending blow, while Beck
et crossed his hands and bowed his head to receive it,
weakened its force by interposing his arm, which was
broken, and nearly severed from his body. So heavy was
the stroke, however, that, notwithstanding this obstacle, it
dashed off the Archbishop's cap, and wounded him on the
head. No murmur broke from his lips ; and only recom
mending his soul to God, he remained firm in the same po
sition, with his hands clasped and his head bent, till, after
enduring a second blow unshaken, a third laid him upon
the pavement without a groan.
The butchers then mangled the dead body with repeated
wounds ; and one Hugh of Horsea, a sub-deacon who had
joined the other conspirators at Canterbury, had the horri
ble brutality to scatter his brains about with the point of a
sword. This done, they left the body, and hastened to the pa-
23*

270 - THE LIFE OF
lace, which they searched strictly ; and gave aU the pa
pers that they found to Ranulph de Broc, with directions to
carry them to the King. They are said also to have pillaged
the Archbishop's dwelling ; but there is no reason to be
lieve this ; and it is certain that they made their way speed
ily out of Canterbury, and passed the night somewhere
without the walls. It must have been an awful moment
for the murderers, when they first awakened from the de
lirium of fury and excitement in which they had committed
their great crime— when they recollected that it was done
— that the seal of fate was upon it — that they had slain,
without any lawful warrant, without even the excuse of
battle or strife, a priest at the altar, the consecrated ser
vant of the God they themselves worshipped, in the very
act of offering adoration to his divine Master. All their
after acts show how great was the effect of remorse upon
them. They seemed bewildered and confused, not know
ing What was to be done next — not knowing which way
to turn their steps — where to seek an asylum, Where to
find repose. On the morning of the following day they
again appeared before the gates of Canterbury in arms, but
did not enter the city ; pausing for some- time under the
walls, and then withdrawing again. It would appear that
they remained" in Kent for some days ; but in the end they
retired to the north of England, and took refuge in the castle
Knaresborough in Yorkshire, belonging to Hugh de More-
ville, where they remained for some months, not daring to
present themselves at the court of the King, and not at
tempting to justify in any way the act they had committed.
In the meanwhile, the monks of Canterbury and friends
of Thomas Becket, but more especially John of Salisbury,
whose impudent invention the scheme probably was,* de-
" ¦ * No assertion seems to have been too gross and barefaced for this very
elegant writer, but. false and malignant man. He has the impudence to
declare, that of his own knowledge the most extraordinary miracles were

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 271'
termined to gain for their murdered pastor the reputation of
a saint ; and scarcely was he laid in the tomb, ere a num
ber of fictitious miracles were enacted to confirm the holy
reputation of the Archbishop. Ignorance and superstition,
from a very early period, not contented with making others
share with our Saviour and his immediate disciples in the
glory and power of working miracles during their lives
upon earth, have claimed for persons to whom it was thought
right to attribute particular holiness, the posthuirious privi
lege of sanctifying the spots where their bodies are inhumed;
and. by some extraordinary influence, performing wonder
ful cures, and other marvellous acts, in favour of those who
visit the places of their mortal repose. The greediness of
superstition, however, is never satisfied ; and not only the
spot -where Becket lay and the spot where, he was buried,
were claimed for the. working of miracles, but also the
pavement before the high altar ; and, in progress of time,
the dead Archbishop obtained a retrospective effect for his
sanctity. Thus we find from Hoveden and others, that
after historians discovered miracles which Becket had even
performed in his lifetime, almost at the very period when
he was perjuring himself at Clarendon, and breaking his
oath at Northampton. It is really painful to read, the ac
counts of water being turned into wine, and of the other
blasphemous parodies of our Saviour's miracles, which
were attributed to this prelate, by the knavery of some, and
the superstition of others.
The struggle between Becket and Henry was now over,
but not the consequences, either of that struggle itself, or
of the event with which it terminated ; and Fell might
Henry be both horrified and alarmed, when the murder of
the Archbishop was communicated to him. We are as-
sured by the Bishop of Lisieux, that, when the news was *.
performed, both at the spot where Becket's blood was shed, and the
tomb where he reposed.

272 THE LIFE OF
brought, he burst into the most frantic expressions of
despair. He then seemed for a considerable time perfect
ly stupified and overwhelmed by the intelligence, though
no one but himself could tell what were the feelings which
agitated his bosom at that moment. Whether horror of a
deed so black and infamous was not crossed with other
sensations of various kinds, and what those sensations
were — whether some degree of rejoicing at his deliver
ance from a strife that had appeared interminable, gleamed
through the darkness which Becket's death brought upon
his mind — and whether some memories of old affection
did not in any degree make him regret the man whom he
had loved as a friend, before he hated him as an adversary :
these are questions that now never can be answered; but
the prospect of the future was quite sufficiently dark and
ominous to account for the agony of grief into which the
king was plunged. He remained for three days as it were
stupified, scarcely interchanging a word with any one, pay
ing no attention to the affairs of state, and neglecting to
give even the most necessary orders. At length, however,
on the fourth day he was roused in a degree from this sad
condition by the urgent representations and arguments of
some of his best friends ; and the good Bishop of Lisieux
now undertook to write an exculpatory letter to the Pope,
setting forth Henry's abhorrence of the crime that had been
committed, mentioning the means that the king had taken
to stop the murderers in their progress into England, and
at the same time displaying in forcible language the pro
found grief and agony of mind which he suffered when the
fatal result was known. An embassy was also appointed
to proceed at once to the pontifical court, comprising a
number of distinguished persons, and having the Arch
bishop of Rouen at its head. The latter, however, was
prevented by age and infirmity from going on into Italy,
though he set out for that purpose.

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 273
While taking these nieasures to modify the Pope, Henry
did not fail to employ means for exculpating himself in the
eyes of the clergy. He sent messengers into England to
confer with the monks of Canterbury, to express his grief
for what had occurred, and to do honour to the remains of
Becket, should his body not have been buried before their
arrival. But at the same time, the two chaplains who were
entrusted with this mission, were instructed to speak of the
provocation which the king had received from the prelate,
in a manner more firm and decided than might have been
expected from the circumstances.
Active enemies, however, were now using every effort
to counteract all that Henry was doing. The malignant
John of Salisbury was employing all the means that pre
sented themselves to prejudice his master's cause. Two
monks who had been chaplains to Becket, were sent to
Rome, in fact as accusers of the English monarch. Furious
letters and messages were despatched to Alexander, by
' Louis. King of France, by the Count of Blois, and by the
Archbishop of Sens.* Every one judged the cause of
Henry without hearing his defence ; every one condemned
him. before they really knew what had taken place. The
Archbishop of Sens, indeed, went farther than any of the
rest ; for, by virtue of a power given to the Archbishop of
Rouen, and to himself as apostolic legate, he pronounced a
sentence of interdict against the king's continental domi
nions. But in this sentence the Archbishop of Rouen re
fused to concur, and the clergy of Henry's territories in
* The letters of this prelate are not a little abusive ; the following are
the terms in which he speaks of his fellow-prelates, the lArchbishop of
York and the Bishops of London and Salisbury : " Rogerum videlicet
Archiepiscopum Eboracensem, diabolum ilium, et Lundoniensem Epis-
copum Gillebertum, et Jocelinum Salisbiriensem Episcopum ; non Epis-
copos sed postaticos," '&c. Such was the Christian charity of the, apos
tolic legate.

