APPENDIX.
The Accession of William Rufus.
The remarkable thing about the accession of William Rufus is that it is the one case in those days in which a king succeeds without any trace of regular election, whether by the nation at large or by any smaller body. The ecclesiastical election which formed part of the rite of coronation was doubtless not forgotten; but there is no sign of any earlier election by the Witan, or by any gathering which could call itself by their name. Lanfranc appears as the sole actor. One account, the Life of Lanfranc attached to the Winchester Chronicle, speaks of the archbishop in so many words as the one elector; “Mortuo rege Willielmo trans mare, filium ejus Willielmum, sicut pater constituit, Lanfrancus regem elegit, et in ecclesia beati Petri, in occidentali parte Lundoniæ sita, sacravit et coronavit.” The words of Eadmer (Hist. Nov. 13) are almost equally strong;
“Defuncto itaque rege Willielmo, successit ei in regnum, Willielmus filius ejus, qui cum regni fastigia fratri suo Roberto præripere gestiret, et Lanfrancum, sine cujus accensu in regnum ascisci nullatenus poterat, sibi in hoc ad expletionem desiderii sui non omnino consentaneum inveniret, verens ne dilatio suæ consecrationis inferret ei dispendium cupiti honoris,” &c.
William of Malmesbury too (iv. 305) goes so far as to say;
“A patre, ultima valetudine decumbente, in successorem adoptatus, antequam ille extremum efflasset, ad occupandum regnum contendit, moxque volentibus animis provincialium exceptus, et claves thesaurorum nactus est, quibus fretus totam Angliam animo subjecit suo. Accessit etiam favori ejus, maximum rerum momentum, archiepiscopus Lanfrancus, eo quod eum nutrierat et militem fecerat, quo auctore et annitente,… coronatus,” &c.
Neither of these writers follows any strict order of time. The willing assent of the people may mean either their passive assent at his coming, or their more formal assent on the coronation-day. The general good-will shown towards the new king is set forth also by Robert of Torigny (Cont. Will. Gem. viii. 2; “susceptus est ab Anglis et Francis”), by the author of the Brevis Relatio (11) in the same words, and by the Battle writer (39); “omnium favore, ut decebat, magnifice exceptus.”
If then we accept Eadmer’s words in their fulness, the only objection made at the time to Rufus’ accession came from his special elector, Lanfranc himself. This incidental notice, implying that Lanfranc did hesitate, is very remarkable. We are not told the ground of his objections. But of whatever kind they were, they were overcome by the new King’s special oath, in which the formal words of the coronation bond seem to be mixed up with oaths and promises of a more general kind;
“Cœpit, tam per se tam per omnes suos quos poterat, fide sacramentoque Lanfranco promittere justitiam, æquitatem, et misericordiam, se per totum regnum, si rex foret, in omni negotio servaturum; pacem, libertatem, securitatem, ecclesiarum contra omnes defensurum, necne præceptis atque consiliis ejus per omnia et in omnibus obtemperaturum.”
We may compare the special promise of Æthelred on his restoration (N. C. vol. i. p. 368) to follow the advice of his Witan in all things.
The first signs of any thought of usurpation or the like in the accession of Rufus may be dimly seen in the Hyde writer (298); where however stronger phrases are, oddly enough, applied to Robert;
“Defuncto rege Willelmo et sepulturæ tradito, Willelmus filius ejus in Angliam transvectus regnum occupat, regemque se vocari omnibus imperat; Robertus quoque frater ejus regressus a Gallia, Normanniam invadit, et nullo resistente ditioni suæ supponit.”
By the time of William of Newburgh men had found out the hereditary right of the eldest son. He says, first (i. 2), that Robert succeeded in Normandy, William in England, “ordine quidem præpostero, sed per ultimam patris, ut dictum est, voluntatem commutato.” Directly after, the rebels of next year favour Robert, “tanquam justo hæredi et perperam exhæredato” (cf. Suger, Duchèsne, iv. 283, “Exhæredato majore natu Roberto fratre suo”). And presently, we hear of “frater senior Robertus, cui nimirum ordine naturali regni successio competebat.” All this is odd, when we remember how well in the next chapter (see vol. i. p. 11) the same author understands the position of Henry, as the only true Ætheling, son of a king. Oddly enough, Thomas Wykes (Ann. Mon. iv. 11) gives this last position to Rufus, “quem primum genuit [Willelmus le Bastard, rex Angliæ] postquam regnum adquisivit.”
Matthew Paris (Hist. Angl. i. 34, 35), as usual, gives the story a colouring of his own, which may be compared with his version of the accession of Henry the First (see N. C. vol. v. p. 845). He has told us that the Conqueror, in bequeathing his kingdom to his second son, gave him special advice as to its rule;
“Willelmo Rufo filio suo Angliam, scilicet conquestum suum, assignavit; supplicans ut Anglos, quos crudeliter et veluti ingratus male tractaverat, mitius confoveret.”
He crosses to England, “utilius reputans regnum sibi firmare vivorum quam mortui cujuscumque exsequiis interesse.” Then we read;
“Willelmus, cognomento Rufus, filius regis Willelmi primi, veniens in Angliam, consilio et auxilio Lamfranci Cantuariensis archiepiscopi, qui ipsum a primis annis nutriverat et militem fecerat, sine moroso dispendio Angliam sibi conciliatam inclinavit, nec tamen totam. Sed ut negotium regis optatum cito sortiretur effectum, ipsum die sanctorum Cosmæ et Damiani, etsi cum sollemnitate mutilata, coronavit, veraciter promittentem ut Angliam cum modestia gubernaret, leges sancti regis Edwardi servaturus, et Anglos præcipue tractaret reverenter.”
