note, put it into his pouch, escaped back into Scotland, and was, at
last, taken with the paper in his possession. So found, the document
would naturally be sent to Edward, and thus it would find its way into
the usual receptacle for the state‐papers of the time.

At all events, Wallace soon returned from France, and again betook
himself to his forest‐haunts in Scotland. And now, seeing all Scotland
once more quietly at rest under Edward’s authority, the obduracy of
this violent man began to give way. For more than five years he had
lived the life of an outlaw, “having no sustenance” but “robbing
always.” He now approaches as near to the king as he may venture—still
hiding in the forest, and he begs his friends to apply to the king on
his behalf. But the application was made in a wrong spirit. Langtoft
thus describes it:—

  “Turn we now other ways, unto our own geste; (affairs)
  And speke of the Waleys, that lies in the foreste;
  In the forest he lendes, of Dumfermelyn:
  He prayed all his frendes, and other of his kin,—
  After that Yole (Christmas) they will beseke Edward;
  That he might yield till him, in a forward (covenant)
  That were honorable to kepe wod or beste;
  And with his scrit full stable, and seled at the lest;
  To him and all his, to have in heritage;
  And non otherwise, als terme, tyme and stage.
  But als a propise thing, that were conquest tille him.”

This assuredly was one of the most audacious demands ever made. The
outlaw knew full well that he had sinned in no ordinary manner and
degree, and that, not against Edward only, or chiefly, but against all
England. His name was heard throughout the realm with rage and horror.
Mr. Tytler justly describes his position in a few plain words:—“Wallace
was too well aware of the _unpardonable injuries_ which he had
inflicted _on the English_” to conceive it possible for Edward to
spare his life. And it is with wonder, therefore, that we read, in the
treaty made with Comyn in 1304, the distinct inclusion of Wallace:—“As
to William Walleys, if he thinks fit to surrender himself, it must be
unconditionally, to the will and mercy of our lord the king.”[129] In
another place it is said, that “William Walleys might put himself on
the grace and mercy of the king, if he thought proper.”[130] Now, as to
the meaning of such language in Edward’s mouth, there can be no doubt
whatever. We have just seen one instance in the case of the garrison of
Stirling; to whom he had refused the least promise of grace or mercy.
In fact, to be allowed to surrender, was tantamount to a grant of life
at least. As we have recently seen, when his judges reminded him that
“he might show mercy,” to a certain criminal, his exclamation was,
“_May_ show mercy! why I will do that for a dog, if he seeks my grace!”
On the other hand, when any one had sinned past forgiveness, like Bruce
in 1306, _then_ he was “not to be received;” and the young prince was
rebuked for holding any communication with him. As to Wallace, it is
evident that the king viewed him in the same light as he had viewed
the garrison of Stirling. He would enter into no engagement with them:
if they chose to surrender, it must be unconditionally, to the king’s
absolute will.

Wallace, as Mr. Tytler tells us, “was too well aware of the
unpardonable injuries which he had inflicted on the English” to be
able to believe it possible for the king to show him mercy; and thus
he threw away the only chance that remained to him. His demand, which
we have just given in Langtoft’s words—that he should have, under the
king’s hand, not only assurance of his life, but also an estate secured
to him and to his heirs for ever,—was just the surest way of raising
the king’s indignation. Obviously no pretension could have been more
preposterous. He was an outlaw, liable to be taken and brought to
justice; he was poor and wretched; and his offences, as he well knew,
were such as it must be difficult for the king to pardon. Yet, instead
of grasping at the single chance which was now offered him, he must
needs give the king fresh provocation. And thus his doom was sealed.
His demand was made known to the king, and Langtoft tells us the
result:—

  “When they brought that tiding, Edward was fulle grim:
  He belauht him the fiende; als his traitore in lond.
  And ever ilkon his frende, that him susteynd or fonde.
  Three hundred marke he hette unto his warison; (reward)
  That with him so mette, or bring his hedde to town.
  Now flies William Waleis, of pese nouht he spedis:
  In moores and mareis with robberie him fedis.”

Obviously no other course could be taken. Edward had already stretched
his prerogative of mercy to an extraordinary extent, by expressing
his willingness to “receive” the outlaw if he made an immediate and
unconditional submission. Had he so submitted and received mercy,
it cannot be doubted that such lenity would have caused great
dissatisfaction among the English people. But Wallace preferred
to remain still in his hiding‐places, and justice was not long in
overtaking him. As two Scottish earls had guided the king to his camp
at Falkirk, so now a Scottish knight soon claimed the reward offered
for the outlaw’s apprehension. Sir John Menteith surprised him in bed,
bound him, and delivered him to the English authorities.[131]

He was carried through England a chained prisoner to his doom. He
arrived in London on the 22nd of August, 1305, “great numbers of men
and women,” says Stowe, “wondering upon him.” He was not lodged in
any prison, nor was any lengthened proceeding entered into. His chief
crime—the savage desolation of the northern counties, was a matter of
universal notoriety; nor did he for a moment deny it. He was therefore
lodged for one night “at the house of William Dilect, a citizen of
London, in Fenchurch‐street;” and “on the morrow he was brought on
horseback to Westminster,—Segrave and Geoffrey, knights, and the mayor
and sheriffs of the city, escorting him. He was placed on a bench in
Westminster Hall,” and his indictment was read by Sir Percy Malorie,
chief justice. It charged him—not, as the Scottish historians would
represent—chiefly or solely with rebellion, or with levying war, but
with those special barbarities which under the name of war, he had
perpetrated.

Some writers lay great stress upon the circumstance, which appears
in only one chronicle, that the criminal repudiated the charge of
treason—saying, “Traitor was I never, for I never gave my allegiance
to the king of England.” The fact may have been so, but it is wholly
immaterial. No doubt more than half the persons who have died for
treason since Wallace’s days might have pleaded the same excuse. It is
most probable that none of the Jesuit priests executed in Elizabeth’s
days had ever sworn allegiance; and we may be sure that Thistlewood and
his gang, who died in 1820, had never taken any such oath. But no one
ever imagined that such a fact made the slightest difference in their
guilt, or in their position.

Treason, however, or mere rebellion, would never have brought Wallace
from Scotland to Westminster Hall. Comyn, Fraser, and scores of
other distinguished men in Scotland, had been guilty of treason and
rebellion, and had received the king’s pardon. The great difference
between their case and that of Wallace consisted in those “unpardonable
injuries” which, as Mr. Tytler admits, “he had inflicted on the
English,” and which Edward, as the king and defender of the English,
found it to be now his duty to punish. And, accordingly, his indictment
justly describes him as “Willelmus Waleis, captus pro seditione,
homicidiis, deprædacionibus, incendiis, et aliis diversis feloniis.”

And so it runs throughout. It says little of his treason and
rebellion—it dwells more on his murders and his other cruelties. It
speaks of his murder of the sheriff of Lanark, “whose body he cut in
pieces,” reminding us of the fate of Cressingham at Stirling. Passing
on to his invasion of the northern counties, it charges, that “with
certain of his accomplices, he invaded the realm of England, and all
whom he there found, subjects of the king of England, he slew by
various kinds of deaths—men of religion, and monks devoted to God,
he feloniously massacred; sparing none who spake the English tongue;
but all, old men and young, brides and widows, infants and children
at the breast, he murdered in a manner more terrible than could have
been imagined.” No denial was given to these charges; in fact, none
could be given: “He pleaded no defence,” says Mr. Tytler, “_the facts
were notorious_.” His ravage of Northumberland and Cumberland,
“leaving nothing behind him but _blood and ashes_,” was as well known
and as certain a fact as the comparatively insignificant “massacre of
Cawnpore” in our own day.

His sentence was therefore read. It was precisely such a sentence as
would have been passed upon any doer of the like acts in the reign of
William III., or in that of George III. It pronounced—

“That for the robberies, murders, and felonies, of which he had been
guilty, he should be hanged by the neck: That, as being an outlaw, and
not having come to the king’s peace, he should be cut down and beheaded
as a traitor: That, for the profanations and sacrileges committed by
him, he should be disembowelled and his entrails burnt: And that as a
warning to others, his head should be affixed to London Bridge, and his
quarters in the towns of Berwick, Newcastle, Stirling, and Perth.” This
judgment was carried into effect immediately.

This “barbarous sentence” is exclaimed against by most of the
Scotch historians; but their protests are strangely inconsistent
and forgetful. In Edward’s day, and for centuries afterwards, it
was thought right and necessary to visit great crimes with great
punishments. These complex sentences did not begin—we have already
remarked—in Edward’s day, but long before; and they were continued
for many centuries afterward. In Elizabeth’s day, when Walsingham
and Burleigh, Jewell and Hooker, flourished, many Jesuit priests
were sentenced to the same death which Wallace suffered, for merely
conspiring against the queen. Later still, we find Montrose sentenced,
by a very religious government in Scotland, to nearly the same death.
And in England we find William, lord Russell, the Christian patriot, in
1680, _protesting against the omission_ of the hanging and quartering
in the case of lord Stafford. In fact, the refinement of feeling
which, in our day, revolts against these disgusting details, had _no
existence_ in the fourteenth century, nor for several hundred years
after it; and to censure Edward for the cruelty of this sentence, is
as irrational as if we were to blame him for wearing armour, or for
not using gunpowder. For more than four hundred years after Wallace’s
death, no Englishman ever dreamed that there had been any peculiar
cruelty in the mode of his execution. But since Hume’s days it has been
the fashion to regard Wallace as a martyr, and to charge Edward with
cruelty, for permitting his execution. And even some of our best and
most recent historians continue to write in this strain. Thus, Sharon
Turner says, “Edward obtained the wretched gratification of destroying
his noble enemy; but his cruelty has only increased the celebrity of
Wallace, and indelibly blotted his own.”[132] And Mr. Pearson, still
more recently, talks of “new refinement of cruelty,” and of “this
atrocious sentence,” and of Edward’s “barbarity.”[133]

But might not a very opposite view be taken with quite as much reason?
Might we not blame the king, not so much for undue severity as for a
blameable lenity. He offered Wallace his life, if he chose “to put
himself on the grace and mercy of the king.” So confesses Mr. Pearson,
who says, “The words, I think, clearly imply that the king will admit
Wallace to mercy, though he will not promise him terms.”[134] In fact,
if the king’s words do not mean this, they mean nothing. Any criminal,
at any time or place, may give himself up to punishment, without any
royal proclamation allowing him to do so. But could Edward, in this
case, with any propriety, show mercy? That may at least be questioned.

Try it by a similar case in our own day:—A massacre of English women
and children was committed, a dozen years ago, at Cawnpore. Would the
Indian government have dared to grant a pardon, on any conditions
whatever, to the perpetrator of that crime? Assuredly not.

The same question might arise next year in Ireland. There are many men
in that country who feel precisely as Wallace felt, and who detest the
English rule as heartily as he did. One of these, if he could obtain,
a success or two, might gather round him a few thousands of men, and
might begin a civil war. If he conducted this war in the usual manner,
and failed in it, he might surrender and be pardoned. This lenity was
experienced by Comyn and many others in Scotland; and the same lenity
might Wallace have found, supposing, we repeat, that he had carried on
the war in the usual manner.

But supposing the Fenian chief to prefer a kind of warfare resembling
that of Wallace in 1297, and that of the Irish rebels in 1798; how
would the case stand then? Suppose him to adopt Wallace’s system of
“no quarter”;[135] to burn schools and churches with all the people in
them;[136] to “spare neither age nor sex;”[137] to leave behind him,
in his march, “nothing but blood and ashes”[138]—would it be easy to
pardon him then? Even in this day of universal lenity, would not the
general feeling be, “No, if this ruthless destroyer of men, women, and
children is not brought to the scaffold, it will be quite impossible
hereafter to hang any human being!

One victim, then, and one only, had fallen on the scaffold; and even
that one, had he thrown himself on Edward’s mercy, would have been
spared. But when, especially in those hard and iron days, was so
great a change effected at so small a cost? When was a kingdom in
insurrection restored to peace with so little of bloodshed, or even of
minor punishment?

And now, there being “neither adversary nor evil occurrent,” the king
determined once more to attempt a thoroughly friendly and conciliatory
settlement of affairs in Scotland. In his usual frank and manly way,
he resolved to throw himself into the hands of the Scotch, and to
allow them to advise him as to the best plan for the government of the
country. He called upon Wishart, the bishop of Glasgow, who had already
been twice or thrice in arms against him; upon Robert Bruce, who,
though an Englishman, was earl of Carrick; and upon John Mowbray—to
consult together, and to agree among themselves as to time, place,
and other arrangements, for holding a parliament specially about the
state and affairs of Scotland; so that all things should be settled to
the full content of the whole Scottish people. At their suggestion a
parliament was held at Perth, in which ten commissioners were appointed
to confer with the king in London upon Scottish affairs. To these
Edward added ten Englishmen, with several of the judges. All these
were sworn to give the best advice in their power, without suffering
themselves to be biassed by friendship or interest. The result of their
deliberations was, that John of Bretagne, the king’s nephew, should
be appointed governor of Scotland, with the assistance of the present
chancellor and chamberlain: that for the administration of justice,
Scotland should be divided into four districts—Lothian, Galloway, the
country between the Forth and the mountains, and the highlands; to each
of which districts two justiciaries, an Englishman and a Scotchman,
should be appointed: that sheriffs and escheators should be named for
the several counties: and that the laws of David king of Scots should
be read in an assembly of the people of Scotland, for revision and
amendment.

