CHAPTER XII--ENGLAND UNDER HENRY THE SECOND
PART THE FIRST
Henry Plantagenet, when he was but twenty-one years old, quietlysucceeded to the throne of England, according to his agreement made withthe late King at Winchester. Six weeks after Stephen's death, he and hisQueen, Eleanor, were crowned in that city; into which they rode onhorseback in great state, side by side, amidst much shouting andrejoicing, and clashing of music, and strewing of flowers.
The reign of King Henry the Second began well. The King had greatpossessions, and (what with his own rights, and what with those of hiswife) was lord of one-third part of France. He was a young man ofvigour, ability, and resolution, and immediately applied himself toremove some of the evils which had arisen in the last unhappy reign. Herevoked all the grants of land that had been hastily made, on eitherside, during the late struggles; he obliged numbers of disorderlysoldiers to depart from England; he reclaimed all the castles belongingto the Crown; and he forced the wicked nobles to pull down their owncastles, to the number of eleven hundred, in which such dismal crueltieshad been inflicted on the people. The King's brother, GEOFFREY, roseagainst him in France, while he was so well employed, and rendered itnecessary for him to repair to that country; where, after he had subduedand made a friendly arrangement with his brother (who did not live long),his ambition to increase his possessions involved him in a war with theFrench King, Louis, with whom he had been on such friendly terms justbefore, that to the French King's infant daughter, then a baby in thecradle, he had promised one of his little sons in marriage, who was achild of five years old. However, the war came to nothing at last, andthe Pope made the two Kings friends again.
Now, the clergy, in the troubles of the last reign, had gone on very illindeed. There were all kinds of criminals among them--murderers,thieves, and vagabonds; and the worst of the matter was, that the goodpriests would not give up the bad priests to justice, when they committedcrimes, but persisted in sheltering and defending them. The King, wellknowing that there could be no peace or rest in England while such thingslasted, resolved to reduce the power of the clergy; and, when he hadreigned seven years, found (as he considered) a good opportunity fordoing so, in the death of the Archbishop of Canterbury. 'I will have forthe new Archbishop,' thought the King, 'a friend in whom I can trust, whowill help me to humble these rebellious priests, and to have them dealtwith, when they do wrong, as other men who do wrong are dealt with.' So,he resolved to make his favourite, the new Archbishop; and this favouritewas so extraordinary a man, and his story is so curious, that I must tellyou all about him.
Once upon a time, a worthy merchant of London, named GILBERT A BECKET,made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and was taken prisoner by a Saracenlord. This lord, who treated him kindly and not like a slave, had onefair daughter, who fell in love with the merchant; and who told him thatshe wanted to become a Christian, and was willing to marry him if theycould fly to a Christian country. The merchant returned her love, untilhe found an opportunity to escape, when he did not trouble himself aboutthe Saracen lady, but escaped with his servant Richard, who had beentaken prisoner along with him, and arrived in England and forgot her. TheSaracen lady, who was more loving than the merchant, left her father'shouse in disguise to follow him, and made her way, under many hardships,to the sea-shore. The merchant had taught her only two English words(for I suppose he must have learnt the Saracen tongue himself, and madelove in that language), of which LONDON was one, and his own name,GILBERT, the other. She went among the ships, saying, 'London! London!'over and over again, until the sailors understood that she wanted to findan English vessel that would carry her there; so they showed her such aship, and she paid for her passage with some of her jewels, and sailedaway. Well! The merchant was sitting in his counting-house in Londonone day, when he heard a great noise in the street; and presently Richardcame running in from the warehouse, with his eyes wide open and hisbreath almost gone, saying, 'Master, master, here is the Saracen lady!'The merchant thought Richard was mad; but Richard said, 'No, master! AsI live, the Saracen lady is going up and down the city, calling Gilbert!Gilbert!' Then, he took the merchant by the sleeve, and pointed out ofwindow; and there they saw her among the gables and water-spouts of thedark, dirty street, in her foreign dress, so forlorn, surrounded by awondering crowd, and passing slowly along, calling Gilbert, Gilbert! Whenthe merchant saw her, and thought of the tenderness she had shown him inhis captivity, and of her constancy, his heart was moved, and he ran downinto the street; and she saw him coming, and with a great cry fainted inhis arms. They were married without loss of time, and Richard (who wasan excellent man) danced with joy the whole day of the wedding; and theyall lived happy ever afterwards.