These remarkable words must be taken in connexion with what immediately follows, which is in truth a very rose-coloured version of the rebellion of 1088, which is made immediately to follow, or rather to accompany, the coronation. For the next words are;
“Verumtamen quamplures Anglorum nobiles, formidantes et augurantes ipsum velle patrissare, noluerunt ei obsecundare, sed elegerunt potius Roberto, militi strenuissimo, militare, et tamquam primogenito ipsi in regem creato famulari, quam fallacibus promissis Rufi fidem adhibere. Sed Lamfrancus hæc sedavit, bona promittens.”
Still the new King sees that many of the nobles of the kingdom are plotting against him. By the advice of Lanfranc therefore he gathers a secret assembly of English nobles (“Anglorum nobiliores et fortiores invitando secretius convocavit”); he promises with an oath on the Gospels to give them good laws and all the old free customs (“pristinae libertatis consuetudines”). He then wins over Roger of Montgomery, according to the account in vol. i. p. 61. Then, again by Lanfranc’s advice, he divides and weakens the English by his promises (“omnes Anglos, quos insuperabiles, si fuissent inseparabiles, cognoverat, talibus sermocinationibus et promissis dissipatos et enervatos sibi conciliavit”). A few only resist; against those he wages a successful war at the head of the nation generally (“eorum conamina, universitatis adjutus viribus, quantocius annullavit”), and confiscates their goods.
It is clear that Matthew Paris had the elder writers before him, but that he did not fully understand their language with regard to the appeal of Rufus to the English. We must remember the time when he wrote. In his day the immediate consequences of the Conquest had passed away; the distinction of “Angli” and “Franci,” so living in the days of Rufus, was forgotten. But men had not yet begun to speculate about “Normans and Saxons,” as Robert of Gloucester did somewhat later. Moreover Matthew was used to a state of things in which a king who, if not foreign by birth, was foreign in feeling, had to be withstood by an united English nation, indifferent as to the remoter pedigree of each man. He therefore told the story of the reign of Rufus as if it had been the story of the reign of Henry the Third. All are “Angli;” the distinction drawn by the Chronicler between the “French” who rebelled against the King and the “English” to whom he appealed, is lost. The English people whom he called to his help against the Norman nobles become English nobles whom he cunningly wins over in secret. Matthew understands that England was a conquered country with a foreign king; he does not understand the relations of foreigners and natives in the island, and that the foreign king appealed to the natives against his own countrymen. The passage is most valuable, not as telling us anything about the reign of William Rufus, but as showing us how the reign of William Rufus looked when read by the present experience of the reign of Henry the Third.
At the same time Matthew Paris must have had something special in his eye, when he spoke of the coronation rites of William Rufus as being in some way imperfect. Was there any tradition that, as John did not communicate at his coronation, so neither did William? Men may have argued from one tyrant to another.
On the whole we may say that William Rufus, like Servius Tullius (Cic. de Rep. ii. 21), “regnare coepit, non jussu, sed voluntate atque concessu civium.”
Besides these accounts, given by contemporary or nearly contemporary writers, or founded on their statements, there is another version of William’s accession, which I take to be wholly mythical. This is preserved in the local history of Colchester abbey (Monasticon, iv. 607). In this the accession of Rufus is said to have been almost wholly brought about by Eudo the dapifer, the son of Hubert of Rye. It seems to be a continuation of another legend (see N. C. vol. iii. p. 683), in which Hubert is made the chief actor in the bequest of the crown which Eadward is said to have made in favour of the elder William. It is in short a family legend, devised in honour of the house of Rye. The same part is played in two successive generations; the father secures the crown for the elder William, the son for the younger. First of all, we are told of the way in which Eudo gained his office of dapifer, an office which the witness of Domesday shows that he really held. The story is almost too silly to tell; but it runs thus. William Fitz-Osbern, before he set out to seek for crowns in Flanders, held the post of “major domus regiæ.” In that character he was setting a dish of crane’s flesh before William, and, as it was ill-cooked (“carnem gruis semicrudæ adeo ut sanguis exprimeretur”), the King aimed a blow at him. Eudo, as though he had been Lilla saving Eadwine from the poisoned dagger of Eomer, thrust himself forward and received the blow which was meant for the Earl of Hereford. William Fitz-Osbern accordingly resigns his office, asking that Eudo may succeed him in it. We hear no more till William’s death, when Eudo appears as exhorting William Rufus to hasten and take possession of the English crown (“Eudo, arrepta occasione ex paterna concessione, Willelmum juniorem aggreditur, et ut negotio insistat hortatur”). They cross over together, and are made to land at Worcester—Portchester must be meant, through some confusion of p and ƿ. Thence they go to Winchester, and get the keys of the treasure-house by favour of its keeper, William of Pont de l’Arche, a person whom I cannot find in Domesday (“In Angliam transvecti, appliciti Worcestriæ comparato sibi favore Willielmi de Ponte-arce, claves thesauri Wintoniæ suscipiunt quarum idem Willielmus custos erat”). Not only the coming of the younger William, but the death of the elder, is carefully kept secret, while Eudo goes to Dover, Pevensey, Hastings, and the other fortresses on the coast. Pretending orders from the King, he binds their garrisons by oaths to give up the keys to no one except by his orders (“fide et sacramento custodes obligat nemini nisi suo arbitrio claves munitionis tradituros … prætendens regem in Normannia moras facturum, et velle de omnibus munitionibus Angliæ securitatem habere, per se scilicet qui senescallus erat”). He then comes back to Winchester; the death of the King is announced, and, while the peers of the realm are in Normandy debating about the succession to the crown, William Rufus is, through the diligence of Eudo, elected and crowned (“acceleratoque negotio, Wintoniam redit; et tunc demum regem obiisse propalat. Ita dum cæteri proceres de regni successione tractant in Normannia, interim studio et opera Eudonis, Willielmus junior in regem eligitur, consecratur, confirmatur, in Anglia”). The story goes on to say that the people of Colchester petitioned the new King that they might be put under the care of Eudo. To this William gladly agreed, and Eudo ruled the town with great justice and mercy, relieving the inhabitants from their heavy burthens, seemingly by the process of taking to himself a large amount of confiscated land and paying the taxes laid upon the town out of it (“causas cœpit inquirere, sublevare gravatos, comprimere elatos, et in suis primordiis omnibus complacere. Terras damnatorum, exlegatorum, et pro culpis eliminatorum, dum nemo coleret, exigebantur tamen plenaliter fiscalia, et hac de causa populus valde gravabatur. Has ergo terras Eudo sibi vindicavit, ut pro his fisco satisfaceret et populum eatenus alleviaret”).
