PART I.

EVENTS LEADING TO MAGNA CARTA.

The Great Charter is too often treated as the outcome of purely accidental causes. Students of its origin are sometimes content to explain it as a mere tangible product of the successful resistance called forth by the tyrannies of King John. That monarch’s personal misdeeds, it is maintained, goaded into determined action a fierce unflinching opposition which never rested until it had achieved success; and the outcome of this success was the winning of the Great Charter of Liberties. The moving causes of events of such tremendous moment are thus sought in the characteristics and vices of one man. If John had never lived and sinned, so it would appear, the foundations of English freedom would never have been laid.

Such shallow views of history unnecessarily belittle the magnitude and inevitable nature of the sequence of causes and effects upon which great issues really depend. The compelling logic of events forces a way for its own fulfilment, independent of the caprices, aims and ambitions of individual men. The incidents of John’s career are the occasions, not the causes, of the great national movement which laid the foundations of English liberties. The origin of Magna Carta lies too deep to be determined by any purely contingent or accidental phenomena. It is as unwise as it is unnecessary to suppose that the course of constitutional development in England was suddenly and violently wrested into a completely new channel, merely because of the incapacity or misdeeds of the temporary occupant of the throne. The source of the discontent fanned to flame by John’s oppressions must be sought in earlier reigns. The genesis of the Charter cannot be understood apart from its historical antecedents, and these are inextricably bound up with the whole story how England grew to be a nation.

In expounding the origin of the Charter, it is necessary briefly to narrate how the scattered Anglo-Saxon and Danish tribes and territories, originally unconnected, were gradually welded together and grew into England; how this fusion was made permanent by the growth of a strong form of centralized monarchical government which crushed out all attempts at local independence, and threatened to become the most absolute despotism in Europe; and how, finally, the Crown, because of the very plenitude of its power, challenged opposition and called into play forces which set limits to royal prerogatives and royal aggressions, and at the same time laid the foundations of the reign of law. A short survey of the early history of England forms a necessary preliminary to a right understanding of Magna Carta. Such a survey makes prominent two leading movements, one of which succeeds the other; namely, the establishment of a strong monarchy able to bring order out of anarchy, and the subsequent establishment of safeguards to prevent this source of order degenerating into an unrestrained tyranny, and so crushing out not merely anarchy but legitimate freedom as well. The later movement, in favour of liberty and the Great Charter, was the natural complement, and, in part, the consequence of the earlier movement in the direction of a strong government able to enforce peace. In historical sequence, order precedes freedom.

These two problems, each forming the counterpart of the other, necessarily arise in the history of every nation, and in every age; the problem of _order_, or how to found a central government strong enough to suppress anarchy, and the problem of _freedom_, or how to set limits to an autocracy threatening to overshadow individual liberty. Neither of these problems can ever be ignored, not even in the twentieth century; although to-day the accumulated political experience of ages has enabled modern nations, such at least as are sufficiently educated in self-government, to thrust them into the background, out of view. Deep political insight may still be acknowledged in Æsop’s fable of Jupiter and the frogs. King Log proves as ineffective against foreign invasion as he is void of offence to domestic freedom; King Stork secures the triumph of his subjects in time of war, but devours them in time of peace. All nations in their early efforts to obtain an efficient government have to choose between these two types of ruler—between an executive, harmless but weak; and one powerful enough effectively to direct the business of government at home and abroad, but ready to turn the powers entrusted to him for the good of all, to his own selfish uses and the trampling out of his subjects’ liberties.

On the whole, the miseries of the long centuries of Anglo-Saxon rule were mainly the outcome of the Crown’s weakness; while, at the Norman Conquest, England escaped from the mild sceptre of inefficiency, only to fall under the cruel sceptre of selfish strength. Yet the able kings of the new dynasty, powerful as they were, had to struggle in order to maintain their supremacy; for, although the conquered English races were incapable of concerted resistance against their Norman masters, the unruly alien barons fought vigorously to shake off the royal control.

During a century of Norman rule, constant warfare was waged between two great principles—the monarchic standing on the whole for order, seeking to crush anarchy, and the oligarchic or baronial, standing on the whole for liberty, protesting against the tyranny of autocratic power. Sometimes one of these was in the ascendant; sometimes the other. The history of medieval England is the swing of the pendulum between these two extremes.

The main plot, then, of early English history, centres round the attempt to found a strong monarchy, and yet to set limits to its strength. With this main plot subordinate plots are interwoven. Chief among these must be reckoned the necessity of defining the relations of the central to the local government, and the need of an acknowledged frontier between the domains of Church and State. On the other hand, all that interesting group of problems connected with the _ideal form_ of government, much discussed in the days of Aristotle as in our own, is notably absent, never having been forced by the logic of events upon the mind of medieval Europe. Monarchy was apparently assumed as the only possible scheme of government; while the relative merits of aristocracy and democracy, or of the much-vaunted constitution known as “mixed,” were not canvassed, since these forms of constitution were not within the sphere of practical politics.

The student of history will do well to concentrate his attention at first on the main problem, while viewing the subsidiary ones in their relations to the central current.

I. William I. to Henry II.—Main Problem: the Monarchy.

The attention of the most casual student is arrested by the consideration of the difficulties which surrounded the English nation in its early struggles for bare existence. The great problem was, first, how to get itself into being, and thereafter how to guard against the forces of disintegration, which strove without rest to tear it to pieces again. The dawn of English history shows the beginning of that long slow process of consolidation in which unconscious reason played a deeper part than human will, whereby many discordant tribes and races, many independent provinces, were crushed together into something bearing a rude likeness to a united nation. Many forces converged in achieving this result. The coercion of strong tribes over their weaker neighbours, the pressure of outside foes, the growth of a body of law, and of public opinion, the influence of religion in the direction of peace, all helped to weld a chaos of incongruous and warring elements together.

It is notable that each of the three influences, destined ultimately to aid most materially in this process of unification, threatened at one time to have a contrary effect. Thus the rivalries of the smaller kingdoms tended at first towards a complete disruption, before Wessex succeeded in asserting an undisputed supremacy; the Christianizing of England partly by Celtic missionaries from the north and partly by emissaries from Rome threatened to split the country into two, until their mutual rivalries were stilled after the Synod of Whitby in 664; and one effect of the incursion of the Danes was to create an absolute barrier between the lands that lay on either side of Watling Street, before the whole country succumbed to the unifying pressure of Cnut and his sons.

The stern discipline of foreign conquest was required to make national unity possible; and, with the restoration of the old Wessex dynasty in the person of Edward Confessor, the forces of disintegration again made headway. England threatened once more to fall to pieces, but at the critical and appointed time the iron rule of the Normans came to complete what the Danes had begun half a century earlier. As the weakness of the Anglo-Saxon kings and the disruption of the country had gone hand in hand, so the process which, after the Conquest, made England one, was identical with the process which established the throne of the new dynasty on a strong, enduring basis. The complete unification of England was the result of the Norman despotism.

