The position of the King of France was becoming serious; he endeavored to divert the attention of the enemy. His ally David, King of Scotland, had promised to attempt an invasion of England; the moment seemed propitious; all the English commanders and knights were beyond the sea. At the end of September, 1246, David marched therefore into the county of Cumberland with a considerable army, pillaging and sacking everything on their way. Queen Philippa had already levied some troops, and at Newcastle, where she was stationed, she was better informed of the movements of the Scots than the latter were of her preparations for resistance. The English army assembled in the park of Auckland, unknown to King David. No commander-in-chief had been appointed; but four prelates and as many barons marched at the head of the troops, "and the good dame, Queen Philippa, prayed and admonished them to do their duty well," says Froissart. As she was returning to Newcastle, on the 17th of October, Douglas, the Lord of Liddesdale, who was coming back from a plundering expedition, fell among the English, whose presence he did not suspect, and with difficulty cut his way through them. The King of Scotland immediately drew up his forces on the plain of Nevil's Cross. He fought valiantly; but, having been twice wounded, he was made a prisoner by a plain esquire, named John Copeland, who conducted him to his castle. The Scottish earls and barons lay stretched upon the field of battle, or had fallen alive into the hands of their enemies. The queen was rejoicing at Newcastle; she sent to John Copeland, commanding that the King of Scotland should be given up to her. "I will surrender him to no man or woman except my lord, the King of England," replied the worthy esquire; "and be not uneasy upon his account, for I intend to keep him so carefully that I will render good account of him." The queen was not quite satisfied, however, and with the good news of victory the reply of the stubborn esquire arrived at Calais. King Edward had great joy in the good fortune that God had bestowed on his people, and he immediately summoned John Copeland to come to him at Calais. The esquire placed his prisoner in a place of safety, "in a strong castle, on the borders of Northumberland and Galloway, and proceeded to Calais, to the quarters of the king."

"Welcome," said Edward, on seeing Copeland, "my faithful esquire, who by your valor have made a prisoner of our adversary the King of Scotland." "Sire," said John, kneeling, "God in His great goodness has so willed it that He has delivered the King of Scotland into my hands, for He can, if it please Him, bestow His grace upon a poor esquire as well as upon a great nobleman. And, sire, do not bear me any ill-will if I did not immediately surrender him to the queen, for it is to you that I have sworn allegiance." The king smiled. "But you will now take your prisoner, John," he said, "and take him to my wife." And he loaded with presents the esquire, who returned well content. King David was promptly lodged in the Tower of London.

The war still continued in Brittany. Charles of Blois had been made a prisoner before Roche-Derrien, on the 18th of June, 1347, and had joined King David in his captivity; while Joan the Lame was maintaining the struggle against the allies of the Count of Montfort, who were still directed by her mother, the Countess Joan, and against the sudden attacks of Joan de Bellville, the widow of Oliver de Clisson. This women's war was neither the least skilful nor the least sanguinary. Edward III. was still before Calais.

The town was reduced to the last extremity. Twice already had the non-combatants been expelled. Sheltered on the first occasion by King Edward, these unhappy wretches, driven out of the famine-stricken town, were dying of hunger and misery between the two camps. John of Vienne, a valiant knight in command at Calais, had sent information to King Philip of the desperate situation in which he was placed. "Remember, sire, that there remains nothing uneaten in the town; not a dog, a cat, or a horse; so that of provisions we can find none in the place—unless we eat the flesh of our people." Philip of Valois unfurled the oriflamme, and summoned his knights round it, to march to the deliverance of his good town of Calais.

The rejoicing was general inside the town; the banners of the French army were visible flying in the air, and their white tents glistened in the sun on the Mount of Sangatte. The citizens already thought that their deliverance had been effected. But the King of England had taken his precautions; the road along the downs was protected by English vessels, well furnished with archers. The road across the marshes was defended by the Earl of Derby, who was stationed on the bridge of Nieulay, which the king had fortified with towers. The quartermasters of the French army, after having examined the ground, informed the king that it was impossible to cross it. "Thereupon King Philip sent emissaries to the King of England, to pray and require him to choose with them a spot whereon one might fight, and thither to come and confront the King of France."

Edward had formerly challenged King Philip, who had declined to encounter him. It was now his turn: "My lord," he said to the emissary from the French camp, "I duly heard that which you demand of me on the part of my adversary, who wrongfully holds my just inheritance to my injury. Therefore tell him that I have been here during more than a year, that this was well known to him, and that he might have come sooner had he pleased. I have spent heavily of my substance, and I expect very shortly to be master of the town of Calais. Therefore I am not in a mind to obey his bidding and his convenience, nor to let go what I have conquered, what I have so ardently desired and so dearly paid for. If his men cannot pass that way, let them go round to seek a path."

This message was reported to the King of France, "who was incensed thereat," says Froissart, but who made no effort, and again took the road towards Amiens. The banners disappeared from Mount Sangatte; the tents were struck, and inside the town despair succeeded to the hope which had for awhile sustained the brave citizens. John de Vienne ascended the walls of the town and made a sign that he wished to hold a parley. Sir Walter de Manny immediately approached him. "Good sir," said the brave governor, "you see that our succor has failed. Beg your king to have mercy upon us, and to let us walk out as we are; he will find in the town and the castle enough of goods."