274 THE LIFE OF
France seemed to have paid no attention whatsoever to the
unsupported denunciations of the Archbishop of Sens.
In the meantime, the monarch's messengers repaired to
Italy ; but difficulties, dangers, and inconveniences of vari
ous kinds impeded them on their way ; and ere they could
reach Frascati, where the Pope then was, he had received
a thousand contradictory statements in regard to their com
ing. At first they had great difficulty in obtaining a
hearing : when admitted to a public audience, their voices
were drowned in clamour ; and when afterwards they were
indulged with a private hearing, they could draw no favour
able answer from the pontiff. They were subsequently ad
mitted to another public audience, in which the two chap
lains of Becket pleaded against them ; and they were ulti
mately informed, even by the cardinals most friendly to
England, that it was the Pope's intention, on the Thursday
before Easter, to pronounce sentence of excommunication
against the king, and of interdict against the realm of Eng
land, as well as to confirm the decree of Becket in regard
to the bishops.
Three of Henry's ambassadors had stayed behind at
Sienna, on account of the dangers of the road between that
place and Frascati ; but those who had gone on were so
terrified by the papal menaces, that they took an oath, that
their master should obey implicitly whatever mandate the
Pope should issue. Their colleagues, however, on arriving
from Sienna, were startled at a concession which went far
beyond their instructions, and refused to enter into such an
engagement. The Pope, upon this, became furious, con
firmed the interdict of the Archbishop of Sens, and forbade
Henry to enter any church. He however promised to send
legates to see his humility : a term which, like many other
papal expressions, meant more than it seemed to imply at
first sight. Very speedily, however, a change was worked
in Alexander's counsels. The Bishops of London and Sa-

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 275
lisbury were absolved upon easy terms. The other sen
tences were suspended ; the Pope wrote to Henry with his
own hand, inviting him to humility ; and there can be very
little doubt, that about the same time, the pecuniary re
sources of many members of the college of cardinals were
considerably increased by the bounty of a grateful and ex
pectant monarch.
Such being the case, and it appearing certain both to
Henry himself and to others, that his absolution would be
easily obtained, that monarch ventured to leave his conti
nental dominions, where he had been once more detained
far longer than was expedient. He returned to England on
the seventh of August, 1 171, and immediately proceeded to
execute an enterprise which was calculated to increase his
reputation, and for which all the circumstances were ex
tremely favourable. No disturbances, no tumult whatever,
had taken place in consequence of the death of Becket ;
though it would appear that the young king had apprehend
ed some evil to result from the gathering together of such a
number of enthusiasts as began to frequent the shrine of the
martyr. Nothing of the kind, however, occurred ; and
there can be little doubt that the great body of the English
nobility, though they very likely would not have counte
nanced in any way the deed that had been perpetrated, re
joiced in the deliverance of the realm from such a pest as
Becket had proved himself. Thus everything in England
was tranquil.
In Wales an immense change had taken place, favourable
in the highest degree to the views of Henry. Owen Gwy
neth had died about two years before, after a troublous, but
glorious and memorable reign. He left behind him a mul
titude of children, by various wives and concubines. His
eldest legitimate son, who, according to the usage which
was beginning to prevail throughout Europe, would have
naturally succeeded to the throne, was excluded, it would

276 THE LIFE OF
appear, on account of an objection which is not usually
considered fatal to the royal succession. This was a de
fect in 'his nose. Howel, his natural brother, a prince of
gre^it courage, and a well-proportioned nasal organ, was
chosen in his stead. His younger legitimate brother, how
ever, named David, descended in both lines from royal
ancestors, did not tamely bear the elevation of Howel, but
raised an army, encountered his brother in battle, defeated
and slew him, some little time before the death of Becket.
His success was not sufficiently complete, however, to jus
tify him in courting the enmity of a powerful neighbour,
like Henry, King of England ; and much was still left for
him to do, in order "to seat himself in the government at the
period of Henry's return to England. In the civil wars
which had taken place, the power of the English and Flem
ish colonies in Wales had been suffered to increase ; the
vast confederacy which had been formed for the purpose of
casting off the English yoke, had been dissolved ; and the
warlike nobles of the neighbouring country, who still re
tained fortresses and districts in Wales, had found means
to extend their power, and strengthen themselves in pos
session. In South Wales, Rees ap Gryffyth had been com
mitting some ravages upon the territories of the English
adherents ; but he had lost his great strength wheii the
confederacy of the princes of North Wales was broken, and
he was unable to resist alone the forces ¦ which Henry
could bring against him.
Thus every thing disposed the princes of Wales to cul-
tivate, even" by a new sacrifice of their independence, the
friendship and forbearance of Henry. Nor was their friend
ship and submission of less importance to the King of
England at that moment, for he now meditated annexing
to his other dominions the rich and beautiful sister island
of Ireland, whose long wrongs and misfortunes may date
their origin from the ambition of this king, and from some