The share taken by Eudo in the accession of William seems to be pure fiction. His good deeds at Colchester are perfectly possible; but the latter part of the story seems to be a confusion or perversion of an entry in Domesday (ii. 106), which rather reads as if Eudo had become possessor, and that in the time of the elder William, of the common land of the burgesses (“Eudo dapifer v. denarios et xl. acras terræ quas tenebant burgenses tempore R. E. et reddebant omnem consuetudinem burgensium. Modo vero non reddunt consuetudinem nisi de suis capitibus”). This looks as if the burgesses had hitherto paid the royal dues out of their corporate estate, but that, when that estate passed to Eudo, a poll-tax had to be levied to defray them.
The beginning of the Rebellion of 1088.
Of the great revolt of the Normans in England against William Rufus we have three accounts in considerable detail, in the Chronicle, in Florence, and in Orderic. The Chronicle and Florence do not follow exactly the same arrangement, but I do not see any contradiction between them. Florence simply arranges his narrative in such a way as to give special prominence to his own city and his own bishop. But Orderic, from whom we get a most vivid, and seemingly quite trustworthy, account of certain parts of the campaign, seems to have misconceived the order of events in the early part of the story, especially with regard to the time of Bishop Odo’s coming to England. According to him, Odo did not come to England till after Christmas. He then comes, along with Eustace of Boulogne and Robert of Bellême, as the agent of a plot already devised in concert with Duke Robert for the death or deposition of his brother. The others join them, and the rebellion begins.
In the other version, that of the Chronicle and Florence, illustrated in various points of detail by William of Malmesbury, Henry of Huntingdon, and other writers, Odo comes to England much sooner, in time for the Christmas assembly. He brings no treasonable intentions with him; he takes to plotting only when he finds that his power in England is less than he had hoped that it would be. Eustace and Robert of Bellême do not come to England till a later stage, when the rebellion has fully broken out, and when Odo is holding Rochester against the King. They are then sent by Duke Robert, who is represented (see [p. 56]) as hearing for the first time of the revolt in his favour after Rochester was seized by Odo.
Orderic begins his story (665 D) with an account of seditious meetings held by the nobles of Normandy and England, and of speeches made at them. It is not said where they were spoken or by whom, but the context would seem to imply that they were spoken by Odo in Normandy. For immediately after the speech follow the words (666 C);
“Hoc itaque consilium Odo præsul Baiocensis et Eustachius comes Boloniensis atque Robertus Belesmensis aliique plures communiter decreverunt, decretumque suum Roberto duci detexerunt.”
Then the consent of Robert is given, as in p. 56, and the three ringleaders cross to England, and begin the revolt;
“Igitur post natale Domini prædicti proceres in Angliam transfretaverunt, et castella sua plurimo apparatu muniverunt, multamque partem patriæ contra regem infra breve tempus commoverunt.”
I have ventured (in p. 25) to work the substance of the speech into the text, as it contains arguments which suit the circumstances of the case, and which are specially suited to speakers in Normandy. But the speech cannot really have been spoken by Odo in Normandy. For it is impossible to resist the evidence which brings Odo over to England before the Christmas Assembly, and which makes his enmity to the King arise out of things which happened after he came to England. We have, first, the direct statement (see [p. 19]) of Henry of Huntingdon that Odo was present at the Christmas Gemót. And this statement is the more valuable, because it is not brought in as part of the story of Odo; it reads rather as if it came from some official source, perhaps from a list of signatures to some act of the Assembly. But the words of William of Malmesbury (iv. 306) come almost to the same thing;
“Cum ille, solutus a vinculis, Robertum nepotem in comitatu Normanniæ confirmasset, Angliam venit, recepitque a rege comitatum Cantiæ.”
The Midwinter Gemót was the obvious time for such a grant, and Odo’s restoration to his earldom is asserted or implied everywhere. Thus in the Chronicle we read a little later how “Odo … ferde into Cent to his eorldome,” and Florence speaks of him as “Odo episcopus Baiocensis, qui et erat comes Cantwariensis.” Orderic himself (666 C) says, “Odo, ut supra dictum est, palatinus Cantiæ consul erat, et plures sub se comites virosque potentes habebat,” seemingly without seeing that his version hardly gives any opportunity for the restoration of the earldom. Henry of Huntingdon (214 Arnold), almost alone, speaks of him as “princeps et moderator Angliæ,” without reference to his special office of earl. William of Malmesbury goes on (see [p. 23]) to give the reason for Odo’s discontent, the greater authority of the Bishop of Durham. The Chronicle and Florence (see pp. 23, 24) mention only the great authority enjoyed by Bishop William, and the revolt of Odo, without mentioning Odo’s motive. That is, they simply state the facts, while William of Malmesbury supplies the connecting link. If we accept Orderic’s version that Odo did not come to England till after Christmas, we have hardly time for the events as they are stated in our other authorities. For we have to find time for Odo’s re-establishment in his earldom, for his hopes and for his disappointment, all leading up to the seditious gatherings during Lent. And in some parts of the kingdom, as we shall see in the next Note, these gatherings took the form of an open outbreak somewhat earlier than we should have been led to think from the account in the Chronicle.