Thereafter, the strength of its monarchy was what rendered England unique in medieval Europe. Three great kings in especial contributed, by their ability and indomitable power of will, to this result—William the Conqueror, Henry Beauclerk, and Henry Plantagenet. In a sense, the work of all three was the same, namely, to build up the central authority against the disintegrating effects of feudal anarchy; but the policy of each was necessarily modified by changing times and needs. The foundations of the whole were laid by the Conqueror, whose character and circumstances combined to afford him an opportunity unparalleled in history. The difficulties of his task, and the methods by which he carried it to a successful issue, are best understood in relation to the nature of the opposition he had to dread. Feudalism was the great current of the age—a tide formed by many converging streams, all flowing in the same direction, unreasoning like the blind powers of Nature, carrying away and submerging every obstacle in its path. In other parts of Europe—in Germany, France, and Italy, as in Scotland—the ablest monarchs found their thrones undermined by this feudal current. In England alone the monarchy made headway against the flood. William I. wisely refrained from any mad attempt to stay the torrent; but, while accepting it, he quietly subjected it to his own purposes. He carefully watched and modified the tendencies making for feudalism, which he found in England on his arrival, and he profoundly altered the feudal usages and rights which his followers transplanted from the Norman soil. The special expedients used by him for this purpose are well known, and are all closely connected with his crafty policy of balancing the Anglo-Saxon basis of his rule against the imported Norman superstructure, and of selecting at his own discretion such elements as suited him in either. He encouraged the adoption or intensification in England of feudalism, considered as a system of land tenure and as a system of social distinctions based on the possession of land; but he successfully endeavoured to check the evils of its unrestrained growth in its other equally important aspects, namely, as a system of local government seeking to be independent of the Crown, and as a system of jurisdiction. As a political system, it was always a subject of suspicion to William, for he viewed it in the light of his double experience in Normandy as feudal lord and feudal vassal.

William’s policy was one of balancing. His whole career in England was characteristically inaugurated by his care to support his claim to the throne on a double basis. Not content to depend merely on the right of conquest, he insisted on having his title confirmed by a body claiming to represent the old Witenagemot of England, and he further alleged that he had been formally named as successor by his kinsman, Edward Confessor, a nomination strengthened by the renunciation of Harold in his favour. Thus, to his Norman followers claiming to have set him by force of arms on his throne, William might point to the form of election by the Witan, while for his English subjects, claiming to have elected him, the presence of the foreign troops was an even more effective argument. Throughout his reign, his plan was to balance the old English laws and institutions against the new Norman ones, with himself as umpire over all. Thus he retained whatever suited him in Anglo-Saxon customs. Roger of Hoveden tells us how, in the fourth year of his reign, twelve of the subject English from each county—noble, wise, and learned in the laws—were summoned to recite on oath the old customs of the land.[1] He retained, too, the old popular moots or meetings of the shire and hundred as a counterpoise to the feudal jurisdictions; the fyrd or militia of all free men as a set-off to the feudal levy; and such of the incidents of the old Anglo-Saxon tenures of land as met his requirements.

Footnote 1:

R. Hoveden, _Chronica_, II. 218.

Thus the subject English, with their customs and ancient institutions, were used as expedients for modifying the excesses of feudalism. William, however, did not shrink from innovations where these suited his purpose. The great earldoms into which England had been divided, even down to the Norman Conquest, were abolished. New earldoms were indeed created, but on an entirely different basis. Even the great officers, subsequently known as Earls Palatine, always few in number, never attained either to the extent of territory or to the independence of the Anglo-Saxon ealdormen. William was chary of creating even ordinary earls, and such as he did create soon became mere holders of empty titles of honour, while they found themselves ousted from all real power by the Norman _vicecomites_ or sheriffs. No English earl was a “count” in the continental sense (that is, a real ruler of a “county”). Further, no earl was allowed to hold too large an estate within his titular shire; and William, while compelled to reward his followers’ services with great possessions, was careful that these should be split up in widely scattered districts of his Kingdom. Thus the great feudatories were prevented from consolidating their resources against the Crown.

Various ingenious devices were used for checking the feudal excesses so prevalent on the continent. Rights of private war, coinage, and castle-building, were jealously watched and circumscribed; while private jurisdictions, although tolerated as a necessary evil, were kept within bounds. The manor was in England the normal unit of seignorial jurisdiction, and higher courts of Honours were so exceptional as to be a negligible quantity. No feudal appeal lay from the manorial court of one magnate to that of his over-lord, while, in later reigns at least, appeals were encouraged to the _Curia Regis_. Almost at the close of William’s reign a new encroachment upon the feudal spirit was accomplished, when the Conqueror on Salisbury Plain compelled all freeholders to take an oath of homage and fealty personally to the king.

The results of this policy have been well summarized as “a strong monarchy, a relatively weak baronage, and a homogeneous people.”

During the reign of William II. (1087-1100) the constitution made no conspicuous advance. The foundations had been laid; but Rufus was more intent on his hunting and enjoyments, than on the deeper matters of statecraft. Some minor details of feudal organization were doubtless settled and defined in these thirteen years by the King’s Treasurer, Ralph Flambard; but the extent to which he innovated on the practice of the elder William is matter of dispute. On the whole, the reign must be considered as a time of rest between two periods of advance.

Henry I. (1100-35) took up, with far-seeing statesman’s eye and much vigour, the work of consolidation. His policy shows an advance upon that of his father. William had contented himself with controlling and curbing the main vices of feudalism, while he played off against it the English native institutions. Henry went further, and introduced within the _Curia Regis_ itself a new class of men representing a new principle of government. The great offices of state, previously held by men of baronial rank, were now filled with creatures of Henry’s own, men of humble birth, whose merit had raised them to his favour, and whose only title to power lay in his goodwill. The employment of this strictly professional class of administrators was one of the chief contributions made by Henry to the growth of the constitution. His other great achievement was the organization of the Exchequer, primarily as a source of royal revenue, but soon found useful as a means of making his will felt in every corner of England. For this great work he was fortunate to secure in Roger, Bishop of Salisbury, the help of a man who combined genius with painstaking ability. At the Exchequer, as organized by the King and his minister, the sheriff of each county twice a year, at Easter and at Michaelmas, rendered account of every payment that had passed through his hands. His balance was adjusted before all the great officers of the King’s household, who subjected his accounts to close scrutiny and criticism. Official records were drawn up, one of which—the famous Pipe Roll of 1130,—is extant at the present day. As the sums received by the sheriff affected every class of society in town and country, these half-yearly audits enabled the King’s advisers to scrutinize the lives and conduct of every one of importance in the land. These half-yearly investigations were rendered more effective by the existence at the Exchequer of a great record of every landed estate in England. With this the sheriffs’ returns could be checked and compared. Henry’s Exchequer thus found one of its most powerful weapons in the great Domesday Survey, the most enduring proof of the statesmanship of the Conqueror, by whose orders and under whose direction it had been compiled.