This merchant and this Saracen lady had one son, THOMAS A BECKET. He itwas who became the Favourite of King Henry the Second.
He had become Chancellor, when the King thought of making him Archbishop.He was clever, gay, well educated, brave; had fought in several battlesin France; had defeated a French knight in single combat, and brought hishorse away as a token of the victory. He lived in a noble palace, he wasthe tutor of the young Prince Henry, he was served by one hundred andforty knights, his riches were immense. The King once sent him as hisambassador to France; and the French people, beholding in what state hetravelled, cried out in the streets, 'How splendid must the King ofEngland be, when this is only the Chancellor!' They had good reason towonder at the magnificence of Thomas a Becket, for, when he entered aFrench town, his procession was headed by two hundred and fifty singingboys; then, came his hounds in couples; then, eight waggons, each drawnby five horses driven by five drivers: two of the waggons filled withstrong ale to be given away to the people; four, with his gold and silverplate and stately clothes; two, with the dresses of his numerousservants. Then, came twelve horses, each with a monkey on his back;then, a train of people bearing shields and leading fine war-horsessplendidly equipped; then, falconers with hawks upon their wrists; then,a host of knights, and gentlemen and priests; then, the Chancellor withhis brilliant garments flashing in the sun, and all the people caperingand shouting with delight.
The King was well pleased with all this, thinking that it only madehimself the more magnificent to have so magnificent a favourite; but hesometimes jested with the Chancellor upon his splendour too. Once, whenthey were riding together through the streets of London in hard winterweather, they saw a shivering old man in rags. 'Look at the poorobject!' said the King. 'Would it not be a charitable act to give thataged man a comfortable warm cloak?' 'Undoubtedly it would,' said Thomasa Becket, 'and you do well, Sir, to think of such Christian duties.''Come!' cried the King, 'then give him your cloak!' It was made of richcrimson trimmed with ermine. The King tried to pull it off, theChancellor tried to keep it on, both were near rolling from their saddlesin the mud, when the Chancellor submitted, and the King gave the cloak tothe old beggar: much to the beggar's astonishment, and much to themerriment of all the courtiers in attendance. For, courtiers are notonly eager to laugh when the King laughs, but they really do enjoy alaugh against a Favourite.
'I will make,' thought King Henry the second, 'this Chancellor of mine,Thomas a Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury. He will then be the head ofthe Church, and, being devoted to me, will help me to correct the Church.He has always upheld my power against the power of the clergy, and oncepublicly told some bishops (I remember), that men of the Church wereequally bound to me, with men of the sword. Thomas a Becket is the man,of all other men in England, to help me in my great design.' So theKing, regardless of all objection, either that he was a fighting man, ora lavish man, or a courtly man, or a man of pleasure, or anything but alikely man for the office, made him Archbishop accordingly.
Now, Thomas a Becket was proud and loved to be famous. He was alreadyfamous for the pomp of his life, for his riches, his gold and silverplate, his waggons, horses, and attendants. He could do no more in thatway than he had done; and being tired of that kind of fame (which is avery poor one), he longed to have his name celebrated for something else.Nothing, he knew, would render him so famous in the world, as the settingof his utmost power and ability against the utmost power and ability ofthe King. He resolved with the whole strength of his mind to do it.
He may have had some secret grudge against the King besides. The Kingmay have offended his proud humour at some time or other, for anything Iknow. I think it likely, because it is a common thing for Kings,Princes, and other great people, to try the tempers of their favouritesrather severely. Even the little affair of the crimson cloak must havebeen anything but a pleasant one to a haughty man. Thomas a Becket knewbetter than any one in England what the King expected of him. In all hissumptuous life, he had never yet been in a position to disappoint theKing. He could take up that proud stand now, as head of the Church; andhe determined that it should be written in history, either that hesubdued the King, or that the King subdued him.