Now there can be no doubt as to the truth of the version in which the Chronicle, Florence, and William of Malmesbury substantially agree. All that Orderic has done has been to place the voyage of Odo to England at a wrong time, and it is easy to see how the mistake arose. He makes Odo, Eustace, and Robert of Bellême cross together soon after Christmas. Now it is quite clear that Eustace and Robert did not come to England till after the rebellion had fully broken out, when Odo was holding Rochester against the King. The Chronicle simply says (see p. 57) that they were at Rochester with Odo. Florence (see [p. 56]) tells us more fully how they came to be there, namely, because they had been sent by Robert in answer to Odo’s request. Nothing was more easy than for Orderic to mistake this for a crossing in company with Odo. In his version, Odo, Eustace, and Robert, all cross with a commission from Duke Robert. In the true version Odo crosses long before to receive his English earldom, but with no purpose of disturbing the new settlement of England. He becomes discontented on English ground; he rebels, he asks help of Duke Robert, and Eustace and Robert of Bellême come in answer to his asking.
The Hyde writer, as usual, has a version of his own, which however, as far as Odo is concerned, follows that of Orderic. As soon as Robert has taken possession of his duchy, he calls a council, and sends over an army under his two uncles Bishop Odo and Count Robert, to take away the English crown from his brother. They cross the sea, winning a naval victory over a pirate fleet; they seize Rochester and Pevensey, and begin the rebellion seemingly before the end of the year 1087. This account (298) runs thus;
“Robertus … convocatis principibus et consilio habito, duos avunculos suos, comitem Moritanii et episcopum Baiocensem, cum valida manu transmittit, omnimodis decertatis Waltero [sic] fratri regnum auferre sibique conferre. Qui vela ventis committentes, et cum piratis obsistentibus in mari viriliter decertantes, Angliam veniunt, urbemque Roffensem et castellum Pevenesellum intrantes, rebellare contendunt.”
We easily see from the later history of the rebellion how this writer has taken some of its most striking incidents and, as it were, crushed them up together. As Orderic confounds the crossing of Odo with the crossing of Eustace and Robert of Bellême, so the Hyde writer seems to confound both with the later expedition from Normandy (see [p. 74]), which did not occupy Pevensey after a victory, but was driven back by the King’s English troops in an attempt to land at Pevensey.
The account given incidentally by Robert of Torigny (Cont. Will. Gem. viii. 3) has points in common with this version, though it may be more easily reconciled with the true story. He records the peace between William and Robert in 1091, and adds;
“Licet regnum Angliæ ipse Robertus facillime paullo ante potuisset habere, nisi minus cautus esset. Siquidem Eustachius comes Boloniæ, et episcopus Baiocensis et comes Moritolii patrui ejus, et alii principes Normanniæ, cum magno apparatu militum mare transeuntes, Rovecestriam et alia nonnulla castella in comitatu Cantuariensi occupantes et tenentes ad opus illius, dum ipsum Robertum ducem exspectant, qui tunc temporis ultra quam virum deceat in Normannia deliciabatur, obsessi diu a rege Willelmo, dum ille cujus causa tantum discrimen subierant, non subvenit, cum dedecore ipsas quas tenebant munitiones exeuntes ad propria sunt reversi.”
As for the object of the rebellion, the transfer of the English crown from William to Robert, we may hear William of Newburgh, who, though he believes (see above, [p. 461]) in Robert’s right of succession, yet says that he “in minori administratione, scilicet ducatus Normannici, claruit quod regno amplissimo administrando nunquam idoneus fuerit.”
What could M. de Rémusat (Anselme, 113) have meant when he said that the revolt of the Norman nobles “força le roi à se rapprocher de ses sujets bretons”? Then “il fit appel à la noblesse indigène.” This last may come from Matthew Paris; but the Welsh, the nearest approach to Bretons, joined the rebels.
The Share of Bishop William of Saint-Calais in the Rebellion of 1088.
There are few more glaring contradictions to be found in history than the picture of Bishop William of Saint-Calais as drawn by the southern writers, and his picture as drawn by his own hand or that of some local admirer in the Durham document printed in the Monasticon, i. 245, and in the old edition of Simeon. No one would know the meek confessor of this last version in the traitor whom the Chronicler does not shrink from likening to the blackest of all traitors. Yet, if the narratives are carefully compared, it may seem that, with all the difference in colouring, there is much less contradiction in matter of fact than we are led to think at first sight. The opposition is simply of that kind which follows when each side, without asserting any direct falsehood, leaves out all that tells on behalf of the other side. We read the Bishop’s story; we see no reason to suspect him of stating anything which did not happen; under the circumstances indeed he could hardly venture to state anything which did not happen. But we see that the statement, though doubtless true as a mere record of facts, is dressed up in a most ingenious way, so as to put everything in the best light for his side, while everything that was to be said on the other side is carefully left out. But, on the other hand, while the Chronicler, Florence, and William of Malmesbury, clearly leave out a great deal, there is no reason to think that they leave it out from any partisan wish to pervert the truth. They believed, and doubtless on good grounds, that the Bishop of Durham was a chief actor in the rebellion, and they said so. But there was nothing to lead them to dwell on his story at any special length. Their attention was chiefly drawn to other parts of the events of that stirring year. Orderic indeed, whose account of some parts of the story is so minute, does not speak of Durham or its bishop at all.
Some of the passages from the Chronicle have been quoted in the text. The Bishop of Durham is there mentioned three times. First comes the record of his influence with the King, and his treason against him;
“On þisum ræde wæs ærest Oda bisceop and Gosfrið bisceop and Willelm bisceop on Dunholme. Swa wæll dyde se cyng be þam bisceop þæt eall Englaland færde æfter his ræde, and swa swa he wolde, and he þohte to donne be him eall swa Iudas Scarioð dide be ure Drihtene.”
Then, after the account of the deliverance of Worcester, Bishop William is named at the head of the ravagers in different parts of the country; “Se bisceop of Dunholme dyde to hearme þæt he mihte ofer eall be norðan.”
Lastly, at the end of the whole story, when Odo has come out of Rochester and gone beyond sea, we read;
“Se cyng siððan sende here to Dunholme, and let besittan þone castel, and se bisceop griðode and ageaf þone castel, and forlet his biscoprice and ferde to Normandige.”