The central scrutiny conducted within the two chambers of the Exchequer was supplemented by occasional inspections conducted in each county. The King’s representatives, including among them usually some of the officers whose duty it was to preside over the half-yearly audit, visited, at intervals still irregular, the various shires. These Eyres, as they were called, were at first chiefly undertaken for financial purposes. The main object was to check, on the scene of their labours, the statements made at Westminster by the various sheriffs. From the first, such financial investigations necessarily involved the trial of pleas. Complaints of oppression at the hands of the local tyrant of the county were naturally made and determined on the spot; gradually, but not until a later reign, the judicial business became equally important with the financial, and ultimately even more important.

Henry at his death in 1135 seemed to have carried nearly to completion his congenial task of building a strong monarchy on the foundations laid by William I. Much of his work was, however, for a time undone, while all of it seemed in imminent danger of perishing for ever, because he left no male heir of his body to succeed him on the throne. His daughter’s claims were set aside by Stephen, the son of the Conqueror’s daughter, and a cadet of the House of Blois, to whom Henry had played the indulgent uncle, and who repaid his benefactor’s generosity by constituting himself his heir. From the first moment of his reign, Stephen proved unequal to the task of preserving the monarchy intact from the wild forces that beat around the throne. His failure is attributed by some to his personal characteristics, and by others to the defective nature of his title, combined with the presence of a rival in the field in the person of his cousin, Henry’s daughter, the ex-Empress Matilda. The nineteen years of anarchy which nominally formed his reign did nothing—and worse than nothing—to continue the work of his great ancestors. The power of the Crown was humbled, and England was almost torn in fragments by the selfish claims of rival feudal magnates to local independence.

With the accession of Henry II. (1154) the tide quickly turned, and turned for good.

Of the numerous steps taken by Henry Plantagenet to complete the work of the earlier master-builders of the English monarchy, only a few need here be mentioned. Ascending the throne in early manhood, he brought with him a statesman’s instinct peculiar to himself, together with the unconquerable energy common to his race. He rapidly overhauled every existing institution and every branch of administration. The permanent _Curia Regis_ was not only restored to efficient working order, but was improved in each one of its many aspects—as the King’s household, as a financial bureau, as the administrative centre of the entire kingdom, and as the special vehicle of royal justice. The Exchequer, which was indeed originally merely the _Curia_ in its financial aspect, received the re-organization so urgently needed after the terrible strains to which it had been subjected amid the quarrels of Stephen and Matilda. The Pipe Rolls were revived and various minor reforms in financial matters effected. All local courts (both the old popular courts of hundred and county, and also the feudal jurisdictions) were brought under the more effective control of the central government by various expedients. Chief among these was the restoration of the system of Eyres with their travelling justices (a natural supplement to the restoration of the Exchequer), whose visits were now placed on a more regular and systematic basis. Equally important were the King’s personal care in the selection of fit men for the duties of sheriff, the frequent punishments and removal from office of offenders, and the rigid insistence upon efficient training and uprightness in all who enjoyed places of authority under the Crown. Henry was strong enough to employ more substantial men than the _novi homines_ of his grandfather without suffering them to be less devoted to the interests of their Prince. Yet another expedient for controlling local courts was the calling up of cases to his own central feudal _Curia_, or before those benches of professional judges, the future King’s Bench and Common Pleas, forming as yet merely committees of the _Curia_ as a whole.

Closely connected with the control thus established over the local courts was the new system of procedure instituted by Henry. The chief feature was that each litigation must commence with an appropriate royal writ issued from the Chancery. Soon for each class of action was devised a special writ appropriate to itself, and the entire procedure came to be known as "the writ process"—an important system to which English jurisprudence owes both its form and the direction of its growth. Many reforms which at first sight seem connected merely with minute points of legal procedure were really fraught with immense purport to the subsequent development of English law and English liberties. A great future was reserved for certain expedients adopted by Henry for the settlement of disputes as to the possession or ownership of land, and also for certain expedients for reforming criminal justice instituted or systematized by a great ordinance, issued in 1166, known as the Assize of Clarendon.[2] A striking feature of Henry’s policy was the bold manner in which he threw open the doors of his royal Courts of Law to all-comers, and provided there—always in return for hard cash, be it said—a better article in name of justice than could be procured elsewhere in England, or for that matter, elsewhere in Europe. Thus, not only was the Exchequer filled with fines and fees, but, insidiously and without the danger involved in a frontal attack, Henry sapped the strength of the great feudal magnates, and diverted the stream of litigants from the manorial courts to his own. The same policy had still another result in facilitating the growth of a body of common law, uniform throughout the length and breadth of England, and opposed to the varying usages of localities or even of individual baronial courts.

Footnote 2:

The details of these reforms are fully discussed _infra_ under the head of “Royal Justice and Feudal Justice,” and some of their ultimate effects under the head of “Trial by Jury.”

These reforms, besides influencing the current of events in England in numerous ways, both direct and indirect, all helped to strengthen the throne of Henry and his sons. Another class of reforms contributed greatly to the same result, namely, the reorganization of the army. This was effected in various ways: partly by the revival and more strict enforcement of the obligations connected with the old Anglo-Saxon fyrd or militia, under the Assize of Arms in 1181, which compelled every freeman to maintain at his own expense weapons and warlike equipment suited to his station in life; partly by the ingenious method of increasing the amount of feudal service due from Crown tenants, based upon an investigation instituted by the Crown and upon the written replies returned by the barons, known to historians as “the _Cartae_ of 1166”; and partly by the development (not, as is usually supposed, the _invention_) of the principle of scutage, a means whereby unwilling military service, limited as it was by annoying restrictions as to time and place, might be exchanged at the option of the Crown for money, with which a more flexible army of mercenaries might be hired.

By these expedients, along with many others, Henry raised the English monarchy, always in the ascendant since the Conquest, to the very zenith of its power, and left to his sons the entire machinery of government in perfect working order, combining high administrative efficiency with great strength. Full of bitter strifes and troubles as his reign of thirty-five years had been, nothing had interfered with the vigour and success of the policy whereby he tightened his hold on England. Neither the long bitter struggle with Becket and the Church, ending as it did in Henry’s personal humiliation, nor the unnatural warfare with his sons, which involved the depths of personal suffering to the King and hastened his death in 1189, was allowed to interfere with his projects of reform in England.

