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IN
1214 King John, having made himself
intensely hated in Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, summoned his English barons to
join him in an invasion of France. When he returned defeated, he attempted to
exact money from those who had refused to accompany him. The Barons at once
assembled at Brackley under Robert FitzWalter and William Marshall, and drew up
forty-nine articles, which they compelled John to accept at Runnymede on June 1st,
1215. In this decisive move the Barons could not have succeeded if
they had not been aided by the sympathy of the other classes whom John had
oppressed and alienated. The Londoners opened their gates to the baronial army,
and themselves joined it under their Lord Mayor. The freemen of all classes took
the same side—it was impossible for John to enlist them under the old national
militia system. “For the first time,” says Mr. George Trevelyan, “the
People of England sided with the Barons against the Crown; and each of the
classes that aided and abetted the movement had its share of benefits in the
clauses of the Great Charter.” Though no claim was made on behalf of “
the
people” or the nation as a whole, yet “several clauses gave
expression to the spirit of individual liberty, as it has ever since been
understood in England.” The Charter redressed local and temporary evils, but
it had also an abstract and general character, which profoundly affected the
imagination of succeeding ages and made it a great influence in history—it
became the symbol for the spirit of our whole Constitution. Finally, “the
American colonists revolted in its name, and their 4escendants now seek
spiritual fellowship with us in its memory) In
every way the Runnymede conference was one of the most passionate incidents in
our history. Both sides were in angry mood: The
Charter was discussed, forced through and sealed in a single day; yet John was
fiercely determined never to rest till he had destroyed it, and the Barons
insisted on his acknowledging their right, if he should do so, “to distrain
and distress us .
. . by
seizing our castles, lands and possessions, and in any other way they can.” Mr.
Sims’s picture is designed to symbolize the intense drama of the final moment.
The King, a strikingly tragic figure, prematurely aged, and haggard with
violently conflicting passions, is seen almost alone, upon a high dais, against
a tempestuous sky. A sudden gust of summer storm has thrown down his royal
standard and discomfited his ally, the Papal Legate, as he is indignantly
leaving the scene of defeat.
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