Complete Works of Edmund Burke

by Edmund Burke

  A.D. 1191In his voyage to the Holy Land accident presented Richard, with an unexpected conquest. A vessel of his fleet was driven by a storm to take shelter in the Isle of Cyprus. That island was governed by a prince named Isaac, of the imperial family of the Comneni, who not only refused all relief to the sufferers, but plundered them of the little remains of their substance. Richard, resenting this inhospitable treatment, aggravated by the insolence of the tyrant, turned his force upon Cyprus, vanquished Isaac in the field, took the capital city, and was solemnly crowned king of that island. But deeming it as glorious to give as to acquire a crown, he soon after resigned it to Lusignan, to satisfy him for his claim on Jerusalem; in whose descendants it continued for several generations, until, passing by marriage into the family of Cornaro, a Venetian nobleman, it was acquired to that state, the only state in Europe which had any real benefit by all the blood and treasure lavished in the Holy War.

  Richard arrived in Palestine some time after the King of France. His arrival gave new vigor to the operations of the Croises. He reduced Acre to surrender at discretion, which had been in vain besieged for two years, and in the siege of which an infinite number of Christians had perished; and so much did he distinguish himself on this and on all occasions, that the whole expedition seemed to rest on his single valor. The King of France, seeing him fully engaged, had all that he desired. The climate was disagreeable to his constitution, and the war, in which he acted but a second part, to his pride. He therefore hastened home to execute his projects against Richard, amusing him with oaths made to be violated, — leaving, indeed, a part of his forces under the Duke of Burgundy, but with private orders to give him underhand all possible obstruction. Notwithstanding the desertion of his ally, Richard continued the war with uncommon alacrity. With very unequal numbers he engaged and defeated the whole army of Saladin, and slew forty thousand of his best troops. He obliged him to evacuate all the towns on the sea-coast, and spread the renown and terror of his arms over all Asia. A thousand great exploits did not, however, enable him to extend his conquests to the inland country. Jealousy, envy, cabals, and a total want of discipline reigned in the army of the Crosses. The climate, and their intemperance more than the climate, wasted them with a swift decay. The vow which brought them to the Holy Land was generally for a limited time, at the conclusion of which they were always impatient to depart. Their armies broke up at the most critical conjunctures, — as it was not the necessity of the service, but the extent of their vows, which held them together. As soon, therefore, as they had habituated themselves to the country, and attained some experience, they were gone; and new men supplied their places, to acquire experience by the same misfortunes, and to lose the benefit of it by the same inconstancy. Thus the war could never be carried on with steadiness and uniformity. On the other side, Saladin continually repaired his losses; his resources were at hand; and this great captain very judiciously kept possession of that mountainous country which, formed by a perpetual ridge of Libanus, in a manner walls in the sea-coast of Palestine. There he hung, like a continual tempest, ready to burst over the Christian army. On his rear was the strong city of Jerusalem, which secured a communication with the countries of Chaldea and Mesopotamia, from whence he was well supplied with everything. If the Christians attempted to improve their successes by penetrating to Jerusalem, they had a city powerfully garrisoned in their front, a country wasted and destitute of forage to act in, and Saladin with a vast army on their rear advantageously posted to cut off their convoys and reinforcements.

  A.D. 1192.Richard was laboring to get over these disadvantages, when he was informed by repeated expresses of the disorder of his affairs in Europe, — disorders which arose from the ill dispositions he had made at his departure. The heads of his regency had abused their power; they quarrelled with each other, and the nobility with them. A sort of a civil war had arisen, in which they were deposed. Prince John was the main spring of these dissensions; he engaged in a close communication of councils with the King of France, who had seized upon several places in Normandy. It was with regret that Richard found himself obliged to leave a theatre on which he had planned such an illustrious scene of action. A constant emulation in courtesy and politeness, as well as in military exploits, had been kept up between him and Saladin. He now concluded a truce with that generous enemy, and on his departure sent a messenger to assure him that on its expiration he would not fail to be again in Palestine. Saladin replied, that, if he must lose his kingdom, he would choose to lose it to the King England. Thus Richard returned, leaving Jerusalem in the hands of the Saracens; and this end had an enterprise in which two of the most powerful monarchs in Europe were personally engaged, an army of upwards of one hundred thousand men employed, and to furnish which the whole Christian world had been vexed and exhausted. It is a melancholy reflection, that the spirit of great designs can seldom be inspired, but where the reason of mankind is so uncultivated that they can be turned to little advantage.

