Enkidoodle

It was however John’s friendship with Nicolas of Langley which in these years of his residence in the primate’s household made him so valuable to Theobald as a medium of communication with Rome. We can hardly doubt that this acquaintance, too, had begun in Paris; now, as the English cardinal-secretary and the envoy of the English primate discussed in the Roman court the prospects of their common mother-country and mother-Church, their acquaintance ripened into a friendship which no change of outward circumstances could alter or disturb. Nicolas cared more for John than for his own nearest relatives; he declared in public and in private that he loved him above all men living; he delighted in unburthening his soul to him. When he became Pope there was no change; a visit from John was still Adrian’s greatest pleasure; he rejoiced in welcoming him to his table, and despite John’s modest remonstrances insisted that they should be served from the same dish and flagon.[1583] King and primate were both alike quick to perceive and use such an opportunity of strengthening the alliance between England and Rome; while Adrian on his part was all the more ready to give a cordial response to overtures made to him from the land of his birth, when they came through the lips of his dearest friend. As a matter of course, it was John who very soon after the accession of Henry II. was sent to obtain a Papal authorization for the king’s projected conquest of Ireland.[1584] Naturally, too, it was John who now became Theobald’s private secretary and confidential medium of communication with Pope Adrian. A considerable part of the correspondence which goes under John’s name really consists of the archbishop’s letters, John himself being merely the amanuensis. This part of his work, however, was a relaxation which he only enjoyed at intervals; he was still constantly on active duty of some kind or other not only at the court of the primate but also at that of the king; and sorely did he long to escape from its weary trifling, to find rest for his soul in the pursuit of that “divine philosophy” which had been the delight of his youth.[1585] But obedience, not inclination, had brought him to court, and obedience kept him there. Thomas knew his worth and would not let him go; at last, to pacify his uneasiness, he bade him relieve his mind by pouring it out in a book. John protested he had scarce time to call his soul his own, much less his intellect or his hands.[1586] He was, however, set free by the removal of the court over sea for the expedition against Toulouse; and while Thomas was riding in coat of mail at the head of his troops against Count Raymond and King Louis, John was writing his _Polycraticus_ in the quiet cloisters of Canterbury.[1587]

[1583] Joh. Salisb. _Metalog._, l. iv. c. 42 (Giles, vol. v. p. 205).

[1584] Joh. Salisb. _Metalog._, l. iv. c. 42 (Giles, vol. v. pp. 205, 206).

[1585] Joh. Salisb. _Polycrat._, l. i. prolog. (Giles, vol. iii. p. 13).

[1586] _Ib._ l. vii. prolog. (vol. iv. p. 80).

[1587] _Ib._ l. i. prolog. (vol. iii. p. 16). Cf. _ib._ l. viii. c. 24 (vol. iv. p. 379).

This book of _Polycraticus on the Triflings of Courtiers and the Foot-prints of Philosophers_[1588] is a strange medley of moral and political speculations, personal experiences, and reflections upon men and things, old and new. Its greatest charm lies in the revelation of the writer’s pure, sweet, child-like character, shining unconsciously through the veil of his scholastic pedantries and rambling metaphysics; its historical value consists in the light which it throws on the social condition of England with respect to a crowd of matters which the chroniclers leave wholly in the dark. “Part of it,” says the author in his dedication, “deals with the trifles of the court; laying most stress on those which have chiefly called it forth. Part treats of the foot-prints of the philosophers, leaving, however, the wise to decide for themselves in each case what is to be shunned and what to be followed.”[1589] We need not weary ourselves with John’s meditations upon Aristotle and Plato and their scholastic commentators; they all come round to one simple conclusion--that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and the love of Him the end of all true philosophy.[1590] It is in the light of this truth that he looks at the practical questions of the day, and reviews those “trifles of the court” which are really the crying abuses of the government, the ecclesiastical administration, and society at large. In the forefront of all he does not hesitate, although dedicating his book to the chancellor whose passion for hunting almost equalled that of the king himself, to set the inordinate love of the chase and the cruelties of the forest-law.[1591] The tardiness of the royal justice and the corruption of the judges--“_justitiæ errantes_, justices errant are they rightly called who go erring from the path of equity in pursuit of greed and gain”[1592]--was also, after seven years of Henry’s government, still a ground of serious complaint. So, too, was the decay of valour among the young knighthood of the day--a consequence of the general relaxation of discipline, first during the years of anarchy, and then in the reaction produced by the unbroken peace which England had enjoyed since Henry’s accession. Chivalry was already falling back from its lofty ideal; military exercises were neglected for the pleasures and luxury of the court; the making of a knight, in theory a matter almost as solemn as the making of a priest, was sinking into a mere commonplace formality;[1593] and the consequences were beginning to be felt on the Welsh border.[1594] John was moved to contrast the present insecurity of the marches with their splendid defence in Harold’s time,[1595] and to lament that William the Conqueror, in his desire to make his little insular world share the glories of the greater world beyond the sea, had allowed the naturally rich and self-sufficing island to be flooded with luxuries of which it had no need, and thus fostered rather than checked the indolent disposition which had helped to bring its people under his sway.[1596]

[1588] _Polycraticus de Nugis Curialium et Vestigiis Philosophorum._

[1589] Joh. Salisb. _Polycrat._, l. i. prolog. (Giles, vol. iii. p. 13).

[1590] This is the idea which runs through the whole of _Polycraticus_, and indeed through all John’s writings. It is neatly expressed in two lines of his _Entheticus_ (vv. 305, 306, Giles, vol. v. p. 248):

“Si verus Deus est hominum sapientia vera, Tunc amor est veri philosophia Dei.”

[1591] Joh. Salisb. _Polycrat._, l. i. c. 4 (Giles, vol. iii. pp. 19–32).

[1592] _Ib._ l. v. c. 15 (p. 322). Cf. cc. 10, 11 (pp. 300–311). Pet. Blois, Ep. xcv. (Giles, vol. i. p. 297), makes a like play on the title of the judges.

[1593] Joh. Salisb. _Polycrat._, l. vi. cc. 2, 3, 5, 8–10 (Giles, vol. iv. pp. 8–12, 15, 16, 20–23).

[1594] _Ib._ cc. 6, 16 (pp. 16, 17, 39, 40).

[1595] _Ib._ c. 6 (p. 18).

[1596] _Ib._ l. viii. c. 7 (p. 238).

The ills of the state had each its counterpart in the Church; the extortions and perversions of justice committed by the secular judges were paralleled by those of the ecclesiastical officials, deans and archdeacons;[1597] and at the bottom of the mischief lay the old root of all evil. Simony was indeed no longer public; spiritual offices were no longer openly bought with hard cash; but they were bought with court-interest instead;[1598] the Church’s most sacred offices were filled by men who came straight from the worldly life of the court to a charge for which they were utterly unfit;[1599] although, in deference to public opinion, they were obliged to go through an elaborate shew of reluctance, and Scripture and hagiology were ransacked for examples of converted sinners, which were always found sufficient to meet any objections against a candidate for consecration and to justify any appointment, however outrageous.[1600] All the sins of the worldly churchmen, however, scarcely move John’s pure soul to such an outburst of scathing sarcasm as he pours upon the “false brethren” who sought their advancement in a more subtle way, by a shew of counterfeit piety:--the ultra-monastic, ultra-ascetic school, with their overdone zeal and humility, and their reliance on those pernicious exemptions from diocesan jurisdiction which the religious orders vied with each other in procuring from Rome, and which were destroying all discipline and subverting all rightful authority.[1601]

[1597] _Ib._ l. v. c. 15 (vol. iii. pp. 327, 328).

[1598] _Ib._ l. vii. c. 18 (vol. iv. pp. 149, 152).

[1599] _Ib._ l. v. c. 15 (vol. iii. p. 329).

[1600] _Ib._ l. vii. cc. 18, 19 (vol. iv. pp. 149–152, 156–158).

[1601] Joh. Salisb. _Polycrat._, l. vii. c. 21 (Giles, vol. iv. pp. 169–178). It is to be noted that the two orders which John considers to be least infected with this hypocrisy are those of the Chartreuse and of Grandmont. _Ib._ c. 23 (pp. 180, 181).