Florence, writing seemingly with the Chronicle before him, changes the story so far as to make, not Bishop William but Count Robert (see [p. 33]), the chief accomplice of Odo. He then gives the list of the other confederates, at the end of which, after Robert of Mowbray, Bishop Geoffrey, and Earl Roger, we read, “quod erat pejus, Willelmus episcopus Dunholmensis,” followed by the passage (see [p. 23]) in which he describes the Bishop’s influence with the King. After this, he says nothing more about him till he records his death in 1096.
Henry of Huntingdon (215), also writing with the Chronicle before him, leaves out the first passage of the three and translates the two others. The third stands in his text;
“Mittens rex exercitum Dunhelmiæ obsedit urbem, donec reddita est ei. Episcopus vero multique proditorum propulsi sunt in exilium.”
William of Malmesbury, in the Gesta Regum (iv. 306), first mentions the influence of Bishop William and the envy which Odo felt at it. Then, in reckoning up the Conspirators, he adds;
“Quinetiam Willelmus Dunelmensis episcopus, quem rex a secretis habuerat, in eorum perfidiam concesserat; quod graviter regem tulisse ferunt, quia, cum amissæ charitatis dispendio, remotarum provinciarum frustrabatur compendio.”
At the end of the story, after Odo is gone, he adds;
“Dunelmensis episcopus ultro mare transivit, quem rex, verecundia præteritæ amicitiæ, indemnem passus est effugere. Cæteri omnes in fidem recepti.”
In the Gesta Pontificum (272) he introduces Bishop William as “potens in sæculo,” and “oris volubilitate promptus, maxime sub Willelmo rege juniore.” This almost sounds as if he had read the debates at the bishop’s own trial, but it is more likely that he had his dealings with Anselm before his mind. He then goes on;
“Quapropter, et amicorum cohorti additus, et Angliæ prælatus, non permansit in gratia. Quippe nullis principis dictis vel factis contra eum extantibus, ab amicitia descivit, in perfidia Odonis Baiocensis et ceterorum se immiscens. Quapropter, victis partibus, ab Anglia fugatus, post duos annos indulgentia principis rediit.”
Simeon of Durham, in his History (1088, at the end of the year), says simply, “Etiam Dunholmensis episcopus Willielmus vii. anno sui episcopatus, et multi alii de Anglia exierunt.” This omission is the more to be noticed, as he clearly had Florence and the Chronicle before him. In the History of the Church of Durham (iv. 8) we get a fuller account;
“Hujus [Willielmi regis], sicut et antea patris, amicitiis antistes præfatus adjunctus, familiariter ei ad tempus adhærebat: unde etiam Alvertoniam cum suis appenditiis rex illi donavit. Post non multum vero temporis, per aliorum machinamenta orta inter ipsos dissensione, episcopus ab episcopatu pulsus ultra mare secessit, quem comes Normannorum, non ut exulem, sed ut patrem suscipiens, in magno honore per tres annos quibus ibi moratus est, habuit.”
In these accounts almost the only direct contradiction as to matters of fact comes in at the end, about the surrender of the castle of Durham to the King. The Chronicle certainly seems to imply a siege; and, reading the Chronicle only without reference to anything else, we should have thought that the Bishop himself was besieged there. William of Malmesbury, on the other hand, makes the story wind up between the King and the Bishop in a wonderfully friendly way. But on this point we can have little doubt in accepting the version which I have followed in the text (see [p. 114]), namely that the Bishop was not at Durham, that the castle was surrendered after a good deal of haggling, and perhaps a little plundering, on both sides, but with nothing that could be called a regular siege. In short, the Chronicler makes a little too much of the fact that the castle was surrendered to a military force. William of Malmesbury, on the other hand, makes a little too much of the fact that the Bishop was not, strictly speaking, driven from England by a judicial sentence, but that he rather went by virtue of a proposal of his own making. The only other question of strict fact which could be raised is as to the ravages which the Chronicler says were wrought by the Bishop. The picture in William of Malmesbury of the Bishop turning against the King without any provocation on his part, and the picture in the History of the Church of Durham of the men who stirred up strife between the King and the Bishop, are merely the necessary colouring from opposite sides. The only important point on this head is that the disposition to make the best of the Bishop’s conduct seems to have been general at Durham, and that it is not confined to the narrative which must have been written either by himself or under his immediate inspiration. But we must remember that the general career of William of Saint-Calais at Durham, his bringing in of monks and his splendid works of building, were sure to make him pass into the list of local worthies, so that local writers, both at the time and afterwards, would be led to make the best of his conduct in any matter.
Of the Bishop’s own story, or at least the story of some local writer who told it as the Bishop wished it to be told, I have given the substance in the text. And, as its examination does not involve any very great amount of comparison of one statement with another, I have given the most important illustrative passages in the form of notes to the text. I have said that, after all, there is little real contradiction in direct statements of fact between this version and that of the southern writers. We find the kind of differences which are sure to be found when we have on one side a general narrative, written without any special purpose, a narrative doubtless essentially true, but putting in or leaving out details almost at random, while we have on the other side a very minute and ingenious apology, enlarging on all points on which it was convenient to enlarge, and leaving out those which might tell the other way. But the truth is that the Bishop’s own statement of his services done to the King (see pp. 29, 111), and the charge which was formally brought against him by the King (see [p. 98]), do not really contradict one another. They may be read as a consecutive story, according to which the Bishop continued to be the King’s adviser, and to do him good outward service, after he had made up his mind to join the rebels and while he was waiting for an opportunity of so doing. It is most likely this special double-dealing which led the Chronicler to his exceptionally strong language with regard to the Bishop’s treason. The only point where there seems any kind of contradiction in fact is with regard to the dates. From the Chronicler and the other writers on the King’s side we should have thought that there was no open revolt anywhere till after Easter, whereas it is plain from the Durham story that a great deal must have happened in south-eastern England much earlier in the year. On this point the Durham version, a version founded on documents and minutely attentive to dates, is of course to be preferred. With the other writers the Bishop’s affairs are secondary throughout, and the affairs of Kent and Sussex are secondary in the first stage of the story. Till they come to the exciting scenes of the sieges of Tunbridge and Pevensey, the attention of the Chronicler, Florence, and the others, is mainly given to the affairs of the region stretching from Ilchester to Worcester. We may infer from them that the occupation of Bristol and the march against Worcester did not happen till after Easter, while we must infer from the Durham account that the movements in London, Kent, and Sussex, had happened not later than the beginning of March. There is in short no real contradiction; there is only that kind of difference which there is sure to be found when one writer gives a general view of a large subject with a general object, while another gives a minute view of one part of the subject with a special object.
