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:—

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—

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: mcccviii167 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—

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 appearance175 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.