Over against the picture of the world and the Church as they actually were, the disciple of Archbishop Theobald sets his ideal of both as they should be--as the primate and his children aimed at making them. For John’s model commonwealth, built up in a somewhat disjointed fashion on a foundation partly of Holy Writ and partly of classic antiquity, is not, like the great Utopia of the sixteenth century, the product of one single, exceptionally constituted mind; it is a reflection of the plans and hopes of those among whom John lived and worked, and thus it helps us to see something of the line of thought which had guided their action in the past and which moulded their schemes for the future. Like all medieval theorists, they began at the uppermost end of the social and political scale; they started from a definite view of the rights and duties of the king, as the head on which all the lower members of the body politic depended. The divine right of kings, the divine ordination of the powers that be, were fundamental doctrines which they understood in a far wider and loftier sense than the king-worshippers of the seventeenth century:--which they employed not to support but to combat the perverted theory that “the sovereign’s will has the force of law,” already creeping in through the influence of the imperial jurisprudence;[1602]--and which were no less incompatible with the principle of invariable hereditary succession. “Lands and houses and suchlike things must needs descend to the next in blood; but the government of a people is to be given only to him whom God has chosen thereto, even to him who has God’s Spirit within him and God’s law ever before his eyes.... Not that for the mere love of change it is lawful to forsake the blood of princes, to whom by the privilege of the divine promises and by the natural claims of birth the succession of their children is justly due, if only they walk according to right. Neither, if they turn aside from the right way, are they to be immediately cast off, but patiently admonished till it become evident that they are obstinate in their wickedness”[1603]--then, and then only, shall the axe be laid to the root of the corrupt tree, and it shall cumber the ground no more.[1604]

[1602] _Ib._ l. iv. c. 7 (vol. iii. p. 241).

[1603] Joh. Salisb. _Polycrat._, l. v. c. 6 (Giles, vol. iii. p. 278).

[1604] _Ib._ l. iv. c. 12 (pp. 259, 260).

Such was the moral which the wisest and most thoughtful minds in England drew from the lessons of the anarchy. On a like principle, it was in the growth of a more definite and earnest sense of individual duty and responsibility, as opposed to the selfish lawlessness which had so long prevailed, that they trusted for the regeneration of society. They sought to teach the knights to live up to the full meaning of their vows and the true objects of their institution--the protection of the Church, the suppression of treason, the vindication of the rights of the poor, the pacification of the country;[1605] so that the consecration of their swords upon the altar at their investiture should be no empty form, but, according to its original intention, a true symbol of the whole character of their lives and, if need be, of their deaths.[1606] And then side by side with the true knight would stand the true priest:--both alike soldiers of the Cross, fighting in the same cause though with different weapons--figured, according to John’s beautiful application of a text which medieval reformers never wearied of expounding, by the “two swords” which the Master had declared “enough” for His servants, all the lawless undisciplined activity of self-seekers and false brethren being merely the “swords and staves” of the hostile multitude.[1607] Into a detailed examination of the rights or the duties of the various classes of the people no one in those days thought it necessary to enter; their well-being and well-doing were regarded as dependent upon those of their superiors, and the whole question of the relation between rulers and ruled--“head and feet,” according to the simile which John borrows from Plutarch--was solved by the comprehensive formula, “Every one members one of another.”[1608] To watch over and direct the carrying-out of this principle was the special work of the clergy; and the clerical reformers were jealous for the rights of their order because, as understood by them, they represented and covered the rights of the whole nation; the claims which they put forth in the Church’s name were a protest in behalf of true civil and religious liberty against tyranny on the one hand and license on the other.[1609] “For there is nothing more glorious than freedom, save virtue; if indeed freedom may rightly be severed from virtue--for all who know anything aright know that true freedom has no other source.”[1610]

[1605] _Ib._ l. vi. c. 8 (vol. iv. p. 21).

[1606] _Ibid._ c. 10 (p. 23). Cf. Pet. Blois, Ep. xciv. (Giles, vol. i. pp. 291–296).

[1607] Joh. Salisb. _Polycrat._, l. vi. c. 8 (Giles, vol. iv. p. 21). John’s use of the text is perhaps only a generalization from S. Bernard’s application of it to Suger and the count of Nevers, left regents of France in 1149. Odo of Deuil, _Rer. Gall. Scriptt._, vol. xii. p. 93.

[1608] Joh. Salisb. _Polycrat._, l. vi. c. 20 (as above, pp. 51, 52).

[1609] _Ib._ l. vii. c. 20 (pp. 161–169).

[1610] _Ibid._ c. 25 (p. 192).

How far these lofty views had made their way into the high places of the Church it was as yet scarcely possible to judge. The tone of the English episcopate had certainly undergone a marked change for the better during the last six years of Stephen’s reign. Theobald’s hopes must, however, have been chiefly in the rising generation. Of the existing bishops there was only one really capable of either helping or hindering the work which the primate had at heart; for Henry of Winchester, although his royal blood, his stately personality and his long and memorable career necessarily made him to his life’s end an important figure in both Church and state, had ceased to take an active part in the affairs of either, and for several years lived altogether away from England, in his boyhood’s home at Cluny.[1611] A far more weighty element in the calculations of the reforming party was the character and policy of the bishop of Hereford, Gilbert Foliot. From the circumstances in which we find Gilbert’s relatives in England,[1612] it seems probable that he belonged to one of the poorer Norman families of knightly rank who came over either in the train of the great nobles of the conquest or in the more peaceful immigration under Henry I. His youth is lost in obscurity; of his education we know nothing, save by its fruits. Highly gifted as he unquestionably was by nature, even his inborn genius could hardly have enabled him to acquire his refined and varied scholarship, his unrivalled mastery of legal, political and ecclesiastical lore, his profound and extensive knowledge of men and things, anywhere but in some one or other of the universities of the day. It is curious that although Gilbert’s extant correspondence is one of the most voluminous of the time--extending over nearly half a century, and addressed to persons of the most diverse ranks, parties, professions and nationalities--it contains not one allusion to the studies or the companions of his youth, not one of those half playful, half tender reminiscences of student-triumphs, student-troubles and student-friendships, which were so fresh in the hearts and in the letters of many distinguished contemporaries. Only from an appeal made to him, when bishop of London, in behalf of his old benefactor’s orphan and penniless children, do we learn that he had once been the favourite pupil, the ward, almost the adoptive son, of a certain Master Adam.[1613] It is tempting, but perhaps hardly safe, to conjecture that this Master Adam was the learned Englishman of that name who in like manner befriended another young fellow-countryman, John of Salisbury, when he too was studying in Paris.[1614] This, however, was not till Gilbert Foliot’s student-days had long been past. Wherever his youth may have been spent, wherever his reputation may have been acquired, the one was quite over and the other was fully established before 1139, when he had been already for some years a monk of Cluny, had attained the rank of prior in the mother-house, and had thence been promoted to become the head of the dependent priory of Abbeville.[1615]

[1611] He went there in 1155 (Rob. Torigni, _ad ann._), and does not reappear in England till March 1159 (Palgrave, _Eng. Commonwealth_, vol. ii. p. xii).

[1612] See his letters _passim_.

[1613] Gilb. Foliot, Epp. dxv., dxvii. (Giles, vol. ii. pp. 323, 324, 326). The writer of the first is “Ranulfus de Turri”; the second is anonymous. Both appeal earnestly to the bishop’s charity and gratitude in behalf of “J. filius A. magistri quondam vestri, procuratoris vestri, tutoris vestri.... Hæreat animo sanctitatis vestræ illa M. Adæ circa vos curarum gravitas, alimoniæ fœcunditas, diligentia doctrinæ, specialis impensa benivolentiæ. Quis hodie proprios liberos regit providentius, educat uberius, instruit attentius, diligit ferventius? Sic pæne amor ille modum excessit, ut vos diligeret non quasi excellenter, sed quasi singulariter ... qui vos aliquando pro filio adoptavit” (Ep. dxv.). “Tangat memoriam vestram illa M. Adæ circa vos curarum gravitas, doctrinæ profunditas, alimoniæ ubertas, postremo fervens, immo ardens caritas. Hæreat animo vestro quantâ curâ, quali amplexu, quam speciali privilegio, illa doctoris vestri, procuratoris, tutoris, diligens vigilantia vos non modo supra familiares, verum supra quoslibet mortales adoptaverit, qualiterque ejus spiritus in vestro, ut ita dicam, spiritu quieverit.” Ep. dxvii.

[1614] See above, p. 482. In any case, Gilbert’s Master Adam is surely a somewhat interesting person, of whom one would like to know more. This was the condition of his eldest son, when commended to the gratitude of Gilbert: “Pater ejus cum fati munus impleret, filium reliquit ære alieno gravatum, fratrum numerositate impeditum, redituum angustiis constrictum, et quibusdam aliis nexibus intricatum.” Gilb. Foliot, Ep. dxvii. (Giles, vol. ii. p. 326). “Onerant enim eum supra modum redituum angustiæ, debitorum paternorum sarcinæ, amicorum raritas, fratrum sororumque pluralitas et reliquæ sarcinæ parentelæ.” Ep. dxv. (_ib._ p. 323).

[1615] Gilb. Foliot, Ep. cclxix. (Giles, vol. i. p. 366).