We can have little doubt in accepting the fact of the Bishop’s treason, not only on the authority of the Chronicler and the other writers who follow him, but on the strength of the proceedings in the King’s court. In the Bishop’s own story a definite charge is brought against him, and he never really answers it. He goes off into a cloud of irrelevant questions, and into a statement of services done to the King, a statement which most likely is perfectly true, but which is no answer to the indictment. The great puzzle of the whole story, namely why Bishop William should have turned against the King at all, is not made any clearer on either side.
It is certainly strange that this whole story of Bishop William, so minutely told as it is and illustrating so many points in our law and history, should have drawn to itself so little attention as it has done. Thierry takes no notice of it. It would indeed be hard to get anything about “Saxons and Normans” out of it. For, though the “indocta multitudo” may fairly pass for “Saxons,” yet these same “Saxons,” if hostile to the Cenomannian Bishop, are loyally devoted to the Norman King. Lappenberg also passes by the story altogether. Sir Francis Palgrave (Normandy and England, iv. 31, 46) makes some references to it which are provokingly short, as it is the kind of story to which he could have done full justice. Dr. Stubbs (Const. Hist. i. 440) has given a summary of the chief points in debate. But I believe that I may claim to be the first modern writer who has told the tale at full length in a narrative history. There are very few stories which bring the men and the institutions of the latter part of the eleventh century before us in a more living way, while the conduct of William of Saint-Calais at this stage must specially be borne in mind when we come to estimate his later conduct in the controversy with Anselm.
The Deliverance of Worcester in 1088.
The story of the deliverance of Worcester is one of those stories in which we can trace the early stages of legendary growth. It is one of the tales in which a miraculous element appears, but in which we can hardly say that there is any distortion of fact. The story is told in a certain way, and with a certain colouring, with which a modern writer would not tell it. Effects are attributed to causes to which a modern writer would not attribute them. But this is all. The mere facts are perfectly credible. There is no reason to doubt that Wulfstan exhorted the royal troops and excommunicated the rebels. There is no reason to doubt that the rebels were utterly defeated by the royal troops. And we may well believe that, in a certain sense, the defeat of the rebels was largely owing to the exhortations and excommunications of Wulfstan. The only legendary element in the story is to treat a result as miraculous which, under the circumstances, was thoroughly natural.
We have several accounts from contemporary or nearly contemporary writers. First comes the Peterborough Chronicler. After the passage quoted in p. 48, he goes on;
“Ðas þing geseonde se arwurða bisceop Wlfstan wearð swiðe gedrefed on his mode, forðig him wæs betæht þe castel to healdene. Ðeahhweðer his hiredmen ferdon ut mid feawe men of þam castele, and þurh Godes mildheortnisse and þurh þæs bisceopes geearnunga ofslogon and gelæhton fif hundred manna, and þa oðre ealle aflymdon.”
Here is nothing miraculous, only a very natural tendency to ascribe the deliverance to the prayers and merits of the Bishop. The version of Simeon of Durham (1088) gives us the “yearning” of Wulfstan in the more dramatic shape of a spoken prayer;
“Perrexerunt usque Wigornam, omnia ante se vastantes et igne consumentes. Cogitaverunt etiam quod castrum et ecclesiam vellent accipere, quod videlicet castrum tunc temporis commendatum erat Wlstano venerabili episcopo. Quando episcopus ista audivit, valde contristabatur, et cogitans quid consilii inde haberet, vertit se ad Deum suum, et rogat ut respiciat ecclesiam suam et populum suum ab hostibus oppressum. Hæc eo meditante, familia ejus exiliit de castro, et acceperunt et occiderunt ex eis quingentos viros, et alios in fugam verterunt.”
In the version of Henry of Huntingdon (p. 215, Arnold) we again find only the prayer; but it is told with a picturesque description of the Bishop lying before the altar, while the loyal troops go forth, and, by a somewhat bold figure, the discomfiture of the enemy is made to be the work of Wulfstan himself. The number of the slain is also increased tenfold;
“Principes Herefordscyre et Salopscyre prædantes combusserunt cum Walensibus provinciam Wireceastre usque ad portas urbis. Cum autem templum et castellum assilire pararent, Wlstanus episcopus sanctus quendam amicum familiarem summis in necessitatibus compellavit, Deum videlicet excelsum. Cujus ope coram altari jacens in oratione, paucis militibus emissis, quinque mille hostium vel occidit vel cepit; ceteros vero mirabiliter fugavit.”
William of Malmesbury in the Gesta Regum (iv. 306) gives the prayer the form of a blessing on the King’s troops;
“Rogerius de Monte Gomerico, exercitum suum a Scrobesbiria cum Walensibus mittens, coloniam Wigorniensem prædabatur; jamque Wigorniam infestus advenerat, cum regii milites qui prætendebant, freti benedictione Wulstani episcopi, cui custodia castelli commissa erat, pauci multos effugarunt, pluribusque sauciis et cæsis, quosdam abduxerunt.”
Orderic (666 D) cuts the matter very short; but it is in his version that we first hear of Wulfstan cursing the rebels, as well as blessing the King’s troops. Having mentioned Osbern and Bernard (see pp. 33, 34), he merely adds; “In territorio Wigornensi rapinis et cædibus, prohibente et anathematizante viro Dei Wlfstano episcopo, nequiter insistebant.”