  A.D. 1193With this war ended the fortune of Richard, who found the Saracens less dangerous than his Christian allies. It is not well known what motive induced him to land at Aquileia, at the bottom of the Gulf of Venice, in order to take his route by Germany; but he pursued his journey through, the territories of the Duke of Austria, whom he had personally affronted at the siege of Acre. And now, neither keeping himself out of the power of that prince, nor rousing his generosity by seeming to confide in it, he attempted to get through his dominions in disguise. Sovereigns do not easily assume the private character; their pride seldom suffers their disguise to be complete: besides, Richard had made himself but too well known. The Duke, transported with the opportunity of base revenge, discovered him, seized him, and threw him into prison; from whence he was only released to be thrown into another. The Emperor claimed him, and, without regarding in this unfortunate captive the common dignity of sovereigns, or his great actions in the common cause of Europe, treated him with yet greater cruelty. To give a color of justice to his violence, he proposed to accuse Richard at the Diet of the Empire upon certain articles relative to his conduct in the Holy Land.

  The news of the king’s captivity caused the greatest consternation in all his good subjects; but it revived the hopes and machinations of Prince John, who bound himself by closer ties than ever to the King of France, seized upon some strongholds in England, and, industriously spreading a report of his brother’s death, publicly laid claim to the crown as lawful successor. All his endeavors, however, served only to excite the indignation of the people, and to attach them the more firmly to their unfortunate prince. Eleanor, the queen dowager, as good a mother as she had been a bad wife, acted with the utmost vigor and prudence to retain them in their duty, and omitted no means to procure the liberty of her son. The nation seconded her with a zeal, in their circumstances, uncommon. No tyrant ever imposed so severe a tax upon his people as the affection of the people of England, already exhausted, levied upon themselves. The most favored religious orders were charged on this occasion. The Church plate was sold. The ornaments of the most holy relics were not spared. And, indeed, nothing serves more to demonstrate the poverty of the kingdom, reduced by internal dissensions and remote wars, at that time, than the extreme difficulty of collecting the king’s ransom, which amounted to no more than one hundred thousand marks of silver, Cologne weight. For raising this sum, the first taxation, the most heavy and general that was ever known in England, proved altogether insufficient. Another taxation was set on foot. It was levied with the same rigor as the former, and still fell short. Ambassadors were sent into Germany with all that could be raised, and with hostages for the payment of whatever remained. The king met these ambassadors as he was carried in chains to plead his cause before the Diet of the Empire. The ambassadors burst into tears at this affecting sight, and wept aloud; but Richard, though touched no less with the affectionate loyalty of his subjects than with his own fallen condition, preserved his dignity entire in his misfortunes, and w
ith a cheerful air inquired of the state of his dominions, the behavior of the King of Scotland, and the fidelity of his brother, the Count John. At the Diet, no longer protected by the character of a sovereign, he was supported by his personal abilities. He had a ready wit and great natural eloquence; and his high reputation and the weight of his cause pleading for him more strongly, the Diet at last interested itself in his favor, and prevailed on the Emperor to accept an excessive ransom for dismissing a prisoner whom he detained without the least color of justice. Philip moved heaven and earth to prevent his enlargement: he negotiated, he promised, he flattered, he threatened, he outbid his extravagant ransom. The Emperor, in his own nature more inclined to the bribe, which tempted him to be base, hesitated a long time between these offers. But as the payment of the ransom was more certain than Philip’s promises, and as the instances of the Diet, and the menaces of the Pope, who protected Richard, as a prince serving under the Cross, were of more immediate consequence than his threats, Richard was at length released; and though it is said the Emperor endeavored to seize him again, to extort an other ransom, he escaped safely into England.