In 1139 the abbot of S. Peter’s at Gloucester died; Miles the constable, the lord of Gloucester castle and sheriff of the county, and the greatest man of the district after Earl Robert himself, secured the vacant office for Gilbert Foliot,[1616] who was a family connexion of his own.[1617] The abbey of S. Peter at Gloucester, founded as a nunnery in the seventh century, changed into a college of secular priests after the Danish wars, and finally settled as a house of Benedictine monks in the reign of Cnut, had risen to wealth and fame under its first Norman abbot, Serlo, some of whose work still survives in the nave of his church, now serving as the cathedral church of Gloucester. Gloucester itself, the capital of Earl Robert’s territories, was still, like Hereford and Shrewsbury, a border-city whose inhabitants had to be constantly on their guard against the thievery and treachery of the Welsh, who, though often highly useful to their English earl as auxiliary forces in war, were anything but loyal subjects or trustworthy neighbours. The position of abbot of S. Peter’s therefore was at all times one of some difficulty and anxiety; and Gilbert entered upon it at a specially difficult and anxious time. Stephen’s assent to his appointment can hardly have been prompted by favour to Miles, who had openly defied the king a year ago; he may have been influenced by fear of giving fresh offence to such a formidable deserter, or he may simply have been, as we are told, moved by the report of Gilbert’s great merits.[1618] The new abbot proved quite worthy of his reputation. His bitterest enemies always admitted that he was a pattern of monastic discipline and personal asceticism; and his admirable judgement, moderation and prudence soon made him a personage of very high authority in the counsels of the English Church. Holding such an important office in the city which was the head-quarters of the Empress’s party throughout the greater part of the civil war, he of course had his full share of the troubles of the anarchy, whereof Welsh inroads counted among the least. There is no doubt that in bringing him to England Miles had, whether intentionally or not, brought over one who sympathized strongly with the Angevin cause; but Gilbert’s sympathies led him into no political partizanship. During his nine years’ residence at Gloucester he consistently occupied the position which seems to have been his ideal through life: that of a churchman pure and simple, attached to no mere party in either Church or state, but ready to work with each and all for the broad aims of ecclesiastical order and national tranquillity. That these aims came at last to be identified with the success of the Angevin party was a result of circumstances over which Gilbert had no control. He was honoured, consulted and trusted by the most diverse characters among the bishops. Mere abbot of a remote monastery as he was, Nigel of Ely was glad to be recommended by him to Pope Celestine, Jocelyn of Salisbury to Lucius, and Alexander of Lincoln to Eugene III.[1619] He was treated almost as an equal not only by his own diocesan Bishop Simon of Worcester, by his neighbour Robert of Hereford, and by Jocelyn of Salisbury, but even by the archbishop of Canterbury and the legate Henry of Winchester; and he writes in the tone of a patron and adviser to Bishop Uhtred of Landaff and to the heads of the religious houses on the Welsh border.[1620] He seems indeed to have been the usual medium of communication between the Church in the western shires and its primate at far-off Canterbury, who evidently found him a trustworthy and useful agent in managing the very troublesome Church affairs of the Welsh marches during the civil war.

[1616] Flor. Worc. Contin. (Thorpe), vol. ii. p. 114. _Hist. Monast. S. Pet. Gloc._ (Riley), vol. i. p. 18.

[1617] Gerv. Cant. (Stubbs), vol. i. p. 162.

[1618] Flor. Worc. Contin., a. 1139 (Thorpe, vol. ii. p. 114). _Hist. S. Pet. Gloc._ (Riley), vol. i. p. 18.

[1619] Gilb. Foliot, Epp. v., xi., xxv. (Giles, vol. i. pp. 12, 22, 37).

[1620] See his correspondence while abbot of Gloucester; _Gilb. Foliot Opp._ (Giles), vol. i. pp. 3–94.

When at last the storm subsided and a turn of the tide came with the spring of 1148, Theobald openly shewed his confidence in the abbot of Gloucester by commanding his attendance on that journey to Reims which the king had forbidden, and which was therefore looked upon as the grand proclamation of ecclesiastical independence, as well as of devotion to the house of Anjou. Gilbert, with characteristic caution, excused himself on the plea that the troubles of his house urgently required his presence at home;[1621] but he ended by going nevertheless,[1622] and when his friend Bishop Robert of Hereford--one of the three prelates whom Stephen had permitted to attend the council of Reims--died during its session, the Pope and the primate rewarded Gilbert with the succession to the vacant see.[1623] For his perjury in doing homage to Stephen for its temporalities after swearing to hold them only of Henry Fitz-Empress he may be supposed to have quieted his conscience with the plea that there was no other means of securing them for Henry’s benefit;--a plea which Henry, after some delay,[1624] found it wise to accept. The heads of the Angevin party knew indeed that Gilbert regarded all homage to Stephen as simply null and void; he had just written it plainly to Brian Fitz-Count, when criticizing Brian’s apology for the Empress, in a letter[1625] which, we may be very sure, must have been handed about and studied among her friends as a much more valuable document than the pamphlet which had called it forth.

[1621] Gilb. Foliot, Epp. vi., vii. (_ib._ pp. 13, 14).

[1622] He writes--evidently from the spot--a report of the council of Reims to Robert archdeacon of Lincoln; Gilb. Foliot, Ep. lxxvi. (as above, p. 92). In July he was at Arras with Theobald: Ep. lxxiii. (_ib._ p. 89).

[1623] See above, pp. 370, 371.

[1624] Gilb. Foliot, Epp. xc., cxxx. (as above, pp. 116, 170).

[1625] Gilb. Foliot, Ep. lxxix. (Giles, vol. i. pp. 94–102); a most interesting and valuable letter, being a detailed review of the whole question of the succession, as well as of Brian’s “book.” The latter is unhappily lost.

The career of the new bishop of Hereford was but the natural continuation of that of the abbot of Gloucester. His more exalted office enabled him to be more than ever Theobald’s right hand in the direction of the western dioceses. In their secular policy he and Theobald were wholly at one; whether they really were equally so in their ideas of Church reform is a question which was never put to the test; but the tone of Gilbert’s mind, so far as it can be made out from his letters and from his course in after-years, does not seem to have altogether harmonized with that which prevailed in the primate’s household; and the one member of that household with whom Gilbert was on really intimate terms was precisely the one who, as afterwards appeared, had imbibed least of its spirit--Roger of Pont-l’Evêque. Gilbert’s character is not an easy one to read. Its inner depths are scarcely reflected in his letters, which are almost all occupied with mere business or formal religious exhortation; we never get from him such a pleasant little stream of unpremeditated, discursive talk as John of Salisbury or Peter of Blois delighted to pour out of the abundance of their hearts into the ears of some old comrade, or such a flood of uncontrolled passion as revealed the whole soul of Thomas Becket. Gilbert’s letters are carefully-balanced, highly-finished compositions; almost every one of them reads as if it had received as much polishing, in proportion to its length and importance, as the review of Earl Brian’s book, which, the abbot owns, occupied what should have been his hours of prayer during two days.[1626] A strong vein of sarcasm, very clever as well as very severe, is the only token of personal feeling which at times forces its way strangely, almost startlingly, through the veil of extreme self-depreciation with which Gilbert strove to cover it. The self-depreciation is even more disagreeable than the sarcasm; yet it seems hardly fair to accuse Gilbert of conscious hypocrisy. There was a bitter, sneering disposition ingrained in his innermost being, and he knew it. His elaborate expressions of more than monastic humility and meekness may have been the outcome of a struggle to smother what he probably regarded as his besetting sin; and if he not only failed to smother it, but drifted into a much more subtle and dangerous temptation, still it is possible that he himself never perceived the fact, and was less a deceiver than a victim of self-deception. During his episcopate at Hereford, at any rate, no shadow of suspicion fell upon him from any quarter; primate and Pope esteemed, trusted and consulted him as one of the wisest as well as most zealous doctors of the English Church; and when the young king came to his throne he did not fail to shew a duly respectful appreciation of Gilbert’s character and services.

[1626] “Et biduo saltem ores pro me, quia biduo mihi est intermissa oratio ut literas dictarem ad te.” Gilb. Foliot, Ep. lxxix. (Giles, vol. i. p. 102).

The king’s own attitude towards the religious revival was as yet not very clearly defined. Henry was not without religious impulse; but it had taken a special direction which indeed might naturally be expected in a grandson of Fulk of Jerusalem:--a restless desire to go upon crusade. He had no sooner mounted his throne than he began to urge upon the English Pope, newly crowned like himself, the importance of giving special attention to the necessities of the Holy Land.[1627] Four years later he proposed to join Louis of France in a crusade against the Moors in Spain. Louis wrote to the Pope announcing this project and begging for his advice and support; Adrian in reply assured the two kings of his sympathy and goodwill, but though praising their zeal he expressed some doubt of its discretion, advised them to ascertain whether the Spaniards desired their help before thrusting it upon them unasked, and reminded Louis in plain terms of the disastrous issue of his former rash crusade.[1628] The warning was needless, for it was hardly written before the intending brothers-in-arms were preparing to fight against each other; and before the war of Toulouse was over the English Pope was dead.[1629]

[1627] Pet. Blois, Ep. clxviii. (Giles, vol. ii. pp. 116–118). The letter is headed merely “Tali Papæ talis rex,” but there can be no doubt that they are Henry and Adrian. The king congratulates himself and his country--“noster Occidens”--on the elevation of a native thereof to the Papal chair, and makes suggestions to the Pope about the work which lies before him.