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 277
of the faults and follies of her own children, at this very
period of which I speak. Early in Henry's reign, that mo
narch had determined to subdue the neighbouring island.;
and having not the slightest earthly claim to dominion over
Ireland, he applied to the manufactory of unjust titles — the
Roman chancery ; and upon the pretence of reforming the
manners of the people, and correcting the irregularities of
the clergy, he obtained from Adrian IV., who had no right
to give it, a donation which he had no right to accept.*
This donation is explained by the Bishop af Chartres, who
obtained it, as a gift of Ireland, to be held by hereditary
right. Other circumstances had intervened, and the asser
tion of this iniquitous claim had not been made ; but during
Henry's absence on the continent, one of the minor Irish
sovereigns, Dermot, king of Leinster, a savage and barba
rous tyrant, being embroiled in warfare with another Irish
sovereign of the name of O'Ruark, or O'Roork, and finding
his own subjects rising in great numbers against his tyranny,
fled to England in the year 1166, to beseech aid of Henry.
That monarch being in his continental dominions, Dermot
followed him to Aquitaine, offering, if Henry would restore
him to "his kingdom, to hold it by homage, as a fief of the
English crown. Henry accepted the offer, but only gave
Dermot some small pecuniary assistance, and a general
license to raise troops in his dominions. Dermot found no
small difficulty, we are told, in raising any force ; but at
length a celebrated leader, Richard de Clare, Earl of Pem
broke, better known by the name of Strongbow, was tempted
by an offer of the hand of Eva, the daughter of Dermot, and
the promised succession of the kingdom of Lfinster, to
engage in the cause of the exiled king. Before the Earl
* The Pope founded his title to give Ireland upon the spurious dona.
tion of Constantine, and broadly asserted " that all islands belonged to
him ;" a doctrine which certainly ought not to have been recognised by a
King of England. vol. I. — 24

278 THE LIFE OF
of Pembroke, however, could raise sufficient forces to fulfil
his. engagements ' with Dermot, that prince had obtained
also the support of two young noblemen ,of high reputation,
named Maurice Fitzgerald and Robert Fitzstephen. Satis
fied with this success,- he returned to Ireland, and with a
few men whom he had collected in Wales,- commenced the
warfare before any of the great nobles had arrived. In this
warfare he was unsuccessful ; but he contrived to tempo
rise with his enemies, till Fitzstephen, with a considerable
body of chosen troops, and several experienced Command
ers sent by the Earl of Pembroke, joined him, and enabled
him to take the. city of Wexford, and perform some other
exploits. The news of these efforts spreading through
Ireland,- the whole native forces of the island were col
lected to overwhelm the small body of English who sup
ported the King of- Leinster. They remained firm, how
ever ; and Maurice Fitzgerald following about this time,
with a reinforcement, the whole of Leinster was recovered,
before the Earl of Pembroke appeared.* The ambition of
Dermot, however, extended with success, and the -re-con
quest of Leinster by the aid of his English auxiliaries led
him on to contemplate ¦ the subjection of the whole land.
This tempting design he heldo'ut to the Earl of Pembroke,
whose vast revenues had been squandered in acts of- mag
nificent extravagance : but as Henry's commission had only
permitted Dermot to raise men for the recovery of Leinster,
Strongbow was afraid to undertake the vast attempt sug
gested to him, without the King of England's permission.
* In regard to these. points, as in. regard to every other historical fact,-
there are several" statements, varying in different particulars. Some
writers say that Dermot did not commence the war before the arrival of
Fitzstephen ; and others, that Leinster was completely recovered pre
vious to the landing of Fitzgerald. I have followed the accounts I
think the most authentic, and chosen the narrative that seems to me
most probable.

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 279
He accordingly visited Henry in Normandy ; and with his
usual shrewd policy, Henry did not absolutely either refuse
or grant his request, but rather encouraged him in the under
taking than otherwise, not at all sorry that the way should
be prepared for his own meditated invasion, by the efforts of
others, but without the slightest intention of permitting the
Earl of Pembroke to acquire that powerun Ireland which
he aimed at.
Strongbow, though' he appeared somewhat doubtful as to
Henry's consent; probably thought the King's hesitation in
this matter proceeded merely from the intention of avow
ing him if he succeeded, and abandoning him if he failed ;
and, confident of his own military skill, he determined to go
on without a more definite acquiescence being pronounced
on the part of the King. Hurrying back, therefore into
Wales,, he at once sent over to Dermot a small body of
knights and archers ; and proceeding along the rest of the
Welsh sea-coast, he gained a great number of volunteers,
while his officers were preparing a fleet and all the neces
sary provisions and arms for so great an enterprise. At
the end of a few weeks he led a very formidable host to
Milford Haven ; but just as he was upon the very point of
setting sail, a messenger reached him, bearing Henry's
most positive commands, that he should not on any account
leave the kingdom. Pembroke, however, had gone too far
to recede, unless compelled; his honour was pledged to
Dermot ; his private fortune was ruined ; he had collected
a vast number of men, who would require to be indemnified
in some manner for their expenses and disappointment if he
abandoned the enterprise ; and in despite of the King's
own order, he set sail with an army of about twelve hun
dred men.
It is unnecessary to recount all the exploits that he per
formed previous to Henry's return to England. Before that
event took place, the Earl had made great advances towards

280 THE LIFE OF
a conquest of the country ; and Henry, while still in France,
evidently fearing that Pembroke would gain too much
power to remain a submissive, vassal of the crown of Eng
land, published a mandate, forbidding all his subjects, in
the strictest terms, from holding any trade or communication
with Ireland, and commanding all who had invaded that
country to return, on pain of forfeiture and banishment.
This was a terrible stroke upon Pembroke, who lost a
number of his followers and every hope of fresh reinforce
ments by this decree ; and he immediately sent messengers
to Henry, offering to submit all that he had acquired to the
wiU of the king. To drive him to do this was certainly
one of Henry's objects ; but still he gave the earl no en
couragement, and Pembroke maintained himself unassisted,
until, by the death of Dermot towards the end of 1170,
he became sovereign of Leinster, in virtue of the treaty
formerly concluded between them. He continued to strug
gle on, performing feats of valour and generalship scarcely
credible, during the early part of 1171 ; but in the interim
of that year, he received intimation that Henry had arrived
in England, and had prepared a large army in order to cross
the sea himself, and add Ireland to the rest of his domi
nions. This was not the only news, however, that the
earl received from England ; for the wrath of the king at
his determined resistance to his will, had shown itself in
various ways. His English estates had been seized and
confiscated for his high crimes, and Pembroke, wisely
advised, hastened over to throw himself at the feet of his
offended sovereign. It was with great difficulty that Henry
could be induced to see him ; but the earl having once
been admitted, humbled himself so completely, and sub
mitted himself and the whole of his possessions so unre
servedly to the will of the king, that Henry again received
him into favour, on the condition of his giving up to the