Sir Walter de Manny knew of the anger which the king his master had against the inhabitants of Calais. He shook his head. "Sir John, Sir John," he said, "the king our master will not let you go as you have said; it is his intention that you shall all submit to his will." "Never," said John de Vienne. And he retired within the town, while the English knights were proceeding to carry the news of what had passed to the king. "You might well be wrong sire," said Walter de Manny, "for you set us a bad example. If you should wish to send us to your fortresses, we should not go so willingly, if you cause these people to be put to death; for thus should we be served under similar circumstances." King Edward remained gloomy; all the barons agreed with Sir Walter. At length Edward exclaimed, "Gentlemen, I will not remain alone against you all. Walter, you shall go to those in Calais, and inform the commander that the utmost mercy which they will find in me is, that there shall issue forth from the town of Calais six of the most distinguished citizens bareheaded and barefooted, with halters round their necks, and the keys of the town and the castle in their hands; and with these I will do as I please. I will show mercy to the others."

Sir Walter had borne the king's message to Calais. The consternation was great in the public square, where all the inhabitants were assembled. They wept bitterly; "even Sir John de Vienne conceived such pity for them that he cried most tenderly."

"At length arose the richest citizen of the town, who was called Eustache of Saint-Pierre, and said in the presence of all, 'Gentlemen, great pity and great wrong would it be to leave so great a number of persons as are here to perish, by famine or otherwise, when some other means can here be found; and I have such great hope of receiving grace and forgiveness through our Lord, if I die to save these people, that I wish to be the first, and will willingly place myself in my shirt bareheaded, barefooted, and with a halter round my neck, at the mercy of the King of England.' And when Eustache had uttered these words, several men and women threw themselves at his feet, weeping tenderly, and it was greatly affecting to be there and to hear, listen to, and look at them."

The example of devotion is contagious. John d'Aire, "a worthy citizen, who had two beautiful damsels for daughters, declared that he would accompany his fellow-citizen, Eustache." James and Peter de Vissant did likewise, then two others, and the six citizens, in their shirts and barefooted, with a rope round their necks, the keys of the town in their hands, issued forth from Calais, conducted by Sir John de Vienne, upon his little horse, for he was too unwell to walk. Amidst the cries and tears of the population he consigned the condemned men to Walter de Manny. "I beg you, gentle sir," he said, "to intercede for them with the King of England, that these poor men may not be put to death." The worthy knight was anxious to do so, but he advanced without speaking until they arrived before the King of England.

Edward was in the road outside his residence; all his knights surrounded him. Queen Philippa was by his side. "When he saw the citizens, he remained very still and looked very cruelly at them, for he hated those of Calais for the great damage and checks which they had caused to his ships in bygone times." The unhappy men had fallen on their knees, offering to the king the keys of the town, and begging for mercy. All the barons were in tears, "being unable to restrain themselves for pity;" but the king eyed them angrily, for he was so hard-hearted and smitten with such great anger that he was unable to speak. At length he broke the silence, and ordered that they should presently be beheaded. All the knights were weeping and supplicating. Sir Walter de Manny, who was entitled to speak, reproached the king for his severity; but Edward gnashed his teeth and said, "Sir Walter, hold your peace! It shall not be otherwise. Let the headsman come forward."

Queen Philippa had thrown herself on her knees, "crying so tenderly with compassion that she could not support herself." "Ah! gentle sire," she said, "since I crossed the sea in great peril, I have asked nothing of you; to-day I beg of you as a gift for the Son of the Holy Virgin and the love of me, that you will have mercy on these six men." The king waited a short time before speaking; he eyed the good lady his wife. "Ah! lady," he said; "I should be but too pleased were you elsewhere but here. You beg so earnestly that I dare not refuse you, and, although I do so with difficulty, take them; I give them to you; do with them as you please."

Queen Philippa On Her Knees Before The King.

Then the queen rose, saying, "My lord, many thanks!" And she took with her the six citizens, and caused them to be clothed and fed at their ease; she then sent them away from the army in safety. They went and established themselves in different towns in Picardy, while Edward took possession of Calais, on the 3rd of August, 1347. Queen Philippa was quartered in the house of John d'Aire, which the king had given to her, "and there was such merrymaking as was marvellous," except among the poor inhabitants of Calais, who wept secretly in their dwellings. The king had resolved to establish an English population at Calais, and the former possessors were about to quit forever that town, which they had so valiantly defended.