The last twenty years of his life had been darkened for him, and proved troubled and anarchic in the extreme to his continental dominions; but in England profound peace reigned. The last serious revolt of the powers of feudal anarchy had been suppressed in 1173 with characteristic thoroughness and moderation. After that date, the English monarchy retained its supremacy almost without an effort.

II. William I. to Henry II.—Problem of Local Government.

It is necessary to leave for a time the English monarchy at its zenith, still enjoying in 1189 the powers and reputation gained for it by Henry of Anjou, and to retrace our steps, in order to consider two subsidiary problems, each of which requires separate treatment—the problem of local government, and that of the relations between Church and State. The failure of the Princes of the House of Wessex to devise adequate machinery for keeping the Danish and Anglian provinces in subjection to their will was one main source of the weakness of their monarchy. When Duke William solved this problem he took an enormous stride towards establishing his throne on a securer basis.

Every age has to face, in its own way, a group of difficulties essentially the same, although assuming such different names as Home Rule, Local Government, or Federation. Problems as to the proper nature of the local authority, the extent of the powers with which it may be safely entrusted, and its relation to the central government, require constantly to be solved. The difficulties involved, always great, were unspeakably greater in an age when practically no administrative machinery existed, and when rapid communication and serviceable roads were unknown. A lively sympathy is excited by a consideration of the almost insuperable difficulties that beset the path of King Edgar or King Ethelred, endeavouring to rule from Winchester the distant tribes of alien races inhabiting Northumbria, Mercia, and East Anglia. If such a king placed a weakling as ruler over any distant province, anarchy would result and his own authority might be endangered along with that of his inefficient representative. Yet, if he entrusted the rule of that province to too strong a man, he might find his suzerainty shaken off by a viceroy who had consolidated his position and then defied his king. Here, then, are the two horns of a dilemma, both of which are illustrated by the course of early English history. When Wessex had established some measure of authority over rival states, and was fast growing into England, the policy at first followed was simply to leave each province under its old native line of rulers, who now admitted a nominal dependence on the King who ruled at Winchester. The early West-Saxon Princes vacillated between two opposite lines of policy. Spasmodic attempts at centralization alternated with the reverse policy of local autonomy. In the days when Dunstan united the spiritual duties of the See of Canterbury to the temporal duties of chief adviser to King Edgar, the problem of local government became urgent. Dunstan’s scheme has sometimes been described as a federal or home-rule policy—as a frank surrender of the attempt to control exclusively from one centre the mixed populations of Northern and Midland England. His attempted solution was to loosen rather than to tighten further the bond; to entrust with wide powers and franchises the local viceroy or ealdorman in each district, and so to be content with a loose federal empire—a union of hearts rather than a centralized despotism founded on coercion. The dangers of such a system are the more obvious when it is remembered that each ealdorman commanded the troops of his own province.

Cnut’s policy has been the subject of much discussion, and has sometimes apparently been misunderstood. The better opinion is that, with his Danish troops behind him, he felt strong enough to reverse Dunstan’s tactics and to take a decisive step in the direction of centralization or unity. His provincial viceroys (jarls or earls, as they were now called, rather than by their old vague title of ealdormen), were appointed on an entirely new basis. England was to be mapped out into new administrative districts in the hope of obliterating the old tribal divisions. Each of these was to be placed under a viceroy having no hereditary or dynastic connection with the province he governed. In this way, Cnut sought to avert the process by which the country was slowly breaking up into a number of petty kingdoms.

If these viceroys were a source of strength to the powerful Cnut, they were a source of weakness to the saintly Confessor, who was forced to submit to the control of his provincial rulers, such as Godwin and Leofric, as each in turn gained the upper hand in the field or in the Witan. This process of disintegration continued until the coming of the Conqueror utterly changed the relations of the monarchy to every other factor in the national life.

Among the expedients adopted by the Norman Duke for reducing his feudatories in England into subjection to the Crown, one of the most important was the total abolition of the old provinces formerly governed by separate ealdormen or jarls. Leaving out of account the exceptional franchises, afterwards known as palatine earldoms, the real representative of the King in each group of counties was now the sheriff or _vicecomes_, not the earl. This Latin name of _vicecomes_ is misleading, since the officer so-called in no sense represented the earl or _comes_, but acted as the direct agent of the Crown. The name, “viceroy,” more accurately describes his actual position and functions, since he was directly responsible to the Crown, and independent of the earl. The problem of local government, however, was not eradicated by the substitution of the sheriff for the earl as chief magistrate in the county; it only took a different form. The sheriffs themselves, when relieved from the earl’s rivalry and control, tended to become too powerful. If they never dreamed of openly defying the royal power, they at least thwarted its exercise indirectly, appropriated to their private uses items of revenue, pushed their own interests, and punished their own enemies, while acting in the name of the King. The office threatened to become territorial and hereditary,[3] and its holders aimed at independence. New checks had to be devised to prevent this new local authority from again defying the central power. New safeguards were found, partly in the organization of the Exchequer and partly in the device of sending periodically on circuit itinerant justices, who took precedence of the sheriff, heard complaints against his misdeeds in his own county, and thus enabled the Crown to keep a watchful eye on its representatives. By such measures, Henry I. seemed almost to have solved these problems before his death; but his success was apparent rather than real.

Footnote 3:

In one county, Westmoreland, the office did become hereditary.

The incompleteness of Henry’s solution of the difficulty became evident under Stephen, when the leading noble of each locality tried, generally with success, to capture _both_ offices for himself; great earls like Ralph of Chester and Geoffrey of Essex compelled the King not only to confirm them as sheriffs in their own titular counties, but also to confer on them exclusive right to act as justices therein.

With the accession of Henry II. the problem was, thanks to his energy and genius, more satisfactorily solved, or at least forced once more into the background. That great ruler was strong enough to prevent the growth of the hereditary principle as applied to offices either of the Household or of local magistrates. The sheriffs were frequently changed, not only by the drastic and unique measure known as the Inquest of Sheriffs, but systematically, and as a normal expedient of administration. For the time being, the local government was kept in proper subjection to the Crown; and gradually the problem solved itself. The power of the sheriffs tended in the thirteenth century to decrease, chiefly because they found important rivals not only in the itinerant judges, but also in two new officers first heard of in the reign of Richard I., the forerunners of the modern Coroner and Justice of the Peace respectively. All fear that the sheriffs as administrative heads of districts would assert practical independence of the Crown was thus at an end. Yet each of them still remained a petty tyrant over the inhabitants of his own bailiwick. While the Crown was able and willing to avenge any direct neglect of its own interests, it was not always sufficiently alert to avenge wrongs inflicted upon its humble subjects. The problem of local government, then, was fast losing its pressing importance as regards the Crown, and taking a new form, namely, the necessity of protecting the weak from unjust fines and oppressions inflicted on them by local magistrates. The sheriff’s local power was no longer a source of weakness to the monarch, but had become an effective part of the machinery which enabled the Crown to levy with impunity its always increasing taxation.