RICHARD' CCEUR-DE-LION. 28.1
crown the. city of Dublin,* with the surrounding cantreda
or hundreds', and also his fortified sea-ports.- The rest of
his conquests he was permitted to hold by homage of the
English- crown, and, his hereditary, estates were restored to
him. This being done, he proceeded with Henry to Mil-
ford Haven.
With a fleet of four hundred and forty large ships, arid
an army containing five . hundred knights, the king sailed
for Ireland, and landed oh the coast o'f Waterford-on the
eighteenth day of October, 1171. It is unnecessary here
to give any more than the mere heads of the king's' pro
ceedings in Ireland, for he met' with no resistance, and tame
submission "awaited him wherever he came. Although his
invasion of that country was certainly an act of usurpation,
it must be acknowledged that he strove to confer the bene
fits- which he had promised in his application to Adrian for
a grant of the. island. From the moment of his arrival he
assumed the tone of a peacemaker and a benefactor, although
he came armed with power to force such as were unwilling
to be persuaded.
Henry took possession of Waterfojd without resistance ;
the people of Wexford willingly surrendered to him ; the
Prince of Desmond came and did homage, giving hostages
for the payment of a tribute ; arid on a tour which he made
by Lismore and Cashel,, a number of other princes of the
south of Ireland followed this example. After returning
for a short time to Waterford, he marched to Dublin, and
there spent the winter, receiving the oath of fealty from all
the princes of the north of Ireland, with the exception of a
few chieftains in Ulster.
Roderic, King of Connaught, indeed, the most powerful,
* The words of Williamof- Newbury are : "Itaque extorsit ei famo-
sissimam civitatem Divelinum, et cetera qua. in adquisitione' potiora
videbantur, .parte vero reliqua cum patrimonio suo Anglico integre illi
restitute, jussit esse contentum."
24*

282

THE LIFE OF

if not the predominant king of all Ireland, submitted in a
more dignified manner. -Instead of attending the court of
the invader, he met on the borders, of Connaught two am-
bassadors from Henry, and "'entered into a compact with
them, the., particulars of which are obscure. We are as
sured that he took the oath of fealty to the King of England,
and agreed to pay tribute. At all events he made such
submission as induced the English monarch to refrain from
any attack upon his territories.
In a synod which was held at Cashel, various irregulari.
ties and evil practices in ecclesiastical matters were abo
lished ; and either there or at Lismore, various laws were
enacted, there is reason to suppose, upon the model of those
of England, if not exactly similar to them. Thus the subju
gation of Ireland was peaceful, if not beneficial ; but it
was too easily executed to promise any great stability ; and
Henry would in all probability have remained much longer
in that island, to give greater solidity to the structure of
his power, had he not received — after an interruption of
many months in all communication with the rest of Europe
—certain intelligence that the legate sent by Alexander
had been waiting for him long in Normandy, threatening
him with all the thunders of the church for -his apparent
contempt. As soon as the passage was open, he lost no
time in hastening to meet the messengers of the pope.
Taking such measures as he thought would best establish
the English power in Ireland, and would at the same time
counterbalance the great influence which the Earl of Pem
broke had obtained by the acquisition of Leinster, Henry
proceeded to Wexford to embark, leaving Hugh de Lacy,
as Justiciary of Ireland, to retain possession of Dublin, with
forty knights and a number of inferior soldiers. He gave
to that leader also, the county of Meath as a fief of the
English crown, though whence he derived his right to be-

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 283
stow such a territory, which was then in possession of a
native Irish prince, would be difficult to discover.
Having completed these ^arrangements, he sailed from
Wexford on the seventeenth of April, 1172, and landed in
South Wales on the very same day. He found that some
commotions had arisen in that part of the island during his
absence, but they seemed of no very great importance ; and
after a hasty effort to remedy the evil, which, in consequence
of an unfortunate accident, only rendered it worse, he ap-
pointed Rees ap Gryffyth Justiciary of South Wales, and
hastened on his way towards Normandy. The Welsh
prince, it would appear, to whom the greater part of South
Wales belonged by hereditary right, accepted without hesi
tation an office which he imagined would strengthen his
general authority, without perceiving that, by exercising it
at the will of Henry, he acknowledged in that prince a
more intimate right of jurisdiction than even that against
which he had so often striven.
Taking his son Henry with him, the King of England
embarked at Portsmouth for Normandy, and immediately
sent to the Cardinals Albert and Theodebert,* inquiring at
what place they would give him a meeting. They appointed
the convent of Savigni, where they were met by the king
and a numerous court ; but it would appear, that the de
mands of the legates seemed to the king exorbitant, for they
themselves state, "that they could not altogether agree;"
and Henry departed abruptly, as if to return into England.
The next day, however, he sent the Bishop of Lisieux and
two archdeacons, to grant what they had required, Und they
then joined the king at Avranches, where the conditions
agreed upon were embodied in a proper form, Henry swear
ing in the most solemn manner, that he had not ordered
the death of Becket, and that it was done both without his
will and knowledge.
* This name is sometimes written Theodine, sometimes as above.

284 THE LIFE OF
, The articles, to which the king agreed, in order to obtain
his absolution, comprised the following stipulations : " That
within a year from the approaching- feast of Pentecost,
. Henry should give a sufficient sum of" money to maintain,
according to the computation of the Knights of the Temple,
two hundred knights for the defence of the Holy Land
during twelve months : that on the subsequent Christmas
day, Henry himself should take the cross for threefyears,
and that during.the succeeding summer he should go to the
Holy Land in person, unless this point were remitted to
him by the pope or any of his catholic successors. How- :
ever, in case of his going, by urgent necessity, against the
Saracens' in Spain, it was agreed that he might delay his
journey to Jerusalem for as much time as he should spend
in. that expedition. It was moreover stipulated that he
.should not prevent appeals to the pope in ecclesiastical
causes, made in good faith, without fraud or evil intention ;
nor should he suffer them to be prevented. It was provided,
however, that if any one about to make these appeals, should
be suspected by him, they should give security,, that they.
did not seek to-do wrong to him or to his.kingdom.
The most important of these articles declared that he
should abrogate those customs which had been introduced
in his lime against the churches of his territories, and
should exact them no more from the Bishops." Moreover,
it was. agreed that if any of the possessions of the Church
of Canterbury were still retained, he should give them up in
full, exactly as they had been a year before the Archbishop
left England ; and that he should restore all the posses
sions, with his peace and favour, to such persons of both

* In the latter part of this sentence there is in the original a pronoun
left out, which omission renders the sense doubtful. The letter says
simply,.." nee ab episedpis amplius exigetis.'' This seems to have puz
zled Lord Lyttleton, who left the above words out in his translation.