[1628] Adrian IV. Ep. ccxli. (Migne, _Patrol._, vol. clxxxviii., cols. 1615–1617; Duchesne, _Hist. Franc. Scriptt._, vol. iv. pp. 590, 591). Date, February 18 [1159].

[1629] Adrian died at Anagni on September 1, 1159. Alex. III. Ep. i. (Migne, _Patrol._, vol. cc., col. 70).

His death was a heavy blow to the Church of his native land; and it was followed by a schism which threatened disastrous consequences to all western Christendom. Two Popes were elected--Roland of Siena, cardinal of S. Mark and treasurer of the Holy See, and Octavian, cardinal of S. Cecilia, a Roman of noble birth. This latter, who assumed the name of Victor IV., was favoured by the Emperor, Frederic Barbarossa. After a violent struggle he was expelled from Rome and fled to the protection of his imperial patron, who thereupon summoned a general council to meet at Pavia early in the next year and decide between the rival pontiffs.[1630] Only the bishops of Frederic’s own dominions obeyed the summons, and only one of the claimants; for Alexander III. (as Roland was called by his adherents) disdained to submit to a trial whose issue he believed to have been predetermined against him. He was accordingly condemned as a rebel and schismatic, and Victor was acknowledged as the lawful successor of S. Peter.[1631] This decision, however, bound only the bishops of the Imperial dominions; and its general acceptance throughout the rest of Christendom, doubtful from the first, became impossible when Alexander and his partizans published their account of the mode by which it had been arrived at. Victor--so their story went--had actually placed his pontifical ring in the Emperor’s hands and received it back from him as the symbol of investiture.[1632] The Church at large could have no hesitation in deciding that a man who thus climbed into the sheepfold by surrendering, voluntarily and deliberately, the whole principle of spiritual independence whose triumph Gregory and Anselm had devoted their lives to secure, was no true shepherd but a thief and robber. Frederic however lost no time in endeavouring to obtain for him the adhesion of France and England; and in the last-named quarter he had great hopes of success. Henry had for several years past shewn a disposition to knit up again the old political ties which connected England with Germany; friendly embassies had been exchanged between the two countries;[1633] now that he had begun to quarrel with France, too, he was likely to be more inclined towards an imperial alliance. Moreover it might naturally be expected that Frederic’s bold and apparently successful attempt to revive the claims of his predecessor Henry IV. on the subject of ecclesiastical investitures would meet with sympathy from the grandson and representative of Henry I. Indeed, the official report of the council of Pavia declares that Henry had actually, by letters and envoys, given his assent to its proceedings.[1634] But nothing of the kind was known in Henry’s own dominions;[1635] and it seems that the Emperor was forestalled by a Norman bishop.

[1630] Radevic of Freisingen, l. ii. cc. 43, 50–56 (Muratori, _Rer. Ital. Scriptt._, vol. vi. cols. 819, 823–834), largely made up of official letters. This is the Victorian or Imperialist version; for the Alexandrine see Will. Newb., l. ii. c. 9 (Howlett, vol. i. pp. 118, 119), and Arn. Lisieux, Epp. 21, 22, 23 (Giles, pp. 108–122. Arnulf calls the antipope “Otto.”) It seems quite hopeless to reconcile them or decide between them.

[1631] Rad. Freising., l. ii. cc. 64–72 (as above, cols. 838–853). Will. Newb., l. ii. c. 9 (Howlett, vol. i. pp. 119, 120).

[1632] Arn. Lisieux, Ep. 23 (Giles, p. 118).

[1633] Pipe Roll 4 Hen. II. (Hunter), p. 112. Cf. Rad. Freising., l. i. c. 7 (Muratori, _Rer. Ital. Scriptt._, vol. vi. cols. 744, 745). Another embassy from Henry reached Frederic in Lombardy, in the winter of 1158–1159, immediately after one from Louis. The object of each king was to secure Frederic’s alliance against the other, in prospect of the coming war of Toulouse; Rad. Freising., l. ii. c. 22 (as above, col. 804).

[1634] Report in Rad. Freising., l. ii. c. 70 (as above, col. 850). But the bishop of Bamberg, also an eye-witness, says: “Nuntius regis Francorum promisit pro eo neutrum se recepturum usque dum nuntios Imperatoris recipiat. Nuntius regis Anglorum idem velle et idem nolle promisit, tam in his quam in aliis” (_ib._ c. 71, col. 851); which leaves it doubtful whether the English envoy really echoed the decision of the council, or the answer of his French brother.

[1635] Not even to Stephen of Rouen, the author of the _Draco Normannicus_, who has a long account of the schism, curious as proceeding from a Norman monk whose sympathies are wholly and openly on the opposite side to that which was formally adopted by his own sovereign, nation and Church. _Draco Norm._, l. iii. cc. 6–11, vv. 361–868 (Howlett, _Will. Newb._, vol. ii. pp. 724–739).

Arnulf of Lisieux came of a family which had for more than half a century been constantly mixed up in the diplomatic concerns of Normandy and Anjou. Arnulf himself had begun his career about 1130 by writing a treatise in defence of an orthodox Pope against an usurper;[1636] he had been chosen to succeed his uncle Bishop John of Lisieux[1637] shortly before Geoffrey Plantagenet’s final conquest of Normandy, and had bought at a heavy price his peace with the new ruler;[1638] and for the next forty years there was hardly a diplomatic transaction of any kind, ecclesiastical or secular, in England or in Gaul, in which he was not at some moment and in some way or other concerned. He had little official influence; he had indeed a certain amount of territorial importance in Normandy, for Lisieux was the capital of a little county of which the temporal as well as the spiritual government was vested in the bishop; but a Norman bishop, merely as such, had none of the political weight of an English prelate; and Arnulf never held any secular office. He was not exactly a busybody; he was a consummate diplomatist, of wide experience and far-reaching intelligence, with whose services no party could afford to dispense; and his extraordinary caution and sagacity enabled him to act as counsellor and guide of all parties at once without sacrificing his own reputation as a sound Churchman and a loyal subject. In his youth he had come in contact with most of the rising scholars and statesmen of the day in the schools of Paris; and as he was an indefatigable and accomplished letter-writer, he kept up through life a busy correspondence with men of all ranks and all schools of thought on both sides of the sea.[1639] During the quarrel between Louis VII. and Geoffrey Plantagenet concerning the affair of Montreuil-Bellay, Arnulf was intrusted by Suger with a chief part in the negotiations for the restoration of peace;[1640] the final settlement in 1151, whereby the investiture of Normandy was secured to Henry, was chiefly owing to his diplomacy;[1641] he accompanied Henry to England and was present at his crowning;[1642] and on all questions of continental policy he continued to be Henry’s chief adviser till he was superseded by Thomas Becket.

[1636] See his _Tractatus de Schismate_ in his “Works” (ed. Giles), pp. 43–79.

[1637] In 1141. _Gall. Christ._, vol. xi. cols. 774, 775.

[1638] _Ib._ col. 775.

[1639] One of his fellow-students was Ralf de Diceto, the future historian and dean of S. Paul’s, to whom he writes affectionately in after-years, recalling vividly the memories of joy and sorrow which they had shared in their college days. Arn. Lis. Ep. 16 (Giles, pp. 100, 101). Another of his early friends was Robert Bloet, bishop of Lincoln, whose good offices he earnestly entreated in behalf of the young Duke Henry when the latter made his expedition to England in 1149. Ep. 4 (pp. 85, 86).

[1640] Suger, Epp. clxvii., clxviii. (Migne, _Patrol._, vol. clxxxvi., cols. 1428, 1429).

[1641] Arn. Lis. Ep. 5 (Giles, pp. 86, 87). One passage looks as if the demand for Henry’s investiture had come from England; it is described as “postulatio Anglorum.”

[1642] Rob. Torigni, a. 1154.

