This opinion, when compared with the teaching of Holy Scripture at the time of the Reformation, was found to be delusive; but in the thirteenth century it had not even been questioned. Edward’s care, therefore, for the well‐being of his beloved Eleanor in the invisible world soon began to manifest itself. While at Ashridge, and himself engaged in continual prayers for his departed consort, he found time to write a very earnest and pathetic letter to the abbot of Clugny, one of the most famous monasteries in Europe, entreating the prayers of that fraternity for her, “whom living he had dearly loved, and whom, though dead, he should never cease to love.” And such a request was, doubtless, accompanied by a princely offering. But in his own realm Edward could be more definite and elaborate.

At Hardby a chantry was founded, and another at Elynton; and on the first and second anniversaries of the queen’s death we find mention of various religious services and of large distributions of alms. But the principal provision was naturally reserved for Westminster. In his gifts to the abbey church for perpetual prayers and alms on behalf of the departed queen, “the king was quite profuse.” He gave to this church the manors of Knoll, Arden’s Grafton, and Langdon, Warwickshire, with other lands in the same county; and the manors of Bidbrook in Essex, Westerham in Kent, and Turweston in Bucks, for a perpetual commemoration. Special services of the most solemn kind were provided for, and seven score poor persons were to have charity. The charter for these gifts was dated in October, 1292, showing that neither the lapse of time nor the distractions of the momentous Scottish controversy could withdraw his mind from this earnest and settled purpose.

Edward, however, was well versed in the Old Testament scriptures, and he remembered Isaiah’s warnings against religious ceremonies without justice or charity. On the anniversaries of his consort’s death, we often remark the occurrence of large distributions of alms. But another thing is also noticeable. The queen had enjoyed from her husband’s affection large landed possessions. Her stewards or bailiffs might have wronged or oppressed her tenants. We know not what proclamation may have been made, or invitation given, calling upon all who had any complaint to offer, to come forward; but it seems quite clear, that some such proclamation must have been issued; for the records are very numerous, in the next year or two, of the investigation of such complaints. And a fixed and honest purpose to do justice to all parties is evident in all these transactions.

The sorrow felt for queen Eleanor’s death was, apparently, general and sincere. Her name is connected with no political contention or intrigue; and she seems to have made no enemies. Rishanger, writing at the time of her death, styles her “this most saintly woman and queen;” and adds, somewhat hyperbolically, that she was like “a pillar that supported the whole state.” Walsingham, who wrote in the next age, described her more intelligibly, as “a woman pious, modest, pitiful, benevolent to all.” He adds, that “the sorrowful, everywhere, so far as her dignity allowed, she consoled, and those who were at variance she delighted to reconcile.” But her best eulogium is found in her consort’s grief. His penetration and sagacity, his native nobleness of soul would have rendered it impossible for him to love a mean and unworthy object. But his affection for her was not a mere youthful passion. It was after a companionship of five‐and‐thirty years that he gave his testimony to her worth; and that testimony was one which few women indeed in the whole world’s history have ever received or have ever merited.

V.
RETROSPECTIVE VIEW.

The autumn of the year 1290 was a solemn epoch in this great king’s life. In this autumn died his beloved Eleanor; in this autumn died, also, “the maiden of Norway,” the young queen of Scotland, whose death ushered in so many troubles.

Halcyon skies had for a whole quarter of a century gilded Edward’s course and prospects; but a few weeks sufficed to end the sunshine of his prosperous career. From the battle of Evesham, in 1265, to the death of his queen, and the opening of the Scottish controversy in 1290, his life had been one of great enjoyment, great harmony, and great usefulness. “Held in universal esteem at home,” and “famous throughout the world” for wisdom and valour, his lot might be regarded as one of no common prosperity. But this sad year, 1290, ended all this happiness. Clouds and storms arose, and though brief intervals of calm occurred, we find a king who was “slow to all manner of strife,” compelled in his fifty‐seventh year to don his armour and mount his horse, and set forth to meet a Scottish inroad, and from that time forth until his death in 1307, almost in every year we find him, in whom the infirmities of age must have begun to make themselves felt, in harness and in the saddle, sleeping at night by his horse’s side on the bare heath, working with his men in the laborious siege of a fortress, and encountering, all the time, what to such a man was by far more painful—treachery from professed friends, and from his foes, perpetual simulations of submission, followed by constant treasons and breaches of covenant, the moment the sword was lifted from their throat. We open, in this sad year, the second volume of Edward’s reign, but before we close the first, let us glance for a few moments at the past, and try once more to rectify the widespread error, or rather the constant misrepresentation, which shows to us this great king as, by choice, a man of war; when he was, more than most other sovereigns, a man of peace.

One of the ablest, and generally one of the fairest of our modern historians, thus commences his account of Edward’s reign:—“Laying aside his disputes with his neighbours as a French prince, his active and splendid reign may be considered as an attempt to subject the whole island of Great Britain to his sway.”[33] And a few pages later we are told that “his ambition tainted all his acts,” and again, that “a conqueror is a perpetual plotter against the safety of all nations.” And another justly‐esteemed writer, Mr. Sharon Turner, tells us that “The reign of Edward was that of a prince whose sedate judgment and active talents advanced the civilization and power of his country. It may be considered under four heads—his incorporation of Wales, his wars in Scotland, his foreign treaties, and his internal reforms.”