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 285
sexes, lay and clerical, as had been deprived of them on
account of the late Archbishopp To perform all this the
king took an oath, and his son also swore to abrogate the
new constitutions. Both monarchs also pledged themselves
never to recede from Pope Alexander and his successors,
so long as the Bishops of Rome should treat them as Chris
tian and Catholic Kings.
These are distinctly the terms and conditions which
were proposed by the legates, and accepted by Henry ;
and it wiU be remarked, that therein there is not one word
in regard to the abolition of anything but the new customs
which had been introduced in that monarch's own time.*
Now the constitutions of Clarendon, had been declared by
the Parliament of England, the Bishops, Abbots, and the
Barons of the kingdom, to be the ancient laws of the land,
and Henry had always maintained that they were the
same which had been in force in the time of his grand
father, Henry the First. By this agreement, therefore, he
gave up not one single point of that policy to which he had
invariably adhered.
Neither is there the slightest allusion in this document,
nor in any of those which may be relied upon, that can af
ford a shadow of cause for believing that Henry engaged,
as a condition of his reconciUation with the Church, to
* It is distinctly stated, in the letter of the Cardinals themselves, and
in all the contemporary historians, I believe without more than one ex
ception, that the only customs which Henry promised to abolish, were
the new customs which had been introduced in the Church in his own
times. Hoveden, who seems from the way in which he describes the
document, to have seen it, if not to have been present when tr__ act took
place, distinctly marks, that they were only the new customs introduced
in his own time ; Gervase has the same clause distinctly ; and Diceto,
who was present at very many of the acts which I have detailed, though
he varies the language, keeps the meaning quite clear. The only one
who differs from this account, is the Monk Alanus, who represents Henry
as promising unreservedly to repeal the constitutions of Clarendon.

286 THE LIFE OF
perform those extraordinary penances at the tomb of Beck
et, which have so'generally and falsely been lookedupon
as an act of submission to Rome.. The Cardinals assert
indeed, in a letter to the Archbishop of Ravenna, that the
king promised in private, various things that were not ex
pressly put down ; but we can scarcely suppose that they
were matters of very great importance, for had they been
so, the Cardinals would not have failed to ensure the per
formance thereof, by exacting an oath from the king to that
effect. It must be acknowledged, however, that it is a most
extraordinary fact, that the legates should not require at the
hands of the king the punishment of the murderers of the
Archbishop. It has been a matter of . marvel, indeed, -that
the King of England did not punish them in the very first
instance ; nor is the account given of his motives by Wil
liam of Newbury, at all satisfactory to me. That writer
says that Henry was afraid of being blamed for whatever
course he pursued. Many would be found to say if he
spared the assassins, that he had encouraged the commis
sion of the crime ; and if he punished them, it would be
said that he first instigated them to do it, and then smote
them for the act, making himself doubly guilty. But that
Henry should suffer the straightforward course of justice to
be perverted, from the fear of any such censure, is not at
all to be reconciled to the other parts of his character. He
had marched with an army to punish less offences; and
the great cause of his quarrel with Becket was his perse.
vering maintenance of the grand rule, that no class of men,
whatsoever should escape punishment for crime.
It would certainly appear very extraordinary also, that.
the punishment of the murderers should form no part of the
solemn conditions exacted by the legates ; for though their
holy functions prevented their requiring blood as an atone
ment, yet the Church of Rome has never wanted means of
causing the temporal, as well as the spiritual sword to fall

'. RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 287
upon its enemies ; and they might at all events have stipu
lated that the four knights who committed this foul deed
should be sent to Rome to submit to the correction of the
supreme . Pontiff. They were indeed so sent by Henry
himself, but that he should send them formed no part of his
agreement with the Cardinals. The Pope dealt as lenient
ly with the actual murderers as he did with the king, and
merely enjoined them to go to ' the Holy Land, and do pe
nance for their great offence. This, they did, we are told,
with much devotion and remorse ; and there is reason to
believe that three years after Becket's assassination only
one out of the four survived.
Some obscurity exists, in regard to the farther proceed
ings of Henry with the legates, nor can I reconcile all the
facts as stated by contemporaries, with the account of
Lord Lyttleton. It is certain however that this agreement
was signed at Avranches, and sworn to by the king,* on
the twenty-seventh of September ; at which period his son
Henry -was with him ; and yet we find that in the preced
ing month, the young king was once more crowned, to
gether with his wife, in the , cathedral of Winchester.
Strange to say, after all the dissensions which had taken
place on account of the coronation of the same prince by
the Archbishop of York, the ceremony was on this occa
sion performed by the Archbishop of Rouen, a foreign pre
late. It is to be remarked, however, that the see of Can
terbury was now vacant, and likely to be so for some time,
while the King of France pressed eagerly for the corona
tion of his daughter, and the young king himself, from mo
tives which will be explained hereafter, was anxious to
render his recognition as king by the people of England, as
* Hoveden gives the date so precisely, that I cannot doubt that he was
correct as to the day on which the oath was taken by Henry, and the
agreement signed : but the legates in their letter, declare, that they .were
met by Henry, at Avranches, on the fifth Sunday after Easter. '

288 THE LIFE OF
solemn as possible. If the young king did indeed accom
pany his father to France, as is generally stated, he must
have returned to England very speedily, and after his coro
nation have rejoined Henry in Normandy ; in which case
the negociations concerning the absolution of the king must
have ; been much longer, and probably more difficult, than
the legates thought fit to state in their epistle to the Arch
bishop of Ravenna ; which supposition is borne out by the
account of Diceto,* and by the time which elapsed between
their meeting Henry at Avranches, and the conclusion of
the affair.
As soon as he had witnessed the absolution of his father,
the young king hastened back to England, with his wife ;
and whether Henry the Second had become by this time
somewhat jealous of his son's favour with a great number
of the English barons, or whether he wished to gratify the
King of France, I know not, but certain it is, that in a veiy
short time after his landing in England, the Prince was
sent for once more into Normandy, and on the first of No
vember, 1172, again passed the seas, all contemporary wri
ters say, most unwillingly. He was sent immediately
however, with the young Queen, to the court of the King of
France ; but a certain degree of uneasiness is evident at
this time in Henry's conduct, which leads me to believe
that he had remarked something in the demeanour of his
son which gave him cause for apprehension.
Before the end of the year, the English monarch sum
moned the young king from the court of Louis ; and he
might very well have cause for suspicion, though that
cause was not sufficient to justify him in tailing any mea
sure of precaution more vigorous than that of separating his
son from evil counsellors. That the King of France was
such, Henry had soon reason to know ; for scarcely had
* He says, " Post longos tandem et immensos tractatus."