To Arnulf there was nothing new or startling in a schism at Rome; his experiences of thirty years before enabled him to penetrate the present case at once, and as then with his pen, so now with his tongue, he proved the readiest and most powerful advocate of the orthodox pontiff. Fortunately, Henry was in Normandy; before any one else had time to gain his ear and bias his mind, before he himself had time to think of forming an independent judgement on the subject, Arnulf hurried to his side,[1643] and set forth the claims of Alexander with such convincing eloquence that the king at once promised to acknowledge him as Pope. He refrained however from issuing an immediate order for Alexander’s acceptance throughout his dominions, partly in deference to the Emperor,[1644] and partly to make sure of the intentions of the king of France. Louis, like Henry, had sent a representative to the council of Pavia, but he had taken care not to commit himself to any decision upon its proceedings.[1645] He was not naturally inclined to favour the Emperor’s views. The question of the investitures had never been as important in France as in Germany or in England, and had been settled by a kind of tacit concordat which the Most Christian King had no mind to forfeit his title by disturbing; France was always the staunchest upholder of the independence of the Apostolic see;[1646] and neither king nor clergy desired to change their attitude. They met in council at Beauvais some time in the summer of 1160; a similar gathering of the Norman bishops, in Henry’s presence, took place in July at Neufmarché; both assemblies resulted in the acknowledgement of Alexander.[1647] The formal assent of the Churches of England and Aquitaine had still to be obtained before either king would fully proclaim his decision.[1648] Archbishop Theobald’s anxious request for information and instructions concerning the schism[1649] was answered by an exhaustive and eloquent statement of the case from the pen of the indefatigable bishop of Lisieux;[1650] and in accordance with his directions the English bishops in council assembled unanimously declared their acceptance of Alexander III. as the lawful successor of S. Peter.[1651]

[1643] Arn. Lis. Epp. 18 and 21 (Giles, pp. 103, 104, 111).

[1644] Arn. Lis. Ep. 21 (Giles, p. 111).

[1645] See above, p. 499, note 3{1634}.

[1646] Arn. Lis. Ep. 23 (Giles, p. 120).

[1647] Rob. Torigni, a. 1160.

[1648] Arn. Lis. Epp. 23, 24 (Giles, pp. 120, 129).

[1649] Joh. Salisb. Ep. xliv. (Giles, vol. i. pp. 45, 46).

[1650] Arn. Lis. Ep. 23 (Giles, pp. 116–122). Cf. Gilb. Foliot, Ep. cxlviii. (Giles, vol. i. p. 197).

[1651] Gilb. Foliot, Ep. cxlviii. (as above). Joh. Salisb. Ep. lxiv (Giles, vol. i. p. 79).

Alexander’s legates were already in Normandy;[1652] unluckily, however, the use which Henry made of their presence led as we have seen to a fresh rupture between him and Louis; and by this the Emperor and the anti-pope immediately sought to profit. Tempting as their overtures were to Henry, it does not appear that he ever seriously entertained them; but the leaders of the English Church, having now learned the circumstances of the case and grasped the full importance of the triumph insured to the reforming party by his acceptance of Alexander, were naturally alarmed lest he should be induced to change his mind. Their anxiety was increased by the enfeebled state of their own ranks. The struggles of Bishop Richard of London to clear off the debts incurred in raising a fine required by Stephen at his election seemed to have only aggravated the confusion of his affairs, which his friends the bishops of Hereford and Lincoln were engaged in a desperate effort to disentangle,[1653] while Richard himself, to complete his misfortunes, was stricken helpless by paralysis.[1654] Henry of Winchester had returned to his diocese, after nearly four years’ absence, in 1159;[1655] but by the spring of 1161 he again left the Church of England to her fate and went back to his beloved Cluny.[1656] The bishoprics of Chester (or Lichfield), Exeter and Worcester were vacant;[1657] and, worst of all, Archbishop Theobald was dying.

[1652] Gilb. Foliot, Ep. cxlviii (as above).

[1653] Gilb. Foliot, Ep. cxx. (Giles, vol. i. p. 158).

[1654] R. Diceto (Stubbs), vol. i. p. 304.

[1655] See above, p. 492, note 1{1611}.

[1656] R. Diceto, as above.

[1657] Walter of Lichfield died December 7, 1160 (Stubbs, _Registr. Sac. Ang._, p. 30); Alfred of Worcester, July 31, 1160; and Robert of Exeter some time in the same year (_ib._ p. 31).

The primate’s letters during the last few months of his life shew him calmly awaiting his call to rest, yet anxiously longing to be assured of the future of those whom he was leaving behind, and to set in order a few things that were wanting before he could depart altogether in peace. Very touching are the expressions of his longing to “see the face of the Lord’s anointed once again”--to welcome the king back to his country and his home, safely removed from political temptations to break away from the unity of the Church.[1658] And there was another for whose return Theobald yearned more deeply still: his own long absent archdeacon--“the first of my counsellors, nay, my only one,” as he calls him, pleading earnestly with the king to let him come home.[1659] For a moment, indeed, Theobald was on the point of being left almost alone. Some rather obscure mischief-making in high places had caused John of Salisbury to be visited with the king’s severe displeasure; treated as a suspected criminal in England, forbidden to go and clear himself in Normandy, John found his position so unbearable that he contemplated taking refuge in France under the protection of his old friend Abbot Peter of Celle.[1660] He seems, however, to have ended by remaining in England under Theobald’s protection; before the winter of 1160, at any rate, he was again at Canterbury, watching over and tending the primate’s gradual decline;--almost overwhelmed with “the care of all the churches,” which Theobald had transferred to him;[1661]--characteristically finding relief from his anxieties in correspondence with old friends, and in the composition of another little philosophical treatise, called _Metalogicus_, whose chief interest lies in the sketch which it contains of its author’s early life.[1662] John’s disinterested affection and devoted services were fully appreciated by Theobald;[1663] but they could not make up for the absence of Thomas. Not only did the old man long to see his early favourite once more; not only were there grave matters of diocesan administration dependent on the archdeacon’s office and urgently requiring his personal co-operation:[1664]--it was on far weightier things than these that the archbishop desired to hold counsel with Thomas. In the hands of Thomas, as chief adviser and minister of the king, rested in no small degree the future of the English Church; Theobald’s darling wish was that it should rest in his hands as primate of all England.[1665]

[1658] Joh. Salisb. Epp. lxiii, lxiv,* lxiv** (Giles, vol. i. pp. 77, 78, 80–82), all from Theobald to Henry.

[1659] “Qui [sc. Thomas] nobis unicus est et consilii nostri primus.” Joh. Salisb. Ep. lxx. (_ib._ p. 93).

[1660] Joh. Salisb. Epp. lxi., xcvi., cviii., cxii., cxiii., cxv., cxxi. (_ib._ pp. 74, 75, 141–144, 158, 160, 161, 164, 165, 169, 170). See Demimuid, _Jean de Salisbury_, pp. 183–188.

[1661] Joh. Salisb. _Metalog._, prolog. (Giles, vol. v. pp. 8, 9), and l. iv. c. 42 (_ib._ p. 206).

[1662] _Ib._ l. ii. c. 10 (pp. 78–81).

[1663] Joh. Salisb. Ep. lxiv.* (Giles, vol. i. p. 80), from Theobald to Henry.

[1664] Joh. Salisb. Epp. xlix., lxxi. (_ib._ pp. 51, 52, 94, 95), both from Theobald to Thomas. The initial in the address of lxxi. is clearly wrong. See Robertson, _Becket_, vol. v. p. 11, note a.

[1665] This is distinctly stated by John of Salisbury:--

“Ille Theobaldus qui Christi præsidet aulæ, Quam fidei matrem Cantia nostra colit, Hunc successurum sibi sperat et orat, ut idem Præsulis officium muniat atque locum.”

_Entheticus_, vv. 1293–1296 (Giles, vol. v. p. 280.)

Later writers dilate upon the startling contrast between Becket’s character and policy as chancellor and as archbishop. That contrast vanishes when we look at the chancellor through the eyes of the two men who knew him best; and we find that the real contrast lies between their view of him and that of the outside world which only saw the surface of his life and could not fathom its inner depths. Those who beheld him foremost in every military exercise and every courtly pastime, far outdoing the king himself in lavish splendour and fastidious refinement, devoting every faculty of mind and body to the service and the pleasure of his royal friend:--those who saw all this, and could only judge by what they saw, might well have thought that for such a man to become the champion of the Church was a dream to be realized only by miracle or by imposture. But Archbishop Theobald and John of Salisbury had known his inmost soul, better perhaps than he knew it himself, before ever he went to court; and they knew that however startling his conduct there might look, he was merely fulfilling in his own way the mission on which he had been sent thither:--making himself all things to all men, if thereby he might by any means influence the court and the king for good.[1666] Even his suggestion of the scutage for the war of Toulouse did not seriously shake their faith in him; they blamed him, but they believed that he had erred in weakness, not in wilfulness.[1667] In the middle of the war John dedicated the _Polycraticus_ to him as the one man about the court to whom its follies and its faults could be criticized without fear, because he had no part in them.[1668] Thomas himself does not seem to have contemplated the possibility of removal from his present sphere. It was not in his nature at any time to look far ahead; and Henry seemed to find his attendance more indispensable than ever, declaring in answer to Theobald’s intreaties and remonstrances that he could not possibly spare him till peace was thoroughly restored.[1669]

[1666] Joh. Salisb. _Enthet._, vv. 1435–1440 (Giles, vol. v. p. 285).