On the 16th of September, 1305, a great council met on the affairs of
Scotland, at the New Temple in London. There were present the bishops
of Glasgow and St. Andrew’s, two Scotch earls, and several barons; and
the sitting lasted for about twenty days. A variety of points were
discussed and settled, and at last the commissioners came before the
king, at his manor of Sheen in Surrey, and read the ordinances which
they had made; which he then approved and confirmed. They then all
swore upon the Holy Gospels, “Robert Bruce,” says Mr. Tytler, “acting
a principal part,” for themselves and their heirs, and for the whole
people of Scotland, that they would faithfully keep and observe the
said ordinances. “They then took leave of the king, and returned home,
with great appearance of joy and satisfaction.”

In a few days after this, the king issued _Forma pacis Scotiæ_—the Form
of the peace of Scotland, in which he recounts—

“That the people of Scotland, after they were bound to us by oath of
fealty, and by their written engagements, did by evil advice make war
upon us, committing murders, robberies, burnings, etc., not only in
Scotland, but in parts of England also; but that afterwards many of
them returned and were received into our peace and favour; and now John
Comyn of Badenoch, and others of his party, desire to be so received:
now we, willing to do them special grace, have granted, and do hereby
grant, that their lives and liberties shall be safe, and that they
shall not be disinherited. And we also pardon the crimes aforesaid,
and remit the anger we had against them, they being bound to pay the
fines hereinafter mentioned.” Then follows a schedule of one, two, or
three years’ fines, on the principal persons concerned in the rebellion.

And so, apparently, was Scotland a second time pacified and brought
under regular government. Not a voice was now heard to disturb the
general tranquillity. One execution only, as in the case of Wales,
had been found necessary. One man in each of the two countries had
gone beyond the bounds of legitimate warfare, and had by special
crimes called down upon himself a special punishment. But towards
Scotland itself, as towards Wales, the conduct of Edward, both in 1296
and in 1305, was generous, wise, and thoroughly noble. Still, these
excellences could not protect him from treachery, perjury, and a third
rebellion. These closing troubles, however, of the king’s life must be
reserved for our concluding chapter.

Footnotes:

  [117] The Scottish historians, who wrote _a century after_, claim
  the victory in all three engagements; but Hemingford and Trivet,
  who wrote _at the time_, distinctly declare that Neville repulsed
  the Scotch, and recovered many of the prisoners. Hume and Tytler,
  as Scotchmen, give credit to their own chroniclers; and yet
  they are uncandid enough to profess to take their accounts from
  Hemingford and Trivet. But these latter writers, who are the only
  contemporary witnesses, plainly assert that the advantage, in the
  third engagement, rested with the English.

  [118] Tytler’s History of Scotland, vol. i., p. 186.

  [119] Hailes’ Annals, vol. i., p. 304.

  [120] Tytler, vol. i., p. 191.

  [121] Archæological Journal, No. 27.

  [122] Tytler’s History of Scotland, vol. i., p. 191.

  [123] Tytler, vol. i., p. 192.

  [124] Tytler, vol. i., p. 196.

  [125] Matthew of Westminster, 1304.

  [126] Tytler, vol. i., p. 197.

  [127] Matthew of Westminster, 1304.

  [128] Langtoft.

  [129] “Endroit de Will. de Walleys, le Roi entent, qu il soit receu
  a sa volute ’t a son ordainement.” (Palgrave.)

  [130] Rymer’s “Placita,” p. 370.

  [131] Langtoft says,—

    “Sir John of Menetest followed William so nigh,
    He toke him when he feared least, one night his leman by.”

  [132] History of England, vol. v., p. 97.

  [133] History of England, vol. ii., p. 428.

  [134] History of England, vol. ii., p. 424.

  [135] “They spared none, but slew all down.”—WYNTOUN.

  [136] Blind Harry.

  [137] Encyclo. Britan.

  [138] Sir Walter Scott.

XIII.

BRUCE’S REBELLION: THE WAR WHICH FOLLOWED.—THE DEATH OF EDWARD: HIS
CHARACTER.

Properly to understand the portion of history to which we are now
coming, it is necessary to bear in mind that the Bruces with whom
Edward had dealings, were three—the father, the son, and the grandson.
The first was the competitor for the crown in 1291, 1292. This Robert
de Brus, or Bruce, died in 1295; leaving a son, also Robert de Brus,
who was through life Edward’s faithful and familiar friend. This, the
second of the three, died in 1304, and was followed by his son, the
third of the same name, who raised the standard of rebellion in 1306,
and finally became king of Scotland.[139]

Of the Brus, or Bruce, family, we may adopt lord Campbell’s account. He
tells us, that—

“Robert de Brus, or Bruis (in modern times spelt Bruce), was one of
the companions of the conqueror, and having distinguished himself
in the battle of Hastings, his prowess was rewarded with no fewer
than ninety‐four lordships, of which Skelton, in Yorkshire, was the
principal.” “Robert, the son of the first Robert de Brus, became a
widower while a young man, and to assuage his grief, paid a visit to
Alexander I., king of Scotland, who was keeping his court at Stirling.
There the heiress of Annandale fell in love with him, and in due time
he led her to the altar.” “The fourth in succession married Isabel,
the second daughter of David, earl of Huntingdon, grandson of David
I. Robert de Brus, afterwards the competitor, was their eldest son.”
This de Brus “practised in Westminster Hall from 1245 to 1250. In the
latter year he took his seat as a puisne judge; and in the 46th year of
Henry III. he had a grant of forty pounds a year salary.” He married
a daughter of the earl of Gloucester, and his son (the second of the
three), was, in all probability, born in or near Westminster; where
the judge must have dwelt. In 1268 he was appointed chief justice,
and remained in that post until the end of Henry’s reign. Not being
re‐appointed, he retired to his castle of Lochmaben. Here (in 1289) he
became one of the commissioners for negociating the marriage of the
heiress of Scotland with the young prince of Wales. On the death of the
youthful Margaret, he advanced his own claim, as the son of David of
Huntingdon’s second daughter; but the superior claim of John Baliol was
preferred, he being the grandson of David’s _eldest_ daughter. De Brus,
disappointed, and resolving not to pay homage to Baliol, “retired,”
says Sir Walter Scott, “to his great Yorkshire estates,” where he died
in 1295, the year preceding Edward’s first entrance into Scotland. He
had been, through life, ranked among the barons of England, and had
been always a steady supporter of the crown. We find him on Henry’s
side at the battle of Lewes in 1264. We find him also acting as sheriff
of Cumberland; and he was buried in 1295, at Guisborough in Yorkshire,
where his tomb still remains.

His son, the second Robert de Brus of these three, was an intimate
friend of Edward’s. He accompanied him in his visit to Palestine; he
was on such terms of familiarity with him (as we have seen in a former
page) as to apply to him for a loan of money; and we observe that in
1300, when the king returned from Scotland, he took up his abode “at
Holme Cultram, on the border.” Now Holme Cultram is the place where
_this_ Robert de Brus lies buried. He was governor of Carlisle, and
we have no doubt that it was by his invitation that Edward determined
to spend some time in this home on the border. This de Brus married
the countess of Carrick, and thus added another Scottish estate to his
large English inheritance. He was always loyal to the English crown;
and, accordingly, when the Scottish parliament of 1294-5 occupied
itself in confiscating the estates of all who adhered to Edward, the
lordship of Annandale was taken from de Brus. “During the contest
of 1295-6, this Bruce, son to the competitor, possessed of large
estates in England, continued faithful to Edward.”[140] And when
Baliol resigned the crown, and Edward took possession of Scotland, he
nominated “his dear and faithful Robert de Brus, earl of Carrick, _and
his son_, to receive to his peace the inhabitants of Annandale.” A
year or two later, we find him fighting in the English army, against
Wallace, at Falkirk.[141] This, the second Robert de Brus of the
three, seems to have lived and died governor of Carlisle, and sheriff
of Cumberland, sitting in the English parliaments; and his grave, like
his father’s, was made on English soil.

His son, the grandson of the competitor, was born, there seems no room
to doubt, in or near Westminster, on the 11th of July, 1274.[142]
This date, of itself, indicates the place of his birth, for at
that time his father and mother must have been in the metropolis,
waiting for Edward’s arrival and his coronation. The king was known
to be approaching the coast, and, a few days after, he landed. The
preparations for the ceremony and the feast had been going on for many
weeks previous, and the king of Scotland, the duke of Bretagne, the
archbishop, and all the barons of England, were gathered together to
greet his arrival. His own personal friend, Bruce, who had accompanied
him to Palestine, and who returned the year previous, could not, we may
be sure, be absent. Nor was it at all probable that his vivacious lady,
whose promptitude and decision had been shown, the previous year, in
“taking to herself a husband,”[143] would prefer to remain in silence
and solitude in her Scottish home, while one of the greatest ceremonies
of the time was proceeding, in which her husband had a right to take a
prominent part. Assuredly this Bruce, the second of the three, and his
wife, the countess of Carrick, were in Westminster in July, 1274, and
hence in that city, about three weeks before the king’s arrival, the
son, who afterwards became king of Scotland, was born.

When rising out of boyhood into man’s estate, we find young Bruce in
Edward’s court. His father, who was intimate enough with the king to
ask him to lend him forty pounds,[144] would find no difficulty in
introducing, as we are told he did, his son, when growing up, to a post
in the royal household.[145] That the young Bruce often spent a summer
at Turnberry, or at Holme Cultram, we can easily imagine; but his
education he gained, we doubt not, as he received his birth, in or near
Westminster; with occasional visits to others of the royal palaces.

But the events of 1290-1292 cannot have passed unheeded by the young
scion of a Norman house. His grandfather, the inheritor of ninety‐four
lordships in Yorkshire, had preferred a claim to be declared king
of Scotland, and in that claim the young son of the earl of Carrick
must have felt the deepest interest. It created a desire which seems
never to have left the young de Brus. “The ideal perfection of the
knight‐errant,” says Sir Walter Scott, “was to wander from land to
land in quest of renown; to gain earldoms, nay, kingdoms, by the
sword.” This idea must have been often present in the young de Brus’s
mind.[146] He was empowered, as we have just seen, with his father, “to
receive into the king’s peace the inhabitants of Annandale.” And from
this date, 1296, until 1306, he continued to profess a loyal adherence
to the crown of England. But there was an evident vacillation and
hesitation in his course. He is claimed, more than once or twice, as
a favourer of the insurgents who kept Scotland in commotion from 1297
to 1304. In truth, his position differed somewhat from that of his
father and grandfather. In 1292 it was formally and solemnly adjudged
that the right of John Baliol was superior to that of Robert de Brus.
But in 1296 Baliol resigned the crown, and the king of England became
king of Scotland also. The thought, therefore, could scarcely be absent
from young de Brus’s mind, that if the two realms were again severed,
and if Scotland became once more an independent kingdom, _he_, Robert
de Brus, would surely be one of those who might advance the strongest
title,—Baliol being now a refugee in France.

This thought seems to reveal itself at several stages of this history.
Thus, when in 1297 Wallace raised the standard of rebellion, de Brus
was called on to take his side. “His conduct,” says Mr. Tytler, “was
vacillating and inconsistent.” The wardens of the marches called upon
him to take his place under the king’s standard. He went, therefore,
to Carlisle, and took a solemn oath to be faithful to the king. To
prove his fidelity, he ravaged the estates of Sir William Douglas, who
was then with Wallace; seized his wife and children, and carried them
to Annandale. Having thus defeated suspicion, and saved his estates,
he privately assembled his father’s retainers, talked lightly of “a
foolish oath” he had taken, from which he hoped the pope would absolve
him, and urged them to follow him, and join the insurgent forces.[147]
During the next seven years we remark the same hesitating and doubtful
course.

De Brus was an English baron; his father and his grandfather died on
their English estates, and were buried in English graves. In Scotland
they were men of note, men of power; but there were greater men in
Scotland than they. Accordingly, when Wallace had driven the English
out of Scotland, and a sort of “regency” was established, we hear of
Comyn, and the earl of Buchan, and the bishop of St. Andrew’s acting as
“regents,” and treating with Edward; but never do we meet with de Brus,
either in the field or in the cabinet—either leading an armed force
or placing himself at the head of a regency. His name, we believe, is
once or twice used, but no proof is given that his concurrence had been
obtained. From all open collision with the English government de Brus
appears to have shrunk. And hence, when the strife of 1300-1304 came
to an end, this cautious politician appeared to have saved himself
from damage. Mr. Tytler observes that “Bruce, whose conduct had been
_consistent only upon selfish principles_, found himself, when compared
with other Scottish barons, in an enviable situation. He had preserved
his great estates; his rivals were overpowered; and, on any new
emergency occurring, the way was partly cleared for his own claim to
the crown.”[148] Writers of a later date—writers whose object was to
represent Bruce as a patriot—have put forward his name as concerned,
with Comyn, Soulis, and others, in fighting the battle of Scottish
independence; but it is very clear that Bruce himself contrived to make
Edward regard him as a stedfast and sincere friend. On his father’s
death, in 1304, he succeeded to the estates, and took the usual
oaths of fealty; being released, by the favour of Edward, from the
scutage payable to the feudal lord. And in that same year a letter was
addressed to him by the king, in the following terms:—

“To our faithful and loyal Robert de Brus, earl of Carrick, and to all
other our good people who are in his company, greeting:—We have heard
that it is agreed between you and John de Segrave, and our other good
people of his company, to follow the enemy; and that you desire we
should hold you excused if you come not to us on the day appointed:
know that for the great diligence and care which you have used in our
affairs, and because you are thus agreed to follow the enemy, we thank
you as heartily as we can; and we pray and require especially, as we
confide in you, that ye put an end to this affair before ye leave these
parts.”[149]

Thus, for a series of years, from 1296 to 1304, did de Brus succeed
in making the king believe that, like his father and his grandfather,
he was a faithful adherent of the English crown. And accordingly,
when 1305 came, and all Scotland, from the Solway to the Orkneys,
surrendered to the English king, he, desiring above all things peace
and contentment, “placed himself chiefly in the hands of the bishop
of St. Andrew’s, of John de Moubray, and of Robert de Brus.”[150] The
last of the three was an Englishman, and also a Scottish baron. He was
in the same position as our dukes of Sutherland of the present day,
who are great lords in Staffordshire and other English counties, but
one of whom, marrying a Scotch countess, added to his large English
possessions almost a whole Scottish county.

