henry the second 24

henry the second 24

CHAPTER X

 

 

THE COURT OF HENRY

 

In the years that followed the Assize of Northampton Henry was at the

height of his power. He was only forty-three, and already his triumph

was complete. One of his sons was King of England, one Count of Poitou,

one Lord of Britanny, one was named King of Ireland. His eldest daughter,

wife of the Duke of Saxony, was mother of a future emperor, the second

was Queen of Castile, the third was in 1176 married to William of Sicily,

the wealthiest king of his time. All nations hastened to do honour to so

great a potentate. Henry's counselors were called together to receive,

now ambassadors from Sicily, now the envoys of the Emperors both of the

East and of the West, of the Kings of Castile and Navarre, and of the

Duke of Saxony, the Archbishop of Reims, and the Count of Flanders.

 

In England the king's power knew no limits. Rebellion had been finally

crushed. His wife and sons were held in check. He had practically won a

victory over the Church. Even in renouncing the Constitutions of

Clarendon at Avranches Henry abandoned more in word than in deed. He

could still fall back on the law of the land and the authority which he

had inherited from the Norman kings. Since the Conqueror's days no Pope

might be recognized as Apostolic Pope save at the king's command; no

legate might land or use any power in England without the king's

consent; no ecclesiastical senate could decree laws which were not

authorized by the king, or could judge his servants against his will.

The king could effectually resist the introduction of foreign canon law;

he could control communications with Rome; he could stay the proceedings

of ecclesiastical courts if they went too far, or prejudiced the rights

of his subjects; and no sentence could be enforced save by his will.

Henry was strong enough only six years after the death of Thomas to win

control over a vast amount of important property by insisting that

questions of advowson should be tried in the secular courts, and that

the murderers of clerks should be punished by the common law. He was

able in effect to prevent the Church courts from interfering in secular

matters save in the case of marriages and of wills. He preserved an

unlimited control over the choice of bishops. In an election to the see

of St. David's the canons had neglected to give the king notice before

the nomination of the bishop. He at once ordered them to be deprived of

their lands and revenues. "As they have deprived me," he said, "of all

share in the election, they shall have neither part nor lot in this

promotion." The monks, stricken with well-founded terror, followed the

king from place to place to implore his mercy and to save their livings;

with abject repentance they declared they would accept whomsoever the

king liked, wherever and whenever he chose. Finally Henry sent them a

monk unknown to the chapter, who had been elected in his chamber, at his

bedside, in the presence of his paid servants, and according to his

orders, "after the fashion of an English tyrant," and who had then and

there raised his tremulous and fearful song of thanksgiving. Towards the

close of his reign there was again a dispute as to the election of an

Archbishop of Canterbury. The monks, under Prior Alban, were determined

that the election should lie with them. The king was resolved to secure

the due influence of the bishops, on whom he could depend. "The Prior

wanted to be a second Pope in England," he complained to the Count of

Flanders, to which his affable visitor replied that he would see all the

churches of his land burned before he would submit to such a thing. For

three months the strife raged between the convent and the bishops in

spite of the king's earnest efforts at reconciliation. "Peace is by all

means to be sought," he urged. "He was a wise man who said, 'Let peace

be in our days'. For the sake of God choose peace, as much as in you lies

follow after peace" "The voice of the people is the voice of God," he

argued in proposing at last that bishops and monks should sit together

for the election. "But this he said," observed the monks, "knowing the

mind of the bishops, and that they sought rather the favour of the king

than of God, as their fathers and predecessors had done, who denied

St. Anselm for Rufus, who forsook Theobald for King Stephen, who rejected

the holy martyr Thomas for King Henry." Henry, however, won the day, and

his friend and nominee, the good Bishop Baldwin of Worcester, singular for

piety and righteousness, was set in the Primate's chair. Of this

archbishop we read that "his power was so great and so formidable that no

one was equal to him in all England, and without his pleasure no one would

dare even to obey the commands of the Pope.... But," adds the irritated

chronicler, "I think that he would do nothing save at the orders of the

king, even if the Apostle Peter came to England about it."

 

In the opinion of anxious critics of the day, indeed, the victory which

had been almost won by Thomas seemed altogether lost after his death.

Even the monasteries, where the ecclesiastical temper was most formidable,

were forced to choose abbots and priors whom the king could trust. In its

subjection the Church was in Henry's eyes an admirable engine to serve the

uses of the governing power. One of the most important steps in the

conquest of Wales had been the forcing of the Welsh Church into obedience

to the see of Canterbury; and Henry steadily used the Welsh clergy as

instruments of his policy. His efforts to draw the Scotch Church into a

like obedience were unceasing. In Ireland he worked hard for the same

object. On the death of an Archbishop of Dublin, the Irish clergy were

summoned to Evesham, and there bidden in the king's court, after the

English fashion, to choose an Englishman, Cumin, as their archbishop.