III. William I. to Henry II.—Problem of Church and State.

The national Church had been, from an early date, in tacit alliance with the Crown. The friendly aid of a long line of statesman-prelates from Dunstan downwards had given to the Anglo-Saxon monarchy much of the little strength it possessed. Before the Conquest the connection between Church and State had been exceedingly close, so much so that no one thought of drawing a sharp dividing line between. What afterwards became two separate entities, drifting more and more into active opposition, were at first merely two aspects of one whole—a whole which comprehended all classes of the people, considered both in their spiritual and their temporal relations. Change necessarily came with the Norman Conquest, when the English Church was brought into closer contact with Rome, and with the ecclesiastical ideals prevailing on the Continent. Yet no fundamental alteration resulted; the friendly relations which bound the English prelates to the English throne remained intact, while English churchmen continued to look to Canterbury, rather than to Rome, for guidance. The Church, in William the Conqueror’s new realm, retained more of a national character than could be found in any other nation of Europe.

Gratitude to the Pope for his moral support in the work of the Conquest never modified William’s determination to allow no unwarranted papal interference in his new domains. His letter, both outspoken and courteous, in reply to papal demands is still extant. “I refuse to do fealty nor will I, because neither have I promised it, nor do I find that my predecessors did it to your predecessors.” Peter’s pence he was willing to pay at the rate recognized by his Saxon predecessors; but all encroachments would be politely repelled.

In settling the country newly reduced to his domination, the Duke of Normandy found his most valuable adviser in a former Abbot of the Norman Abbey of Bec, whom he raised to be Primate of all England. No record has come down to us of any serious dispute between William and Lanfranc.

Substantially friendly relations between their successors in the offices of King and Archbishop remained, notwithstanding Anselm’s condemnation of the evil deeds of Rufus. Anselm warmly supported that King’s authority over the Norman magnates, even while he resented his evil practices towards the Church. He contented himself with a dignified protest (made emphatic by a withdrawal of his presence from England) against the new exactions upon the English prelates, and against the long intervals during which vacancies remained unfilled. Returning at Rufus’s death from a sort of honourable banishment at Rome, to aid Henry in maintaining order and gaining peaceable accession to the throne, Anselm found himself compelled by his conscience and the recent decrees of a Lateran Council, to enter on the great struggle of the investitures. Church and State were gradually disentangling themselves from each other; but in many respects the spiritual and temporal powers were still indissolubly locked together. In particular, every bishop was a vassal of the king, holder of a Crown barony, as well as a prelate of Holy Church. By whom, then, should a bishop be appointed, by the spiritual or by the temporal power? Could he without sin perform homage for the estates of his See? Who ought to invest him with ring and crozier, the symbols of his office as a shepherd of souls? Anselm adopted one view, Henry the other. A happy compromise, suggested by the King’s statesmanship, healed the breach for the time being. The ring and crozier, as badges of spiritual authority, were to be conferred only by the Church, but each prelate must perform fealty to the King before receiving these symbols, and must do homage thereafter, but before he was actually anointed as bishop. Canonical election was nominally conceded by the King; but here again a practical check was devised for rendering this power innocuous. The members of the cathedral chapter were confirmed in the theoretic right to appoint whom they pleased, but such appointment must be made in the King’s Court or Chapel, thus affording the powerful monarch full knowledge of the proceedings, and an opportunity of being present and of practically forcing the selection of his own candidate.

The Church gained much in power during Stephen’s reign, and deserved the power it gained, since it remained the only stable centre of good government, while all other institutions crumbled around it. It was not unnatural that churchmen should advance new claims, and we find them adopting the watchword, afterwards so famous, “that the Church should be free,” a vague phrase doubtless, destined to be embodied in Magna Carta. The extent of immunity thus claimed was never clearly defined, and this vagueness was probably intentional, since an elastic phrase might be expanded to keep pace with the ever-growing pretensions of the Church. Churchmen made it clear, however, that they meant it to include at the least two principles—those rights afterwards known as “benefit of clergy,” and “canonical election” respectively.

Henry II.’s attempt to force a clear definition, embodied in the Constitutions of Clarendon in 1164, signally failed, chiefly through the miscarriage of his plans consequent on the murder of Becket. Yet the rights of the Church, although remaining theoretically unaltered from the days of Stephen, felt the pressure directed by Henry’s energetic arm against all claims of privilege. Rights, theoretically the same, shrank to smaller practical limits when measured against the strength of Henry as compared with the weakness of Stephen. Canonical election thus remained at the close of the reign of Henry II. the same farce it had been in the days of Henry I. The “election” lay with the chapter of the vacant See; but the king told them plainly whom to elect. The other rights of the Church as actually enjoyed at the close of the reign of Henry Plantagenet were not far different from what had been set down in the Constitutions of Clarendon, although these never received formal recognition by Canterbury or by Rome. So matters stood between Church and State when the throne of England was bequeathed by Henry to his sons. It remained for John’s rash provocation, followed by his quick and cowardly retreat, to compel a new definition of the frontier between the spiritual and the temporal powers.

IV. Richard I. and John.

Henry II. before his death had fulfilled the task of restoring order, to which destiny had called him. To effect this, he had brought to perfection machinery of government of rare excellence, and equally well adapted for purposes of taxation, of dispensing justice, and of general administration. Great as was the power for good of this new instrument in the hands of a wise and justice-loving king, it was equally powerful for evil in the hands of an arrogant and unjust, or even of a careless monarch. All the old enemies of the Crown had been crushed. Local government, as now systematized, formed a source of strength, not of weakness; while the Church, whose highest offices were now filled with officials trained in Henry’s own Household and Exchequer (ecclesiastics in name only, differing widely from saintly monks like Anselm), still remained the fast friend of the Crown. The monarchy was strong enough to defy any one section of the nation, and no inclination was yet apparent among the estates of the realm to make common cause against the throne.

The very thoroughness with which the Crown had surmounted all its early difficulties, induced in Henry’s successors, men born in the purple, an exaggerated feeling of security, and a tendency to overreach themselves by excessive arrogance. At the same time, the very abjectness of the various factors of the nation, now prostrate beneath the heel of the Crown, prepared them to sink their mutual suspicions and to form a tacit alliance in order to join issue with their common oppressor. Powers used moderately and on the whole for national ends by Henry, were abused for purely selfish ends by his sons in succession. Richard’s heavy taxation and contemptuous indifference to English interests gradually reconciled men’s minds to thoughts of change, and prepared the basis of a combined opposition to a power which threatened to grind all other powers to powder.