So, of a sudden, he completely altered the whole manner of his life. Heturned off all his brilliant followers, ate coarse food, drank bitterwater, wore next his skin sackcloth covered with dirt and vermin (for itwas then thought very religious to be very dirty), flogged his back topunish himself, lived chiefly in a little cell, washed the feet ofthirteen poor people every day, and looked as miserable as he possiblycould. If he had put twelve hundred monkeys on horseback instead oftwelve, and had gone in procession with eight thousand waggons instead ofeight, he could not have half astonished the people so much as by thisgreat change. It soon caused him to be more talked about as anArchbishop than he had been as a Chancellor.
The King was very angry; and was made still more so, when the newArchbishop, claiming various estates from the nobles as being rightfullyChurch property, required the King himself, for the same reason, to giveup Rochester Castle, and Rochester City too. Not satisfied with this, hedeclared that no power but himself should appoint a priest to any Churchin the part of England over which he was Archbishop; and when a certaingentleman of Kent made such an appointment, as he claimed to have theright to do, Thomas a Becket excommunicated him.
Excommunication was, next to the Interdict I told you of at the close ofthe last chapter, the great weapon of the clergy. It consisted indeclaring the person who was excommunicated, an outcast from the Churchand from all religious offices; and in cursing him all over, from the topof his head to the sole of his foot, whether he was standing up, lyingdown, sitting, kneeling, walking, running, hopping, jumping, gaping,coughing, sneezing, or whatever else he was doing. This unchristiannonsense would of course have made no sort of difference to the personcursed--who could say his prayers at home if he were shut out of church,and whom none but GOD could judge--but for the fears and superstitions ofthe people, who avoided excommunicated persons, and made their livesunhappy. So, the King said to the New Archbishop, 'Take off thisExcommunication from this gentleman of Kent.' To which the Archbishopreplied, 'I shall do no such thing.'
The quarrel went on. A priest in Worcestershire committed a mostdreadful murder, that aroused the horror of the whole nation. The Kingdemanded to have this wretch delivered up, to be tried in the same courtand in the same way as any other murderer. The Archbishop refused, andkept him in the Bishop's prison. The King, holding a solemn assembly inWestminster Hall, demanded that in future all priests found guilty beforetheir Bishops of crimes against the law of the land should be consideredpriests no longer, and should be delivered over to the law of the landfor punishment. The Archbishop again refused. The King required to knowwhether the clergy would obey the ancient customs of the country? Everypriest there, but one, said, after Thomas a Becket, 'Saving my order.'This really meant that they would only obey those customs when they didnot interfere with their own claims; and the King went out of the Hall ingreat wrath.
Some of the clergy began to be afraid, now, that they were going too far.Though Thomas a Becket was otherwise as unmoved as Westminster Hall, theyprevailed upon him, for the sake of their fears, to go to the King atWoodstock, and promise to observe the ancient customs of the country,without saying anything about his order. The King received thissubmission favourably, and summoned a great council of the clergy to meetat the Castle of Clarendon, by Salisbury. But when the council met, theArchbishop again insisted on the words 'saying my order;' and he stillinsisted, though lords entreated him, and priests wept before him andknelt to him, and an adjoining room was thrown open, filled with armedsoldiers of the King, to threaten him. At length he gave way, for thattime, and the ancient customs (which included what the King had demandedin vain) were stated in writing, and were signed and sealed by the chiefof the clergy, and were called the Constitutions of Clarendon.
The quarrel went on, for all that. The Archbishop tried to see the King.The King would not see him. The Archbishop tried to escape from England.The sailors on the coast would launch no boat to take him away. Then, heagain resolved to do his worst in opposition to the King, and beganopenly to set the ancient customs at defiance.
The King summoned him before a great council at Northampton, where heaccused him of high treason, and made a claim against him, which was nota just one, for an enormous sum of money. Thomas a Becket was aloneagainst the whole assembly, and the very Bishops advised him to resignhis office and abandon his contest with the King. His great anxiety andagitation stretched him on a sick-bed for two days, but he was stillundaunted. He went to the adjourned council, carrying a great cross inhis right hand, and sat down holding it erect before him. The Kingangrily retired into an inner room. The whole assembly angrily retiredand left him there. But there he sat. The Bishops came out again in abody, and renounced him as a traitor. He only said, 'I hear!' and satthere still. They retired again into the inner room, and his trialproceeded without him. By-and-by, the Earl of Leicester, heading thebarons, came out to read his sentence. He refused to hear it, denied thepower of the court, and said he would refer his cause to the Pope. As hewalked out of the hall, with the cross in his hand, some of those presentpicked up rushes--rushes were strewn upon the floors in those days by wayof carpet--and threw them at him. He proudly turned his head, and saidthat were he not Archbishop, he would chastise those cowards with thesword he had known how to use in bygone days. He then mounted his horse,and rode away, cheered and surrounded by the common people, to whom hethrew open his house that night and gave a supper, supping with themhimself. That same night he secretly departed from the town; and so,travelling by night and hiding by day, and calling himself 'BrotherDearman,' got away, not without difficulty, to Flanders.
