III. ADVANCE AND RETROGRESSION; THE HUNDRED YEARS’ WAR.
Progress is the keynote of the period we have now reached. The rise of the House of Commons, extending over the last of the thirteenth and first of the fourteenth centuries, the great laws of Edward I’s reign, the growth of commerce, the national spirit induced by the national triumphs at Crecy and Poitiers are some of the larger landmarks in the forward march of the English nation during the hundred years following Henry III. Even the troubled years which followed the black death, the upheavals in society and religion in the latter fourteenth century, were the throes of progress. Then, but for the brief glories of Henry V, comes a time of halting—the miserable end of the long and useless conflict with France, the turbulence and lawlessness of the baronage, the weakness of the king, all combine to bring about a period of retrogression, when the pulse of the nation beats low and the tides of progress were stayed. Soon the purging bloodshed of the Wars of the Roses and the strong hand of the Tudors started once more the healthy growth which had been checked. Some such general survey, presented, perhaps on the blackboard by a line of the kind used to indicate seismic disturbances, or given in some brief direct notes taken down verbatim, will serve as a clearer of the atmosphere, an indicator of the trend of things during this difficult period.
A Problem in Quantities.
I say “difficult” because I find myself, when I reach the great reign of his Majesty Edward I, ’twixt a veritable Scylla and Charybdis, past whom I steer with annual apprehension. I know I must take a middle course, but I have not yet satisfied myself that I have found the best channel for the precious cargo that I carry. Scylla is the danger of too little detail, the devouring monster of over-definiteness; Charybdis is the equal danger of too much detail, the menace of the minutiæ which defeat their own purpose, and confound in the whirlpool of mental confusion.
Let me explain more concretely. The origin and development of the House of Commons is a highly important subject. It behooves me to impress its history as lucidly and forcibly as may be upon my class. But it is a subject beset with obscurities and difficult to make clear to an immature mind. I may ignore all the obscurities and the conflicting details, and may simply emphasize the principal landmarks—the first inclusion of the “commons” in Simon de Montfort’s parliament of 1265; the cementing of Simon’s innovation in the Model Parliament of 1295, and the separation of the upper and lower Houses early in Edward III’s reign. This is the method of some of the older text-books. It is clear cut, simple, definite. But is it true? Certainly not unqualifiedly no. My love of truth warns me that I must not make it so definite, so conveniently cut and dried, so absolute if I am to convey the historical facts. On the other hand, suppose I resolve to go into more strictly accurate detail. Shall I call forth the note-books and painstakingly explain that representatives of the shires were first summoned by King John in 1213; that two knights from each shire were called to parliament in 1254; that in 1261 three knights were summoned; in 1264, four; in 1265, two knights and two burgesses; in 1275, two knights; but that the practice of summoning knights of the shire and citizens of the towns did not become in any sense continuous till 1295? If I do this, I must go further and try to give some of the reasons for this desultory and varying practice, and before I am done, I have made a fine muddle in my pupils’ heads! I have shipwrecked both interest and comprehension, and I am not much nearer conveying truth than I would have been by the former method. So, too, I must beware of giving or allowing the impression that parliament was in any sense a legislative body at this period, and at the same time I must have a care lest in trying to explain its functions not always too clear to the more advanced scholar, I explain too much and mislead where I would enlighten.
The same difficulty presents itself in the effort to give the gist of the great laws of Edward I and of Edward III. Some of these laws are very hard to express simply; some of them were enacted over and over again. Yet the principles for which they stood, and their subsequent effects can hardly be overlooked. Again, as in the case of the House of Commons, I must be definite and simple, and yet not too definite or too simple.
Of course, this is nothing more than the problem of selection which confronts historians and teachers at many points, but rather more persistently at some points than others. There is no patent solution for the problem, but I believe it helps immensely to be thoroughly alive to it, and to keep two principles steadily in mind when we find the difficulty particularly acute—(1) that strong meat is not for babes, and that the finer points of a discussion such as that which concerns the growth of the lower branch of parliament should be reserved for university work; (2) that though truth may be better subserved by bringing out essentials clearly, even with over-emphasis, yet it is possible to suggest qualifications which will leave loopholes for further modification. For instance, the parliaments of 1265 and 1295 may be emphasized as the first and second steps in the beginning of the House of Commons, yet it may be explained that as early as John’s reign knights of the shire were occasionally summoned to parliament.
I have dwelt at some length on this subject because, self-evident as it may seem, it is full of pitfalls which only the utmost vigilance will avoid.
A Plea for Life and Color.
Fortunately there is plenty of stirring action to offset the tedium (to boys and girls) of laws and parliaments. Bannockburn, Crecy, Poitiers, Agincourt—what an array of names to conjure with! Let us not be parsimonious, fellow teachers, when we reach these vantage grounds of glory! Let us not be ultra-orthodox in our scientific view of history. In the reaction, the very proper reaction from the view of history which made it a mere record of wars and battles there is danger of making it a valley of dry bones. After all, it is the record of life, and the events which have stirred the imagination and aroused the patriotism of millions are not to be too lightly set aside. Let the young imagination “drink delight of battle with its peers”; let it see what was really noble as well as what was base in chivalry. Surely it is worth while that it should catch the life and color of those middle ages—so different, yet after all so human. Froissart has given us this in a form now easily accessible, or failing a complete edition of his “Chronicles,” Cheyney’s “Readings” furnish a taste (pp. 233-249), but hardly enough, for only Crecy is here described. Green, as usual, is vivid in his battle accounts—Bannockburn, pp. 213 and 214; Crecy, Calais, and Poitiers, pp. 225-230; and Agincourt, pp. 267-268. Henry V’s speech in Shakespeare’s play of “Henry V” is too splendid in its rhetoric to be overlooked. Sometimes a laggard in the class loves to declaim, and may be stirred to some interest by such a speech. Here is the chance to make him useful.