In no direction were these abuses felt so severely as in taxation. Financial machinery had been elaborated to perfection, and large additional sums could be squeezed from every class in the nation by an extra turn of the screw. Richard did not even require to incur the odium of this, since the ministers, who were his instruments, shielded him from the unpopularity of his measures, while he pursued his own good pleasure abroad in war and tournament without even condescending to visit the subjects he oppressed. Twice only, for a few months in each case, did Richard visit England during a reign of ten years.

In his absence new methods of taxation were devised, and new classes of property subjected to it; in especial, personal effects—merchandise and other chattels—only once before (in 1187 for the Saladin tithe) placed under contribution, were now made a regular source of royal revenue. The isolated precedent of Henry’s reign was gladly followed when an extraordinarily heavy burden had to be borne by the nation to produce the ransom exacted for Richard’s release from prison. The very heartiness with which England made sacrifices to succour the Monarch in his hour of need, was turned against the tax-payers. Richard showed no gratitude; and, being devoid of all kindly interest in his subjects, he argued that what had been paid once might equally well be paid again. Thus he formed exaggerated notions of the revenue to be extracted from England. From abroad he sent demand after demand to his overworked justiciars for ever-increasing sums of money. The chief lessons of the reign are connected with this excessive taxation, and the consequent discontent which prepared the way for the new grouping of political forces under John.

Some minor lessons may be noted:

(1) In Richard’s absence the odium for his exactions fell upon his ministers at home, who thus bore the burden meet for his own callous shoulders, while he enjoyed an undeserved popularity by reason of his bravery and achievements, exaggerated as these were by the halo of romance which surrounds a distant hero. Thus may be traced some dim foreshadowing of the doctrine of ministerial responsibility, although such analogies with modern politics must not be pushed too far.

(2) Throughout the reign, many parts of Henry’s system, technical details of taxation and reforms in the administration of justice, were elaborated by Archbishop Hubert Walter. Principles closely connected with trial by jury on the one hand and with election and representation on the other were being quietly developed—destined to play an important rôle in other ages.

(3) Richard is sometimes said to have inaugurated the golden age of municipalities. Undoubtedly many charters still extant bear witness to the lavish hand with which he granted, on paper at least, franchises and privileges to the nascent towns. John Richard Green finds the true interest of the reign not in the King’s Crusades and French wars, so much as in his fostering care over the growth of municipal enterprise. The importance of the consequences of such a policy is not diminished by the fact that Richard acted from sordid motives—selling privileges, too often of a purely nominal character, as he sold everything else which would fetch a price.

The death of Richard on 6th April, 1199, brought with it at least one important change; England was no longer to be governed by an absentee. John, as impatient of control as he was incompetent, endeavoured to shake himself free from the restraints of powerful ministers, and determined to conduct the work of government in his own way. The result was an abrupt end to the progress made in the previous reign towards ministerial responsibility. The odium formerly exhausting itself on the justiciars of Richard was now expended on John. While, previously, men had sought redress in a change of minister, such vain expectations could no longer deceive. A new element of bitterness was added to injuries long resented, and the nobles who felt the pinch of heavy taxation were compelled to seek redress in an entirely new direction. All the forces of discontent played openly around the throne.

As is usual at the opening of a new reign, the discontented hoped that a change of sovereign would bring some relief. The excessive taxation of the late reign had been the result of exceptional circumstances. It was expected that the new King would revert to the less burdensome scale of his father’s financial measures. Such hopes were quickly disappointed. John’s needs proved as great as Richard’s, and the money he obtained was used for purposes that appealed to no one but himself. The excessive exactions demanded both in money and in service, coupled with the unpopular uses to which these were put, form the keynote of the whole reign. They form also the background of Magna Carta.

The reign falls naturally into three periods; the years in which John waged a losing war with the King of France (1199-1206), the quarrel with the Pope (1206-13), the great struggle of John with the barons (1213-16).

The first seven years were for England comparatively uneventful, except in the gradual deepening of disgust with John and all his ways. The continental dominions were ripe for losing, and John precipitated the catastrophe by his injustice and dilatoriness. The ease with which Normandy was lost shows something more than the incapacity of the King as a ruler and leader—John Softsword as contemporary writers contemptuously call him. It shows that the feudal army of Normandy had come to regard the English Sovereign as an alien monarch, and refused to fight in support of the rule of a foreigner. The unwillingness of the English nobles to succour John actively has also its significance. The descendants of the men who helped William I. to conquer England had now lost all interest in the land from which they came. They were now purely English landowners, and very different from the original Norman baronage whose interests, like their estates, had been equally divided on both sides of the Channel.

The death of Archbishop Hubert Walter in July, 1205, deprived King John of the services of the most experienced statesman in England. It did more, for it marked the termination of the long friendship between the English Crown and the National Church. Its immediate effect was to create a vacancy, the filling of which led to a bitter quarrel with Rome.

John failed, as usual, to recognize the merits of abler men, and saw in the death of his great Justiciar and Archbishop only the removal of an unwelcome restraint, and the opening to the Crown of a desirable piece of patronage. He prepared to strain to the utmost his rights in the election of a successor to the See of Canterbury, in favour of one of his own creatures, a certain John de Grey, already by royal influence Bishop of Norwich. Unexpected opposition to his will was offered by the canons of the Cathedral Church, who determined on a bold policy, namely, to turn their nominal right of canonical election into a reality, and to appoint their own nominee, without waiting either for the King’s approval or the co-operation of the suffragan bishops of the Province, who, during the last three vacancies, had put forth a claim to participate in the election, and had invariably used their influence on behalf of the King’s nominee. Reginald, the sub-prior, was secretly elected by the monks, and hurried abroad to obtain confirmation at Rome before the appointment was made public. Reginald’s vanity prevented his keeping his pledge of secrecy, and a rumour reached the ear of John, who brought pressure to bear on the monks, now frightened at their own temerity, and secured de Grey’s appointment in a second election. The Bishop of Norwich was actually enthroned at Canterbury, and invested by the King with the temporalities of the See. All parties now sent representatives to Rome. This somewhat petty squabble benefited none of the original disputants; for the astute Innocent III. was quick to see an opportunity for papal aggrandisement. Both elections were set aside by decree of the Papal Curia, and the emissaries of the various parties were coerced or persuaded to appoint there and then in the Pope’s presence the Pope’s own nominee, a certain Cardinal, English-born, but hitherto little known in England, Stephen Langton by name, destined to play an important part in the future history of the land of his birth.