The struggle still went on. The angry King took possession of therevenues of the archbishopric, and banished all the relations andservants of Thomas a Becket, to the number of four hundred. The Pope andthe French King both protected him, and an abbey was assigned for hisresidence. Stimulated by this support, Thomas a Becket, on a greatfestival day, formally proceeded to a great church crowded with people,and going up into the pulpit publicly cursed and excommunicated all whohad supported the Constitutions of Clarendon: mentioning many Englishnoblemen by name, and not distantly hinting at the King of Englandhimself.
When intelligence of this new affront was carried to the King in hischamber, his passion was so furious that he tore his clothes, and rolledlike a madman on his bed of straw and rushes. But he was soon up anddoing. He ordered all the ports and coasts of England to be narrowlywatched, that no letters of Interdict might be brought into the kingdom;and sent messengers and bribes to the Pope's palace at Rome. Meanwhile,Thomas a Becket, for his part, was not idle at Rome, but constantlyemployed his utmost arts in his own behalf. Thus the contest stood,until there was peace between France and England (which had been for sometime at war), and until the two children of the two Kings were married incelebration of it. Then, the French King brought about a meeting betweenHenry and his old favourite, so long his enemy.
Even then, though Thomas a Becket knelt before the King, he was obstinateand immovable as to those words about his order. King Louis of Francewas weak enough in his veneration for Thomas a Becket and such men, butthis was a little too much for him. He said that a Becket 'wanted to begreater than the saints and better than St. Peter,' and rode away fromhim with the King of England. His poor French Majesty asked a Becket'spardon for so doing, however, soon afterwards, and cut a very pitifulfigure.
At last, and after a world of trouble, it came to this. There wasanother meeting on French ground between King Henry and Thomas a Becket,and it was agreed that Thomas a Becket should be Archbishop ofCanterbury, according to the customs of former Archbishops, and that theKing should put him in possession of the revenues of that post. And now,indeed, you might suppose the struggle at an end, and Thomas a Becket atrest. NO, not even yet. For Thomas a Becket hearing, by some means,that King Henry, when he was in dread of his kingdom being placed underan interdict, had had his eldest son Prince Henry secretly crowned, notonly persuaded the Pope to suspend the Archbishop of York who hadperformed that ceremony, and to excommunicate the Bishops who hadassisted at it, but sent a messenger of his own into England, in spite ofall the King's precautions along the coast, who delivered the letters ofexcommunication into the Bishops' own hands. Thomas a Becket then cameover to England himself, after an absence of seven years. He wasprivately warned that it was dangerous to come, and that an irefulknight, named RANULF DE BROC, had threatened that he should not live toeat a loaf of bread in England; but he came.
The common people received him well, and marched about with him in asoldierly way, armed with such rustic weapons as they could get. Hetried to see the young prince who had once been his pupil, but wasprevented. He hoped for some little support among the nobles andpriests, but found none. He made the most of the peasants who attendedhim, and feasted them, and went from Canterbury to Harrow-on-the-Hill,and from Harrow-on-the-Hill back to Canterbury, and on Christmas Daypreached in the Cathedral there, and told the people in his sermon thathe had come to die among them, and that it was likely he would bemurdered. He had no fear, however--or, if he had any, he had much moreobstinacy--for he, then and there, excommunicated three of his enemies,of whom Ranulf de Broc, the ireful knight, was one.
As men in general had no fancy for being cursed, in their sitting andwalking, and gaping and sneezing, and all the rest of it, it was verynatural in the persons so freely excommunicated to complain to the King.It was equally natural in the King, who had hoped that this troublesomeopponent was at last quieted, to fall into a mighty rage when he heard ofthese new affronts; and, on the Archbishop of York telling him that henever could hope for rest while Thomas a Becket lived, to cry out hastilybefore his court, 'Have I no one here who will deliver me from this man?'There were four knights present, who, hearing the King's words, looked atone another, and went out.