[1667] Joh. Salisb. Ep. cxlv. (Giles, vol. i. pp. 223, 224).

[1668] Joh. Salisb. _Polycrat._, prolog. (Giles, vol. iii. p. 13).

[1669] Joh. Salisb. Ep. lxxviii. (Giles, vol. i. p. 106).

Thomas was in a strait. His first duty was to his dying spiritual father; but he could not go against the king’s will without running such a risk as Theobald would have been the first to disapprove. Thomas himself therefore at last suggested that the archbishop should try to move the king by summoning his truant archdeacon to return home at once on pain of deprivation.[1670] Theobald, unable to reconcile the contradictory letters of king and chancellor with the general reports of their wonderful unanimity, steered a middle course between severity and gentleness, from fear of bringing down the royal displeasure upon his favourite, whom he yet half suspected of being in collusion with the king. His secretary, John, had no such doubts; but he too was urgent that by some means or other Thomas should come over before the primate’s death.[1671] If he did go, it can only have been for a flying visit; and there is no sign that he went at all. One thing he did obtain for Theobald’s satisfaction: the appointment of Bartholomew archdeacon of Exeter to the bishopric of that diocese.[1672] In April Richard Peche, on whom the see of Chester had been conferred, was consecrated at Canterbury by Walter of Rochester, the archbishop being carried into the chapel to sanction by his presence the rite in which he was too feeble to assist.[1673] By the hand of the faithful secretary John he transmitted to King Henry his last solemn benediction and farewell, and commended to the royal care the future of his church and the choice of his successor.[1674] A few days later, on April 18, 1161, the good primate passed away.[1675]

[1670] _Ib._ (p. 105).

[1671] Joh. Salisb. Ep. lxxviii. (Giles, vol. i. pp. 105–107).

[1672] Joh. Salisb. Epp. lxx., lxxi., lxxviii. (as above, pp. 94, 95, 106). On Bartholomew see also Ep. xc. (_ib._ pp. 132–136), where John addresses him as a personal friend.

[1673] Gerv. Cant. (Stubbs), vol. i. p. 168.

[1674] Joh. Salisb. Ep. liv. (Giles, vol. i. pp. 56–58). See the archbishop’s will in Ep. lvii. (_ib._ pp. 60–62).

[1675] Gerv. Cant. as above.

_ERRATA_

Page 50, line 8 from foot, _insert_ “and” _before_ “bore.” ” 158, ” 5, _for_ “in” _read_ “by.” ” 268, ” 18, _dele_ “the following.” ” 274, ” 14 from foot, _for_ “two” _read_ “three.” ” 282, ” 14, _insert_ “and” _before_ “made.” ” 417, lines 3 and 4 from foot, _for_ “husband ... heiress” _read_ “head.” ” 438, note 5, line 8, _for_ “David” _read_ “Henry of Scotland.”

END OF VOL. I.

_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_

ENGLAND UNDER THE ANGEVIN KINGS

[Illustration: Publisher’s colophon]

ENGLAND UNDER THE ANGEVIN KINGS

BY KATE NORGATE

IN TWO VOLUMES--VOL. II.

WITH MAPS AND PLANS

London MACMILLAN AND CO. AND NEW YORK 1887

_All rights reserved_

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

PAGE ARCHBISHOP THOMAS, 1162–1164 1 Note A.--The Council of Woodstock 43 Note B.--The Council of Clarendon 44

CHAPTER II

HENRY AND ROME, 1164–1172 46

CHAPTER III

THE CONQUEST OF IRELAND, 795–1172 82

CHAPTER IV

HENRY AND THE BARONS, 1166–1175 120

CHAPTER V

THE ANGEVIN EMPIRE, 1175–1183 169

CHAPTER VI

THE LAST YEARS OF HENRY II., 1183–1189 229

CHAPTER VII

RICHARD AND ENGLAND, 1189–1194 273

CHAPTER VIII

THE LATER YEARS OF RICHARD, 1194–1199 332

CHAPTER IX

THE FALL OF THE ANGEVINS, 1199–1206 388 Note.--The Death of Arthur 429

CHAPTER X

THE NEW ENGLAND, 1170–1206 431

LIST OF MAPS

III. IRELAND, A.D. 1172 _To face page_ 82

IV. MAP TO ILLUSTRATE THE REBELLION OF 1173–1174 ” 149

V. FRANCE AND BURGUNDY _c._ 1180 ” 185

VI. EUROPE _c._ 1180 ” 189

VII. FRANCE AND THE ANGEVIN DOMINIONS, 1194 ” 359

PLANS

VII. LES ANDELYS AND CHÂTEAU-GAILLARD _To face page_ 375

VIII. CHÂTEAU-GAILLARD ” 378

CHAPTER I.

ARCHBISHOP THOMAS.

1162–1164.

Somewhat more than a year after the primate’s death, Thomas the chancellor returned to England. He came, as we have seen, at the king’s bidding, ostensibly for the purpose of securing the recognition of little Henry as heir to the crown. But this was not the sole nor even the chief object of his mission. On the eve of his departure--so the story was told by his friends in later days--Thomas had gone to take leave of the king at Falaise. Henry drew him aside: “You do not yet know to what you are going. I will have you to be archbishop of Canterbury.” The chancellor took, or tried to take, the words for a jest. “A saintly figure indeed,” he exclaimed with a smiling glance at his own gay attire, “you are choosing to sit in that holy seat and to head that venerable convent! No, no,” he added with sudden earnestness, “I warn you that if such a thing should be, our friendship would soon turn to bitter hate. I know your plans concerning the Church; you will assert claims which I as archbishop must needs oppose; and the breach once made, jealous hands would take care that it should never be healed again.” The words were prophetic; they sum up the whole history of the pontificate of Thomas Becket. Henry, however, in his turn passed them over as a mere jest, and at once proclaimed his intention to the chancellor’s fellow-envoys, one of whom was the justiciar, Richard de Lucy. “Richard,” said the king, “if I lay dead in my shroud, would you earnestly strive to secure my first-born on my throne?” “Indeed I would, my lord, with all my might.” “Then I charge you to strive no less earnestly to place my chancellor on the metropolitan chair of Canterbury.”[1]

[1] Herb. Bosh. (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. iii.), pp. 180, 182. Cf. _Thomas Saga_ (Magnusson), vol. i. pp. 63–67.

Thomas was appalled. He could not be altogether taken by surprise; he knew what had been Theobald’s wishes and hopes; he knew that from the moment of Theobald’s death all eyes had turned instinctively upon himself with the belief that the future of the Church rested wholly in his all-powerful hands; he could not but suspect the king’s own intentions,[2] although the very suspicion would keep him silent, and all the more so because those intentions ran counter to his own desires. For twelve months he had known that the primacy was within his reach; he had counted the cost, and he had no mind to pay it. He was incapable of undertaking any office without throwing his whole energies into the fulfilment of its duties; his conception of the duties of the primate of all Britain would involve the sacrifice not only of those secular pursuits which he so keenly enjoyed, but also of that personal friendship and political co-operation with the king which seemed almost an indispensable part of the life of both; and neither sacrifice was he disposed to make. He had said as much to an English friend who had been the first to hint at his coming promotion,[3] and he repeated it now with passionate earnestness to Henry himself, but all in vain. The more he resisted, the more the king insisted--the very frankness of his warnings only strengthening Henry’s confidence in him; and when the legate Cardinal Henry of Pisa urged his acceptance as a sacred duty, Thomas at last gave way.[4]

[2] Herb. Bosh. (as above), p. 180. Anon. I. (_ib._ vol. iv.), p. 14. _Thomas Saga_ (as above), p. 63.

[3] Will. Fitz-Steph. (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. iii.), pp. 25, 26.

[4] Will. Cant. (_ib._ vol. i.), pp. 7, 8. Anon. I. (_ib._ vol. iv.), p. 18. Anon. II. (_ib._), p. 86.

The council in London was no sooner ended than Richard de Lucy and three of the bishops[5] hurried to Canterbury, by the king’s orders, to obtain from the cathedral chapter the election of a primate in accordance with his will. The monks of Christ Church were never very easy to manage; in the days of the elder King Henry they had firmly and successfully resisted the intrusion of a secular clerk into the monastic chair of S. Augustine; and a strong party among them now protested that to choose for pastor of the flock of Canterbury a man who was scarcely a clerk at all, who was wholly given to hawks and hounds and the worldly ways of the court, would be no better than setting a wolf to guard a sheepfold. But their scruples were silenced by the arguments of Richard de Lucy and by their dread of the royal wrath, and in the end Thomas was elected without a dissentient voice.[6] The election was repeated in the presence of a great council[7] held at Westminster on May 23,[8] and ratified by the bishops and clergy there assembled.[9] Only one voice was raised in protest; it was that of Gilbert Foliot,[10] who, alluding doubtless to the great scutage, declared that Thomas was utterly unfit for the primacy, because he had persecuted the Church of God.[11] The protest was answered by Henry of Winchester in words suggested by Gilbert’s own phrase: “My son,” said the ex-legate, addressing Thomas, “if thou hast been hitherto as Saul the persecutor, be thou henceforth as Paul the Apostle.”[12]

[5] E. Grim (_ib._ vol. ii.), pp. 366. The bishops were Exeter, Chichester and Rochester; Garnier (Hippeau), pp. 16, 17, Anon. I. (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. iv.), pp. 14–16, and Gerv. Cant. (Stubbs), vol. i. p. 169; this last alone names Rochester, and adds another envoy--Abbot Walter of Battle, Chichester’s old adversary and the justiciar’s brother.