That this Robert de Brus, on coming to man’s estate, and pondering the
prospect before him, did often think upon his position with reference
to the Scottish crown, is probable enough, and is suggested by several
passages in his history. But so thinking, he would immediately discern
three obstacles:—1. The declared superiority of Baliol’s claim, which
had been recognized at the time of the arbitration. 2. Next, springing
from the same root,—Margaret, the eldest daughter of David, earl of
Huntingdon,—there stood John Comyn, a more potent baron in Scotland
than he, and one who had, for five or six years past, acted as regent
of the kingdom. How could de Brus expect that a Comyn would permit
a descendant of David’s _second_ daughter to take the Scottish crown
in his presence?[151] But, 3, there stood in his way the _de facto_
king of Scotland, Edward, to whom he, de Brus, and every lord in
Scotland, had sworn fealty; and whose strong right arm showed, as yet,
no signs of relinquishing so important an acquisition. De Brus could
not forget that any appearance of treason on his part, in Scotland,
would at once endanger his ninety‐four English lordships; and in spite
of all that some Scottish historians have said, we feel satisfied, by
Edward’s letter just cited, and by Bruce’s employment to settle “the
pacification of Scotland,” that the king regarded him, up to the close
of 1305, as “our dear and faithful Robert de Brus.”

But in October or November of that year, “having sworn upon the Holy
Gospels” that he “would faithfully keep and observe the ordinances
of the pacification of Scotland, Bruce took leave of the king, and
returned home, with great appearance of joy and satisfaction.” No
one pretends that the king had given him any cause for discontent or
alienation. Yet every Scottish historian that has ever written on the
subject has avowed his conviction that this swearing on the gospels
was a deliberate perjury, and that the show of “joy and satisfaction”
was wholly hypocritical. They all assure us that at this very time
Bruce was planning and conspiring, with various persons, to obtain for
himself the crown of Scotland.

In this temper of mind he began his journey homewards. He would direct
his course, naturally, first to Holme Cultram, in Cumberland, where his
father had, but a year or two before, been buried. From Holme Cultram
a vessel would carry him in two or three hours to Dumfries, from whence
an hour’s ride would bring him to his Scottish home at Lochmaben.
During his long ride from Sheen and from London, his thoughts would
inevitably turn to those three obstacles, of which we have spoken,
which stood between him and the crown of Scotland; and we know now what
must have been his thoughts. It is easy to describe them, without any
risk of error.

Baliol, he knew, had pledged himself, three or four years before,
not to meddle any further in the affairs of Scotland; nor had he any
concealed intentions of another kind. Voluntarily, and expressing his
own feelings, he had declared that he would never again set foot in a
country which had treated him so unjustly. Baliol, therefore, who had
been an obstacle in times past, might now be dismissed from view; he
could obstruct the path no longer.

A more serious question was that which concerned Edward himself; but
Bruce had latterly been spending much time in the king’s company, and
he had learnt enough to satisfy him that the great warrior had seen the
last of his battle‐fields. Edward was now in his sixty‐seventh year.
The length of his lower limbs had always been the one fault in his
otherwise perfect symmetry, and those limbs now began to fail him. In
a public ceremonial, a few months after this, the king’s strength gave
way before his task had been performed. Bruce might confidently assure
himself that, whatever might happen, the victor of Falkirk would never
again be found at the head of an army on the soil of Scotland. As for
the young prince, he was not worth a thought.

Two principal obstacles, then, were vanishing out of his way, and
the crisis, the present moment, was all‐important. A plan of a new
English government had just been agreed upon, but it had still to be
constructed and established. If that government should be allowed to
develope itself, to assume the reins, and to take the rule of Scotland
into its hands, a new rebellion might be almost a hopeless task. Now,
if ever—_now_, with ten times more hope than two years later—_now_,
must the effort be made.

But, though two obstacles had almost vanished, the third still
remained. Comyn was “the first noble in the realm.”[152] His power in
Scotland was far greater than that of Bruce. He had acted, too, as
regent of Scotland for some five years past. Upon the course he should
now take, the success of any new attempt must mainly depend. He had but
recently applied for the king’s pardon, and had received it. He had,
at the same time, given a new oath of fealty to the king. What would
he now do? Should he adhere to his oath, and give his help to put down
a new insurrection, what reasonable prospect of success would there
be? Yet how could Bruce expect Comyn, after struggling in vain against
English rule for five years, now to incur the terrible risk of a new
rebellion? and that not for himself, but for another? The case seemed
hopeless. What, then, was to be done?

Such thoughts as these, we cannot for a moment doubt, must have passed
through Bruce’s mind in his journey from Sheen to Scotland, in October
and November, 1305. The question seemed to reduce itself within the
smallest limits: “Comyn, what will he do? And, supposing he refuses to
aid us in a new rebellion, by what means can we thrust him out of our
way?”

The answer to this question, the final resolve, we know to have been
an evil one. Bruce had already entangled himself in the guilt of
deception and hypocrisy, but now he must go much further. The great
prize of a crown was suspended before him, and he would hesitate at
nothing to gain it.

His decision was formed: if Comyn would obstruct his course—if Comyn
would neither act nor permit others to act, then Comyn must be got rid
of. A settled plan of deliberate assassination was the final result of
these long cogitations.

Four of the principal English chroniclers of the time, besides divers
others, give us the result.

Walter Hemingford, one of the best of the English historians, says—

“Robert de Brus, grandson of that Brus who had disputed with Baliol
the crown of Scotland,” “relying on perverse counsel, aspired to the
kingdom, and fearing lord John Comyn, a powerful noble, and faithful
to the king,” “he sent to him with treacherous intent two of his
brothers, Thomas and Nigel, asking him to meet him at Dumfries, to
treat of certain matters; and he, suspecting no evil, came to him to
the church of the Friars’ Minors. And when they were conversing, as
it seemed, with peaceful words, all at once altering his mien and
changing his language, he began to inveigh against him, accusing him of
having injured him in the king’s estimation. And when Comyn attempted
to reply, the other would not hear him, but, _as he had plotted_, he
struck him with his foot, and then with his sword; and, retiring, left
him to his retainers, who, pressing on him, left him for dead on the
pavement of the altar.”

The “Chronicle of Lanercost,” written at the time and in the
neighbourhood, thus records the fact:—

“Lord Robert Brus, earl of Carrick, guilefully sent a message to lord
John Comyn, asking him to come and have an interview with him at the
house of the Friars’ Minors in Dumfries; and when he had come, he slew
him in the church, and also lord Robert Comyn, his uncle.”

Matthew of Westminster is another contemporary historian, who shows
that he had access to the best sources of information. He thus
describes the murder:—

“Robert Bruce, earl of Carrick, first secretly, and afterwards more
openly, conferred with some of the Scottish nobles, saying, ‘Ye know
that by right this kingdom belongs to me; and this nation intended to
have crowned my grandfather king, had not the cunning of the king of
England disappointed them. But now, if ye will crown me king, I will
deliver this kingdom and people from the tyranny of the English.’ To
this many consented. But when he asked John Comyn, a noble and powerful
knight, he resolutely replied that he did not consent. He added, ‘All
the world knows that the king of England has four times subdued our
country, and that we all, both knights and clergy, have sworn fealty to
him. Far be it from me to consent to this perjury, I will not burden
my soul with it.’ Bruce begins to persuade, Comyn continues to object;
the one threatens, the other withstands. At length, Bruce, drawing his
sword, strikes Comyn, who was unarmed. Comyn fell, grasping the sword;
Bruce’s attendants rushed in and gave Comyn fresh wounds. This took
place at Dumfries, in the church of the Friars’ Minors.”

Peter Langtoft, another writer of the time, thus describes the scene:—

  “He sent for John Comyn, the lord of Badenoch:
  To Dumfries should he come, unto the Minors’ kirke:
  A speking there they had: the Comyn will not worke,
  Nor do after the saying of Robert the Bruse.
  Away he ’gan him drawe; his conseil to refuse:
  Robert, with a knife, the Comyn there he smote;
  Through which wound his life he lost, well I wote.
  He went to the high altar, and stood and rested him there;
  Came Robert’s squire, and wounded him well more;
  For he will not consent to raise no follye,
  Nor do as he meant, to gin to make partie
  Against king Edward, Scotland to dereyne.”

These four writers are all contemporary witnesses; they all had
access to the best sources of information, and they wrote at the very
time. Many other and similar accounts might be cited, but these are
sufficient.

Almost one hundred years after, the three principal Scottish
historians—Barbour, Fordun, and Wyntoun—arose in Scotland. They had to
write the history of their country, but their only materials consisted
of Scottish traditions and English chronicles. Barbour, the first of
these, had a pension granted to him out of the Scottish exchequer, “for
compiling the book of the deeds of king Robert the First.” The work
assigned to him evidently was to represent the Bruce as a hero, and, as
far as possible, a “blameless king.”

After him followed Fordun and Wyntoun, and, still later, Hector Boece.
No one of these could pretend to be a contemporary—all gave from
tradition such facts as the Scottish people demanded of them. The
general result is a story of this kind:—

That Comyn and Bruce had had conferences, to discuss the prospects of
a new rebellion, in which Comyn was to support Bruce, and to receive
his, Bruce’s, estates as a reward. That this agreement was put into an
“endentur,” and sealed. That Comyn, being in Scotland, rode off to the
king (who, at the time indicated, was in Dorset or Hants) and showed
him the “endentur,” and left it with him. That thereupon the king
summoned a parliament, and Bruce came up from Scotland to attend it.
That Edward, having Bruce in town, was about to seize him, when the
earl of Gloucester gave him warning, and he fled. That, on his way to
Scotland, he met a messenger, whom he killed, and on whose person he
found letters from Comyn to Edward. That, thus armed, and indignant at
Comyn’s treachery, he went to Dumfries, met Comyn in the church of the
Friars’ Minors, where he upbraided him, and at last slew him.

Such is the story, which appeared a century after the time in which the
events occurred, and from the pen of men engaged to represent Bruce as
a hero. We shall give, first of all, a Scottish criticism on the whole
romance—the reasonable remarks of Mr. David Macpherson, the editor of
_Andrew Wyntoun’s Chronicle:—_

“This whole story of the transactions of Bruce with Comyn has much
the air of a fable contrived to varnish over the murder, and to make
it appear an act of justice in Bruce, whose splendid actions had so
prepossessed the people in his favour that they were determined not
to believe that he could do wrong. The story has this sure mark of
fable—that the later writers give us more circumstances than the
earlier ones. Barbour has nothing of the earl of Gloucester, nor of
Comyn’s messenger being intercepted and put to death, which are found
in Fordun. In Bower’s time the tale was embellished with the devil’s
consultation, and his wise scheme of inspiring Comyn to betray Bruce;
together with the fall of snow, and the ingenious device of shoeing the
horses backward. It was also thought proper to augment his retinue with
a groom, and to allow two days more for the journey. Nothing remained
for Hector Boece but to turn the earl of Gloucester’s pennies into
two pieces of gold, and to make a brother for Bruce, whom he calls
David.”[153]

One or two other remarks may be added:—

1. All the Scottish writers speak of a parliament being summoned, in
order to bring Bruce back to London.[154] Now we know that this is a
fiction. No such parliament was ever held, or called.

2. Bruce having taken leave of the king, at the end of October, and
returned home to Scotland, Comyn, whose presence in England at that
time is nowhere to be traced, is said to go to the king, and to show
him the “endentur.” Whereupon Bruce, who had returned to Scotland, is
to be suddenly brought back again, that the king may charge him with
his treason. Now the journey, at that time, occupied from fifteen to
twenty days. Winchelsey, a few years earlier, described it as requiring
twenty. Barbour says that Bruce accomplished it in fifteen.[155] Here
we have, first, Comyn’s “riding off to the king”; then, the king’s
issue of a summons, to be sent to Scotland to Bruce; then, the return
of Bruce to England, to attend a parliament; and finally, Bruce’s
flight back into Scotland—which last, of itself, his own historian
says, occupied fifteen days. It cannot be necessary to add that all
this riding backward and forward, from England to Scotland, and from
Scotland to England, is a romance, not a history.

3. Had the king been warned beforehand of Bruce’s treachery, he would
have spoken of it. It would have been recorded in some of the English
chronicles. No reason can be imagined why such a fact, if known,
should have been kept secret by any one. Bruce’s flight, too, had it
ever happened, would have alarmed Edward, and precautions would have
been taken. But it is quite clear that when Edward heard of Bruce’s
treason, and of the assassination of Comyn, the news came upon him as
a surprise. Neither he nor the people of England had any previous
expectation of it. “Nothing,” says Dr. Henry, “could exceed the
surprise and indignation of Edward, when he heard of this revolution.”

4. Comyn, it is alleged, after having been guilty of treachery towards
Bruce, is invited to meet him in private conference. Bruce goes there
with the dagger by his side; but Comyn, with all his consciousness of
having sinned grievously against Bruce, which, according to this story,
he must have felt, goes to this conference unarmed. Is this a credible
account of the matter? Must we not rather agree with Dr. Lingard, who
says, “There can be little doubt that all this is a fiction, invented
to wash the guilt of blood from the character of Bruce, and to justify
a transaction which led to the recovery of Scottish independence.”[156]
A more recent writer, Mr. Pearson, says, “There can be no reasonable
doubt that the crime was, to some extent, _premeditated_, as one in
which lay the only hope of safety for a betrayed and desperate man”
(vol. ii., p. 437). We believe that the murder was premeditated; but we
see no proof of any betrayal.