Calais had fallen, and King Edward's vengeance was appeased. The legates of the Pope had recommenced their work of conciliation. A truce was concluded, for a few months at first, and afterwards prolonged from time to time for six years. The finances of France were exhausted; the English Parliament refused the subsidies, and the Black Plague, from the East, was ravaging Europe. France and England, already weakened by wars, saw their populations decimated by the pestilence. It was in vain that the Flagellants overran the towns and villages, lacerating themselves with whips, to appease the anger of God; it was in vain that the Jews, accused of poisoning the fountains, were slaughtered; the cemeteries of London could not contain the dead, so that Sir Walter de Manny made a present to the city of a new site. King Edward issued an edict, to compel all able-bodied men to accept work; the fields remained uncultivated, and famine threatened the districts ravaged by the plague. Notwithstanding the amnesty, fighting was still carried on in Guienne, in Brittany, and as far as Calais. The governor, Aymeric of Pavia, had promised to surrender the town to the French for a large sum. Was it an act of treachery, and did he himself cause King Edward to be informed of the bargain which he had concluded? This may be supposed, since he escaped the anger of his master; but the King of England crossed the Channel very secretly, and arrived at Calais at the moment when Geoffrey de Chargny was approaching to enter the town. The knights proceeded towards the gates. Edward had put aside all his insignia of royalty and fought under the standard of Walter de Manny. Twice he staggered under the blows of Eustace of Ribaumont; but, having at length triumphed over the brave Picard, at the moment when the French were retreating in disorder, he led him into the castle, Ribaumont not knowing the name of his conqueror. At supper, Edward rose, and taking the pearl necklace which he wore on his hood, he placed it upon that of Sir Eustace. "Sir Eustace," said he, "I give you this chaplet, as the best combatant of the day, of those within and without the town, and I beg that you will wear it this year, for love of me, saying everywhere that I gave it to you. I release you from your prison, and you can depart to-morrow, if you please." "And Sir Eustace of Ribaumont was much rejoiced." Aymeric of Pavia had less reason to congratulate himself upon the success of the day. Geoffrey de Chargny surprised him in the castle wherein he had taken refuge, and put him to death as a traitor.

Another occasion caused graver danger to the life of King Edward. The Spanish pirates of the Bay of Biscay were desolating the coast of Flanders and hampering the commerce with England. King Edward resolved to punish their insolence, and, on the 20th of August, 1350, after having cruised about during three days between Dover and Calais, announcement was made of the approach of the vessels led by Don Carlos de La Cerda, the chief of the association of pirates. The engagement began with great fury on both sides. The king had directed his vessel against a large Spanish ship; several leaks had been opened by the shock, and the English vessel was about to founder, when the sailors, making a desperate effort, boarded and seized the enemy's ship, and took refuge upon their conquest. The Prince of Wales, in a similar peril, had been saved by the Earl of Derby. After the victory, which had been dearly bought, King Edward proceeded to rejoin the queen at Winchelsea. Her servants had already brought her tidings of the battle, which they had anxiously watched from the heights. A truce of twenty years was concluded between the King of England and the seaport towns of Castile.

The armistice, traversed by so many different combats and perils, was about to expire. Philip of Valois had died in 1350, and his son John the Good, had at first appeared disposed to accept the proposals for peace of the King of England. At a conference which had taken place at Guienne, Edward offered to relinquish his pretensions upon the kingdom of France, provided that he might obtain absolute possession of the provinces which he held as vassal, in his own name or in that of the queen; but the French barons would not agree to this dismemberment of the territory. The king was young, ardent, and fond of glory, so did not resist their entreaties. The proposals of the King of England were rejected. He complained loudly of the bad faith of his adversaries, and obtained money of Parliament to prepare for the renewal of hostilities. An expedition of the Prince of Wales in Guienne and an incursion of King Edward into the north of France, had not achieved great success. The king was soon recalled to England by an attack of the Scots upon Berwick. The unhappy town, buffeted about from master to master by bloody sieges, had recently been retaken by Edward, who penetrated further into Scotland, and ravaged the whole country. According to the doctrine of the period, that a people could be sold or bought, Edward had paid Baliol for his rights to the throne of Scotland, a pension of two thousand marks of silver, and once more claimed to enslave the Scotch. The want of provisions in a devastated country compelled him to retire. For a long time the memory of this expedition served to animate the ardor of the Scots during their invasions into England. "Remember burnt Candlemas," they would cry to each other. It was the title which had been given to that series of pillages and conflagrations.

Edward had not yet quitted England, had not even been able to send reinforcements to the Black Prince, as the Prince of Wales was called, by reason of the color of his arms, when the latter took to the field, towards the end of June, 1356, with the object of ravaging the French provinces. An expedition of this kind, in the preceding year, had brought him a great deal of booty. He had overrun Agénois, Limousin, Auvergne, and had arrived as far as Berry. Repulsed before Bourges and Issondun, he had taken Vierzon, burnt down Romorantin, and was beginning to fall back in the direction of Guienne with the fruits of his pillage, when King John quitting Chartres, advanced towards Poictiers. The devastation caused by the Black Prince had exasperated the country populations. Nobody had warned him of the danger to which he was about to expose himself, when, in his turn, he took the road to Poictiers with his little army. Suddenly, on the 17th of September, 1356, the English advanced guard found itself immediately in the rear of the French forces; the couriers saw the country covered with troops; the retreat towards Guienne was cut off. "May God interpose," said the Prince, seized with great anxiety; "we must have advice and counsel how we shall fight them with advantage." And at the same time the King of France was saying in his army, "Truly, gentlemen, when you are at Paris, at Chartres, at Rouen, or at Orleans, you threaten the English and you wish to stand before them ready for the fray. Now are you there, I show them to you; here you must show your displeasure, for, without mishap, we shall fight them," And those who had heard him answered: "May God decide, all this will we willingly see."