Here one might almost think that the anathema was of none effect. It is quite otherwise in the version which William of Malmesbury gives in the Gesta Pontificum (285)—in his special Life of Wulfstan he leaves out the story altogether;
“Rogerius comes de Monte-gomerico, perfidiam contra principem meditatus, cum ejusdem factionis complicibus arma movebat infestus. Jamque, a Scrobbesberia usque Wigorniensem coloniam omnibus vastatis, urbem ipsam appropinquabat; cum regii milites, qui prætendebant, periculum exponunt episcopo. Is, maledictionis fulmen jaculatus in perfidos qui domino suo fidem non servarent, jubet milites properare, Dei et ecclesiæ injurias ulturos. Mirum quis dixerit quod subjiciam, sed auctoritati veracium narratorum cedendum? Quidam enim adversariorum, regiis conspectis, timore inerti perculsi, quidam etiam cæcati, victoriam plenam, et qualem sperare nequibant, oppidanis cessere. Multi enim a paucis fugati, pars cæsi, pars saucii abducti.”
We have here only the cursing without the blessing; the point is that the curse is pronounced before the royal army sets out. The anathema in this version has its full effect; the legendary element appears in the story of the blindness of the enemy.
Lastly, we come to the account to which William most likely alludes when he speaks of the “veraces narratores,” that is, to the minute account given by Florence, which I have mainly followed in the text. His local knowledge and special interest in the story led him to tell it in much fuller detail than is found anywhere else. On the other hand, he gives a greater prominence than is given by any one else to the wonder-working effects of Wulfstan’s curse. This is only what was natural; it was in his own city, and above all in his own monastery, that the merits and miracles of the saint would be most fondly dwelled on, and most firmly believed in. At Worcester, if anywhere, the tale of the deliverance of Worcester was likely to grow. It is therefore in the local writer from whom we get our most trustworthy details that we also find the first approach to a really legendary element, though that element seems to go no further than a slight change in the order of events which brings out the saint’s powers more prominently. As we read the other versions, above all the fuller one of William of Malmesbury in the Gesta Pontificum, we should certainly infer that whatever Wulfstan did in the way of praying, blessing, or cursing, was done before the royal troops marched out of Worcester. In Florence the blessing and the cursing stand apart. The Bishop goes into the castle (see pp. 49, 50); the royal troops of all kinds make ready for battle, and meet the Bishop on his way to the castle, offering to cross the river and attack the enemy, if he gives them leave. He gives them leave, and promises them success (see [p. 50]). They then cross the bridge, and see the enemy afar spoiling the lands of the bishopric. On hearing of this, Wulfstan is persuaded to speak his anathema, which at once takes effect in the wonderful overthrow of the enemy.
“Res miranda, et Dei virtus et viri bonitas nimis in hoc prædicanda; nam statim hostes, ut sparsi vagabantur per agros, tanta membrorum percutiuntur debilitate, tanta exteriori oculorum attenuantur cæcitate, ut vix arma valerent ferre, nec socios agnoscere, nec eos discernere qui eis oberant ex adversa parte. Illos fallebat cæcitatis ignorantia, nostros confortabat Dei et episcopalis benedictionis confidentia. Sic illi insensati nec sciebant capere fugam, nec alicujus defensionis quærebant viam; sed Dei nutu dati in reprobum sensum, facile cedebant manibus inimicorum.”
Now this is a legend of the very simplest kind; or rather it is not strictly a legend at all, but only a story on the way to become a legend. Beyond a slight change in the order, there is no reason to suspect that the facts of the case are at all misrepresented; they are simply coloured in the way in which it was natural that the successful party should colour them. There is in strictness no miraculous element in the story; it has merely reached the stage at which the germs of a miraculous element are beginning to show themselves. That Wulfstan would encourage his people to fight in a good cause, that he would pray for their success, we may feel certain. That his exhortation might take the shape of a promise—perhaps only a conditional promise—of victory is no more than was natural. And an anathema pronounced against the rebels is as natural as the blessing pronounced on the royal troops. We may be sure that men stirred up by such exhortations and promises would really fight the better for having heard them. And if the fact that Wulfstan had pronounced an anathema, or even that he was likely to pronounce an anathema, anyhow came to the knowledge of the rebels, it is hardly less certain that they would fight the worse for hearing of it. The only thing in which there is even the germ of miracle is the statement that the invaders were smitten with lameness or blindness or something like it, at the very moment when the Bishop pronounced his excommunication. Now, in all stories of this kind, we must bear in mind that mysterious power of φήμη (see [vol. ii. p. 309]), which I do not profess to explain, but which certainly is a real thing. News certainly does sometimes go at a wonderful pace; and the rebels might really hear the news of Wulfstan’s excommunication so soon that it would be a very slight exaggeration to say that it wrought an effect on them at the very moment when it was uttered. A body of men who had already broken their ranks and were scattered abroad for plunder hear that a sentence has been pronounced against them by a man whose office and person were held in reverence by all men, French and English—for the Britons I cannot answer. At this news they would surely fall into greater confusion still, and would become an easy prey to the better disciplined troops who had the Bishop’s exhortations and promises still ringing in their ears. To say that such men, confused and puzzled, not knowing which way to turn, were struck with sudden blindness and lameness would be little more than a poetical way of describing what really happened. That all this was owing to the prayers and merits of Wulfstan would of course be taken for granted; that the victory was owing to his prayers and merits is taken for granted in those versions of the story which do not bring in the least approach to a miraculous element. One change only in the story itself would seem, as I have already hinted, to come from a legendary source. I have in my own text, while following the details of Florence, not scrupled so far to depart from his order as to make the Bishop’s anathema come before, instead of after, the march of the royal troops from the city. That is, I have made the blessing and cursing take place at the same time. This seems better to agree with the account in the Gesta Pontificum. And, following, as it seems to me, the words of the Chronicle (geseonde), I have ventured to make Wulfstan actually see the havoc wrought by the invaders, while we should infer from Florence, as from Simeon, that he only heard of it. It is of course part of the wonder that his anathema should work its effect on men at a distance. By making these two small changes—which the other accounts seem to bear out—in the narrative of Florence, we get a version in which there is really no legendary element at all, beyond the pious or poetical way in which the discomfiture of the enemy is spoken of. To say that the enemy were smitten with blindness and lameness was an obvious figure of speech. To say that they were so smitten by virtue of the Bishop’s anathema was, in the ideas of those times, no figure of speech at all, but a natural inference from the fact. To say that they were smitten, while still at a distance, at the very moment when the Bishop pronounced the anathema was an improvement, perhaps rather a devout inference, so very obvious that it hardly marks a later stage in the story. The tale is as yet hardly legendary; it is only on the point of becoming so. But it is the kind of story which one would have expected to grow. Yet those later writers who mention the matter seem simply to copy Florence, without bringing in any further improvements of their own. It is strange that, in the local Annals, as in the Life of Wulfstan, the deliverance of Worcester is left out altogether.