Mr. Macpherson is doubtless right when he thinks that “this whole story
has much the air of a fable,” invented long after, “to varnish over the
murder of Comyn.” We are not at all bound to regard Bruce, as these
Scottish writers would have us, as so hardened a hypocrite as to be
blandly discussing with Edward, at Sheen, the terms of the “settlement
of Scotland,” if he had already agreed with Comyn on the mode and
manner of a new rebellion. We deem the simple narrative of the English
chroniclers who wrote at the time to be both the more probable and also
that which casts the least blame upon Bruce. It surely is most probable
that the thoughts of a new rebellion only arose in his mind during his
homeward journey; that, arrived in Scotland, he spent some time, as
the English historians tell us, in conferring with the Scottish lords;
and that it was only when he found that Comyn would not concur, and
that his opposition would be fatal to the whole plan, that his final
resolve was taken. He would draw Comyn into a position from which there
should be no retreat. It should be, “Consent, or die!”

But the deed was now done. Bruce, by a perfidious device, had effected
his purpose, and by one stroke of a dagger, had removed the last
remaining obstacle from his path.[157] “The first noble in the realm,”
whose opposition would have been fatal to the plan, was slain, and
the conspirators had now the ground clear before them. We speak of a
conspiracy, although most modern Scottish writers assume the murder to
have been committed “in the heat of passion.” None, however, of the
older Scottish historians so represent it; and the well‐known anecdote
of Kirkpatrick refutes the idea. All Scottish writers tell us that
Bruce came out of the church exclaiming, “I doubt I have killed Comyn!”
“You doubt!” exclaims Kirkpatrick, “I’ll soon make sure!” (mak siccar).
The exclamation is that of a man who expected some such news; not of
one who was surprised or shocked. Evidently, Hemingford had ground for
his statement. “He struck him with his foot, and then with his sword,
_as he had plotted_, and then, retiring, left him to his retainers,
who, pressing on him, left him for dead on the pavement.”

“The die was now cast,” adds Mr. Tytler. “Bruce had, with his own hand,
assassinated the first noble in the land, in a place of tremendous
sanctity. He had stained the high altar with blood, and had directed
against himself the resentment of the powerful friends and vassals
of the murdered earl.” “He must now either become a fugitive and an
outlaw, or raise open banner against Edward.”

There can be no doubt that Bruce had weighed these chances beforehand.
The inveigling his victim into “a place of tremendous sanctity,” into
which he naturally came unarmed, and there falling upon him, shows
clearly a “foregone conclusion.” The chief man in England, he well
knew, was incapacitated by age and disease, and he had now got rid of
the chief man in Scotland. These obstacles removed, for all the rest he
relied on his own skill and audacity, his good sword, and his strong
right arm. And the issue showed that his calculations were just and
accurate; and “the power of intellect without conscience” was once more
proved to be sufficient to achieve great earthly and temporary success.

He repaired forthwith to Lochmaben castle, where he was at least safe
from any sudden pursuit of the Comyns. From thence he immediately
despatched letters to every friend who was likely to give him any aid.
Of these, the earls of Athol and Lennox, and the bishops of Glasgow,
St. Andrew’s, and Athol, and about fourteen others of some rank,
as knights or barons, quickly joined his standard. With these few
supporters, “he had the courage,” says Fordun, “to raise his hand, not
only against the king of England and his allies, but _against the whole
accumulated power of Scotland_.”

This confession, from the pen of Scotland’s first historian—himself a
profound admirer of Bruce—decides one question. It was not in obedience
to Scotland’s call that Bruce took up arms;“the whole accumulated power
of Scotland” was opposed to his enterprise. The cause he undertook
was simply _his own cause_, not that of Scotland. He had said to the
Scottish people—(to use the language of Matthew of Westminster)—“Make
me your king, and I will deliver you from the tyranny of the English.”
The response he received was the adherence of two earls, three bishops,
and fourteen knights or barons. The _dissentients_ were so numerous
as to amount, in Fordun’s view, to “the whole accumulated power of
Scotland.”

Still, however insignificant the support he received, and however
evident it might be that the movement had no other origin or purpose
than the gratification of his own personal ambition, he had now gone
too far to recede. Not even flight could save him, for who in France or
Italy would shelter one who had committed such sacrilege? He therefore
boldly took the only course which remained open. Three or four weeks
sufficed to collect together a sufficient force, and on the 24th or
the 25th of March, Bruce rode to Glasgow, and from thence, on the
27th, to Scone, where, in the accustomed spot, he received from the
bishops some kind of a coronation. Some robes were provided by the
bishop of Glasgow; a slight coronet of gold, “probably borrowed,” says
Mr. Tytler, supplied the place of the ancient crown of Scotland; and a
banner wrought with the royal arms was delivered by Wishart to the new
king; who, beneath it, received the homage of his few adherents, as
“Robert the first.” On the second day after the ceremony a repetition
of the scene took place. The earls of Fife had long enjoyed the
privilege of placing the kings of Scotland, at their coronation, upon
the throne. The present earl was with Edward in England; but his
sister, the countess of Buchan, was an enthusiastic partisan of Bruce;
and, hearing of the intended ceremony, she rushed to Scone to offer
her services in her brother’s room. Bruce could not afford to slight
or disappoint any adherent; and hence, simply to gratify her, the
coronation was performed over again, and she was allowed the privilege
upon which she set so much value.

The new king then began a progress through such parts of Scotland as
were likely to favour his pretensions; seizing the royal castles,
driving away the English officers, and asserting his rights as king
wherever he could find an opening. But his party, Mr. Tytler admits,
“_was small;_ the Comyns possessed the greatest power in Scotland; and
many earls and barons, who had suffered in the late war, preferred
the quiet of submission to the hazard of insurrection and revolt.” In
fact, as we have seen Fordun admitting—the rebellion was _not a popular
one_. Bruce had a far smaller party than either Wallace or Comyn had
gathered, and if a couple of years of life and vigour had been left
to Edward, the suppression of this third revolt would have proved an
easier task than the defeat of either of the former two. Of Bruce’s
method of proceeding we have a sample in a document still extant, in
which the earl of Strathern describes the mode in which he had been
dealt with. This is a memorial, addressed by the earl to king Edward,
in explanation of his position. In it the earl states, that as soon
as Bruce was made king, he sent letters of credence to the earl, by
the abbot of Inchaffrayn. The abbot urged the earl to repair forthwith
to Bruce, to perform homage and fealty. “Nay,” said the earl, “I have
nothing to do with him.” Thereupon Bruce and Athol, with a power,
entered Strathern, and occupied Foulis. Bruce sent the earl a safe
conduct, to repair to him. He did so, and on refusing to pay homage, he
was carried to Inchmecolmec. Here he found Sir Robert Boyd, who advised
Bruce, in his presence, _to behead him_, the earl, and to grant away
the lands of Strathern. On hearing this, he was frightened, and did
their will, and then they let him go.[158]

Tidings of all these proceedings—of Comyn’s murder; of Bruce’s
coronation; and of the treason of Lennox and Athol, of Wishart, and
of the two other bishops, reached Edward at Winchester, in Lent, and
shortly before Easter in 1306. Had there been any truth in the stories
told by Barbour, Fordun, and Wyntoun, of Bruce’s escape and flight to
Scotland, in the January preceding, we should have found, long before
this, traces of Edward’s foresight and energy, in the writs and other
documents which such occurrences would have drawn forth. But no such
traces are to be met with. This of itself abundantly proves that the
narratives of Barbour and Fordun are wholly fabulous.

The intelligence came upon the king as a surprise; and it awakened
in him feelings of the greatest indignation. As a knight and a
soldier, accustomed to the laws of honour, an act of premeditated
assassination—the assault of several armed men upon a single nobleman,
whom they had induced to come without arms to an amicable meeting,
would naturally fill his mind with horror and detestation. As a
sincerely religious man, who, in 1289, had abstained from violating
the sanctity of a church, even to take a notorious criminal from its
protection, the ruthless murder of a nobleman on the steps of the
altar must increase, if it were possible, his just indignation. But
evidently, that feature of the case which most exasperated him, was the
perfidy and treachery which had marked the whole transaction. The two
chief actors in this tragedy had been Bruce and Wishart; and it had
been to these two men, above all others, that he had looked for the
quiet settlement of Scotland. They had come from Scotland professedly
to assist him. They had sat at his council‐table for weeks together,
and, doubtless, had often taken their places at his festive board, and
shared with him in the summer enjoyments of his Richmond retirement.
And now, it was not merely that they had fallen off from him, but that
they had proved, by the desperate course which they adopted immediately
on their return, that all their pretended zeal and loyalty in the
October preceding, had been utterly false and treacherous. Edward was
well versed in the language of the Psalms, and he would naturally be
inclined to cry out, with David, “Yea! even mine own familiar friend,
in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lift up his heel
against me.”

This perfidy is made the especial charge against both the bishops, in
an accusation laid by Edward before the pope. In this document the king
recounts a long list of perjuries. Thus, of Wishart, bishop of Glasgow,
the king alleges—

That when he, the king, was first called into Scotland, about the
matter of the succession, he, the bishop, took the oath to the king, as
superior lord, and was appointed by him as one of the guardians of the
realm; yet, when Baliol was put into possession of the kingdom, he, the
bishop, aided and advised him in making war upon England.

Next, that, upon Baliol’s submission, the bishop came to the king at
Elgin, and prayed forgiveness; and took an oath on the consecrated
host, on the gospels, and upon the black rood of Scotland, that he
would be faithful and true to the king, and would never counsel
anything to his hurt or damage. And that, at the parliament held at
Berwick, he took the oath of fealty for the third time. Yet when the
king was gone to Flanders, the bishop abetted Wallace, and came forth
into the field against the king.

Again, when the rebellion seemed to decline, the bishop once more
submitted himself to the king, at Irvine, in July, 1297. Yet, in less
than a month afterwards, he had again confederated himself with Wallace
and the rebels, encouraging them as heretofore.

Next, the king having returned from Flanders, the bishop came before
him at Holme Cultram, and prayed the king’s grace and mercy, and did
then, for the _fourth_ time, take the oath of fealty upon the host,
gospels, rood, etc., etc. Yet, while this oath was yet fresh, the
bishop assembled all his strength, and marched against the king’s army.

Again, the rebellion being suppressed, the bishop came before the king
at Cambuskenneth, and prayed grace and mercy, and forswore himself a
_fifth_ time, upon the host, gospels, etc., etc. And at the parliament
at St. Andrew’s, he took the same oath a _sixth_ time. And yet, after
all this, within eight days after the murder of Comyn, he gave Bruce
plenary absolution—thus showing his approval of the sacrilege and the
murder. He also in every way promoted and encouraged the rebellion, in
violation of the oath which he had, on six different occasions, taken.

Similar are the complaints made by the king of the perjuries of the
bishop of St. Andrew’s, and the bishop of Elgin or Moray. To this
general faithlessness on the part of the leaders in the rebellion,
Wyntoun, in his “Cronykyl,” published in the next century, pleads
guilty, saying of Wallace’s day—

  “For in his time, I heard well say,
  That fickle they were, all time, of fay” (faith).

But the disgust and exasperation which this perpetual perfidy would
naturally excite in an honourable mind will be obvious to every one;
and we have no doubt that it was this feeling which induced the
inscription on the king’s tomb—_Pactum serva_—an inscription which
doubtless was placed there by his own command.

All the troubles of Edward’s life had arisen from the faithlessness of
those with whom he was concerned. David of Wales, Philip of France,
Balliol, Bruce—all, in their turn, first swore to him, and then
shamelessly violated their oaths. Hence, as his last word, he desires
this injunction or maxim—“KEEP YOUR COVENANT”—to be engraven on his
monument; and there, in Westminster Abbey, it still remains.

Meanwhile, the immediate result of all this perfidy is seen in the
entire change which is perceptible in Edward’s policy. For thirty years
he had been singularly merciful, insomuch that Lingard, as we have
just seen, declares it to be “difficult to point out any conqueror who
had displayed equal lenity.” And our latest historian, Mr. Pearson,
concedes to him “the praise of being slow to shed blood.”[159] But
there is truth in the maxim, “Beware of the anger of a patient man.”
Edward was not naturally a patient man, but he had the command of
his own spirit; he loved justice tempered with mercy; and one of his
chief principles of action had been shown in his hasty exclamation
in Segrave’s case, implying clearly that to seek his mercy, in all
ordinary cases, was to find it. But now he evidently felt that the time
for showing lenity was past. There is a degree of sternness, mingled
probably with some feeling of exasperation, in the acts of the last
year of his life; but his love of justice never varied, and cruelty was
a thing to him unknown.

“Although broken in body,” says Mr. Tytler, “this great king was, in
his mind and spirit, yet vigorous and unimpaired, as was soon evinced
by the rapidity and decision of his orders, and the subsequent
magnitude of his preparations. He instantly sent to strengthen the
frontier‐garrisons of Berwick and Carlisle, with the intention of
securing the English borders from invasion; and he appointed the earl
of Pembroke, with lord Robert Clifford and Henry Percy, to march into
Scotland.” It is clear, also, that the whole tone of the king’s mind
and language was changed, and his purpose was everywhere openly avowed,
to take a signal vengeance on all who had in any way been concerned in
the murder of Comyn.

