all the bravery of a true Plantagenet. His portrait as a young man still looks down upon you in the choir of Westminster Abbey, the earliest contemporary representation extant of any English sovereign.1 The cheeks are full and florid, the hair ruddy, the eye, one thinks, capable of frank and kindly expression, the figure kingly. The insurgent laborers felt kindly toward the handsome, spirited boy; but when those who surrounded him refused to allow him to land among them, they shouted angrily their war-cries, and along the lanes, full of the beauty of June, poured wrathfully toward the great city. The poorer artisans opened the gates to them; at once fire was put to the palace of John of Gaunt, the head of the brutal nobles; to the houses of foreign merchants, for there was a vehement, probably an unreasonable, hatred against things un-English; and also to the quarters of the lawyers in the Temple, for whom there was especial dislike, as the class from which were drawn the manorial stewards, the usual instruments of oppression.

Wat Tyler of Essex.

In this rising, declared by Stubbs to be one of the most portentous events of English history, the most noteworthy leader was Wat Tyler, of Essex, a man of excellent purposes and ability, however rough. In the revolt, he tried hard to impose upon his followers a wholesome discipline; a plunderer carrying a silver vessel from the burning palace of John of Gaunt was himself thrown into the flames. By such sharp reminders he taught his men that the effort in behalf of better justice could not be served by thieves and robbers. There is some

1 Stanley: Memorials of Westminster Abbey, p. 147.

reason for supposing he cherished a high plan for the overthrow of feudalism and a restoration of the old government of counties and districts, through the ancient moots of the people; in a word, Anglo-Saxon freedom. The scheme in that day was wild and premature, but in the stout-hearted laborer may be beheld some of the traits of a Cromwell.1 His hour soon came. The crowd of rebels, no doubt rough and unsavory to the last degree, overran London, browbeating courtier and citizen. At the Tower, they took by the beard in rude horse-play the knights of the royal household, declaring that henceforth they were to be fellows and comrades; but presently after, in the Chapel of St. John (the Norman arches of which, together with the gray columns and ancient carving, the visitor may still admire), they found lurking the Archbishop of Canterbury, against whom they cherished an especial spite. He was haled from sanctuary, and at once beheaded; nor was that the only homicide. "We will that you free us forever," cried a multitude, meeting the King in the streets, 66 us and our lands; and that we be never named nor held for serfs." "I grant it," said Richard, and bade them go home, pledging himself to issue charters of freedom and amnesty. On June 15th, Richard and Wat Tyler came face to face at Smithfield. During the interview, Walworth, lord mayor of London, struck the popular champion dead with a sudden thrust of his dagger. "Kill, kill!" thundered the crowd. "They have slain our captain!" your captain and your King," cried young Richard,

66

"I am

1 J. Thorold Rogers: History of Agriculture and Prices in England, I, p. 94.

riding promptly and fearlessly to the front of the crowd. "Follow me." They followed him loyally and trustingly; for the people had a firm faith that could the sovereign be but separated from evil counsellors, their grievances would be fully redressed. Richard promised faithfully; a throng of clerks was set to work to prepare charters, which were issued by the score, securing to their receivers ample rights. Only treachery, however, was in the minds of the King and his nobles. When the insurgents were dispersed, at the earliest safe moment the sternest vengeance was exacted. The pledges were broken; fire and sword raged throughout the land. Seven thousand died on the gallows and in the field.

Treachery of the King.

A few incidents are related of that time of blood, showing how true was the temper of those strivers for freedom, At St. Albans, for instance, near London, the rule of the great abbey over its tenantry had been most oppressive. In the uprising, the laborers had obtained a charter, and full of joy, they tore from the pavement of the cloisters the mill-stones, which were laid there in token that grain could be ground nowhere on the demesne but at the abbey mill; these were broken to pieces in proof of the emancipation, "like blessed bread in church." When the rebels, taken at disadvantage, were put down, William Grindecobbe, their leader, was offered his life if he would persuade the St. Albans men to restore the charter. He bravely bade his followers to take no thought for him. "If I die," he said, "I shall die for the cause of the freedom we have won, counting myself happy to end my life by such a martyrdom.”

When Richard was reproached for his faithlessness,

Aristocratic

Parliament.

he answered, with an insolence as precocious as the cool self-possession he had shown in the time of danger: "Villeins you were, and villeins you are. In bondage you shall abide, and that not your old bondage, but a worse." It is melancholy to read of the conduct of Parliament in this crisis. Assembled on the suppression of the revolt, temper of the Parliament was met by a royal message, indicating a willingness to yield. "If you desire to enfranchise and set at liberty the serfs by your common assent, as the King has been informed that some you desire, he will consent to your prayer." But the Parliament was stern. The King's charters, it was answered truthfully, were legally null and void, as not being authorized by the national council. "Their serfs were their goods, and the King could not take their goods from them but by their own consent; and this consent we have never given and never will give, were we all to die in one day.”1

of

The cause of the revolted villeins seemed to go down in blood, but really a vital blow had been struck at villeinage, and the condition of the laborers improved. In spite of violence and threats from those high in place, the process continued, the class of yeomen being steadily recruited from those coming up from below.

"When Adam delved and Eve span,
Who was then the gentleman?"

the question asked in all the shops and fields of England in Wat Tyler's day, continued to be propounded, though perhaps under the breath, and the democratic spirit thus kept alive was before long again to show itself.

1 Green: Short History, pp. 254, 255.

AMONG the Sovereigns of England, Richard II has the unenviable distinction of entertaining the most extreme notion of the royal prerogative,

Deposition of
Richard II.

and of having urged most strongly the idea of hereditary succession, as opposed to the popular choice. He tried to make himself absolute, striking at the very root of the freedom now in process of revival. Aiming at a recognition of despotism, he tried to supersede Parliament by a commission. In Parliament there was little representation as yet of the humbler classes. So it was to be for many centuries, in fact, until the influence of American example began to be felt. Nevertheless, it stood, however imperfectly, for the nation, and in these days was determined not to crouch before the King. When Richard II therefore claimed that the nation must provide for him whether he behaved well or ill, that, as supreme law-giver, he could dispense with a statute, alter its wording, or revoke it entirely, — that he might, in fact, do away with any institution interfering with his theory of sovereign right, Par