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 289
the Prince rejoined him in Normandy, when he demanded
that he should be put in immediate possession of either Nor
mandy, England, or Anjou. For this demand, there might
indeed be some excuse, for it seems to me perfectly certain
that Henry had promised the absolute possession of some
part of his territories to his eldest son on his marriage with
the daughter of the King of France, and that although he
did not yield that possession at the time the marriage cere
mony took place, it was understood that it should be given
as soon as the union of the prince and the princess was
consummated. He had also defined what that territory was
to be, and had distinctly promised the County of Anjou, ia
the last treaty of peace with the King of France, so that for
refusing that province there could scarcely be any reasona
ble excuse ; for the young prince was by this time of such
an age as to be well justified in demanding that which his
father had engaged to give, being now in his eighteenth
year. Henry, however, distinctly refused to accede to his
request,* and leaving his eldest son in Normandy, proceed
ed to spend the winter in Anjou.
All was now apparently calm around the King of Eng.
land ; alUed by the closest ties with the French monarch,
possessing an immense extent of territory, which displayed
at this time a general spirit of submission and desire of
tranquiUity, triumphant in arms, and successful in nego-
ciation, he could look around him and say that all was
peace. The slight movements that took place in Aqui
taine and in Wales, were not such as to create any alarm ;
the Count of Toulouse himself was preparing to make sub
mission in a peaceable manner; and a foreign prince, whose
aUiance was Ukely to extend the influence of Henry into
Italy itself, was treating with the English King for a union
between Prince John and his only child.
The sole cause for serious uneasiness which had af-
* Gervase says that Henry refused indignantly.
vol. i. — 25

290 THE LIFE OF
flicted Henry during the autumn of 1172, was now likely
to be done away, by the election of such a successor to
Becket as would insure a peaceful state of ecclesiastical
affairs. It is true the spirit of the turbulent prelate had
survived himself, and still dwelt amongst the monks of
Canterbury. The prior Odo had shown the same haughty
and intractable disposition, and insisted upon a free election,
endeavouring, under that name, to confine the choice of
an Archbishop to the monks alone, excluding the votes of
the Bishops of the province, and the recommendation of the
King. In vain Henry attempted to move him, by means
unworthy of a monarch to employ. He resisted flattery
and entreaties, bribes and commands ; although the person
whom Henry sought to raise to the archiepiscopal dignity,
namely, the Bishop Bayeux, was in every respect unex
ceptionable. At length, however, it was arranged, that
the monks should choose three persons, the election of one
of whom was to be made by the Bishops and ratified by the
King. This was accordingly done in February, 1173, and
the names being submitted to Richard de Lucy, the King's
grand Justiciary, he summoned the Bishops, and in the
end the Abbot of Beck in Normandy was elected, with the
consent and approbation of Henry. The matter did not
terminate here, however, but remained in agitation for some
months beyond the period to which I have carried the
other events of Henry's reign ; but it may be as well to
pursue this subject to a close, in order that I may terminate
the history of the contest between Henry and the see of
Canterbury, as far as the actual events are concerned ; for
the consequences of that contest were protracted into ages
beyond, and affected both England and France to the end
of the reign of John and Philip Augustus, if not even to a
far more remote period.
The Abbot of Beck, though in every respect agreeable
to the King of England, possessed those happiest of aU

RICHARD CCSUR-DE-LION. 291
mental gifts, humility of spirit, and moderation of desire,
and refusing the vast wealth and high dignity offered him,
could be prevailed upon by no entreaties whatsoever to
accept the mitre and the pall. This rendered another
election necessary, Irnd the prior Odo now showed himself
more turbulent than ever. He tried by every means to
exclude the bishops from any influence. He wrangled,
disputed, and even disgusted the more wise and tranquil
members of his own convent, by his intractable temper.
At length, however, it was determined to send over two
deputies to the King, in order to ascertain his views and
wishes. One of these deputies was Richard, prior of
Dover, a man not of the most profound erudition, but still
respectable in point of learning, moderate, virtuous, and
prudent. The deputies failed to obtain any satisfactory
answer from the King ; and Henry, having narrowly scru
tinized, it would seem, the character and demeanour of
the prior of Dover, gave secret orders to those who re
mained in authority in England, to take such measures as
would cause the election to fall upon him. This was
managed with great skill ; the bishops co-operated with
the King, the monks were pleased to choose one of their
own order, and Richard of Dover, was accordingly elected
towards the middle of 1173. His consecration, however,
was suspended for many months, in consequence of some
opposition on the part of the young King Henry, who by
this time was at enmity with his father, and appealed to the
Pope against the election of the prior of Dover. Richard
accordingly was obliged to travel into Italy, to sustain his
own cause before the Pontiff. Alexander, however, con
firmed his election, conferring upon him the legatine power
in England ; and thus Henry had the happiness of seeing
at the head of the English Church a prelate who was in
clined to resist rather than to promote the exorbitant de-

292 THE LIFE OF
mands which Becket ha4 taught the English clergy to put
forth. Thus, as I have said, the aspect of all things was fa
vourable to Henry towards the end of 1172 and the begin
ning of 1173, so far at least as external appearances went.
Had he-, however, been allowed to see below the surface,
he would have met with one of the most painful instances
of the hoUowness of apparent prosperity that the eyes of
man ever encountered ; for at that very moment he
stood, as it were, above a covered volcano, and the earth.
quake which was to rend the ground beneath his feet and
pour forth the fiery stream of civil warfare upon him, was
already trembling below him.
Though the King might not know his danger, there
seemed to be a general feeling throughout his dominions,
that this, tranquillity was not to last. Men began to ob
serve portents, and to draw evil auguries — almost always
a sign that there exists some more rational cause for anti
cipating disaster — and we have contemporary records of
many marvels and convulsions in the physical world.
Tremendous thunder was heard simultaneously in Eng
land, France, and Ireland, in the midst of winter. Terrible
floods of water ravaged various districts ; earthquakes were
reported from distant regions, and the city of Catania was
almost entirely destroyed by one of those awful visitations.
Amongst the events, in which the eye of superstition saw
the foreshadowing of coming evils, was the appearance of
the aurora borealis, which is as beautifully and accurately
described by an author of that age, as it ever has been
since.* It was probably this phenomenon which gave rise
* The words of Gervase are as follows : " Idus Februarii apparuit in
co-lo signum mirabile nocte plusquam media. Nam rubor quidam vide-
batur in aere inter orientem et occidentum in parte aquilonali. Radii
autem albi per transversum ruboris illius erant, qui nunc graciles in mo-
dum lancearum, nunc vero lati in modum tabutaruin, et nunc hie nunc