Yet the death of that nobleman had deprived him of no favourite,—of no
intimate personal friend or counsellor. Between this Scottish baron
and the king there had been very little intercourse. For four or five
years Comyn had kept the field against Edward, while Bruce had been
professing the greatest zeal in his service. But Edward recognized
in Comyn a frank and earnest opponent, who carried on the war until
submission seemed to be a duty, and then surrendered his sword,
accepted peace, gave his fealty to the king, and _kept his covenant_.
And Edward saw this nobleman treacherously murdered by that Robert
Bruce who had often sat at his table and professed attachment to
him;—murdered, too, merely because he would not join in treason. Hence
the king’s vehement decision seemed at once to be taken, that for Bruce
and his abettors there was to be no more mercy. The blood of Comyn
should be fully avenged. He often showed his familiarity with the Old
Testament, and on this occasion he probably recurred frequently to the
language of David concerning Joab: “He shed the blood of war in peace,
and put the blood of war upon the girdle that was about his loins, and
in the shoes that were on his feet: let not his head go down to the
grave in peace.”

And it is quite evident that his feelings were generally shared by
his people. A grand religious ceremony was announced to take place at
Whitsuntide in Westminster Abbey. There the king purposed to confer
knighthood on the young prince, and on other young men of rank, his
companions. Nearly three hundred of the younger nobility and gentry
were candidates for this honour, and eager to take their part in the
new enterprise. So vast was the concourse of people in the abbey, that
some persons were crushed to death in the throng. The king was scarcely
able to perform his part; but at the banquet which followed, he took a
solemn oath, according to the laws of chivalry, that he would proceed
to Scotland, there to avenge the death of John Comyn, and to punish
the perfidy of the Scots; and that, when that work was done, he would
embark for the Holy Land, and leave his body in that hallowed soil.
Soon after this solemnity, the young prince, with the new‐made knights,
his companions, and a considerable force of horse and foot, began the
march to Scotland, leaving the king, who was now in his sixty‐eighth
year, to follow more at leisure. The rendezvous was appointed for July
8, at Carlisle.

But before either the king or the prince could arrive in Scotland, the
new rebellion seemed nearly to have reached its close. The surprise of
Roslyn had been reversed, and a disastrous defeat had reduced Bruce to
the condition of a fugitive. The earl of Pembroke commanded a small
English force at Perth, then called Johnstown. Bruce, having now
gathered to himself something amounting to an army, marched towards the
place, and sent a challenge to the earl to come out and fight him. The
earl sent him for answer, that the day was now too far advanced, but
that he would give him battle on the morrow. The Scotch retired, and
incautiously broke up their array, and began to prepare their suppers.
Suddenly, the cry was heard that the enemy was upon them. Pembroke,
on second thoughts, disliking to appear backward, had marshalled
his forces, and marched out to find the Scots. Bruce, still a young
commander, had neglected all the usual precautions, and his troops,
taken entirely by surprise, were thrown into utter confusion. Six or
seven men of note were taken prisoners, and the loss of the Scotch is
said to have been seven thousand men; in fact, the army, such as it
was, was annihilated. Bruce himself, with a few friends, escaped to
the coast, and fled to hide themselves in the western isles. Here,
says Fordun, “he was reduced to such necessity, that he passed a long
period without any other food than herbs, and roots, and water. He
wandered barefoot, now hiding alone in some of the islands, now chased
by his enemies, and despised and ridiculed by his own vassals.”[160]
“He and his friends,” says Mr. Tytler, “began to feel the miseries of
outlaws. Compelled to harbour in the hills, deprived of the common
comforts of life, he and his followers presented a ragged and wretched
appearance. Their shoes were worn off their feet by constant toil; and
hunting, instead of pastime, became a necessity.”[161] The English
army, scouring the country, picked up all the fugitives they could
find, and the chief power of Scotland was opposed to the insurrection.
The lord of Lorne beset the passes, and had nearly captured Bruce. The
earl of Rosse seized Bruce’s wife and daughter, and handed them over
to the English. The bishops of Glasgow and St. Andrews, the abbot of
Scone, the lord Seton, the earl of Athol, and the countess of Buchan,
all were successively found, and brought in as prisoners. The king had,
meanwhile, arrived at Dumfries, and the prince, after scouring the
country, came to Perth. Bruce, now wholly disheartened, sent messengers
to the young Edward to learn whether his submission would be accepted;
but the king, when he heard of it, was incensed with the prince for
holding any correspondence with “that traitor.” We thus see the
distinction drawn between his case and Wallace’s. Wallace, after all
his cruelties, was “to be received, if he chose to submit himself;” but
Bruce’s perfidy, his sacrilege, and his treacherous murder of Comyn,
had put him beyond the pale of mercy. The king had sworn to avenge
Comyn’s murder, and hence with Bruce no communication was to be held.

There was now no visible insurrection in Scotland, the chief rebel
being a mere fugitive among the hills. Hence, in October, we find the
king at Lanercost, in Cumberland, where a council was held, and a
deliberate sentence passed, with reference to the rebellion and its
chief abettors.

This ordinance, in which various Scottish writers profess to find
cruelty, is merely identical with what, _under the like circumstances_,
would be passed at the present day. The parties arraigned had most
of them been rebels in past years, and had found mercy. They had, in
most cases, sworn fealty to Edward again and again, and had asked
and received pardon. Their lives and their lands had been forfeited,
and the forfeiture had not been exacted. Yet, after all this lenity,
they were again found in rebellion, and now with the added guilt of
murder and sacrilege. They had slain the first nobleman in Scotland,
treacherously and perfidiously, and “in a place of tremendous
sanctity.” What in our own time would be the judgment passed on such
criminals? or, rather, what _has been_ the punishment adjudged to such
criminals, within the last twenty years, in our Indian possessions?

The Ordinance of Lanercost declared—1. “That all who were guilty
or were abettors of the murder of John Comyn should be hanged, and
that all who advised or assented to such murder should have the same
punishment.” 2. “And that all who were aiding or assisting Robert
Bruce, or were procuring or persuading the people to rise contrary to
law, should be imprisoned during the king’s pleasure.”

Could queen Victoria, _under like circumstances_, be advised to pursue
any less severe course? Yet, for this mere administration of justice,
is the king charged by some writers with “cruelty!”

Doubtless he had now deliberately laid aside that singular lenity with
which, for ten years past, he had treated the Scotch, and had become
convinced that, with respect to some among them at least, mercy would
be no longer consistent with a proper regard to justice. Yet, surely,
the second of these provisos, which merely ordains for actual rebels
“imprisonment during the king’s pleasure,” is one seldom equalled for
its temperance and lenity. There was also perceptible, in some of his
decisions, that notion of apportioning the punishment to the offence,
which was observable in former actions of the king’s life. Thus, the
countess of Buchan had, careless of Bruce’s perfidy and recklessness
of crime in the murder of Comyn, rushed forward with zeal to take part
in his coronation. She was now a prisoner. The king said, “Since she
has not struck with the sword, let her not be stricken with the sword;
but as a penalty for the treasonable coronation in which she took part,
let her be shut up in a cage made in the form of a crown, that she
may be a spectacle and a reproach.”[162] The wife of Bruce, being also
a prisoner, was sent to England as a captive. These two instances of
severity are fastened upon by some writers as showing “vindictiveness.”
Yet the countess of Buchan was plainly guilty of treason; and to have
allowed Bruce’s wife to return free into Scotland, would evidently
have been an act of imprudence. But the censors of Edward’s conduct
neglect to remark that the countess’s cage was ordered “to have all the
conveniences of a handsome chamber and that Bruce’s wife was sent to
the king’s manor of Bruntwick; with seven attendants, and liberty to
ride out whenever she chose.[163]

But with the male prisoners the Ordinance of Lanercost was carried
into effect. Nigel Bruce was brought to trial at Berwick, hanged, and
beheaded. Christopher and Alexander Seton, both Englishmen, shared
the same sentence. These had been all concerned, in various ways, in
the murder. The earl of Athol had taken part in the coronation of
Bruce, and had been in arms at the affair of Johnstown. He attempted
to escape by sea, but was driven back by a storm, and captured. Sir
Simon Fraser was the same person who had cruelly murdered Ralph the
cofferer at the battle of Roslyn, in 1302. He had received pardon for
the offences of that period, but was now found again in arms. These two
were tried in Westminster Hall, and executed, and their heads placed on
London Bridge. “If we consider these men,” says Lingard, “as champions
of freedom, they may demand our pity; but their execution cannot
substantiate the charge of cruelty against Edward. Some were murderers,
all had repeatedly broken their oaths of fealty, and had repeatedly
been admitted to pardon.”

The winter now reigned, and Bruce was hidden in the little isle of
Rachrin. On the approach of spring he surprised the isle of Arran, and
from thence sent spies into his own country of Annandale. The English
in and near Turnberry Castle were cantoned in careless security,
hearing nothing of any enemy; and it was not difficult to take them by
surprise. Lord Henry Percy shut himself up in the castle; but he was
soon relieved by the arrival of Sir Roger St. John with a thousand men.
About this time two of Bruce’s brothers, Thomas and Alexander, having
collected about seven hundred men in Ireland, landed in Galloway. But
they were met on landing by Macdowal, a Scottish chief, who remained
true to his oath. The Irish auxiliaries were routed and scattered, and
both the Bruces, with Sir Reginald Crawford, were taken prisoners.
They were sent to Carlisle, and, having been concerned in Comyn’s
murder, were immediately brought to trial and executed. The whole
of the executions on the scaffold, which took place in consequence
of this rebellion, included about sixteen or eighteen persons. Most
of these had been concerned in Comyn’s murder, either as actual
parties, or as accessories. Yet is it insisted upon by some writers
that these punishments partook of cruelty. These critics, however,
have no censure to spare for such atrocities as “the Douglas larder,”
which was perpetrated on Palm Sunday. Sir James Douglas, one of
Bruce’s adherents, surprised the English garrison of Douglas _while
in church_. He butchered them all, after Wallace’s manner, and as he
had no strength wherewith to hold the castle, he raised a great pile
of wood, threw the bodies of the English garrison upon it, and then
setting it on fire, consumed the whole.[164] Such deeds as these were
not calculated to soften the king’s disposition, or to dispose him to
lenity when any of Bruce’s immediate accomplices fell into his hands.
Yet, when was such a rebellion as this suppressed—as, during Edward’s
lifetime, it _was_ suppressed—with so small an amount of judicial
punishment? Four centuries later, another Scottish rebellion was
quelled, while England was guided by the councils of Pelham, Hardwicke,
Stephen Fox, Granville, and the elder Pitt. And these statesmen did
not shrink from exhibiting, in various places, eighty ghastly heads;
or from beheading, on Tower Hill, lords Kilmarnock and Balmerino, and
finally, lord Lovat, a man whose years were fourscore![165]

The spring of 1307 was now advancing, and Bruce, whose valour and
personal prowess were of the highest order, found many opportunities of
harassing the English, by surprises and sudden encounters. His success,
however, was not unvaried. On one occasion he lost his banner, and was
in the greatest peril of capture or death. In May he ventured to stand
the assault of the earl of Pembroke, and by strongly posting his men,
armed with long spears, he defeated the earl’s attempt to break his
line, and drove back the English, who had only cavalry to oppose to his
spears. Three days after, he encountered the earl of Gloucester, whose
force he also routed, and who retreated into the castle of Ayr. But the
king, hearing that Bruce was in the field, sent a force from Carlisle,
before which the rebel chief retreated. “He then took refuge in the
marshes and forests, where the English found it impossible to follow
him.”[166] And thus stood matters at the opening of July, 1307.

But now drew near that great event for which, there can be no doubt,
Bruce had long been eagerly looking, and which entirely changed the
whole position of affairs. The king, as our readers will probably have
observed, had never made his appearance in the field during the whole
of the fifteen months which had elapsed since the first outbreak of
the rebellion. He had found it possible to get as far as Carlisle and
Dumfries, but Bruce knew full well that his active career as a military
commander was for ever terminated. The last few months of his life
presented merely a painful struggle between a still vigorous mind and a
decaying body. During all the spring of 1307, a dysentery had detained
and weakened him, and the natural ardour of his temperament must have
conspired with the disease. His very longing for the active life to
which he had been so long accustomed, supplied fuel to the inward fire
which was already consuming him. Bruce’s reappearance in the field, and
his occasional successes, made any longer delay appear intolerable.
Persuading himself, at the beginning of July, that his disease was
abating, he offered up the litter in which he had hitherto travelled,
in the cathedral of Carlisle, and mounted his horse for a new
expedition into Scotland; but the decaying body was unable to answer
the call of that powerful spirit. The effort merely brought on at once
that termination of his disease which might otherwise have been delayed
for months. In the course of the next two or three days, he was unable
to proceed more than some six or seven miles; reaching the village of
Burgh on the Sands, where he probably halted at the close of the first
or second day’s march, and where, on the seventh of that month, he died.

His last hours were spent in vainly endeavouring to impress upon his
son some obvious lessons of prudence and firm resolve—lessons which
were indeed greatly needed, but which the young prince seemed mentally
incapable of receiving. He enjoined upon him never to permit the return
of Gaveston. He urged him forthwith, and once for all, to put down
the Scottish revolt, the means of which were all prepared and ready
to his hand. So earnestly and enthusiastically did he dwell upon this
point, that he desired his son to carry, after his death, his bones at
the head of his army; so that he, before whose charge no Scottish army
had been able to stand, might, even after death, be still in some sort
present in the first shock of the battle.