It was on the 18th of September, in the morning. All the flower of the French chivalry thronged around the king and his four sons. It is affirmed that the French army numbered more than fifty thousand men. The forces of the Black Prince did not amount to twelve thousand; but the English had prudently intrenched themselves behind some hedges and underwood in the midst of the vines, so they could only be approached by a narrow road, lined with archers. At the moment when, by the advice of Eustace of Ribaumont, the French knights prepared to alight to make an attack, the Cardinal of Périgord arrived, begging the king to permit him to negotiate between the two armies. "The English are but a handful compared with you; if you can capture them, and cause them to place themselves at your mercy without giving battle, this manner would be more honorable and profitable to you." The king consented thereto, and the cardinal promptly galloped towards the English army. "Gallant son," he said to the Black Prince, "if you had justly considered the power of the king of France, you would suffer me to arrange terms with him for you, if I could." Therefore the Prince, who was then a young man, answered, "My lord, saving my honor and that of my men, I am ready to listen to anything in reason." Thus the cardinal galloped throughout the day between the two armies. But no agreement could be made, for although the English willingly consented to surrender to King John all the towns and castles taken on their way, to conclude a truce of seven years, and to release the prisoners; the French demanded that the Prince of Wales and a hundred of his knights should surrender before allowing the remainder of the army to pass, "to which the English could not listen;" and on Monday morning the French king angrily told the cardinal to return to Poictiers, or wherever he pleased, and never more to speak of treaty or agreement, for that he might give offence. Quickly going away, the cardinal proceeded to the English army. "My gallant son," he said to the Prince, "do as you are able; you must fight, for I cannot discover any disposition for concord or peace in the King of France." And the Prince answered, greatly irritated, "That is the intention of us and ours, and may God help the right."

The French army was divided into three great battle-corps: the first was commanded by the marshals of France; the second by Charles, duke of Normandy; King John was at the head of the third, and he had retained by his side his youngest son, Philip.

The Prince of Wales had placed his little army with great care. It was imperative to fight or perish, for there were no provisions. "My gallant lords," said the young man, "if we are few against the might of our enemies, let us not be daunted, for virtue and victory do not belong to great numbers, but to whomsoever God chooses to send them. If it happen that the day be ours, we shall be the most honored in the world; if we should die, I have still my father and two gallant brothers, and you good friends, who will avenge us. Thus I beg that you may today know how to fight well, for, if it please God and St. George, you will see in me a good knight."

King John Taken Prisoner By The Black Prince.

The French had wavered; a great number had remained on horseback, against the advice of Ribaumont. A good English knight, Sir James Audley, awaited them foremost in advance, having vowed to be the best combatant in the battle. The heavy cavalry and the warriors, covered with steel, entered the narrow path leading to their enemies. The arrows of the English archers began to whistle by; the brave knights looked around them; they saw no assailants, but they were wounded and their horses were falling. They were obliged to retreat, leaving the dead, the dying, and the wounded horses, who encumbered the defile. The army corps of the marshals was disconcerted, and that of the Duke of Normandy was beginning to take alarm. The experienced eye of Sir John Chandos was not deceived in the matter. "Ride forward, sire," he said to the Prince of Wales, "for the day is yours. Let us devote ourselves to your adversary, the King of France; for there lies the greater part of the day's work, and I well know that by reason of his valor he will not fly." The prince applied his spurs to his horse, and quitting his rustic rampart, he advanced into the open space where the King of France was fighting. A detachment of the archers attacked at the same time the troops of the Duke of Normandy, who took to flight almost without striking a blow. The English charged, "St. George and Guienne!"—"Montjoie St. Denis!" was the answer around King John; but the disorder was increasing. "The Duke of Orleans had disappeared with the reserve forces. The king was not a man ever to be frightened by the things which he saw or heard said, but still remained a good knight, and fought well." "Dismount! dismount!" he cried to all his followers; and himself alighting from his horse, he marched along their ranks, battle-axe in hand, and there, around him "there was a great number of warriors, haughty and cruel, and many heavy blows were given and received." And the still youthful prince, Philip, was there, crying to his father: "Sire, have a care on your right! Sire, have a care on your left!" and defended him as much as he was able. Meanwhile, on all sides the king was greeted with, "Surrender, or you are a dead man." He looked around him. "To whom shall I surrender?" he asked aloud. "Where is my cousin, the Prince of Wales? If I could see him I would speak."