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 293
to a report mentioned by the good monk of Mailros, that
various persons in England had seen the sea on fire.
Certain it is, that the season seems to have been very
tempestuous, and also very unhealthy ; but neither distance
nor weather offered any impediment to the incessant ac
tivity of the English king. So rapid were all his move
ments, that when he came from Ireland through England
into France, Louis, on being informed of his arrival, ex
claimed in a peevish tone, " This King, now in Ireland,
now in England, now in Normandy, must fly, rather than
ride or sail." The winter was scarcely past, when he
sent for his son to join him at Chinon in Anjou, where he
had remained with Eleanor his Queen ; and on the arrival
of the younger Henry, the whole court set out immediately
for Mont Ferrand in Auvergne, at which place the King of
England had appointed to meet the Count of Maurienne and
Savoy, the Count of Toulouse, and many other nobles, for
the twofold purpose of betrothing John, the King's youngest
son, to the daughter of the Count of Maurienne, and of ter
minating amicably with the Lord of Toulouse the differences
which had arisen from the claims of Henry to the sove
reignty of that district.
The meeting took place in the middle of February, and
was the most splendid that ever was seen in that part of
the world. Besides the personages we have mentioned
ibi quasi a terra sursum in ccelum erecti. Erant proedicti radii candidi
ut radii solis cum densissimam penetrant nubem. Subsecutus est splen
dor lucidus aurora, similis sestivae cum in diem clare lucescit ; postremo
densissima nubes subnigra in eodem climate quasi a terra elevata est, qua.
diem ilium paulatim succrescens obumbravit." The extreme accuracy
of this description, when compared with the wild and absurd accounts of
similar phenomena, by many of the monks of that day, of which I have
given a specimen in the description of the storm at Scarborough, affords
reason to repose with considerable confidence upon the narrative of Ger
vase in other particulars ; especially when we find that the prejudices of
his order do not lead him to conceal the errors of the clergy.
25*

294 THE LIFE O'F
the King of Arragon, and the Count of Vienne, each with
a large train, were present ; and the King of England, dis
played all the imnosing parade of royalty, which his vast
wealth and possessions enabled him to call forth when he
thought fit, although he was naturally simple in his own
habits, and an enemy to ostentation. The marriage be
tween Prince John and the daughter of the Count of Mau-
rierti-e had been already agreed upon, and nothing remained
to be settled but the dowry of the princess and the appanage
of the prince. The Count, who, it seems, entertained no
expectation whatsoever of having male issue, now settled
the whole of his dominions upon his daughter, in case of
his death without a son ; and also agreed that, even if an
heir were granted to him, a large and important part of his
territories should descend as the portion of the bride. It
was also arranged that, if the Princess should die before
the marriage could be consummated, John was to wed her
younger sister ; and in the meantime, the future bride was
entrusted to the somewhat dangerous guardianship of Hen
ry the Second. It does not appear that any territories.
were expressly stipulated as the appanage of John, or that
any thing was given as an equivalent for this vast heritage,
except a few thousand marks of silver. The treaty was
sworn to on both parts, and at the time the alliance seemed
to afford universal satisfaction.
The differences between the Count of Toulouse and
Henry were terminated amicably, that pririce agreeing to
do homage to the Counts of Poitou* saving his duty to the
* Lord Lyttleton, following the account of Diceto and others, and
also Don Vaisette in his History of Languedoc, declares that the Count
of Toulouse, for himself and his successors, promised to. do homage and
feudal service to, the Dukes of Aquitaine. This, however, is not ex
actly correct, the account of Hoveden being much more accurate. That
writer says, that he agreed to do homage to the Counts of Poitou ; and
it must be remembered that Toulouse did not hold of Aquitaine, but of
Poitou. The account of Don Vaisette, indeed, is altogethei inaccurate,.

HTCHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 295
King of France ; but Richard not having accompanied his
father to the meeting at Mont Ferrand, the act of homage
was put off for some weeks. The Count appears, how
ever, to have attached himself sincerely to Henry for the
time, so much so indeed as to give him the first distinct
information that evil was plotting against him in the house
hold of his eldest son.
After some time spent in festivity and joy, the King of
England and his court separated from the other princes
who had assembled at Mont Ferrand, and took their way
towards Limoges. In that city — where it would appear
that Richard then was — the Count of Toulouse presented
himself, and did homage to the English prince and to his
father as Counts of Poitou, promising to serve at their sum
mons for forty days at his own expense, and longer upon a
reasonable payment. He also agreed to give for Toulouse
and its appurtenances, each year, a hundred marks of sil
ver, or ten war horses, each of the value of ten marks.
At Limoges the King of England was again visited by
the Count of Maurienne and Savoy, who, on this occasion
— it would seem for the first time — inquired what territorial
possessions the King of England intended to give to his
son John on his marriage. Henry replied, that he would
give him the Castles of Loudun, Chinon, and Mirabel ; but
on this being announced to the younger Henry, he object
ed, and positively refused to consent that such an engage-
ment should be entered into. In consequence of this offen-
and only shows what absurdities can be committed in history by not
attending to dates. He represents Henry and Eleanor as going to Li
moges in the midst of the quarrels between the King of England and
his son Henry. He places this in 1172, and makes Henry at that time
and place dispose of the Duchy of Aquitaine in favour of Richard, and
about the same time arrange the marriage of Geoffrey, his third son,
with Constance of Britanny. It is unnecessary to tell the reader, that
not one word of all this is accurate.

296 THE LIFE O'F
sive conduct, Henry, following, it is supposed, the sugges
tion of the Count of Toulouse, removed from the household
of his son several of that prince's chief officers, and espe
cially a young nobleman, named Asculfus de St. Hilaire ;
but this step, instead of diminishing the evil, only served to
bring any hesitation in the mind of the young king to an
end. Leaving Limoges, and taking his son with him, sur
rounded closely by his own servants, Henry -again turned
his steps towards Normandy ; but ere he had gone far, the
prince contrived to escape the vigilance of those who were
watching him, and mounting his horse by night, fled with
all speed to the court of the King of France. He first di
rected his steps towards Alert^on, and thence to Argentan ;
but then, instead of proceeding to Caen, as was probably
his first intention, he turned from his course, and traversing
a wild and hilly part of the country, made the best of his
way to Chartres. From some contemporary accounts, it
would seem that he was accompanied by several of his
principal officers, who, on discovering his intention of pro
ceeding into the territories of the King of France, left him,
and returned to Henry. Amongst these was Richard de
Barre, who brought back to his father the young king's
great seal. Henry the Second, in the meanwhile, pursued
his son as far as Alencon, where he paused and slept, pro
bably deceived by the first direction of the prince's flight
towards Argentan, and believing that it was not his inten
tion to quit his father's dominions. On the following morn
ing, however, he was informed of the new direction in
which the young king had turned his steps, and immedi
ately divining the extent of the evil, he mounted his horse,
and with that extraordinary activity which distinguished
him, rode from fortress to fortress, followed only by a few
attendants. Changing his horse continually, he reached
the Castle of Gisors, on the frontier of the Norman Vexin,