But he spoke to ears which had already been closed, by luxury and
dissipation, against all high and noble counsels. Not one of his
commands was obeyed. The young king no sooner saw the opulence and
splendour of royalty within his grasp, than he turned his back at
once on the calls of honour and duty. The great and all‐important
object of putting down the insurrection in Scotland was disregarded.
The forward march was countermanded, the anticipations of Bruce were
fully realized, and the union of the two kingdoms—the great object
of Edward’s labours during the last ten years—was forgotten and
practically abandoned. The remains of the greatest king that England
had ever seen were, after some delay, removed to Westminster, and were
placed near to his father Henry and to his beloved Eleanor. A simple
tomb received that noble heart, with the brief inscription:—

  =Edvardus Primus: Scotorum Malleus:
  Hic Est: mcccviii[167]
  Pactum Serva.=

The death of Edward may be said to have ensured the ultimate success
of Bruce’s ambitious enterprise. “The two greatest (_i.e._, most
puissant) knights in Europe at that period,” says Froissart, “were king
Edward and Robert Bruce.” Edward being removed, Bruce found no equal in
the field. Not only so, but there was opposed to him, in Edward’s room,
the weakest and most incompetent monarch that ever sat on the throne of
England. It was nearly inevitable, therefore, that he should entirely
succeed in the enterprise to which he had devoted himself. He decided
the question of Scottish independence at Bannockburn, inflicting on
the English the greatest defeat they had received since the battle of
Hastings. This victory established him on the throne of Scotland, of
which he held entire possession for the remainder of his life.

One very serious and very deplorable mistake has been made in modern
times, in misinterpreting all these events, and, instead of seeing
in them another successful Norman enterprise,—regarding them as an
effort of the highest “patriotism.” Thus Bruce is described by Sir
Walter Scott as “the vindicator of his country’s liberty”—as one who
had adopted “the unalterable resolution, either to free his country or
to perish in the attempt;”[168] while Hume unhesitatingly tells us,
that “Bruce had long harboured in his breast the design of freeing his
enslaved country;” and a writer of our own day styles him “the most
heroic, as well as the most patriotic, monarch which Scotland has ever
produced.”

It is difficult to imagine a greater abuse of language than this.
Patriotism is a love of country; and a real patriot will labour and
suffer, and, if needful, will die for his country; but Robert Bruce
conspired against his country, fought against his country, and, in the
end, inflicted upon his country the most grievous injuries. If this be
“patriotism,” then words have lost their meaning.

“Bruce was an Englishman;”—we quote the words of a volume put forth by
a committee of Scottish gentlemen, “Bruce by descent was an Englishman,
and probably so by affection as well as interest.”[169]

The son of a great Yorkshire baron, and heir to ninety‐four English
lordships and to two Scottish estates, he was born, as we have seen, in
the metropolis of England, a few weeks before Edward’s coronation. We
entirely accept, therefore, the statement of the _Wallace Documents_,
that “Bruce was an Englishman;”—but we read with hesitation the rest
of the sentence—“and probably so by affection as well as interest.” We
believe that Sir Walter Scott formed a more accurate estimate of these
matters when he wrote, concerning the Norman knights who were settled
in Scotland, that “Two or three generations had not converted Normans
into Scots; in fact, _the Normans were neither by birth nor manners
accessible to the emotions which constitute patriotism_.” “The ideal
perfection of the knight‐errant was, to wander from land to land in
quest of renown; to gain earldoms, _kingdoms_, nay, empires, by the
sword; and to sit down a settler on his acquisitions, without looking
back on the land which gave him life.”[170] This vivid sketch seems as
if it had been meant to describe a Robert de Brus.

Still, so long as Edward could keep the field, the young aspirant
remained in quietness; but when he had seen distinctly that the great
captain’s campaigns were ended, Bruce came boldly to the front, and
soon won a kingdom for himself. Such honour and credit as belong to
a feat of this kind ought to be awarded to Bruce; but this sort of
merit should not be confounded with the far higher virtue of real
“patriotism.”

Bruce’s success made him to all succeeding ages a hero. “So long as
thou doest well unto thyself,” says the Psalmist, “men will speak good
of thee.” With this sort of popular and vulgar applause we shall not
quarrel, but the more serious and thoughtful students of history should
pause before they award a nobler kind of praise to a mere knight‐errant
of the Norman breed.

His success placed him on the throne of Scotland, and maintained him
on that throne to the end of his life; and yet it may be questioned
whether, even on the lowest view, of mere material and personal
advantage, his success was such as a man might look back upon with
satisfaction. He was crowned king at Scone in March, 1306. Edward’s
death assured to him the quiet possession of that throne, and he
did, in fact, retain it until 1331, when he died. Fourteen years of
uncertain warfare, and then eleven years of settled dominion, made
up the whole of his kingly career. He had indeed succeeded, but such
a success was scarcely better than failure. His family had been
destroyed. Of a brotherhood of five gallant knights who took part in
the murder of Comyn, he, the king, was, in 1318, the sole survivor.
Three of his brothers had perished on the scaffold before a year had
been completed from Comyn’s death; and the fourth, endeavouring to
find for himself a throne in Ireland, died in the attempt; and he, the
beginner of the strife, was now left alone. His wife for several years
was held in captivity in England; he himself died of leprosy in 1331,
and his son spent a large portion of his life in an English prison. On
the son’s death the line of Bruce ended, and that of Stewart came in
its stead—a line scarcely to be paralleled in history for disaster,
wretchedness, and disgrace.[171] This being the measure of Bruce’s
success, it may be questioned whether failure would not have been on
the whole preferable, so far as he personally was concerned.

But what of Scotland? Are the usual phrases of “deliverance,”
“independence,” “freedom from a foreign yoke,” etc., properly applied
to this case? In the year 1603, Scotland became permanently united
to England, and has ever since been ruled by governments sitting at
Westminster. Has this change been calamitous for Scotland? Is there
a Scotchman living, whose opinion is worth a straw, who would desire
to see Bruce’s enterprise repeated, and a new Scottish monarchy
established?

No, Scotland was very far from benefiting by this greatly‐lauded
“deliverance.” A separation of the northern and southern districts of
this island had indeed been effected, but that separation was not then,
any more than it would be now, for the good of either section.

In mere military glory, the advantage could not long remain on the
Scottish side. “Never,” says Alison, “at any subsequent period, was
Scotland able to withstand the more powerful arms of the English
yeomanry. Thenceforward, her military history is little more than a
melancholy catalogue of continued defeats.”

The discomfitures of Halidon‐hill, of Dupplin‐moor, of Durham, of
Hamildon‐hill, of Flodden, and of Pinkie, soon left Bannockburn the
one solitary triumph amidst a long history of disaster. These six
battles are computed to have inflicted on the Scots a loss of one
hundred thousand men. Allow one‐half or one‐third of this number
for the English losses, and then add to the reckoning the perpetual
drain arising from skirmishes and “border‐raids,” and we shall see
that this irrational idea of “Scottish independence” must have cost
the two nations, from Bruce’s day to Elizabeth’s, at least a quarter
of a million of valuable lives. The loss of property and of material
prosperity during the same period cannot easily be estimated.

An unfriendly critic remarks of Edward, that, with statesmanlike
sagacity, “he saw that, before England could mount very high in the
scale of nations, the whole island must be one undivided power, instead
of three.” This aim and object was a noble one, and if pursued by
honourable means—as we believe that it was—it casts lustre on the
sovereign’s name. But how, then, shall we praise the man who, from
the far lower motive of mere personal ambition, withstood and finally
frustrated the great king’s purpose?

Scotland was not benefited by Bruce’s success. Her independence, as
we have just remarked, brought upon her a long train of calamitous
wars and ruinous defeats. The uniform custom of France, whenever she
quarrelled with England, was, to send to Scotland, and to incite her to
attack her neighbour on the northern side, as a diversion in favour of
the war beginning in the south: but Scotland, so allied with France,
was merely the dwarf going to battle by the side of the giant. Of the
hard blows she received a full share; but the glory and the profit,
when there were any, usually fell to the lot of her ally.

Nor did Scotland gain, by her desired “self‐government,” any recompence
for what she lost in her external relations? All Scottish historians
of any credit admit, that Edward’s mode of government was liberal,
mild, and upright. Mr. Tytler confesses that “the measures he adopted
were equally politic and just.” “No wanton or unnecessary act of rigour
was committed, no capricious changes introduced.” And when, in 1304-5,
a new “settlement of Scotland” was required, the king called on the
most active of the Scottish prelates, Wishart, upon Mowbray, and upon
Bruce, and placed the matter wholly in their hands.

Could Scotland obtain, then, in recompense for all the losses she
suffered in this home‐warfare, any solid advantages, springing out of
“home‐government,” which could counter‐balance long years of carnage
and desolation? History gives no affirmative answer. We will ask the
Scottish writers, and them only. Describing a period only sixty years
after Bruce’s death, Sir Walter Scott says: “To use a scriptural
expression, ‘every one did that which was right in his own eyes,’ as
if there had been no king in Scotland.” A little later he says: “If we
look at Scotland generally during the minority, it forms a dark and
disgusting spectacle.” And Mr. Tytler uses similar language. In one
place he says: “The nation had been reduced to the lowest pitch of
impoverishment in every branch of public wealth” (vol. ii. p. 75); in
another, “The pride and power of the feudal barons had risen to a pitch
destructive of all regular subordination” (p. 85); and again, “Scotland
seemed to be rapidly sinking under her accumulated distresses” (p. 94).
No—the “recovery of her independence” had been no gain to Scotland;
to each district of the island—to Scotland as well as to England—it
had brought merely weakness, distraction, and loss. Edward’s desire to
create one united Britain was wise and statesmanlike. Had Llewellyn and
Balliol co‐operated with him, each of them might have preserved his
throne. But Bruce’s enterprise, commencing with an atrocious murder,
was strictly one of personal ambition. If he ever really dreamed that
he was conferring a benefit on Scotland, he fell into a grievous
error; but if his self‐consciousness prevented this, and he merely
used “independence” as a popular cry,—a device, then his scheme and
his effort, from first to last, was a grievous crime. Let us leave
this part of the subject, however, and try to take a fitting leave of
the great sovereign whose reign we have endeavoured to describe. And
here we must remember that, at each point of the story, we have freely
expressed an opinion—have endeavoured to meet hostile attacks, and to
place Edward’s character in the fullest light of truth. We must not now
repeat all these arguments. We prefer, for obvious reasons, to gather
into one view the judgments formed by many eminent writers, both of
past times and of our own day, and thus to collect, by degrees, the
verdict of a very competent jury.

Two very different and, in fact, opposite beliefs have obtained
currency in England during the last five centuries. For four hundred
years Englishmen formed their own opinions, and spoke of Edward as
they knew him, or as their forefathers had known him. Then, for one
hundred years, they submitted to have a different view forced upon
them; and they received in silence, until they gradually came to
believe it—the estimate of Edward which was formed by the admirers of
Bruce and of Wallace;—of Bruce the false and of Wallace the ferocious.
Thus, strangely enough, the people of England learned to think, in the
eighteenth century, quite differently of the greatest of their kings
from what their forefathers had done, during at least ten or twelve
generations.

The men of his own day admired and venerated Edward. Hemingford speaks
of him as “the most excellent, wise, and sagacious king.” Rishanger
tells us of “his infinite labours and manifold troubles,” and of “his
numberless good deeds.” Wykes dwells on “his wonderful mercy towards
transgressors,” “a mercy which not only relinquished revenge, but
freely granted pardon.”

This estimate, this character of him, had gone abroad. Uberti, an
Italian poet of Edward’s own time, condemns his father, Henry, but adds—

  “Yet there’s some good to say of him, I grant,
  Because of him was the good Edward born,
  Whose valour still is famous in the world.”[172]

A little later another foreigner, Froissart, uses the same language,
describing him as he who was “called the good king Edward, who was
brave, wise, and fortunate in war.”

During four centuries our own chroniclers and historians continue to
use the same language. Fabyan, in 1494, describes him as “slow to all
manner of strife; discreet, and wise, and true of his word; in arms
a giant.” Holinshed speaks of him as “wise and virtuous, gentle and
courteous.” John Foxe, the puritan, terms him “valiant and courageous,
pious and gentle.” Prynne, another puritan, speaks of him as “the most
illustrious,—our glorious king Edward.” Camden, in Elizabeth’s days,
describes him as “a monarch most renowned, in whose valiant soul the
spirit of God seemed evidently to dwell; so that he justly merited
the character of one of the greatest glories of Britain.” And when we
turn to Rapin, who wrote towards the end of the seventeenth century,
and who was, like Froissart, a foreigner, and wholly impartial—we find
him giving this deliberate judgment:—“Edward joined to his bodily
perfections a solid judgment:, a great penetration, and a prudence
which rarely suffered him to make a false step. Besides this, he had
principles of justice, honour, and honesty, which restrained him from
countenancing vice. He was also of an exemplary chastity, a virtue
seldom found in sovereigns. All these noble qualities bred in the
hearts of his subjects a love and esteem which greatly contributed to
the peace of his kingdom.”[173]

Thus, through a period of several succeeding centuries, Englishmen,
with one consent, regarded this great sovereign with veneration—not so
much for his valour or his prowess, in which the Conqueror, or him of
the “lion heart,” might, perhaps, equal him, as for his wisdom, his
statesmanlike qualities, his “legislative mind,” and, still more, for
his uprightness, his truthfulness, his merciful disposition, and his
various moral excellences. In their eyes he was indeed “great,” but,
still more remarkably, he was “good.”

But in the eighteenth century, new histories, brought up to more recent
times, were needed, and English attempts to supply the want generally
failed. Brady, in 1685, Tyrrell, in 1700, and Carte, in 1747, were
laborious and dull. To supply the want, which could not but be felt,
two Scotchmen, of unquestionable talent, offered themselves, and the
histories written by Hume and by Henry soon became the favourite
authorities. An Anglo‐Irishman, Goldsmith, was content to follow
in their track. Other Scotchmen of high merit—Mackintosh, Scott,
Macfarlane, Tytler, and Chambers—have succeeded Hume and Henry; and of
three generations it may be said with truth, that Englishmen have been
content to learn the history of their own land from the lips and pens
of the natives of Caledonia.