[6] Garnier (Hippeau), p. 17. E. Grim (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. ii.), pp. 366, 367. Herb. Bosh. (_ib._ vol. iii.), pp. 183–185. Anon. I. (_ib._ vol. iv.), p. 16. _Thomas Saga_ (Magnusson, vol. i. p. 73) has quite a different version of the result.

[7] Anon. I. (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. iv.), p. 17. Will. Cant. (_ib._ vol. i.), p. 9. Garnier, as above. Gerv. Cant. (Stubbs), vol. i. p. 169. R. Diceto (Stubbs), vol. i. p. 306.

[8] The Wednesday before Pentecost. R. Diceto (as above), p. 307.

[9] Garnier, Will. Cant., Anon. I., as above. R. Diceto (as above), p. 306. Gerv. Cant. (as above), p. 170. All these writers either say or imply that the council represented, or was meant to represent, the entire _clerus et populus_ of all England; except R. Diceto, who says: “clero totius provinciæ _Cantuariorum_ generaliter Lundoniæ convocato” (p. 306). Cf. _Thomas Saga_ (Magnusson), vol. i. pp. 73–77; Will. Fitz-Steph. (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. iii.), p. 36; and Herb. Bosh. (_ib._), p. 184.

[10] Garnier, Will. Cant., Will. Fitz-Steph. and Anon. I. as above. E. Grim (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. ii.), p. 367. Will. Cant., E. Grim and the Anon. call him “bishop of London” by anticipation.

[11] “Destruite ad seinte Iglise.” Garnier, as above.

[12] Garnier (Hippeau), p. 18.

The election was confirmed by the great officers of state and the boy-king in his father’s name;[13] the consecration was fixed for the octave of Pentecost, and forthwith the bishops began to vie with each other for the honour of performing the ceremony. Roger of York, who till now had stood completely aloof, claimed it as a privilege due to the dignity of his see; but the primate-elect and the southern bishops declined to accept his services without a profession of canonical obedience to Canterbury, which he indignantly refused.[14] The bishop of London, on whom as dean of the province the duty according to ancient precedent should have devolved, was just dead;[15] Walter of Rochester momentarily put in a claim to supply his place,[16] but withdrew it in deference to Henry of Winchester, who had lately returned from Cluny, and whose royal blood, venerable character, and unique dignity as father of the whole English episcopate, marked him out beyond all question as the most fitting person to undertake the office.[17] By way of compensation, it was Walter who, on the Saturday in Whitsun-week, raised the newly-elected primate to the dignity of priesthood.[18]

[13] _Ibid._ Anon. I. (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. iv.), p. 17. Will. Cant. (_ib._ vol. i.), p. 9. E. Grim (_ib._ vol. ii.), p. 367. Herb. Bosh. (_ib._ vol. iii.), p. 185.

[14] Gerv. Cant. (Stubbs), vol. i. p. 170.

[15] He died on May 4. R. Diceto (Stubbs), vol. i. p. 306.

[16] Herb. Bosh. (as above), p. 188.

[17] Gerv. Cant., R. Diceto and Herb. Bosh. as above. MS. Lansdown. II. (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. iv.), p. 155. Cf. Anon. I. (_ib._), p. 19. There was another claimant, a Welsh bishop, who asserted priority of consecration over all his brother-prelates; so at least says Gerv. Cant., but one does not see who he can have been.

[18] R. Diceto, as above.

Early next morning the consecration took place. Canterbury cathedral has been rebuilt from end to end since that day; it is only imagination which can picture the church of Lanfranc and Anselm and Theobald as it stood on that June morning, the scarce-risen sun gleaming faintly through its eastern windows upon the rich vestures of the fourteen bishops[19] and their attendant clergy and the dark robes of the monks who thronged the choir, while the nave was crowded with spectators, foremost among whom stood the group of ministers surrounding the little king.[20] From the vestry-door Thomas came forth, clad no longer in the brilliant attire at which he had been jesting a few weeks ago, but in the plain black cassock and white surplice of a clerk; through the lines of staring, wondering faces he passed into the choir, and there threw himself prostrate upon the altar-steps. Thence he was raised to go through a formality suggested by the prudence of his consecrator. To guard, as he hoped, against all risk of future difficulties which might arise from Thomas’s connexion with the court, Henry of Winchester led him down to the entrance of the choir, and in the name of the Church called upon the king’s representatives to deliver over the primate-elect fully and unreservedly to her holy service, freed from all secular obligations, actual or possible. A formal quit-claim was accordingly granted to Thomas by little Henry and the justiciars, in the king’s name;[21] after which the bishop of Winchester proceeded to consecrate him at once. A shout of applause rang through the church as the new primate of all Britain was led up to his patriarchal chair; but he mounted its steps with eyes downcast and full of tears.[22] To him the day was one of melancholy foreboding; yet he made its memory joyful in the Church for ever. He began his archiepiscopal career by ordaining a new festival to be kept every year on that day--the octave of Pentecost--in honour of the most Holy Trinity;[23] and in process of time the observance thus originated spread from Canterbury throughout the whole of Christendom, which thus owes to an English archbishop the institution of Trinity Sunday.

[19] See the list in Gerv. Cant. (Stubbs), vol. i. p. 170.

[20] Herb. Bosh. (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. iii.), p. 188.

[21] MS. Lansdown. II. (_ib._ vol. iv.), pp. 154, 155. Cf. Anon. I. (_ib._), pp. 17, 18; Will. Cant. (_ib._ vol. i.), p. 9; E. Grim (_ib._ vol. ii.), p. 367; Herb. Bosh. (_ib._ vol. iii.), p. 185; Garnier (Hippeau), p. 19; and _Thomas Saga_ (Magnusson), vol. i. p. 81. All these place this scene in London, immediately after the consecration. The three first, however, seem to be only following Garnier; and the words of Will. Fitz-Steph. (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. iii. p. 36), though not very explicit, seem rather to agree with the MS. Lansdown. Garnier, Grim and the Anon. I. all expressly attribute the suggestion to Henry of Winchester.

[22] Anon. I. (as above), p. 19.

[23] Gerv. Cant. as above.

“The king has wrought a miracle,” sneered the sarcastic bishop of Hereford, Gilbert Foliot; “out of a soldier and man of the world he has made an archbishop.”[24] The same royal power helped to smooth the new primate’s path a little further before him. He was not, like most of his predecessors, obliged to go in person to fetch his pallium from Rome; an embassy which he despatched immediately after his consecration obtained it for him without difficulty from Alexander III., who had just been driven by the Emperor’s hostility to seek a refuge in France, and was in no condition to venture upon any risk of thwarting King Henry’s favourite minister.[25] The next messenger whom Thomas sent over sea met with a less pleasant reception. He was charged to deliver up the great seal into the king’s hands with a request that Henry would provide himself with another chancellor, “as Thomas felt scarcely equal to the cares of one office, far less to those of two.”[26]

[24] Will. Fitz-Steph. (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. iii.), p. 36.

[25] Garnier (Hippeau), pp. 24, 25. Will. Cant. (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. i.) p. 9. Herb. Bosh. (_ib._ vol. iii.), p. 189. Gerv. Cant. (Stubbs), vol. i. p. 172. R. Diceto (Stubbs), vol. i. p. 307. _Thomas Saga_ (Magnusson), vol. i. pp. 91–95.

[26] Will. Cant. (as above), p. 12. Cf. Garnier (Hippeau), p. 29, and R. Diceto as above.

Henry was both surprised and vexed. It was customary for the chancellor to resign his office on promotion to a bishopric; but this sudden step on the part of Thomas was quite unexpected, and upset a cherished scheme of the king’s. He had planned to rival the Emperor by having an archbishop for his chancellor, as the archbishops of Mainz and Cöln were respectively arch-chancellors of Germany and Italy;[27] he had certainly never intended, in raising his favourite to the primacy, to deprive himself of such a valuable assistant in secular administration; his aim had rather been to secure the services of Thomas in two departments instead of one.[28] To take away all ground of scandal, he had even procured a papal dispensation to sanction the union of the two offices in a single person.[29] Thomas, however, persisted in his resignation; and as there was no one whom Henry cared to put in his place, the chancellorship remained vacant, while the king brooded over his friend’s unexpected conduct and began to suspect that it was caused by weariness of his service.