  A.D. 1194Richard, on his coming to England, found all things in the utmost confusion; but before he attempted to apply a remedy to so obstinate a disease, in order to wipe off any degrading ideas which might have arisen from his imprisonment, he caused himself to be new crowned. Then holding his Court of Great Council at Southampton, he made some useful regulations in the distribution of justice. He called some great offenders to a strict account. Count John deserved no favor, and he lay entirely at the king’s mercy, who, by an unparalleled generosity, pardoned him his multiplied offences, only depriving him of the power of which he had made so bad a use. Generosity did not oblige him to forget the hostilities of the King of France. But to prosecute the war money was wanting, which new taxes and new devices supplied with difficulty and with dishonor. All the mean oppressions of a necessitous government were exercised on this occasion. All the grants which were made on the king’s departure to the Holy Land were revoked, on the weak pretence that the purchasers had sufficient recompense whilst they held them. Necessity seemed to justify this, as well as many other measures that were equally violent. The whole revenue of the crown had been dissipated; means to support its dignity must be found; and these means were the least unpopular, as most men saw with pleasure the wants of government fall upon those who had started into a sudden greatness by taking advantage of those wants.

  Richard renewed the war with Philip, which continued, though frequently interrupted by truces, for about five years. In this war Richard signalized himself by that irresistible courage which on all occasions gave him a superiority over the King of France. But his revenues were exhausted; a great scarcity reigned both in France and England; and the irregular manner of carrying on war in those days prevented a clear decision in favor of either party. Richard had still an eye on the Holy Land, which he considered as the only province worthy of his arms; and this continually diverted his thoughts from the steady prosecution of the war in France. The Crusade, like a superior orb, moved along with all the particular systems of politics of that time, and suspended, accelerated, or put back all operations on motives foreign to the things themselves. In this war it must be remarked, that Richard made a considerable use of the mercenaries who had been so serviceable to Henry the Second; and the King of France, perceiving how much his father, Louis, had suffered by a want of that advantage, kept on foot a standing army in constant pay, which none of his predecessors had done before him, and which afterwards for a long time very unaccountably fell into disuse in both kingdoms.

  A.D. 1199.Whilst this war was carried on, by intervals and starts, it came to the ears of Richard that a nobleman of Limoges had found on his lands a considerable hidden treasure. The king, necessitous and rapacious to the last degree, and stimulated by the exaggeration and marvellous circumstances which always attend the report of such discoveries, immediately sent to demand the treasure, under pretence of the rights of seigniory. The Limosin, either because he had really discovered nothing or that he was unwilling to part with so valuable an acquisition, refused to comply with the king’s demand, and fortified his castle. Enraged at the disappointment, Richard relinquished the important affairs in which he was engaged, and laid siege to this castle with all the eagerness of a man who has his heart set upon a trifle. In this siege he received a wound from an arrow, and it proved mortal; but in the last, as in all the other acts of his life, something truly noble shone out amidst the rash and irregular motions of his mind. The castle was taken before he died. The man from whom Richard had received the wound was brought before him. Being asked why he levelled his arrow at the king, he answered, with an undaunted countenance, “that the king with his own hand had slain his two brothers; that he thanked God who gave him an opportunity to revenge their deaths even with the certainty of his own.” Richard, more touched with the magnanimity of the man than offended at the injury he had received or the boldness of the answer, ordered that his life should be spared. He appointed his brother John to the succession; and with these acts ended a life and reign distinguished by a great variety of fortunes in different parts of the world, and crowned with great military glory, but without any accession of power to himself, or prosperity to his people, whom he entirely neglected, and reduced, by his imprudence and misfortunes, to no small indigence and distress.