Now, for the greater part of the story, this might occur without any
injurious consequences; but how would it affect that part of the
narrative which described the wars between England and Scotland? Above
all, how were the enthusiastic admirers of Bruce and Wallace to discuss
impartially the deeds of him who had twice conquered Scotland, and who
had sent Wallace and three of the family of Bruce to the scaffold? That
they should do so was evidently impossible. Yet they gained almost
entire possession of the public ear, and then they utterly changed the
public feeling as to this, the greatest of all the English kings.

They could not deny—they did not attempt to deny—his claim to
_greatness_ in the lower acceptation of the term. He was “the model of
a politic and warlike king,” says Hume. He was “a great statesman and
commander,” says Mackintosh. But all the higher qualities of mental
and moral excellence were denied to him. Hume speaks of his “barbarous
policy,” and declares that “never were the principles of equity
violated with less scruple or reserve,” adding that “the iniquity of
his claim was apparent, and was aggravated by the most egregious breach
of trust.” Dr. Henry speaks of Edward’s “unrelenting selfishness,” of
his “cruelty and iniquity,” and, again, of his “injustice and cruelty.”
Sir James Mackintosh tells how he had “skilfully inveigled the Scotch
into his snares,” adding that “his ambition tainted all his acts,” and
that “a conqueror is a perpetual plotter against the safety of all
nations.” And Sir Walter Scott speaks of him as “bold and crafty,” “a
subtle and unhesitating politician.” Following such leaders as these,
it is no wonder that all our school histories, for almost a century
past, have taught the youth of England to regard this king as an able
and valiant, but withal an unprincipled man.[174]

Such was the position of affairs, a few years back, when a volume made
its appearance[175] which challenged the justice of this verdict, and
called, with warmth and earnestness, for a reconsideration of the
case. It was a hasty production; it had many palpable faults; it was,
not unnaturally, charged with “a partisan spirit,” but in its main
object it has been entirely successful. It induced many men of literary
eminence to take up the question of this great king’s real character.
They went to the only source of truth on all such questions—to
contemporary testimony. They examined and weighed it, and the result
has been, a reversal of the verdict.

Do we speak with too much confidence on this point? Let the reader
peruse the following declarations:—

In Trinity Term, in 1864, a meeting was held of “The Oxford Historical
Society,”—its president, professor Goldwin Smith, in the chair—for
the consideration of the volume aforesaid (“The Greatest of the
Plantagenets”). A paper or elaborate criticism, was read by professor
Montagu Burrows, on that volume. In it, he said,—

“This work demands our attention, because it is a bold and, on the
whole, successful attempt to reclaim for him, who is perhaps the only
sovereign of England since the Conquest who has a right to the title of
‘Great,’ that position of which he has been deprived for more than a
century,—deprived by a number of causes almost unparalleled for the way
in which they have combined towards such a result.”

After a lengthened review of the work, in which professor Burrows spoke
of the writer’s “masterly narrative of the facts attending the double
conquest of Scotland,” and added, “He has conclusively disposed of
the leading Scotch fables, and recovered as much of the truth as we
shall probably ever know. The great outlines of the story, which form
the groundwork of the Scottish Iliad, have been for the first time
thoroughly marked out by the help of every available authority;”—the
professor concluded his review in the following manner:—

“This king was called by the writers of the next generation ‘Edward
the Good,’ and it has been to our shame as a nation that we have been
so careless of a royal reputation, and that so little effort has
been made to restore him his rights. If the highest perfection as a
soldier, and all but the highest as a general; if patience, fortitude,
prudence, mental activity, largeness of mind, public spirit; if a
correct private life, a conscientious sense of duty, and a consistent
religious character go to make up a great man,—Edward I. is entitled
to the name. Place him by the side of those sovereigns who, since the
time of Charlemagne and Alfred, have received the title of ‘Great,’ and
how insignificant do they appear. Perhaps the time may come when a more
enlightened public opinion shall repair this omission. And among those
to whom a very considerable share of credit will be due, will be the
author of the work we have just been considering.”

The president, Mr. Goldwin Smith, summed up the matter in a few
concluding words. These words have weight, as coming from a man who
could never have been brought to approve a course of “iniquity,”
“selfishness,” “vindictiveness,” “violence,” and “ferocity.” He
said that “So far from Edward’s invasion being intended to reduce
Scotland to slavery, its object was to introduce the same regular and
constitutional quiet which England enjoyed, and to rescue the Scotch
from the anarchy resulting from the oppression of the most oppressive
of the feudal oligarchies. The kingdom of Scotland was previously in
an almost hopeless state of feudal anarchy. One of the first things
Edward did was to summon a free Parliament, and he left them with all
their independence, and with all their rights as a nation. The short
period when he had possession of the kingdom, was the only glimpse
they ever had of a lawful, regular, and beneficent government. Wallace
was more truly represented, he thought, by the author of ‘The Greatest
of all the Plantagenets’ than by professor Burrows.[176] He was an
irregular rebel, like the Neapolitan brigands of the present day.”[177]

Mr. Goldwin Smith quitted England, and his successor in the Regius
professorship at Oxford was Mr. Stubbs. That gentleman has recently
given to the world a volume of much value, “On the Early English
Charters.” Having occasion to speak of Edward I., he thus characterizes
him:—

“This great monarch, whose commanding spirit, defining and organizing
power, and thorough honesty of character, place him in strong contrast
not merely with his father, but with all the rest of our long line of
kings, was not likely to surrender, without a struggle, the position
which he had inherited. For more than twenty years he reigned as Henry
II. had done, showing proper respect for constitutional forms, but
exercising the reality of despotic power. He loved his people, and
therefore did not oppress them; they knew and loved him, and endured
the pressure of taxation, which would not have been imposed if it had
not been necessary. He admits them to a share, a large share, in the
process of government; he developes and defines the constitution in a
way which Simon de Montfort had never contemplated. The organization
of parliament is completed until it seems as perfect as it is at the
present day; and the legislation is so full that the laws of the
next three centuries are little more than a necessary expansion of
it.” He adds, of the king himself, that “His own personal character
was high, pure, and true.” Finally, in closing his investigation, he
says: “We stop at Edward I. because the machinery is now completed;
the people are now at full growth. And the attaining this point is to
be attributed to the defining genius, the political wisdom, and the
honesty of this great king.”[178]

We turn to a fourth writer of the same class;—to the Regius professor
of Modern History at Belfast, Mr. Yonge. He concludes his review of
this reign with these words:—

“Among the rulers of mankind who have won for themselves a conspicuous
and honourable place in the history of their country, Edward has no
superior, and scarcely an equal. Personal prowess, which in other
heroes makes up the greater part of their renown, was in him so
over‐shadowed by more valuable qualities as to be scarcely entitled to
notice; and the invincible knight is lost in the consummate general,
the wise lawgiver, the far‐sighted statesman.” “It was no personal
or vulgar ambition that prompted his attacks on Wales and Scotland,
but a judicious perception of the advantages to be derived, not by
England alone, but by the invaded countries, from their union into
one kingdom. He was ambitious, not so much of being the conqueror, as
the benefactor, of the whole island.” “Kings are subjected to a more
rigid tribunal than ordinary men, from the fact of their conspicuous
position; and we have no right to expect that faultlessness in a
sovereign which we know it to be vain to look for in others. But as
long as the equitable rule prevails of balancing men’s virtues against
their faults, and looking at the general results of their conduct,
so long will the splendid and universal abilities of Edward I., and
the great and lasting benefits which his country has derived from
them, secure him a leading, if not the very first, place among those
monarchs who have left an example to be revered by their countrymen and
imitated by their successors.”[179]

Sir E. Creasy expresses a similar opinion, but with more brevity,
closing his review of Edward’s reign with one decisive sentence:—

“If we take a comprehensive and unprejudiced view of his whole
career, we shall rest satisfied that few greater men have ever
reigned; and that there has been hardly any man, royal or subject,
to whom Englishmen ought to look with more gratitude than Edward,
as the promoter of our power, and the ordainer of our laws and our
constitution.”[180]

A sixth writer, of our own day, who has carefully investigated these
questions, is Mr. C. H. Pearson. There is not a trace of partiality in
the portrait which he draws; yet a sincere and warm admiration draws
from him such expressions as these:—

“Brave almost to insanity, the king was also a consummate general,
able to discipline raw levies, and to carry out engineering works with
singular audacity and resource.” He was also “large‐minded towards mere
personal enemies, but never pardoning baseness or broken faith.”

Mr. Pearson notices also “a strong love of justice,” “a slowness to
shed blood,” and “a greatness of nature which carried him through every
difficulty.” “His people knew that he did everything for England; and
he inspired trust, for he never broke his word.” He was “our first
truly English king;” he was “the greatest of his race;” and, finally,
“among those of our kings whom we really know, there is, perhaps, no
greater name than that of Edward I.”

And, just as this sheet is passing through the press, a seventh
testimony of no small value is given by Mr. E. A. Freeman.[181] He
discusses, in one of his Essays, the whole merits of the Scottish
controversy of 1290-1307, and he declares, that “if any man’s conduct
ever was marked by thorough justice and disinterestedness, that
of king Edward was so marked throughout the whole business.” “His
conduct was throughout honest and above‐board.” Of Wallace he says,
“It is impossible to deny the fiendish brutalities practised by him
in England,—brutalities which fully explain the intense hatred with
which every English writer speaks of him”:—And of Bruce, that “he
treacherously and sacrilegiously murdered John Comyn, the heir of the
Scottish crown.” He adds, “that all who were concerned in this murder
met with their merited punishment, who can wonder?—it is certain that
Edward punished no man who would not be held liable to punishment at
the present moment.” As to Edward himself, Mr. Freeman’s opinion is
briefly summed up in a very few words: He was “the greatest and noblest
king that England has seen for eight hundred years.”

Such have been the independent and deliberate judgments of seven
different writers of high rank within the last few years. Let us
endeavour, then, in conclusion, to group together all the various
characteristics, ascribed to Edward by writers of various countries
and different ages, many of whom regarded his general career with
unconcealed dislike. Praise from this latter class must be allowed to
have a peculiar value.

Edward, then, was,—“A great statesman and commander; the model of a
politic and warlike king; the most sagacious and resolute of English
princes; uniting legislative wisdom with heroic valour. In him the
state possessed a centre and a chief, who knew how to concentrate and
direct all the forces of society. No man was more acute in counsel,
more fervid in eloquence, more self‐possessed in danger, more cautious
in prosperity, more firm in adversity. He was unequalled by any
since the Conqueror for prudence, valour, and success.” Such are the
admissions of severe critics;—of Mackintosh, Hume, Scott, Alison,
Guizot, Sharon Turner, and Hallam.

But he was more than wise and strong; he was upright, he was thoroughly
honest; he was merciful and good.

“He was ambitious, not so much of being the conqueror as the benefactor
of the whole island. He could demand confidence, for his people knew
that he did everything for England; he inspired trust, for he never
broke his word; he was as careful in performing his obligations as
in exacting his rights.[182] He had a strong love of justice, a
legislative mind; he was one of the best legislators and greatest
politicians that ever filled the English throne. Large‐minded towards
mere personal enemies; he was a wise lawgiver, a far‐sighted statesman.
He was slow to shed blood;—never was a conquest more merciful than his
in Wales. Finally, he was the greatest and noblest king that England
has seen for eight hundred years.”

Such are the deliberate judgments of professor Yonge, of Mr. Pearson,
Mackintosh, Dr. Henry, and Mr. Freeman.

They go far to form a complete character. But one more feature,—the
interior and personal, remains to be added.

“His character as a son, as a husband, and as a father was without
stain; in his private relations he was beyond reproach. A man of deep
and earnest piety, whose heart was replete with the sentiment of
religion. He displays as a legislator a genuine anxiety for the real
interests of the church; but he was equally resolved that his clergy
should have no privileges incompatible with the civil order of the
realm. He found England the most priest‐ridden country in Europe, and
he raised a barrier against church aggrandizement which neither monk
nor pope could overstep.”

These are the testimonies of Sir Edward Creasy, of Dean Hook, and of
Mr. Pearson. Surely, we need desire to say nothing more. We have drawn
the character of Edward from thirteen different writers, of various
times and countries; and to their testimony we have no wish to add a
single word.

It is the breadth and completeness of this character which chiefly
claims our admiration. Men of power,—men of remarkable talents, are met
with again and again in the world’s history; but, unhappily, most of
the greatest are also found among the meanest; while too many of the
good are obliged to ask for our pity or our indulgence. We perceive
Edward’s character to be one of unusual excellence, so soon as we begin
to search for a superior or an equal.

We naturally think, in the first place, of the great Saxon king, who,
four centuries before Edward’s day, did so much to raise England
out of the slough of ignorance and semi‐barbarism in which she was
grovelling. But we can no more institute a comparison between Alfred
and Edward, than we can weigh the respective merits of Alfred and of
Arthur. The hero of the sixth century can only be clearly discerned
through the thick darkness of that gloomy period. Alfred might be
better seen and more truly appreciated; but it was but partially and
doubtfully; as we strive to discern objects through the mists of the
early dawn. He fought battles and gained victories; but of the places
so distinguished, we know next to nothing. He died, and was buried,
we believe, at Winchester, but “his grave no man knoweth.”[183] How
can we, then, rationally institute a comparison between a hero who is
so imperfectly delineated, and a king whose words and actions are as
familiar to us as those of Elizabeth or the third William?

Still, if any one prefers to maintain the belief that Alfred was the
greatest of all kings, and almost of all men, we shall not quarrel
with his opinion. We merely express a doubt, whether our knowledge is
sufficient to warrant such positive language. We think that it is not.