[27] R. Diceto (as above), p. 308. The real work of the office in the Empire was, however, done by another chancellor, who at this time was a certain Reginald, of whom we shall hear again later on. “Cancellarius” plays almost as conspicuous and quite as unclerkly a part in the Italian wars of Barbarossa as in the French and Aquitanian wars of Henry.

[28] Garnier (Hippeau), p. 29. Cf. _Thomas Saga_ (Magnusson), vol. i. pp. 69–71.

[29] Garnier, as above.

Meanwhile Thomas had entered upon the second phase of his strangely varied career. He had “put off the deacon” for awhile; he was resolved now to “put off the old man” wholly and for ever. No sooner was he consecrated than he flung himself, body and soul, into his new life with an ardour more passionate, more absorbing, more exclusive than he had displayed in pursuit of the worldly tasks and pleasures of the court. On the morrow of his consecration, when some jongleurs came to him for the largesse which he had never been known to refuse, he gently but firmly dismissed them; he was no longer, he said, the chancellor whom they had known; his whole possessions were now a sacred trust, to be spent not on actors and jesters but in the service of the Church and the poor.[30] Theobald had doubled the amount of regular alms-givings established by his predecessors; Thomas immediately doubled those of Theobald.[31] To be diligent in providing for the sick and needy, to take care that no beggar should ever be sent empty away from his door,[32] was indeed nothing new in the son of the good dame Rohesia of Caen. The lavish hospitality of the chancellor’s household, too, was naturally transferred to that of the archbishop; but it took a different tone and colour. All and more than all the old grandeur and orderliness were there; the palace still swarmed with men-at-arms, servants and retainers of all kinds, every one with his own appointed duty, whose fulfilment was still carefully watched by the master’s eyes; the bevy of high-born children had only increased, for by an ancient custom the second son of a baron could be claimed by the primate for his service--as the eldest by the king--until the age of knighthood; a claim which Thomas was not slow to enforce, and which the barons were delighted to admit. The train of clerks was of course more numerous than ever. The tables were still laden with delicate viands, served with the utmost perfection, and crowded with guests of all ranks; Thomas was still the most courteous and gracious of hosts. But the banquet wore a graver aspect than in the chancellor’s hall. The knights and other laymen occupied a table by themselves, where they talked and laughed as they listed; it was the clerks and religious who now sat nearest to Thomas. He himself was surrounded by a select group of clerks, his _eruditi_, his “learned men” as he called them: men versed in Scriptural and theological lore, his chosen companions in the study of Holy Writ into which he had plunged with characteristic energy; while instead of the minstrelsy which had been wont to accompany and inspire the gay talk at the chancellor’s table, there was only heard, according to ecclesiastical custom, the voice of the archbishop’s cross-bearer who sat close to his side reading from some holy book: the primate and his confidential companions meanwhile exchanging comments upon what was read, and discussing matters too deep and solemn to interest unlearned ears or to brook unlearned interruption.[33] Of the meal itself Thomas partook but sparingly;[34] its remainder was always given away;[35] and every day twenty-six poor men were brought into the hall and served with a dinner of the best, before Thomas would sit down to his own midday meal.[36]

[30] MS. Lansdown. II. (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. iv.), p. 156.

[31] Anon. I. (_ibid._), p. 20. The Anon. II. (_ibid._), p. 90, and Joh. Salisb. (_ib._ vol. ii.), p. 307, say that to this purpose he appropriated a _tithe_ of all his revenues--a statement which reflects rather strangely upon the former archbishops.

[32] Joh. Salisb. and Anon. I. as above. Anon. II. (as above), pp. 89, 90.

[33] Herb. Bosh. (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. iii.), pp. 225–229. On the _eruditi_ see _ib._ pp. 206, 207, 523–529.

[34] _Ib._ pp. 231–236. Will. Fitz-Steph. (_ibid._), p. 37. Joh. Salisb. (_ib._ vol. ii.), p. 308. Anon. II. (_ib._ vol. iv.), p. 89.

[35] Joh. Salisb. (as above), p. 307. Anon. I. (_ib._ vol. iv.), pp. 20, 21.

[36] Anon. II. (_ib._), p. 89.

The amount of work which he had got through by that time must have been quite as great as in the busiest days of his chancellorship. The day’s occupations ostensibly began about the hour of tierce, when the archbishop came forth from his chamber and went either to hear or to celebrate mass,[37] while a breakfast was given at his expense to a hundred persons who were called his “poor prebendaries.”[38] After mass he proceeded to his audience-chamber and there chiefly remained till the hour of nones, occupied in hearing suits and administering justice.[39] Nones were followed by dinner,[40] after which the primate shut himself up in his own apartments with his _eruditi_[41] and spent the rest of the day with them in business or study, interrupted only by the religious duties of the canonical hours, and sometimes by a little needful repose,[42] for his night’s rest was of the briefest. At cock-crow he rose for prime; immediately afterwards there were brought in to him secretly, under cover of the darkness, thirteen poor persons whose feet he washed and to whom he ministered at table with the utmost devotion and humility,[43] clad only in a hair-shirt which from the day of his consecration he always wore beneath the gorgeous robes in which he appeared in public.[44] He then returned to his bed, but only for a very short time; long before any one else was astir he was again up and doing, in company with one specially favoured disciple--the one who tells the tale, Herbert of Bosham. In the calm silent hours of dawn, while twelve other poor persons received a secret meal and had their feet washed by the primate’s almoner in his stead, the two friends sat eagerly searching the Scriptures together, till the archbishop chose to be left alone[45] for meditation and confession, scourging and prayer,[46] in which he remained absorbed until the hour of tierce called him forth to his duties in the world.[47]

[37] Herb. Bosh. (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. iii.), p. 208.

[38] _Ib._ p. 203.

[39] _Ib._ p. 219.

[40] _Ib._ p. 225.

[41] _Ib._ pp. 236, 237.

[42] _Ib._ p. 238.

[43] _Ib._ p. 199. Cf. Will. Fitz-Steph. (_ibid._), p. 38, and Joh. Salisb. (_ib._ vol. ii.), p. 307.

[44] On the hair-shirt see MS. Lansdown. II. (_ib._ vol. iv.), p. 154; Anon. I. (_ibid._), p. 20; Will. Cant. (_ib._ vol. i.), p. 10; Herb. Bosh. (_ib._ vol. iii.), pp. 196, 199; Garnier (Hippeau), p. 23. On Thomas’s troubles about his dress and how he settled them see Garnier, pp. 19, 20, 23; Anon. I. (as above), p. 21; E. Grim (_ib._ vol. ii.), p. 368; Herb. Bosh. (_ib._ vol. iii.), p. 196. On his whole manner of life after consecration cf. _Thomas Saga_ (Magnusson), vol. i. pp. 95–111.

[45] Herb. Bosh. (as above), pp. 202–205.

[46] Anon. II. (Robertson, _Becket_, vol. iv.), p. 88.

[47] Herb. Bosh. (_ib._ vol. iii.), p. 205.

He was feverishly anxious to lose no opportunity of making up for his long neglect of the Scriptural and theological studies befitting his sacred calling. He openly confessed his grievous inferiority in this respect to many of his own clerks, and put himself under their teaching with child-like simplicity and earnestness. The one whom he specially chose for monitor and guide, Herbert of Bosham, was a man in whom, despite his immeasurable inferiority, one can yet see something of a temper sufficiently akin to that of Thomas himself to account for their mutual attraction, and perhaps for some of their joint errors. As they rode from London to Canterbury on the morrow of the primate’s election he had drawn Herbert aside and laid upon him a special charge to watch with careful eyes over his conduct as archbishop, and tell him without stint or scruple whatever he saw amiss in it or heard criticized by others.[48] Herbert, though he worshipped his primate with a perfect hero-worship, never hesitated to fulfil this injunction to the letter as far as his lights would permit; but unluckily his zeal was even less tempered by discretion than that of Thomas himself. He was a far less safe guide in the practical affairs of life than in the intricate paths of abstract and mystical interpretation of Holy Writ in which he and Thomas delighted to roam together. Often, when no other quiet time could be found, the archbishop would turn his horse aside as they travelled along the road, beckon to his friend, draw out a book from its hiding-place in one of his wide sleeves, and plunge into an eager discussion of its contents as they ambled slowly on.[49] When at Canterbury, his greatest pleasure was to betake himself to the cloister and sit reading like a lowly monk in one of its quiet nooks.[50]

[48] _Ib._ p. 186.

[49] _Ib._ p. 206.

[50] Will. Fitz-Steph. (_ib._), pp. 38, 39.