  In many respects, a striking parallel presents itself between this ancient King of England and Charles the Twelfth, of Sweden. They were both inordinately desirous of war, and rather generals than kings. Both were rather fond of glory than ambitious of empire. Both of them made and deposed sovereigns. They both carried on their wars at a distance from home. They were both made prisoners by a friend and ally. They were both reduced by an adversary inferior in war, but above them in the arts of rule. After spending their lives in remote adventures, each perished at last near home in enterprises not suited to the splendor of their former exploits. Both died childless. And both, by the neglect of their affairs and the severity of their government, gave their subjects provocation and encouragement to revive their freedom. In all these respects the two characters were alike; but Richard fell as much short of the Swedish hero in temperance, chastity, and equality of mind as he exceeded him in wit and eloquence. Some of his sayings are the most spirited that we find in that time; and some of his verses remain, which is a barbarous age might have passed for poetry.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  REIGN OF JOHN.

  A.D. 1199We are now arrived at one of the most memorable periods in the English story, whether we consider the astonishing revolutions which were then wrought, the calamities in which both the prince and people were involved, or the happy consequences which, arising from the midst of those calamities, have constituted the glory and prosperity of England for so many years. We shall see a throne founded in arms, and augmented by the successive policy of five able princes, at once shaken to its foundations: first made tributary by the arts of a foreign power; then limited, and almost overturned, by the violence of its subjects. We shall see a king, to reduce his people to obedience, draw into his territories a tumultuary foreign army, and destroy his country instead of establishing his government. We shall behold the people, grown desperate, call in another foreign army, with a foreign prince at its head, and throw away that liberty which they had sacrificed everything to preserve. We shall see the arms of this prince successful against an established king in the vigor of his years, ebbing in the full tide of their prosperity, and yielding to an infant: after this, peace and order and liberty restored, the foreign force and foreign title purged off, and all things settled as happily as beyond all hope.

  Richard dying without lawful issue, the succession to his dominions again became dubious. They consisted of various territories, governed by various rules of descent, and all of them uncertain. There were two competitors: the first was Prince John, youngest son of Henry the Second;
the other was Arthur, son of Constance of Bretagne, by Geoffrey, the third son of that monarch. If the right of consanguinity were only considered, the title of John to the whole succession had been indubitable. If the right of representation had then prevailed, which now universally prevails, Arthur, as standing in the place of his father, Geoffrey, had a solid claim. About Brittany there was no dispute. Anjou, Poitou, Touraine, and Guienne declared in favor of Arthur, on the principle of representation. Normandy was entirely for John. In England the point of law had never been entirely settled, but it seemed rather inclined to the side of consanguinity. Therefore in England, where this point was dubious at best, the claim of Arthur, an infant and a stranger, had little force against the pretensions of John, declared heir by the will of the late king, supported by his armies, possessed of his treasures, and at the head of a powerful party. He secured in his interests Hubert, Archbishop of Canterbury, and Glanville, the chief justiciary, and by them the body of the ecclesiastics and the law. It is remarkable, also, that he paid court to the cities and boroughs, which is the first instance of that policy: but several of these communities now happily began to emerge from their slavery, and, taking advantage of the necessities and confusion of the late reign, increased in wealth and consequence, and had then first attained a free and regular form of administration. The towns new to power declared heartily in favor of a prince who was willing to allow that their declaration could confer a right. The nobility, who saw themselves beset by the Church, the law, and the burghers, had taken no measures, nor even a resolution, and therefore had nothing left but to concur in acknowledging the title of John, whom they knew and hated. But though they were not able to exclude him from the succession, they had strength enough to oblige him to a solemn promise of restoring those liberties and franchises which they had always claimed without having ever enjoyed or even perfectly understood. The clergy also took advantage of the badness of his title to establish one altogether as ill founded. Hubert, Archbishop of Canterbury, in the speech which he delivered at the king’s coronation, publicly affirmed that the crown of England was of right elective. He drew his examples in support of this doctrine, not from the histories of the ancient Saxon kings, although a species of election within a certain family had then frequently prevailed, but from the history of the first kings of the Jews: without doubt in order to revive those pretensions which the clergy first set up in the election of Stephen, and which they had since been obliged to conceal, but had not entirely forgotten.