A history of England

by Charles Oman

Edward was probably the best and greatest ruler, save Alfred, that England has ever known. He was a most extraordinary contrast to his shifty father, and his cruel, treacherous grandsire. His private life was a model to all men; nothing could have shown a better conception of the respective claims of patriotism and of filial duty than his conduct during the civil war. His court was grave and virtuous, and his faithful wife, Eleanor of Castile, was the object of his chivalrous devotion. Edward was religious without superstition, liberal without unthriftiness, resolute without obstinacy. But the most striking feature of his character was his love of good faith and justice. His favourite device was Pactum serva, "Keep your promise," and in all his doings he strove to carry it out. It was this that made him such an admirable king for a country where constitutional liberty was just beginning to develop itself. If he promised his Parliament to abandon any custom or introduce any reform, he might be trusted honestly to do his best to adhere to his engagement. It must not be supposed that he never fell out with his subjects; his conceptions of the rights and duties of a king were so high that it was impossible for him to avoid collisions with Parliament. But when such collisions occurred, though he fought them out with firmness, yet, if beaten, he accepted his defeat without rancour. His justice was perhaps too severe: he could pardon on occasion, but he had a stern way of dealing with those whom he regarded as traitors or oath-breakers; the chief blots on his reign are instances of merciless severity to conquered rebels. Edward has been accused of having some times adhered too closely to the letter of the law, when it told in his own favour, but there seems little reason to doubt that he was honestly following his own lights. Compared with any contemporary sovereign, he was a very mirror of justice and equity.

Edward as a general.

In addition to showing great merits as administrator, Edward was notable both as a good soldier and a wise general. His tall and robust frame and dauntless courage made him one of the best knights of his day. Yet he was no mere fighting man, but a skilled tactician. He had long forgotten the reckless impulsiveness that lost the day at Lewes, and had become one of the best captains of his age. He deserves a prominent place in the history of the art of war for being the first who discovered the military value of the English long-bowmen, and turned them to good account in his battles. Hitherto English generals, like continental, had been trusting entirely to the charge of their mailed cavalry. Edward, as we shall see at Falkirk, had learnt that the bowman was no less effective than the knight in the deciding of battles.

The years of Edward's long and eventful reign are full of interest and importance both within and without the bounds of England. The history of his legislation and of the development of the power of Parliament under him deserve close observation no less than his successful dealings with Wales, and his almost successful scheme for the conquest of Scotland. Nor can his relations with France be left without remark.

Edward and the Church.—Statute of Mortmain.

His legislation, most of which falls into the earlier years of his reign, requires the first notice. Throughout the whole of it we trace a consistent purpose of strengthening the crown by restricting the rights both of the Church and the baronage. His first collision with the Church dates from 1279, when Archbishop Peckham made an attempt to reassert some of Becket's old doctrines as to the complete independence and wide scope of ecclesiastical jurisdiction. When Peckham summoned a national council of clergy at Reading in 1279, and issued certain "canons" in support of the independence of the Church courts, Edward replied not merely by compelling him to withdraw the objectionable document, but by passing the celebrated Statute of Mortmain, or De Religiosis, as it is sometimes called. This was a measure destined to prevent the further accumulation of estates in the "dead hand" (in mortua manu) of the Church. It was estimated that a fourth of the surface of England was already in the possession of the clerical body, and this land no longer paid its fair proportion of the taxes of the realm. For a large share of the king's revenue came from reliefs, or death-duties, and escheats, or resumption of lands to which there was no heir, and as a monastery or bishopric never died, the king got neither reliefs nor escheats from them. The statute prevented any man from alienating his land to the monasteries, and specially forbade the fraudulent practice of making ostensible gifts to the Church and receiving them back. For landholders had sometimes pretended to make over their estates to a monastery, in order to escape the taxation due on feudal fiefs, while really, by a corrupt agreement with the monks, they kept the property in their own power, and so enjoyed it tax-free. For the future land rarely fell into the "dead hand," since it could not be given away without the king's consent. Very few new monasteries were built or endowed after the passing of this statute, but the crown not unfrequently relaxed the rule in favour of the colleges in the universities, which were just now beginning to spring up.

Edward and the baronage.—Writ of Quo Warranto.

Edward's dealings with the baronage are even more important in the history of the English constitution than his contest with the clerical body. He showed a consistent purpose of defending the rights of the crown against the great feudal lords, and of bringing all holders of land into close dependence on himself. His first attempt of the kind was the issue of the writ Quo Warranto in 1278. This writ was a royal mandate ordering an inquiry "by what warrant" many of the old royal estates had come into private hands, for the king thought that much state property had passed illegally out of the possession of the crown, by the thriftlessness of his father and the disorder of the civil wars of 1262-65. This project for an inquiry into old rights and documents both vexed and frightened the baronage. They murmured loudly. The tale is well known how John de Warenne, Earl of Surrey, when asked to produce the evidence of his right to certain lands, dashed down an old rusty sword before the commissioners, crying, "This is my title-deed. My ancestors came over with King William, and won their lands by the sword, and with this same sword I will maintain them against any one who tries to take them from me." The whole baronage showed such a hostile feeling against Edward's proposal that he finally contented himself with making a complete list of the still remaining crown lands, but did not raise the question of the resumption of long-alienated estates.

Another device of the king's for binding the landholders of the realm more closely to himself, was his scheme for making knights of all persons who held estates worth more than £20 a year. His object was not so much to gain the fees due from those who received knighthood, as to bring all the middle class of landholders, who held under the great feudal lords, into closer relation with himself through the homage and oath which they made to him after receiving the honour (1278).

The statute "De Donis."