The claims of the papacy were watched with the most jealous care. No

legate dared to land in England save at the king's express will. A

legate in Ireland who seemed to "play the Roman over them" was curtly

told by the king's officers that he must do their bidding or leave the

country. In 1184 the Pope sent to ask aid for his necessities in Rome.

A council was called to consider the matter, and Glanville urged that

if papal messengers were allowed to come through England collecting money,

it might afterwards become a custom to the injury of the kingdom. The

Council decided that the only tolerable solution of the difficulty was for

the king to send whatever he liked to the Pope as a gift from himself, and

to accept afterwards from them compensation for what he might have given.

 

The questions raised by the king between Church and State in England had

everywhere to be faced sooner or later. Even so devoted a servant of the

Church as St. Louis of France was forced into measures of reform as

far-reaching as those which Henry had planned a century earlier. But

Henry had begun his work a hundred years too soon; he stood far before

his age in his attempt to bring the clergy under a law which was not

their own. His violence had further hindered the cause of reform, and

the work which he had taken in hand was not to be fully carried out till

three centuries and a half had passed away. We must remember that in

raising the question of judicial reform he had no desire to quarrel with

the Church or priesthood. He refused indeed to join in any fanatical

outbreak of persecution of the Jews, such as Philip of France consented

to; and when persecution raged against the Albigenses of the south he

would have no part or lot in it, and kept his own dominions open as a

refuge for the wandering outcasts; but this may well have been by the

counsel of the wise churchmen about him. To the last he looked on the

clergy as his best advisers and supporters. He never demanded tribute

from churches or monasteries, a monkish historian tells us, as other

princes were wont to do on plea of necessity; with religious care he

preserved them from unjust burthens and public exactions. By frequent

acts of devotion he sought to win the favour of Heaven or to rouse the

religious sympathies of England on his behalf. In April 1177 he met at

Canterbury his old enemy, the Archbishop of Reims, and laid on the

shrine of St. Thomas a charter of privileges for the convent. On the 1st

of May he visited the shrine of St. Eadmund, and the next day that of

St. Aetheldreda at Ely. The bones of a saint stolen from Bodmin were

restored by the king's order, and on their journey were brought to

Winchester that he might do them reverence. Relics discovered by

miraculous vision were buried with pomp at St. Albans. Since his vow

four years before at Avranches to build three monasteries for the

remission of his sins, he had founded in Normandy and England four or

five religious houses for the Templars, the Carthusians, and the Austin

canons; he now brought nuns from Fontevraud, for whom he had a special

reverence, and set them in the convent at Amesbury, whose former

inhabitants were turned out to make way for them; while the canons of

Waltham were replaced by a stricter order of Austin canons. A templar

was chosen to be his almoner, that he might carry to the king the

complaints of the poor which could not come to his own ears, and

distribute among the needy a tenth of all the food and drink that came

into the house of the king.

 

It is true that on Henry himself the strife with the Church left deep

traces. He became imperious, violent, suspicious. The darker sides of

his character showed themselves, its defiance, its superstition, its

cynical craft, its passionate pride, its ungoverned wrath. His passions

broke out with a reckless disregard of earlier restraints. Eleanor was a

prisoner and a traitor; she was nearly fifty when he himself was but

forty-one. From this time she practically disappeared out of Henry's

life. The king had bitter enemies at court, and they busied themselves

in spreading abroad dark tales; more friendly critics could only plead

that he was "not as bad as his grandfather." After the rebellion of 1174

he openly avowed his connection with Rosamond Clifford, which seems to

have begun some time before. Eleanor was then in prison, and tales of

the maze, the silken clue, the dagger, and the bowl, were the growth of

later centuries. But "fair Rosamond" did not long hold her place at

court. She died early and was carried to Godstowe nunnery, to which rich

gifts were sent by her friends and by the king himself. A few years

later Hugh of Lincoln found her shrine before the high altar decked with

gold and silken hangings, and the saintly bishop had the last finery of

Rosamond swept from the holy place, till nothing remained but a stone

with the two words graven on it, "Tumba Rosamundae."

 

But behind Henry's darkest and sternest moods lay a nature quick in

passionate emotion, singularly sensitive to affection, tender, full of

generous impulse, clinging to those he loved with yearning fidelity and

long patience. The story of St. Hugh shows the unlimited influence won

over him by a character of singular holiness. Henry had brought Hugh

from Burgundy, and set him over a newly-founded Cistercian priory at

Witham. The little settlement was in sore straits, and the impatient

monks railed passionately at the king, who had abandoned them in their

necessities. It was just after the rebellion, and Henry, hard pressed by

anxiety, was in his harshest and most bitter temper. "Have patience,"

said Hugh, "for the king is wise beyond measure and wholly inscrutable;

