an interdict on all his dominions, on the continent as well as in England. The embassadors hardly obtained the abandonment of this fearful purpose, by swearing that the king would submit in all things to the judgment of his Holiness. With difficulty the terms of reconciliation were arranged.

XIV.

DEATH OF HENRY II.-STUBBS.

[Political and domestic troubles brooded over the last years of Henry's reign. With the former he would have been able to cope, but the latter weighed heavily upon him, and ultimately broke him down. His own wife and children made common cause with his enemies against him. Their disaffection was partly due, no doubt, to his own injudicious management and conduct; yet he was an indulgent father, and had striven to do his best for his children. Only Geoffrey, his natural son, remained faithful to him to the last. Worn-out with chagrin and disappointment and ceaseless toil, he died at the age of fifty-six.]

AND now Henry nerved himself for an interview which he knew could have but one issue. Ill as he was, he moved from Saumur to Azai, and in the plain of Colombieres met Philip and Richard on the day after the capture of Tours.

Henry, notwithstanding his fistula and his fever, was able to sit on horseback. His son Geoffrey had begged leave of absence, that he might not see the humiliation of his father; but many of his other nobles, and probably two of his three archbishops, rode beside him. The terms which he had come to ratify had been settled beforehand. He had but to signify his acceptance of them by word of mouth. They met face to face, the unhappy father and the undutiful son. It was a clear, sultry day, a cloudless sky, and still air. As the kings advanced toward one another a clap of thunder was heard, and each drew back. Again they advanced, and again it thundered louder than before. Henry, wearied and

excited, was ready to faint. His attendants held him up on his horse, and so he made his submission. He had but one request to make; it was for a list of the conspirators who had joined with Richard to forsake and betray him. The list was promised, and he returned to Azai. Before he parted with Richard he had to give him the kiss of peace; he did so, but the rebellious son heard his father whisper, and was not ashamed to repeat it, as a jest, to Philip's ribald courtiers, May God not let me die until I have taken me due vengeance on thee."

But not even his submission and humiliation procured him rest. Among the minor vexations of the last months had been the pertinacious refusal of the monks of Canterbury to obey the archbishop in certain matters in which they believed their privileges to be infringed. Henry had, as usual with. him in questions of ecclesiastical law, taken a personal interest in the matter, and had not scrupled to back the archbishop with arms at Canterbury and support of a still more effective kind at Rome. A deputation from the convent, sent out in the vain idea that Henry's present misfortunes would soften his heart toward them, had been looking for him for some days. They found him at Azai, most probably on his return from the field of Colombieres. "The convent of Canterbury salute you as their lord," was the greeting of the monks. "Their lord I have been, and am still, and will be yet," was the king's answer; "small thanks to you, ye traitors," he added, below his breath. One of his clerks prevented him from adding more invective. He bethought himself, probably, that even now the justiciar was asking the convent for money toward the expenses of the war; he would temporize, as he had always seemed to do with them. "Go away, and I will speak with my faithful," he said, when he had heard their plea. He called William, of S. Mere l'Eglise, one of the chiefs of the chancery, and ordered him to write in his name. The letter is extant, and is dated at Azai. It is

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probably the last document he ever issued. It begins, Henry, by the grace of God, king of England, duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, and count of Anjou, to the convent of Christ Church, Canterbury, greeting, and by God's mercy on his return to England, peace.' The substance of the letter is, that the monks should take advantage of the delay in his return to reconsider their position and the things that make for peace, that they might find an easier way out of their difficulties when he should come.

The monks, delighted with their success, retired, and the king lay down to rest. It was then, probably, that the fatal schedule was brought him, which he had so unwisely demanded at Colombieres. It was drawn up in the form of a release from allegiance; all who had adhered to Richard were allowed to attach themselves henceforth to him, in renunciation of the father's right over them. He ordered the names to be read. The first on the list was that of John. The sound of the beloved name startled him at once. He leaped up from his bed, as one beside himself, and, looking round him with a quick, troubled glance, exclaimed, "Is it true that John, my very heart, the best-beloved of all my sons, for whose advancement I have brought upon me all this misery, has forsaken me?" The reader had no other answer to make than to repeat the name. Henry saw that it was on the list, and threw himself back on the couch. He turned his face to the wall, and groaned deeply. "Now," he said, "let all things go what way they may; I care no more for myself nor for the world." His heart was broken, and his death-blow struck.

