SIR J. MAYNARD.
Certainly their situation was very critical. Yet in the end it was precisely this situation that saved them. For betwixt these contentions of the crown and mitre, each endeavouring to extend its dominion over the other, the people, who were of course to be gained by either side in its distress, found means to preserve themselves from both.
To see how this happened, we must remember, what appears indeed from the two edicts of Stephen and Henry, that the king himself was a bulwark betwixt them and the papal power. And when the king in his turn wanted to exalt his prerogative over all, the church very naturally took the alarm, as we saw in the case of William’s separation of the two tribunals. And thus it happened, as Nat. Bacon observes[138], “That many times the pope and the clergy became protectors of the people’s liberties, and kept them safe from the rage of kings.” The greatest danger was, when the two powers chanced to unite in one common design against them; as they did in their general inclination for the establishment of the civil law. But here the people had the courage always to defend themselves; and with that wisdom too, as demonstrates their attention to the cause of civil liberty, and the vigilance with which they guarded even its remotest outworks.
Of their steady and watchful conduct, in this respect, I shall mention some of the many memorable examples, that occur in our history.
I have said that from the time of Stephen, notwithstanding his famous edict, the imperial laws were the chief and favourite study of the clergy. They had good reason for applying themselves so closely to this science, and still further views than their own immediate advancement. They wanted to bring those laws into the civil courts, and to make them the standing rule of public administration; not merely from their good-will to the papal authority, which would naturally gain an advantage by this change, but for the sake of controlling the too princely barons, and in hopes, no doubt, that the imperial would in due time draw the canon laws into vogue along with them. Such, I think, were at least the secret designs of the ruling clergy; and they did not wait long before they endeavoured to put their project in execution. The plot was admirably laid, and with that deep policy as hath kept it, I believe, from being generally understood to this day.
The great men of that time were, we may be sure, too like the great men of every other, to be very scrupulous about the commission of those vices to which they were most inclined. The truth is, their profligacy was in proportion to their greatness and their ignorance. They indulged themselves in the most licentious amours, and even prided themselves in this licence. The good churchmen, no doubt, lamented this corruption of manners; but, as they could not reform, they resolved at least to draw some emolument to themselves from it. The castles of the barons, they saw, were full of bastards. Nay, the courtesy of that time had so far dignified their vices, that the very same was had in honour. Ego Gulielmus Bastardus, is even the preamble to one of William the First’s charters.
Yet, as respectable as it was become, there was one unlucky check on this favourite indulgence: and this, with the barons leave, the considerate bishops would presently take off. Subsequent marriage, by the imperial as well as canon laws, legitimated bastards, as to succession; whereas the common law kept them eternally in their state of bastardy. It is not to be doubted, but the barons would be sensible enough of this restraint. They earnestly wished to get rid of it. And could any thing bid so fair to recommend the imperial law to their good liking, as the tender of it for so desirable a purpose? At a parliament, therefore, under Henry III[139], Rogaverunt omnes episcopi, ut consentirent quod nati ante matrimonium essent legitimi. What think ye now of this general supplication of the hierarchy? What could the barons do but comply with it, especially as it was so kindly intended for their relief, and the proposal was even made with a delicacy that might enable them to come into it with a good grace, and without the shame of seeming to desire it? All this is very true. Yet the answer of the virtuous barons is as follows: Omnes comites et barons unâ voce responderunt, Quod nolumus leges Angliæ mutari.
We see then what stuck with them. These barons, as licentious as they were, preferred their liberty to their pleasure. The bishops, they knew, as partisans of the pope, were for subjecting the nation to the imperial and papal laws. They offered, indeed, to begin with a circumstance very much to their taste. But if they accepted the benefit of them in one instance, with what decency could they object to them in others? They determined therefore to be consistent. They rejected a proposition, most agreeable in itself, lest their acceptance of it should make way for the introduction of foreign laws; whose very genius and essence, they well knew, was arbitrary, despotic power. Their answer speaks their sense of this matter, Nolumus leges Angliæ mutari. They had nothing to object to the proposal itself. But they were afraid for the constitution.
MR. SOMERS.
I doubt, Sir John, my lord of Salisbury will bring a fresh complaint against you, for this liberty with the bishops. But I, who shall not be thought wanting in a due honour for that bench, must needs confess myself much pleased, as well with the novelty, as justice of this comment. I have frequently considered this famous reply of the old barons. But I did not see to the bottom of the contrivance. Their aversion to the imperial laws, as you say, must have been very great, to have put them on their guard against so inviting a proposal.