it may be that he delays to grant our request that he may try us." But

brother Girard was not to be soothed, and in a fresh appeal to the king

his vehemence broke out in a torrent of reproaches and abuse. Henry

listened unmoved till the monk ceased from sheer lack of words. There

was dead silence for a time, while Prior Hugh bent down his head in

distress, and the king watched him under his eyelids. At last, taking no

more notice of the monk than if he never existed, Henry turned to Hugh,

"What are you thinking of, good man?" he said. "Are you preparing to go

away and leave our kingdom?" Hugh answered humbly and gently, "I do not

despair of you so far, my lord; rather I have great sorrow for the

troubles and labours which hinder the care for your soul. You are busy

now, but some day, when the Lord helps, we will finish the good work

begun." At this the king's self-control broke down; his tears burst

forth as he fell on Hugh's neck, and cried with an oath, "By the

salvation of my soul, while you have the breath of life you shall not

depart from my kingdom! With you I wilt hold wise counsel, and with you

I will take heed for my soul!" From that time there was none in the

kingdom whom Henry loved and trusted as he did the Prior of Witham, and

to the end of his life he constantly sought in all matters the advice of

one who gave him scant flattery and much sharp reproof. The coarse-fibred,

hard-worked man of affairs looked with superstitious reverence on one who

lived so near to God that even in sleep his lips still moved in prayer.

Such a man as Hugh could succeed where Thomas of Canterbury had failed.

He excommunicated without notice to the king a chief forester who had

interfered with the liberties of the Lincoln clergy, and bluntly refused

to make amends by appointing a royal officer to a prebend in his

cathedral, saying that "benefices were for clergy and not for courtiers."

A general storm of abuse and calumny broke out against him at the palace.

Henry angrily summoned him to his presence. The bishop was received by the

king in an open space under the trees, where he sat with all the courtiers

ranged in a close circle. Hugh drew near and saluted, but there was no

answer. Upon this the bishop put his hand lightly on the noble who sat

next to the king, and made place for himself by Henry's side. Still the

silence was unbroken, the king speechless as a furious man choked with his

anger. Looking up at last, he asked a servant for needle and thread, and

began to sew up a torn bandage which was tied round a wounded finger. The

lively Frenchman observed him patiently; at last he turned to the king,

"How like you are now," he said, "to your cousins of Falaise!" The king's

quick wit caught the extravagant impertinence, and in an ecstasy of

delight he rolled on the ground with laughter, while a perplexed merriment

ran round the circle of courtiers who scarce knew what the joke might be.

At last the king found his voice. "Do you hear the insolence of this

barbarian? I myself will explain." And he reminded them of his ancestress,

the peasant girl Arlotta of Falaise, where the citizens were famous for

their working in skins. "And now, good man," he said, turning to the

bishop in a broad good-humour, "how is it that without consulting us you

have laid our forester under anathema, and made of no account the poor

little request we made, and sent not even a message of explanation or

excuse?"--"Ah," said Hugh, "I knew in what a rage you and your

courtiers were!" and he then proceeded boldly to declare what were his

rights and duties as a bishop of the Church of God. Henry gave way on

every point. The forester had to make open satisfaction and was publicly

flogged, and from that time the bishop was no more tormented to set

courtiers over the Church. There were many other theologians besides

Hugh of Lincoln among the king's friends--Baldwin, afterwards archbishop;

Foliot, one of the chief scholars of his time; Richard of Ilchester, as

learned in theology as capable in administration; John of Oxford, lawyer

and theologian; Peter of Blois, ready for all kinds of services that might

be asked, and as skilled in theology as in rhetoric. Henry was never known

to choose an unworthy friend; laymen could only grumble that he was

accustomed to take advice of bishops and abbots rather than that of

knights even about military matters. But theology was not the main

preoccupation of the court. Henry, inquisitive in all things, learned

in most, formed the centre of a group of distinguished men which, for

varied intellectual activity, had no rival save at the university of

Paris. There was not a court in Christendom in the affairs of which the

king was not concerned, and a crowd of travellers was for ever coming and

going. English chroniclers grew inquisitive about revolutions in Norway,

the state of parties in Germany, the geography of Spain. They copied

despatches and treaties. They asked endless questions of every traveller

as to what was passing abroad, and noted down records which have since

become authorities for the histories of foreign states. Political and

historical questions were eagerly debated. Gerald of Wales and Glanville,

as they rode together, would discuss why the Normans had so fallen away in

valour that now even when helped by the English they were less able to

resist the French than formerly when they stood alone. The philosophic

Glanville might suggest that the French at that time had been weakened by

previous wars, but Gerald, true to the feudal instincts of a baron of the

Norman-Welsh border, spoke of the happy days before dukes had been made

into kings, who oppressed the Norman nobles by their overbearing violence,

and the English by their insular tyranny; "For there is nothing which so

stirs the heart of man as the joy of liberty, and there is nothing which so weakens it as the oppression of slavery," said Gerald, who had himself felt the king's hand heavy on him.