He could not, however, remain at Azai. His people carried him in a litter to Chinon, where Geoffrey was waiting for him. It was the fifth day of the fever, and, in all probability, he was delirious with the excitement of the morning. It was remembered and reported in England that after he was brought to Chinon he cursed the day on which he was born, and implored God's malison on his sons; the bish

ops and priests about him implored him to revoke the curse, but he refused. But Giraldus, bitter enemy as he was, somewhat softened by his misfortune, tells a different tale. He draws the picture of the dying king leaning on Geoffrey's shoulder, while one of his knights held his feet in his lap. Geoffrey was fanning the flies from the king's face, as he seemed to be sleeping. As they watched, the king revived and opened his eyes. He looked at Geoffrey and blessed him. "My son," he said "my dearest, for that thou hast ever striven to show toward me such faithfulness and gratitude as son could show to father, if by God's mercy I shall recover of this sickness, I will of a surety do to thee the duty of the best of fathers, and I will set thee among the greatest and mightiest men of my dominion. But if I am to die without requiting thee, may God, who is the author and rewarder of all good, reward thee, because in every fortune. alike thou hast shown thyself to me so true a son." Geoffrey, of whose sincere sorrow there can be no doubt, was overwhelmed with tears; he could but reply that for was his father's health and prosperity. passed, and the king's strength visibly waned. ing at intervals, "Shame, shame on a conquered king." At last, when Geoffrey was again by his side, the poor king kept telling him how he had destined him for the see of York, or, if not York, Winchester; but now he knew that he was dying. He drew off his best gold ring, with the device of the panther, and bade him send it to his son-in-law, the king of Castile; and another very precious ring, with a sapphire of great price and virtue, he ordered to be delivered out of his treasure. Then he desired that his bed should be carried into the chapel and placed before the altar. He had strength still to say some words of confession, and received the "Communion of the Body and Blood of the Lord with devotion." And so he died, on the seventh day of the fever, on the sixth of July, the octave of the apostles Peter and Paul.

all he prayed Another day He kept cry

XV.

HOW THE GREAT CHARTER WAS WON.-PEARSON.

[Richard, the Crusader, was remarkable for his personal prowess, but lacked the essential characteristics of a great military leader. As king, he spent but a brief period in England, and cared nothing for English interests. His exploits in the East, his captivity, and the tragic circumstances of his death, have surrounded his name with a halo of romance; but he was selfish, cruel, tyrannical, vicious, a bad son, and a bad husband. During his reign the strong administrative system which his father had built up was successfully maintained by such statesmen as William Longchamp and Hubert Walter, in spite of the intrigues of his brother John.

John began his reign under favorable auspices, but the essential badness of the man soon displayed itself. He quarreled with his suzerain, the king of France, and thereby lost a large portion of his continental possessions. He quarreled with the Church, brought an interdict upon England and excommunication on himself, and then pusillanimously yielded up his kingdom, to be held as a fief from the Holy See He quarreled with his barons, and at length united nine tenths of the English people against him. It was this last quarrel which led to the signing of Magna Charta.]

ALTHOUGH John had been able to keep an army and a contingent in the field, many of his barons had remained behind in England, and those of the north especially had again put forward their plea of exemption from all service except on the marches. As it was certain from the first that the king would try, on his return, to revenge himself, and as the government of Peter des Roches, bishop of Winchester, who had succeeded Geoffrey Fitz-Petre as justiciary, was intolerably oppressive, the nobles resolved on resistance; and, within a few days after John had landed and begun to levy scutage on all who had neglected to follow him, a meeting of nobles was held at Bury St. Edmunds, under pretext of celebrating the saint's festival (November 20). The charter of Henry I. and the laws of Edward the Confessor were read aloud, and the barons swore, one by one, on the high altar, to demand the observance of these liberties from the