"Sire," said a knight, "he is not here; but surrender to me, I will conduct you to him." "Who are you?" asked the king. "Denis de Morbecque, a knight of Artois; but I serve the King of England, because I cannot live in the kingdom of France, and because I have there forfeited all my possessions." The king tendered his glove to him. "I surrender to you," he said. The knight endeavored to lead the king away from the crowd; but although he was tall and powerful, everybody crowded round him, saying, "I have captured him; I have captured him," and the king could not advance, nor could his youngest son, Philip. The Earl of Warwick and Sir Reynold Cobham, who were seeking the king on behalf of the Prince of Wales, were obliged to deliver him from his enemies, and to conduct him courteously to the spot where Chandos had advised that the banner of England should be planted to reassemble the troops. "It is time that your men should rejoin you," he had said, "for they are scattered and the day is yours. You must refresh yourself a little, for I see that you are much heated."

The Black Prince Serving The French King.

The prince had removed his helmet when the King of France was brought forward, before whom he made a profound reverence and received him as a king, well and wisely, and in the evening he waited upon him without ever consenting to be seated, notwithstanding any solicitation which the king made in this respect, and said that he was not yet sufficiently important to sit down at the table of so great a sovereign and so valiant a man, who had that day surpassed the ablest. "And all deemed that the Prince had spoken well."

The towns and castles remained closed in Poitou and in Saintonge, but the French army was not rallied, and no attempt was made to deliver the king. The Prince of Wales hastened to Bordeaux, in order to place in safety his illustrious prisoners, and all the booty with which his army was loaded. The Duke of Normandy had been created Regent by the States-general, and the Black Prince concluded a truce of two years with him. He spent the winter in Gascony; then in the spring (April, 1357) he set sail to conduct to England King John and his son Philip. Negotiations were in progress for the ransom of the king, and the legates of the Pope, the ordinary negotiators of the great treaties between sovereigns, followed the Prince of Wales and his prisoners to England. John entered London on the 24th of April, upon a magnificent courser, richly caparisoned; the Prince of Wales was at his side upon a small black horse. King Edward had come forward to meet his illustrious captive, and all the court hastened to do him honor. King John consoled himself easily enough in his captivity.

Already for six years past Edward had been in treaty with the Scottish Parliament for the ransom of King David Bruce. Twice the latter had been enabled to visit his kingdom, in order to induce his subjects to redeem him; but Scotland was poor, and the demands of Edward were exorbitant. It was not until the month of October, 1357, that the treaty was at length concluded, and that David was enabled to return to his kingdom after an imprisonment of eleven years. But his subjects soon perceived the influence which his long sojourn in England had exercised over their weak sovereign. When Queen Jane died, without issue, in 1362, David proposed to the Scottish Parliament to select as his heir, Lionel, the third son of the King of England, to the exclusion of his nephew, the Stewart [Footnote 3] of Scotland.

[Footnote 3: Stewart, seneschal, an hereditary title, which subsequently became the family name of the Stuarts.]

The indignation of the Scottish Parliament did not put an end to the project. Some delay in the payment of the ransom furnished an excuse to King Edward, and, until the death of King David, in 1371, the intrigues of the English continued to agitate Scotland. His nephew succeeded him, without opposition, and assumed the title of Robert II.

While Scottish affairs were occupying Edward III., the treaty with France still remained pending. The conditions required by the English were so harsh, that King John, although a prisoner, hesitated to accept them. Besides an enormous sum for the ransom of the king, Edward claimed to retain all his conquests in France, and to secure all the possessions formerly belonging to his family, not as an appanage or fief, but as a property. While the negotiations were being prolonged, the condition of France became daily more critical. The evil genius of the royal family, Charles the Bad, king of Navarre, had escaped from the prison where, for a long time, he had been confined. He had allied himself to the citizens of Paris, who wished to exert a certain amount of influence in their affairs, a power which was contested by the Dauphin [Footnote 4] and his council.

[Footnote 4: The eldest son of the King of France had recently assumed the title of Dauphin, in consequence of the cession of Dauphiné to France by Humbert II., the last Dauphin of the Viennois.]

The population of Paris, incited by their chiefs, soon escaped from the authority of the latter, who found themselves drawn along irresistibly with the current. Riot succeeded riot; two of the advisers of the Dauphin were slain under his eyes, on the 22nd of February, 1358, and his chancellor was compelled to fly. The contagion spread throughout the whole of France; as Paris had had its Maillotins (workmen armed with mallets), France in general had its Jacquerie, an insurrection of the serfs, who were ironically called Jacques Bonhomme. Everywhere fearful massacres took place, and the Dauphin, compelled to arm against the peasants of his kingdom, had no leisure to think of the demands of King Edward. The insurrection was scarcely at an end, when King John accepted the proposals of the King of England; but as soon as the conditions of the treaty were known in France, the States-general rejected them with indignation. The dismemberment of the country was impossible; peace and the liberty of the king were too dearly bought at this price.