John refused to view this triumph of papal arrogance in the light of a compromise—the view diplomatically suggested by Innocent. The King, with the hot blood common to his race, and the bad judgment peculiar to himself, rushed headlong into a quarrel with Rome which he was incapable of carrying to a successful issue. The details of the struggle, the interdicts and excommunications hurled by the Pope, and John’s measures of retaliation against the unfortunate English clergy, need not be discussed, since they do not directly affect the main plot which culminated at Runnymede.

John was not without some measure of sagacity of a selfish and short-sighted sort, but was completely devoid of far-seeing statecraft. One day he was to reap the fruits of this quarrel in bitter humiliation and in the defeat of his most cherished aims; but, for the moment, the breach with Rome seemed to lead to a triumph for the King. The papal encroachments furnished him with a suitable pretext for confiscating the property of the clergy. Thus his Exchequer was amply replenished, while he was able for a time to conciliate his most inveterate opponents, the Northern barons, by remitting during several years the hated burden of a scutage, which, in other periods of his reign, tended to become a yearly imposition. John had no intention, however, to forego his right to resume the practice of annual scutages whenever it suited him to do so. On the contrary, he executed a measure intended to make them more remunerative in the future. This was the great Inquest of Service ordered on 1st June, 1212.[4]

Footnote 4:

See Round, _Commune of London_, 273. This measure is discussed _infra_ pp. 91-2.

During these years, however, John temporarily relaxed the pressure on his feudal tenants. His doing so failed to gain back any of their goodwill, while he broadened the basis of future resistance by shifting his oppressions to the clergy and through them to the poor.

Some incidents of the autumn of 1212 require brief notice, as well from their own inherent interest as because they find an echo in the words of Magna Carta. Serious trouble had arisen with Wales. Llywelyn (who had married John’s natural daughter Joan, and had consolidated his power under protection of the English King) now seized the occasion to cross the border, while John was preparing his schemes for a new continental expedition. The King changed his plans, and prepared to lead his troops to Wales instead of France. A muster was summoned for September at Nottingham, and John went thither to meet them. Before tasting meat, as we are told in Roger of Wendover’s graphic narrative, he hanged twenty-eight Welsh hostages, boys of noble family, whom he held as sureties that Llywelyn would keep the peace.[5]

Footnote 5:

R. Wendover, III. 239.

Almost immediately thereafter, two messengers arrived simultaneously from Scotland and from Wales with unexpected tidings. John’s daughter, Joan, and the King of Scots, each independently warned him that his English barons were prepared to revolt, under shelter of the Pope’s absolution from their allegiance, and either to slay him or betray him to the Welsh. The King dared not afford them so good an opportunity. In a panic he disbanded the feudal levies; and, accompanied only by his mercenaries, moved slowly back to London.[6]

Footnote 6:

W. Coventry, II. 207; R. Wendover, III. 239.

Two of the barons, Robert Fitz-Walter, afterwards the Marshal of the army which, later on, opposed John at Runnymede, and Eustace de Vesci, showed their knowledge of John’s suspicions (if they did not justify them) by withdrawing secretly from his Court and taking to flight. The King caused them to be outlawed in their absence, and thereafter seized their estates and demolished their castles.[7]

Footnote 7:

From their possible connection with the wording of the famous chapter 39 of Magna Carta, it may be worth while to quote the exact words in which Ralph de Coggeshall, _Chronicon Anglicanum_, p. 165, describes this event, which he places (probably wrongly) in the year 1213.—“Rex Eustachium de Vesci et Robertum filium Walteri, in comitatibus tertio requisitos, cum eorum fautoribus utlaghiari fecit, castra eorum subvertit, praedia occupavit.”

These events of September, 1212, rudely shook John out of the false sense of security in which he had wrapped himself a few months earlier. In the Spring of the same year, he had still seemed to enjoy the full tide of prosperity; and he must have been a bold prophet who dared to foretell, as Peter of Wakefield did foretell, the speedy downfall of the King—a prophecy the main purport of which (although not the details), was actually accomplished.[8]

Footnote 8:

See Miss Norgate, _John Lackland_, 170, and authorities there cited.

John’s apparent security was deceptive; he had underestimated the powers arrayed against him. Before the end of that year he had realized, in a sudden flash of illumination, that the Pope was too strong for him, circumstanced as he then was. It may well be that, if John’s throne had rested on a solid basis of his subjects’ love, he might have defied with impunity the thunders of Rome; but, although he was still an unrestrained despot, his despotism now rested on a hollow foundation. His barons, particularly the eager spirits of the north, refrained from open rebellion merely until a fit opportunity should be offered them. The papal excommunication of a King relieved his subjects of their oaths of allegiance, and this might render their deliberate revolt dangerous and perhaps fatal. At this critical juncture Innocent played his leading card, inviting the King of France to act as the executor of the sentence of excommunication against his brother King. John at once realized that the time had come to make his peace with Rome.

Perhaps we should admire the sudden inspiration which showed the King that his game had been played and lost, while we regret the humiliation of his surrender, and the former blindness which could not see a little way ahead.

On 13th May, 1213, John met Pandulf, the papal legate, and accepted unconditionally his demands, the same which he had refused contemptuously some months before. Full reparation was to be made to the Church. Stephen Langton was to be received as archbishop in all honour with his banished bishops, friends and kinsmen. All church property was to be restored, with compensation for damage done. One of the minor conditions of John’s absolution was the restoration to Eustace de Vesci and Robert Fitz-Walter of the estates which they persuaded Innocent had been forfeited because of their loyalty to Rome.[9]

Footnote 9:

_Ibid._, 292–3.

John’s humiliation did not stop even here. Two days later he resigned the Crowns of England and Ireland, and received them again as the Pope’s feudatory, promising to perform personal homage should occasion allow. Such was the price which the King was now ready to pay for the Pope’s active alliance against his enemies at home and abroad, the former submission having merely bought off the excommunication. John hoped thus to disentangle himself from his growing difficulties, and so to be free to avenge himself on his baronial enemies. The surrender of the Crown was embodied in a formal legal document which bears to be made by John, “with the common council of our barons.” Were these merely words of form? They may have been so when first used; yet two years later the envoys of the insurgent barons claimed at Rome that the credit (so they now represented it) for the whole transaction lay with them. Perhaps the barons did consent to the surrender, thinking that to make the Pope lord paramount of England would protect the inhabitants from the irresponsible tyranny of John; while John hoped (with better reason as events proved) that the Pope’s friendship would increase his ability to work his evil will upon his enemies. In any case, no active opposition or protest seems to have been raised by any one at the time of the surrender. This step, so repugnant to later writers, seems not to have been regarded by contemporaries as a disgrace. Matthew Paris, indeed, writing in the next generation, describes it as “a thing to be detested for all time”; but then events had ripened in Matthew’s day, and he was a keen politician rather than an impartial onlooker.[10]

Footnote 10:

The late Cardinal Manning in an article in the _Contemporary Review_ for December, 1875 (since published in book form), on the Pope and Magna Carta, insists, probably with reason, that contemporary opinion saw nothing disgraceful in the surrender, rather the reverse.