As to the other “heroes” of ancient, or mediæval, or modern days,
they seem to us to fall far below Edward’s standard. An Alexander,
at the head of his irresistible phalanx, can march through Asia, no
enemy being able to stand before him; but his own passions conquer
him in turn. Two friends are put to death on suspicion, and a third
is slain by his own hand in the excitement of drunkenness. Cæsar
infinitely surpassed Alexander. He killed a million of men for his
own aggrandizement. He was great as a soldier, and still greater as
a statesman. But Cæsar knew neither religion nor morals. He believed
this life to be the end of man; and naturally he indulged in sensual
pleasures “without shame or scruple.”[184] We will not do Edward the
injustice to compare him with such men as these.

Coming nearer to his own age, we find a Charlemagne, unquestionably
great in council and in war. But the historian cannot help censuring
“his cruelty and his excessive dissoluteness.”[185] In private life
he was utterly licentious, and in war he could massacre four thousand
men—not in a battle, or in the storming of a city, but like a butcher
in a slaughter‐house.

Another Charles, of great power and great success, arose in Europe
after a lapse of two centuries. But what shall we say of a man who,
after a successful, but an immoral and treacherous life, brought
himself to the grave at the age of fifty‐eight, by excessive gluttony?

Still later, at the opening of the present century, we saw a greater
soldier and a greater statesman than either Charlemagne or Charles V.
In Napoleon we had a loftier genius than either Alexander or Cæsar,—a
conqueror who marched from Rome to Poland, from Madrid to Moscow; and
who, at Dresden, in 1812, “was waited upon by a crowd of obsequious
kings or princes, who accepted every word that fell from his lips,
as if an oracle had spoken.”[186] And yet it has been truly observed
that this autocrat of Europe “had not the merit of common truth
and honesty; he would steal, slander, assassinate, as his interest
dictated. He was intensely selfish; he was perfidious. In short, when
you had penetrated through all this immense power and splendour, you
found that you were dealing with an impostor and a rogue.”[187]

We cannot measure or balance the king of whom we have been writing,
with such characters as these. He is altogether of another class.
Casting our eyes among men of honour,—men of conscience, men worthy of
our respect, in our search for a superior or an equal, we have not yet
succeeded in our quest. We relinquish the task, therefore, here, and
hand it over to our readers.

Footnotes:

  [139] Many of our popular histories of England, disregarding this
  distinction, fall into a variety of errors. Thus Oliver Goldsmith,
  in his larger history, says, that in 1306, the competitor, “being
  old and infirm, was obliged to give up the ambition of being the
  deliverer of his people to his son.” The fact being that the
  competitor had died eleven years before, and his son two years
  before the time of which Goldsmith was speaking. In his abridged
  history, which for many years was the lesson‐book in all our great
  schools, the statement was thus altered:—“Bruce, who had been one
  of the competitors for the crown, but was long kept a prisoner
  in London, escaping from his guards, resolved to strike for his
  country’s freedom.” The fact being, that neither of the Bruces
  had ever been “a prisoner in London,” and that the competitor,
  here spoken of, had died in 1295—eleven years before the period
  at which we have now arrived. Even Sir Walter Scott falls into a
  like inaccuracy, saying, “Bruce, the competitor, after Dunbar,
  1296, hinted to Edward his hope of being preferred to the kingdom.”
  Whereas, “the competitor” had died a year or two previous.

  [140] Tytler’s History of Scotland, vol i., p. 204.

  [141] Fordun, p. 981. He also sat, as an English baron, in the
  parliament of Lincoln. (See p. 220.)

  [142] Fordun, p. 778. Wyntoun, vol. ii., p. 498.

  [143] “The countess herself, riding up, and with gentle violence
  taking hold of his horse’s reins, Bruce suffered himself to be
  led away in a kind of triumph to Turnberry.”—Tytler’s Scottish
  Worthies, p. 292.

  [144] See p. 124. This sum would be equal to £600 in the present day.

  [145] “Scala Chronica,” Leland, vol. i., p. 540.

  [146] “The vision of a crown could not but haunt him.”—Burton’s
  History of Scotland, vol. ii., p. 286.

  [147] Tytler’s History, vol. i., pp. 129, 206.

  [148] Tytler’s History, vol. i., p. 209.

  [149] Halliwell’s Royal Letters, vol. i., p. 22.

  [150] Chalmers’ Caledonia, vol. i., p. 671.

  [151] Chambers, in his “Lives of Eminent Scotsmen,” says: “John
  Comyn was the son of Margery, the sister of Baliol, and, setting
  Baliol aside, was the heir of the pretensions of their common
  ancestor.”

  [152] Tytler, vol. i., p. 213.

  [153] Macpherson’s Chronykyl of Andrew Wyntoun, vol. ii., p. 501.

  [154] Barbour, i., 590; Wyntoun, viii., 18.

  [155] Barbour i., 647.

  [156] Lingard, vol. ii., p. 615.

  [157] Sharon Turner says, “On every supposition, it was still the
  destruction of a competitor by the person who was to be most
  benefited by the crime; and from this suspicious atrocity the
  memory of Bruce cannot be vindicated.”

  [158] Palgrave’s Documents, p. cxxxix.

  [159] Pearson’s History, vol. i., p. 351.

  [160] “Bruce was so beaten by ill‐fortune, that he was left alone to
  take passage to the Isles with two mariners in a boat, who asked
  him ‘if he had any tidings of Robert Bruce?’”—_Scala Chronica_,
  App. p. 287.

  [161] Tytler’s Hist., vol. i., p. 222.

  [162] Matthew of Westminster.

  [163] Palgrave’s Documents, p. clxxxix.

  [164] Tytler, vol. i., p. 235.

  [165] See Appendix.

  [166] Matthew of Westminster, 1307.

  [167] This was evidently the date of the erection of the tomb. The
  king had died in July, 1307, and had been buried in Westminster in
  October. The tomb was naturally completed in the following year.

  [168] Sir Walter Scott’s History of Scotland, vol. i., p. 87. Sir
  Walter forgot here that, before six months had passed, Bruce sent
  messengers to the young prince to ask if his submission would be
  accepted.

  [169] Wallace Documents, Maitland Club, Glasgow, 1841, p. 48.

  [170] History of Scotland, vol. i., p. 68.

  [171] Robert III. died of a broken heart; James I. was murdered;
  James II. accidentally killed; James III. murdered; James IV. died
  on Flodden‐field; James V. of a broken heart. Then followed Mary,
  who died on the scaffold, James’s troubled reign, Charles’s bloody
  death, and, finally, the expulsion of the family.

  [172] Rossetti’s translation.

  [173] Rapin’s History, vol. i., p. 385.

  [174] Thus, in the most popular of our school histories, Mrs.
  Markham’s, the scholar is told of Edward’s “violent acts,” of his
  fatal thirst of conquest, of his “mad ferocity,” of his “injustice
  and violence,” of the “infinite misery” he inflicted on “many
  thousands” of people.

  [175] “The Greatest of the Plantagenets.”

  [176] The professor had suggested some apology for Wallace’s
  violence and cruelty.

  [177] “Proceedings of Oxford Historical Society, Trinity term, 1864.”

  [178] Prof. Stubbs’ Select Charters, 1870, p. 35, 51.

  [179] Yonge’s History of England, p. 113.

  [180] Creasy’s History of England, p. 485.

  [181] Historical Essays, by E. A. Freeman, D.C.L., late Fellow of
  Trinity College, Oxford, 1871.

  [182] During the last thirty years a dozen Histories of England
  have been published in London, all of which servilely followed
  Hume, describing Edward as “unscrupulous,” “perfidious,” and
  “unprincipled.” But in the course of the last seven years, all the
  writers whom we have just quoted have re‐examined the subject, and
  they all unite in declaring the king to have been honest, just,
  truthful, and disinterested.

  [183] All the best biographers of Alfred are obliged to use, at
  every turn, the phrases, “It is said,” and “Tradition reports.”
  Thus, Mr. Pearson writes: “Probably nothing has been attributed to
  him without some real fact _underlying the mythical narrative_,
  but it is not always easy to disentangle the one from the other”
  (p. 173). Mr. Wright thus speaks: “It is _probable_ that the king,
  during the period he remained at Athelney, was actively engaged in
  watching the movements of the Danes. _Another legend_ represents
  him,” etc. (p. 388). And Mr. Hughes, the latest biographer of the
  great king, says of one fact, “This is related by Asser to have
  happened,” “_which is clearly impossible_.” In another place, “Any
  attempt to remove the miraculous element would take all life out of
  the story.” A third story is described as “a sad tangle, which _no
  man can unravel_.”

  [184] Merivale, vol. i., 119, 490.

  [185] Robertson’s Church History, vol. ii., p. 136.

  [186] Gleig.

  [187] Emerson.

APPENDIX.

I., _page 93_.

A YEAR’S EXPENDITURE OF THE KING.

It is now more than eighty years since the Society of Antiquarians
published “The Account of the Comptroller of the Wardrobe, of the
twenty‐eighth year of king Edward I., A.D. 1299-1300;” and it is
probable that few of the readers of this volume have ever seen that
publication. It seems desirable, therefore, to give, in this place, a
brief sketch of that Account, the whole details of which form a quarto
volume. We shall confine ourselves to a few general heads.

I.

  The Keeper or treasurer of the Wardrobe acknowledges
  the receipt, from various sources, of a total sum,
  within the year, of                                 £58,155 16s. 2d.

II.

He then gives an account of his disbursements, under twelve heads, as
follows:—

   1. Alms and oblations, for the relief of the poor,        £   s.  d.
      or as religious offerings. The payments fill
      thirty‐one quarto pages, and are of every
      description. The total for the year                1,166  14   9

   2. The next head is that of necessaries bought
      for the use of the king’s household, and for
      charges and expenses of ambassadors, messengers,
      etc.—the total being                               3,338  19   3

   3. Then follows the victualling and stores for the
      king’s army in Scotland, and for the supplies
      for the garrisons of his castles in that country  18,638   1   8

   4. Next, gifts and rewards; and payment for
      horses lost by knights and others in the
      king’s service                                     4,386   4   5

   5. Allowances to knights of the king’s household;
      and of foreign troops retained in the king’s
      service                                            3,077  19   0

   6. Wages of the engineers, archers, and
      sergeants‐at‐arms of the household               1,038  10   7

   7. Wages of foot‐soldiers, archers, artificers,
      and workmen                                        4,446   9  11

   ”  Wages to seamen of the Cinque Ports and
      other towns                                        1,233   9   8

   8. Expenses of king’s messengers                         87  11   1

   9. Wages and expenses of the huntsmen, falconers,
      hawks, etc.                                           77   6  11

  10. Allowances to knights, bannerets, etc. of the
      household, for robes                                 714   3   4

  11. Goldsmiths’ and jewellers’ accounts                  253  15   6

  12. Includes cloth, furs, wax, and other things for
      the use of the household                           4,391  19   0

      Wines and other liquors for the use of the
      household                                          6,934   6   0

      Separate account of the queen                      3,668   2   9

      Costs and charges of the king’s Chancery             581   9   0
                                                       ---------------
                                                       £54,035   2   7

  To which is added, for some current expenses of the household, the
  particulars of which do not appear to have been preserved, the sum
  of £10,969 16s. 0d.

  So that the treasurer, on this account, would appear to have been
  in advance. But there was, doubtless, money daily coming in, and he
  probably had some bills not yet discharged.

  The calculations of Bishop Fleetwood’s tables show the value of
  money to have been fifteen times as great at that day as it is now.
  This would make the royal revenue to amount to about £800,000 per
  annum. Out of which the king paid, in 1300, what would now be about
  £500,000, for his troops, seamen, garrisons, etc.; about £270,000
  for the expenses of his household, exclusive of robes, jewels,
  huntsmen, and charities; which last item, of alms and oblations, in
  the money of our time, would be equal to nearly £18,000 a‐year.

II., _page 165_.

EDWARD’S OBTESTATION.

At first sight, remembering the constant and earnest attention to
religious duties shown by Edward, we were inclined to doubt whether the
chronicler might not be in error in ascribing this oath to the king;
the more especially since the person addressed was named BIGOD; so that
it would be easy to fall into such an error. But, looking a little
further, we found the pope himself, in a public reception of Edward’s
ambassadors, asseverating “per Deum,” that he would do the king
justice. So that it seems tolerably clear that even religious men, in
those days, thought it lawful to use language similar to that employed
by Abraham (Gen. xxiv. 3), by Joab (2 Sam. xix. 7), and by Nehemiah
(xiii. 25). As to Edward himself, his whole character assures us, that
he never used the Divine name lightly or irreverently.

III., _page 239_.

PARLIAMENT OF LINCOLN.

The requests preferred by the barons, and accorded by the king, were
the Ist, IInd, IIIrd, IVth, and Vth, the VIIIth, IXth, Xth, and XIth.
Those which he did not concede, were the following:—

VI.

  “E ce ke mespris est par nul ministre soit amende solom ce ke le
  trespas le demaunde par auditours a ceo assignez qe ne soient pas
  suspecionus des Prelates, Contes, e Barons de la terre solom ceo
  kil mesmes ainz ces houres ad fet e qe ce seit meintenant mis en
  oevre.”

  “Dominus Rex vult providere aliud remedium super hoc sed non per
  tales auditores.”

VII.

  “E qe Viscontes de cest houre en avant respoignet des issues solom
  ce kil soleient fere en tens son Pere les queles issues unt este e
  uncore ore sunt a grand apovrissement du peuple. E ke Viscontes ne
  soient plus haut chargez.”

  “Placet Dominus Rege quod de communi consilio provideatur super hoc
  quam cito commode poterit remedium optimum.”

XII.

  “E par ceste choses suzdites ne pount ne osent pas les Prelates de
  seinte Eglise assenter ke contribucion seit fete de lur biens ne de
  biens de la clergie en contre le defens le Apostoille.”

  “Non placuit Regi: sed communitas Procerium approbavit.”