King Edward knew the proud obstinacy of the English Parliament; he was indignant, however, to find a similar resistance from the French States-general, and complaining of perfidy, he entered France on the 28th of October, 1359. He had traversed Picardy, Artois, and Cambrésis, consigning everything to fire and sword, when he arrived before Rheims, where he proposed to be crowned King of France. In vain did he besiege that town during seven weeks. The Archbishop and the citizens did not suffer themselves to be intimidated by the fate of Calais, and defended the place so valiantly that Edward was compelled to retire. He entered Burgundy, but the Duke Philip purchased his withdrawal with a large sum of money and a promise of neutrality. The King of England took the road to Paris. His army had suffered greatly during the winter; the month of March had been rough, and the negotiations which had been opened during the festival of Easter not having brought about any result, Edward was compelled to retire. The Dauphin had not responded to his challenge, and the English army, unfit to attack the capital, fell back towards Brittany, after having burnt the suburbs of Paris. The road was strewn with the bodies of men and horses, succumbing to fatigue and misery. At length, in the neighborhood of Chartres, a fearful storm surprised the English in the open plain. The son of the Earl of Warwick was killed by a thunderbolt beside the king. Struck by this terrible warning, Edward leapt from his horse, and vowed to God and Our Lady of Chartres no longer to reject the proposals for peace, provided that they should be consistent with his honor; and conferences were opened a few days afterwards, at Brétigny, a small village where Edward halted. Peace was at length concluded on the 8th of May, 1360. The King of England renounced his pretensions to the kingdom of France, and restored all his conquests, with the exception of Calais and Guienne. King John conceded to him absolutely, for himself and his heirs in perpetuity, Guienne, Poitou, Saintonge, Agénois, Limousin, Périgord, and the county of Ponthieu. A ransom of three millions of golden crowns was to be paid within six years for the release of the king; twenty-five French barons, forty-two burgesses, and sixteen of the most important prisoners captured at Poictiers, were to serve as hostages for the fulfilment of the treaty.

These conditions, harsh as they yet remained, were so much better than the first proposals of King Edward, that after much intriguing and hesitation, they were at length solemnly ratified by the two sovereigns at Calais, on the 24th of October, 1360, with this strange clause, that the definitive renunciations by the monarchs, of the possessions which they ceded, should not take place until the festival of the Assumption in the following year. On the morrow, the 25th of October, King John was restored to liberty, and King Edward embarked for England.

The festival of the Assumption had passed by, as well as many other holidays, but the conditions of the treaty of Brétigny were not yet fulfilled: the financial distress of France had not admitted of raising the sums promised for the ransom. The land was ravaged by the free bands, formerly in the pay of the belligerents, but who, having no employment since the peace, had lived by plunder and rapine. They proceeded from province to province, wherever there still remained any resources; and they defeated John of Bourbon, who had been despatched against them by the Dauphin. The States-general murmured at the conditions of the treaty. King John saw nothing in his kingdom but oppression and misery; he could not fulfil his engagements, and as a crowning disgrace, one of his hostages, his own son, the Duke of Anjou, having been brought to Calais with the other knights of the Lily—a designation applied to his brother, the Duke of Berry, his uncle, the Duke of Orleans, and his cousin, the Duke of Bourbon—shamelessly broke his word, by flying from prison to repair to Paris. King John was weary of the struggle and wounded in his pride and his loyalty; perchance also he remembered the rejoicings which had been instituted in his honor in London, so he announced that he was about to return to England. "Were honor banished from the whole earth," he proudly said, "it would be found again in the heart of a king." He arrived in London at the beginning of the year 1364; but before being able to resume negotiations, he fell ill, and died on the 8th of April. His body was brought back to France, with all royal magnificence, and the Dauphin became king under the title of Charles V.

While the perplexities of the government in France had hindered the consolidation of peace, the Prince of Wales had been married, on the 10th of October, 1361, to the woman whom he had loved all his lifetime, his cousin Joan, daughter of Edmund, earl of Kent. She had already been twice married, and her second husband, Lord Holland, had recently died. Happy at length, the Black Prince established himself with his wife, in Aquitaine, and held at Bordeaux a magnificent court, the school for all good chivalry, while he labored to restore order in these provinces, so long desolated by war.

King Charles V. had found means of ridding himself of the free companies. The King of Castile, Peter IV., had deserved his surname of "the Cruel" for a series of crimes which had exasperated the people. His brother, Henry of Transtamare, exiled by him, and burning with a desire to avenge his mother and all his relatives assassinated by the tyrant, had taken refuge in France, asking the assistance of King Charles V. The latter offered the services of the free companies; the good knight Bertrand du Guesclin, already famous among the most illustrious warriors of his time, concluded a treaty with the chiefs of the different bands, and, placing himself at their head, crossed the Pyrenees under the orders of Henry of Transtamare, who was soon placed upon the throne of Castile, almost without striking a blow. In vain did Peter the Cruel call to his aid all his vassals; they were too happy to see themselves delivered from his yoke, and when the tyrant was compelled to take to flight, he took refuge at Bordeaux, begging the assistance of the Prince of Wales.