Stephen Langton, now assured of a welcome to the high office into which he had been thrust against John’s will, landed at Dover and was received by the King at Winchester on 20th July, 1213. John swore on the Gospels to cherish and defend Holy Church, to restore the good laws of Edward, and to render to all men their rights, repeating practically the words of the coronation oath. In addition, he promised to make reparation for all property taken from the Church or churchmen. This oath, with its accompanying promise, was the condition on which he was to be absolved, provisionally by Langton, and more formally by a legate, to be sent from Rome specially for that purpose.

V. The Years of Crisis, 1213–15.

For a brief season after John had made his peace with Rome, he seemed to enjoy substantial fruits of his diplomacy. Once more the short-sighted character of his abilities was illustrated; a brief triumph led to a deeper fall. The King for the moment considered, with some show of reason, that he had regained the mastery of his enemies at home and abroad. Philip’s threatened invasion had to be abandoned; the people renewed their allegiance on the removal of the papal sentence; the barons had to reconcile themselves as best they could, awaiting a better opportunity to rebel. If John had confined himself to home affairs, he might have postponed the final explosion: he could not, however, reconcile himself to the loss of the great continental heritage of his ancestors. His attempts to recover Normandy and Anjou, partly by force of arms and partly by a great coalition, led to new exactions and new murmurings, while they ended in complete failure, which left him, discredited and penniless, at the mercy of the malcontents at home.

His projected campaign in Poitou would require all the levies he could raise. More than once John demanded, and his barons refused, their feudal service. Many excuses were put forward. At first they declined to follow a King who had not yet been fully absolved. Yet when Archbishop Stephen, on 20th July, 1213, removed the papal censure from John at Winchester, after exacting promises of good government, the northern barons still refused. Their new plea was that the tenure on which they held their lands did not compel them to serve abroad. They added that they were already exhausted by expeditions within England.[11]

Footnote 11:

R. Coggeshall, p. 167.

John took this as open defiance, and determined, with troops at his back (_per vim et arma_), to compel obedience.

Before his preparations were completed, an important assembly had met at St. Albans (on 4th August) to make sworn inquest as to the extent of damage done to churchmen during the years of John’s quarrel with Rome. The meeting is notable, not merely because of the reason of its summons, but also because of its composition. It is the earliest national council in which the principle of representation received recognition (so far as our records go).[12] Four lawful men, with the reeve, from each village or manor on the royal demesne, were present, but only, it must be remembered, in a very mean capacity—only to make a sworn inquest as to the amount of damage done. Such inquests by the humble representatives of the villages were quite common locally; the innovation lies in this, that their verdict was now given in a national assembly. Directions were issued in the King’s name from the same meeting, commanding sheriffs, foresters, and others to observe the laws of Henry I. and to abstain from unjust exactions, as they valued their limbs and lives.[13]

Footnote 12:

Stubbs, _Const. Hist._, I. 566.

Footnote 13:

R. Wendover, III. 261-2.

On 25th August, after John had set out with his mercenaries to punish by force of arms the refusal of his northern magnates to follow him to the Continent, as he held them bound to do in terms of their feudal obligations, Stephen Langton held a meeting with the great men of the south. Many bishops, abbots, priors and deans, together with some lay magnates of the southern counties, met him at St. Paul’s, London. The ostensible object of this assembly was to determine what use the Archbishop should make of his power to grant partial relaxation of the interdict still casting its blight over England—which could not be finally lifted until the legate arrived with fuller powers. If we may believe Roger of Wendover, more important business was transacted in the King’s absence. Stephen reminded the magnates that John’s absolution had been conditional on a promise of good government, and as a standard to guide them in judging what such government implied, he produced a copy of Henry I.’s Charter of Liberties. All present swore to “fight for those liberties, if it were needful, even unto death.” The Archbishop promised his help, “and a confederacy being thus made between them, the conference was dissolved.”[14]

Footnote 14:

Roger of Wendover, III. 263-6. Blackstone (_Great Charter_, Introduction, p. vi.), makes the apposite comment that it seems unlikely that the discovery by the Archbishop of a charter probably already well known “should be a matter of such novelty and triumph.”

Stephen Langton, however, desired a peaceable solution if possible, and three days later we find him, after a somewhat hurried journey, at Northampton, on the 28th of August, striving earnestly, and with success, to avert civil war between John and the recalcitrant Crown tenants in the north.

His line of argument is worthy of especial note. The King, he urged, must not levy war on his subjects before he had obtained a legal judgment against them. The substance of this advice should be compared with the terms of chapter 39 of Magna Carta. John resented the interference of Stephen in lay matters, and continued his march to Nottingham; but threats of fresh excommunications caused him at length to consent to substitute legal process for violence, and to appoint a day for the trial of the defaulters before the _Curia Regis_—a trial which never took place.[15]

Footnote 15:

R. Wendover, III. 262-3.

John apparently continued his journey as far north as Durham, but returned to meet the new papal legate Nicholas, to whom he performed the promised homage and repeated the formal act of surrender in St. Paul’s on 3rd October.[16] Having thus completed his alliance with the Pope, he was confident of worsting his enemies in France and England. As most, if not all, of the great magnates were against him, he saw that it would be well to strengthen his position by support of the class beneath them in the feudal scheme of society. Perhaps it was this that led John to broaden the basis of the national assembly. The great Council which met at Oxford on 15th November, 1213, was made notable by the presence, in addition to the Crown tenants, of representatives of the various counties. The sheriffs, in the words of the King’s writs, were to cause to assemble all knights already summoned (that is, the Crown tenants) and four discreet men of each county “_ad loquendum nobiscum de negotiis regni nostri_.” Miss Norgate[17] lays stress on the fact that these writs were issued after the death of the great Justiciar Geoffrey Fitz-Peter, and before any successor had been appointed. John, she argues, acted on his own initiative, and is thus entitled to the credit of being the first statesman to introduce representatives of the counties into the national assembly. The importance of this precedent need not be obscured by the selfish nature of the motives to which it was due. Knights who were tenants of mesne lords (Miss Norgate says “yeomen”) were invited to act as a counterpoise to the barons. This innovation anticipated the line of progress afterwards followed by de Montfort and Edward I. Compared with it, the often-praised provisions of