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 297
towards dusk. The distance is immense ; but in the course
of this journey, he had visited, we are assured, all his fron
tier fortresses, had put the governors on their guard, and
taken measures for increasing their forces, and for supply
ing them with all that was necessary to meet those hostili
ties which he now saw were about to commence. Gisors.
he took particular pains to provide with all that was neces
sary for resistance in case of assault ; and at the same
time, he wrote letters in haste to the governors of all towns
throughout his continental dominions, as well as to his chief
officers in England, notifying to them the event which had
taken place, and reminding them of their duty to strengthen
and defend, to the utmost of their power, the strong places
he had committed to their charge.
These necessary precautions instantly presented them
selves to his mind, and were executed without any loss of
time ; but Henry did not neglect those means which he
thought might prove effectual to recal his misguided son to
his duty. The servants and attendants who had abandoned
him in his flight, were sent back to him by the king, to
gether with his baggage, arms, horses, and silver plate ;
and at the same time he despatched the Archbishop of
Rouen and the Bishop of Lisieux to remonstrate with Louis
upon the countenance and protection he afforded to a son,
in opposition to his father. He caused, however, the
young Queen Margaret to be detained, which seemed
greatly to irritate both her husband and her father ; though
they could not expect that the King of England would give
up the only hostage that he had, and especially when that
T-Ostage was one, who as long as she remained in his hands
afforded the greatest inducement for her husband to return
to his duty, and for her father to abstain from unjust vio
lence. It was only after the monarch had arrived at Rouen,
however, that he discovered how far spread and deep laid

298 THE LIFE OF
a
was that conspiracy, of which the flight of Henry the
younger was the first overt act. Where Henry had left the
Queen Eleanor, I do not distinctly know, but I am inclined
to believe, that it was either at Limoges or Chinon, with
her two sons, Geoffrey and Richard. From a letter, how
ever, preserved amongst those of Peter of Blois, we learn,
that Henry commanded her to join him immediately in
Normandy, and that she neglected or refused to do so.
Tidings were speedily after brought to Henry, that his
two sons, Geoffrey and Richard, were both deeply impli
cated in the plot against him, and this intelligence was
rapidly confirmed by the flight of both those princes to join
their brother at the, court of France. About the same time,
Henry caused the Archbishop of Rouen to write to his wife,
threatening her with the censures of the Church, if she did
not return to her husband without farther delay ; and he
neglected not to have her strictly watched, probably antici
pating the step which she was about to take.
Eleanor, who was undoubtedly the secret instigator of
the rebellion of the English princes, it is probable, intend
ed, from the first, to follow them to the court of her former
husband ; and there is every reason to suppose that she
only remained behind, either on account of the difficulty of
escaping, or for the purpose of giving the last touch to the
conspiracy against Henry. Perceiving however that the
monarch was now fully aware of the part that she had play
ed, she determined to make a desperate effort for escape,
disguised in men's clothes. She was taken, however, in
the act, and committed by her indignant husband to strict
imprisonment. The enmity of Henry's sons might well surprise that
monarch, for he was a fond and affectionate parent ; but
that he should have excited the most rancorous animosity in
the bosom of Eleanor, could be no matter of wonder to one
who knew her so well as he did. The depravity of his

RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION. 299
morals and his incessant incontinence, affected but little his
people, but ttTey were a daily insult to his wife on a point
where vanity and passion were both involved. It was na
tural, therefore, that she should entertain deep feelings of
resentment towards her husband, and that she should try to
make her children participate in her sentiments, in order that
by their means she might work out her own vengeance.
Though she had certainly vast opportunities of effecting
this purpose, it is clear that she would not have been suc
cessful in so high a degree, had not the young princes them
selves, and the nobles who supported them, lately learned
to regard the king in a different point of view from that in
which he had appeared in the first prosperous years of his
reign. They had now seen him engaged in an unsuccess
ful struggle with an adversary whose whole power was de
rived from superstition alone ; they had seen him menaced
with impunity, alarmed and agitated by the threats of
Rome, in some degree vanquished in the conflict, and alter
nately excited into violent and unkingly passion by the in
solent daring of a former servant, and plunged into profound
dejection and exorbitant abasement, by the consequence of
the very words to which his passion gave utterance. Be
sides all this, the letters of Becket and his partisans were
current throughout Europe, and in almost all of these the
King of England was spoken of in terms of reprobation and
contempt. The murdered archbishop and his supporters
had represented him continually as cunning, but not wise ;
violent, but not firm ; less powerful than he seemed to be,
and to be driven rather than feared. His reputation, in
short, had suffered in a lamentable degree, from his unsuc
cessful contest with the primate ; and those even who hated
Becket, reprobated his conduct and opposed his views, had
acquired, in watching the conflict between him and the
king, a certain degree of admiration for his firmness, cou
rage, and undaunted resolution, for his high talents and

360 THE LIFE OF RICHARD CCEUR-DE-LION.
commanding mind ; while towards Henry they had lost
much of that reverence and awe which they had entertain-^
ed so long as they had beheld him pursuing in uninterrupt
ed prosperity a wise course of internal administration, and
making a vigorous progress in external aggrandisement.
In short, it would appear, that had it not been for the strug
gle with Becket, the revolt of Henry's sons, if it had taken
place, would have been far less formidable than it proved ;
and I have no earthly doubt, that upon the minds of the mo
narch's sons the influence of their mother would have been
exerted with much less effect, if their respect for their father
had not been in the first instance diminished by that course
of .events which have been related in the preceding pages.
This, we may well suppose, was more especially the case
with Richard, whose bold, fearless, and even rash charac
ter, prompted him to despise the arm of ecclesiastical
power, and in the course of whose life we shaU often have
occasion to see the, contempt which he had acquired in
early life for monks and priests, breaking out in scoffing
jests and bitter sarcasms. His mind, of all others, was
one to lose all respect for those whom he saw subdued by
anything but physical force ; and with him Eleanor's evil
counsels were undoubtedly rendered effectual, by the- im
pressions he had received regarding his father's character.
A new epoch, however, now opens in his existence — an
epoch which began with rebellion against his father and
his king, and ended with the usual vain regrets which fol
low great crimes, when their consequences are past recaU.

END OF VOL. I.