Passion blinds the most clear-sighted men: the noble character of the Black Prince had nothing in common with the savage ferocity and calculating perfidy of Peter the Cruel; but the prince thought this king ill-used by his brother and his subjects. France had embraced the cause of Henry of Transtamare, and England thought herself constrained to support his rival. He had brought with him his two daughters, who remained at the court of Bordeaux, where they were married, a few years later, to two sons of King Edward, the Duke of Lancaster and the Earl of Cambridge. The first rumor of the intentions of the Black Prince caused a secession from the army of Du Guesclin of some of his best bands. Sir John Calverley and Sir Robert Knowles, with twelve thousand men, immediately abandoned Henry of Transtamare and proceeded into Guienne, assembling under the banner of their legitimate chief. The King of Navarre delivered up the passage through the Pyrenees, and in the month of February, 1367, in spite of cold, snow, and scarcity of provisions in a poor country, thirty thousand men crossed the defiles of the mountains under the command of the Prince of Wales and Peter the Cruel, and on the third of April a battle was fought between the two pretenders upon the plain of Navarette. The combat was fierce. A portion of the Spaniards had given way; but Henry of Transtamare, supported by Du Guesclin, resolutely defended himself. At length the latter was made a prisoner, and the rout was complete. Don Henry fled and took refuge in Arragon. Six thousand men remained upon the field of battle, and two thousand prisoners were in the hands of Peter the Cruel. He was preparing to slaughter them, when the Prince of Wales demanded mercy for them, and the king did not dare to refuse it; but he had no intention of fulfilling the promises which he had made at Bordeaux. From his camp at Valladolid, the prince repeatedly sent to Peter the Cruel, demanding the money which he had undertaken to pay for the expenses of the war. No answer, no visit from the king, no provisions; while the English army was decimated by sickness, by the climate, and by want. The prince himself was suffering from a fever. Weary of waiting, and convinced of the perfidy of his ally, he raised his camp on the 26th of June, and returned to Guienne. Peter the Cruel had momentarily regained his throne, but the treasury of England was empty; the health of the Black Prince was for ever destroyed, his character embittered by suffering and deceptions, and the barons of Aquitaine were beginning to murmur and to turn unwillingly toward France.

Charles V. deserved his title of the "Wise." Prudent and foreseeing, but too weak in body to have any taste for warfare, he directed the affairs of the kingdom from his seat, with a firm moderation to which the French, like their enemies, had not been accustomed under his predecessors. When the Poitevins presented themselves before Charles V., as the liege lord, to complain of the excessive taxes imposed by the Black Prince, he temporized, gave vague answers, and retained the complainants at Paris, while his brother, the Duke of Anjou, governor of Languedoc, was fostering the discontent in the provinces of the south belonging to the English.

The Spanish ally of the Black Prince had recently received the reward of all his crimes. Scarcely had the English retired, when Don Henry had again taken the field, and for the second time he had dethroned his brother. As he was besieging him in a fortified castle, they met in the tent of a French knight. Peter immediately seized his brother by the throat, and threw him to the ground. Henry drew his dagger, and Peter, stabbed to the heart, died immediately. An offensive and defensive alliance had recently been concluded between France and Spain (20th of November, 1368), and King Charles V., publicly taking his course, summoned Edward, Prince of Aquitaine, to appear at Paris before his peers, there to answer the complaints of his vassals.

Since the treaty of Brétigny, King Edward and his son had no longer recognized the superiority of France. "I will go," said the Black Prince, "but with sixty thousand lances." His father was better aware of the difficulty of the undertaking; he made moderate proposals to Charles V., simply claiming the sovereignty of Aquitaine; but Charles V., seeing the English Parliament wearied of the wars, King Edward aged and tired, and the Black Prince ill, maintained his pretension, and the French troops entered into Poitou, Guienne, and Limousin. The discontented and capricious inhabitants almost always lent their support to the French. King Edward sent his second son, the Duke of Lancaster, with considerable reinforcements, to the assistance of the Black Prince; but, while he was overrunning the northern provinces. King Charles not permitting any important engagement to take place, the conquests of the French extended in the South, and the Prince of Wales, dangerously ill, found himself compelled to take the field upon a litter. The Dukes of Anjou and Berry did not await him; they had left garrisons in the towns, but had retired when the prince advanced against Limoges. He had formerly lavished his favors upon that town, which the Bishop had surrendered to the French, and he had sworn, by the soul of his father, not to move thence nor do any thing until he should recapture it. The siege progressed slowly, the citizens bravely supporting the garrison, for they feared the vengeance of the prince. The latter conducted the military operations with a savage fury which he had never before manifested. At length, at the end of a month, a large mine opened a breach in the walls of the town; the besiegers sprang inside, and the massacre began. Women, children, and old men fell upon their knees, crying, "Mercy! such poor folks could not have been concerned in defending the town," but none received quarter. The knights and men at arms of the garrison still defended themselves heroically in the streets; three of them planted themselves against a wall, and made such good use of their swords that the Prince of Wales, while passing by in his litter, was struck with admiration, and received them as prisoners to be ransomed. The humble people, "who were really martyrs," says Froissart, were all dead; the town was fired, and the Prince of Wales had retired. He had exhausted his strength, and, in the hope of regaining his health under his native sky, set out for England, leaving to his brother John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, the care of prosecuting the war. The military career of the Black Prince was ended; six years of illness and languor were to bring to its close this life so brilliantly begun, but unhappily sullied by a last act of cruelty, more consistent with the general morals of the time than with the character hitherto displayed by the son of King Edward.