The names of these knights were REGINALD FITZURSE, WILLIAM TRACY, HUGH DEMORVILLE, and RICHARD BRITO; three of whom had been in the train ofThomas a Becket in the old days of his splendour. They rode away onhorseback, in a very secret manner, and on the third day after ChristmasDay arrived at Saltwood House, not far from Canterbury, which belonged tothe family of Ranulf de Broc. They quietly collected some followershere, in case they should need any; and proceeding to Canterbury,suddenly appeared (the four knights and twelve men) before theArchbishop, in his own house, at two o'clock in the afternoon. Theyneither bowed nor spoke, but sat down on the floor in silence, staring atthe Archbishop.
Thomas a Becket said, at length, 'What do you want?'
'We want,' said Reginald Fitzurse, 'the excommunication taken from theBishops, and you to answer for your offences to the King.' Thomas aBecket defiantly replied, that the power of the clergy was above thepower of the King. That it was not for such men as they were, tothreaten him. That if he were threatened by all the swords in England,he would never yield.
'Then we will do more than threaten!' said the knights. And they wentout with the twelve men, and put on their armour, and drew their shiningswords, and came back.
His servants, in the meantime, had shut up and barred the great gate ofthe palace. At first, the knights tried to shatter it with their battle-axes; but, being shown a window by which they could enter, they let thegate alone, and climbed in that way. While they were battering at thedoor, the attendants of Thomas a Becket had implored him to take refugein the Cathedral; in which, as a sanctuary or sacred place, they thoughtthe knights would dare to do no violent deed. He told them, again andagain, that he would not stir. Hearing the distant voices of the monkssinging the evening service, however, he said it was now his duty toattend, and therefore, and for no other reason, he would go.
There was a near way between his Palace and the Cathedral, by somebeautiful old cloisters which you may yet see. He went into theCathedral, without any hurry, and having the Cross carried before him asusual. When he was safely there, his servants would have fastened thedoor, but he said NO! it was the house of God and not a fortress.
As he spoke, the shadow of Reginald Fitzurse appeared in the Cathedraldoorway, darkening the little light there was outside, on the dark winterevening. This knight said, in a strong voice, 'Follow me, loyal servantsof the King!' The rattle of the armour of the other knights echoedthrough the Cathedral, as they came clashing in.
It was so dark, in the lofty aisles and among the stately pillars of thechurch, and there were so many hiding-places in the crypt below and inthe narrow passages above, that Thomas a Becket might even at that passhave saved himself if he would. But he would not. He told the monksresolutely that he would not. And though they all dispersed and left himthere with no other follower than EDWARD GRYME, his faithfulcross-bearer, he was as firm then, as ever he had been in his life.
The knights came on, through the darkness, making a terrible noise withtheir armed tread upon the stone pavement of the church. 'Where is thetraitor?' they cried out. He made no answer. But when they cried,'Where is the Archbishop?' he said proudly, 'I am here!' and came out ofthe shade and stood before them.
The knights had no desire to kill him, if they could rid the King andthemselves of him by any other means. They told him he must either flyor go with them. He said he would do neither; and he threw William Tracyoff with such force when he took hold of his sleeve, that Tracy reeledagain. By his reproaches and his steadiness, he so incensed them, andexasperated their fierce humour, that Reginald Fitzurse, whom he calledby an ill name, said, 'Then die!' and struck at his head. But thefaithful Edward Gryme put out his arm, and there received the main forceof the blow, so that it only made his master bleed. Another voice fromamong the knights again called to Thomas a Becket to fly; but, with hisblood running down his face, and his hands clasped, and his head bent, hecommanded himself to God, and stood firm. Then they cruelly killed himclose to the altar of St. Bennet; and his body fell upon the pavement,which was dirtied with his blood and brains.
It is an awful thing to think of the murdered mortal, who had so showeredhis curses about, lying, all disfigured, in the church, where a few lampshere and there were but red specks on a pall of darkness; and to think ofthe guilty knights riding away on horseback, looking over their shouldersat the dim Cathedral, and remembering what they had left inside.