The Duke of Lancaster had recently married Constance, the eldest daughter of Peter the Cruel, and, upon this ground, he aspired to the crown of Castile, an imprudent pretension which strengthened the union of the king, Don Henry, with France. The Earl of Pembroke was bringing reinforcements to the Duke in June, 1372, when a Spanish fleet stationed between La Rochelle and the Isle of Ré, barred the passage. An engagement took place, and the English were completely beaten, their vessels being either captured or scuttled. This disaster was an unmistakeable blow to King Edward and to the English nation, which was beginning to look upon the sea as its legitimate empire. The successes of King Charles V. were increasing; he had placed Bertrand du Guesclin at the head of his armies, and had made him Constable of France; but the remembrance of Crécy and Poictiers was always before his eyes; he did not permit any pitched battles to be fought. From siege to siege, from skirmish to skirmish, Du Guesclin was still marching forward, sometimes surprising the enemy, passing through their ranks, as it is said in his memoirs, by a stratagem, which consisted in striking with the point and with the edge of the sword; but when the English presented themselves in a body, the Constable would fall back upon the fortresses, and allow a passage to the enemy, who overran the country but could not surround either the large towns or fortified castles. "Never has king fought so little, and given so much trouble," said Edward angrily, for his French possessions were diminishing day by day. Bordeaux and Bayonne, with a narrow piece of territory, alone remained in his hands in the south, and Calais only in the north; so, if the faithful ally of England, the young Count of Montfort, was everywhere recognized in Brittany, since the death of Charles of Blois, in 1364, his authority was too well contested by Oliver de Clisson to allow of supporting English interests beyond his duchy. John of Gaunt returned to England, and once more, the legates of the Pope playing the part of peacemakers, a truce of one year was concluded at Bruges in 1374, to be prolonged almost until the death of King Edward.

So many reverses after so much glory, had undermined in England the popularity of the king. The finances of the country were in default; every resource had been exhausted to support a war which had borne so little fruit. Complaints, which people did not dare to address to the king, reached his ministers, and even his son, the Duke of Lancaster, who had gradually secured the power, in consequence of the weakness of his father and the illness of the Prince of Wales. The latter remained the idol of the nation, and, either through jealousy of his brother, or through dissatisfaction at the state of affairs, he lent his support to the opposition. The Parliament of 1376, long known under the title of "The Good Parliament," addressed to the king a remonstrance concerning the waste of the public money, and demanded the dismissal of several of the ministers. Lord Latimer and Lord Nevil were deprived of all their offices; but the object of the public hatred and mistrust was especially a woman, named Alice Perrers, formerly a lady of the bed-chamber to Queen Philippa, but who, since the death of the latter, had acquired such an influence over King Edward that he had presented her with the jewels of his wife, and frequently permitted her to dispense at her pleasure the favors of the crown. The Commons publicly demanded that she should be banished from the kingdom.

Amidst this work of reform, the Parliament suddenly lost its firmest support.

The Black Prince died on the 8th of June, 1376. For a long time he had been ailing, and unable to assume in the government of his country the position which by right belonged to him; but the nation had always reckoned upon his wisdom and justice no less than on his brilliant valor; a prosperous and happy reign had been hoped for, and the grief was general and protracted. "The good fortune of England seemed bound up in his person," says the chronicler Walsingham; "it had flourished in his health, it languished in his illness, and died at his death; in him expired all the hopes of the English. For during his lifetime neither an invasion of the enemy nor an encounter in battle had been feared." He was interred with great pomp in Canterbury Cathedral, where he had formerly erected a chapel in memory of his marriage. At the especial request of Parliament, his eldest son Richard was thereupon declared heir to the throne. Fears were entertained concerning the pretensions of the Duke of Lancaster, who had resumed all his authority. Sir Peter de la Mare, who had impeached the ministers in the name of Parliament, was arrested. The Bishop of Winchester, William of Wykeham, formerly at the head of the opposition, was divested of his revenues. A Parliament favorable to John of Gaunt was convoked; it proposed the recall of Alice Perrers, the rehabilitation of Lord Latimer, and other measures so unpopular that the palace of the duke was assailed by the citizens of London, and his friend Lord Percy, a Marshal of England, was pursued by the mob, so that the prince was obliged to throw himself into a small boat with Percy, and take refuge at Kennington, in the castle inhabited by the young Prince Richard and his mother. All the remonstrances of the Bishop of London scarcely succeeded in calming the disturbance. The arms of the Duke of Lancaster, at the gate of his palace, were inverted by the people as the escutcheon of a traitor. When the duke returned shortly afterwards to London, all the magistrates of the city were dismissed and replaced by his creatures. On the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of the reign of Edward III., a general amnesty was proclaimed; the Bishop of Winchester alone was excluded from it.