The story of the deliverance of Worcester may be compared with the story of the overthrow of Swegen at Gainsburgh. See N. C. vol. i. p. 366. But the Worcester story is in an earlier stage than the Gainsburgh story. The main difference is that the hero of the one story was dead, while the hero of the other story was alive. The living Bishop of Worcester could not, even in a figure or in a legend, be brought in as acting as the dead and canonized King of the East-Angles could be made to act. The utmost that could be done in this way was when Henry of Huntingdon speaks of the exploits of the loyal army as the personal exploits of the Bishop whom he describes as lying before the altar. Wulfstan, notwithstanding his youthful skill in military exercises (see N. C. vol. ii. p. 470), could not be brought in as smiting the enemy, lance in hand, as Saint Eadmund did Swegen.
Another story of an army smitten with blindness is that of the Normans at Northallerton in 1069 (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 241). And a scene not unlike the scene before Worcester, though the circumstances are all different, and the position of the bishop in the story is specially different, is to be found in the rout of the Cenomannian army before Sillé in 1073 (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 553).
Two small questions of fact arise out of the comparison of our authorities. The expressions of the Chronicler (“forðig him was betæht þe castel to healdene”), of Simeon, and of William of Malmesbury in the Gesta Regum (“cui custodia castelli commissa erat”) would certainly lead us to think that Wulfstan was actually commanding for the King in the castle when the rebellion began. The detailed narrative in Florence makes him go to the castle only at the special request of the garrison when the enemy are on their march. There is perhaps no formal contradiction. Wulfstan had before now held military command (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 579), and he might have the command of the castle without being actually within its walls. But the story in Florence does not set Wulfstan before us as an actual military commander, but rather as a person venerated of all men whose approval of the course to be taken was sought by those who were in command. It is safest to take the detailed story in Florence, and to take the words of the Chronicler and of Simeon and William as the laxer way of speaking used by men who did not aim at the same local precision. The Bishop might in some sort be said to have the castle entrusted to him when the garrison had asked him to come into it.
The other point is that William of Malmesbury in both his versions seems to make Earl Roger present in person before Worcester. But the language of the other accounts (see [p. 47]) seems carefully to imply that, though he joined in the “unrede,” and though his men were engaged in the revolt on the border, yet he had not himself any personal share in that campaign. It is certain that, when we next hear of him (see [p. 58]), it is in quite another character and in quite another part of England.
A lately published record brings in a new actor in the defence of Worcester. This is the “Annales de ecclesiis et regnis Anglorum” in Liebermann’s “Ungedruckte Anglo-Normannische Geschichtsquellen,” 22. This contains an account of the deliverance of Worcester, enlarged from Florence, in which Abbot Guy of Pershore appears as Wulfstan’s military lieutenant; “Intererat quidam consilio providus Wido Persorcusis abbas. Hunc ultro se offerentem jus pontificale creans ad tempus militem, statuit belli ducem totum in Deo et in orationibus episcopi confidentem.” Guy was the successor of Thurstan (see N. C. vol. iv. pp. 384, 697) who died in 1087. He was one of the abbots deposed by Anselm in 1102. As Anselm himself had held a military command, the deposition could hardly have been on the ground of Guy’s exploits on this day.
The Attempted Landing of the Normans at Pevensey.
It is with some hesitation that I have spoken as I have done in the text, because it is hard to reconcile our authorities without supposing that the siege of Pevensey was accompanied by a sea-force on the part of the King. No ships have been spoken of before; none are distinctly mentioned now; some of the descriptions might be understood only of a land-force lining the shore; but operations on the water seem implied in some of the accounts, and they may be understood in any. There is no need to think of a great fleet; the sea-faring men of the neighbourhood could surely do all that is recorded to have been done.
The words of the Chronicler, of William of Malmesbury, and of Henry of Huntingdon, might be understood merely of a land-force employed to keep the enemy from landing; but their expressions may be quite as naturally taken of operations on the water as well. The Chronicler is emphatic on the exploit of the English;
“Ac þa Englisce men þe wærdedon þære sæ gelæhton of þam mannon and slogon, and adrengton ma þonne ænig man wiste to tellanne.”
So Henry of Huntingdon (215); “Anglici mare custodientes occiderunt et submerserunt ex illis innumerabiles.”
The details come from William of Malmesbury, iv. 306;
“Inter has obsidionis moras, homines regis mare custodientes quosdam quos comes Normanniæ in auxilium perfidorum miserat, partim cæde, partim naufragio, oppressere: reliqui fugam intendentes et suspendere carbasa conati, moxque vento cessante destituti, ludibrio nostris, sibi exitio, fuere; nam, ne vivi caperentur, e transtris se in mare præcipitarunt.”
It is Simeon of Durham (1088) who more distinctly brings out the features of a fight by sea;
“Rex Willelmus jam mare munierat suis piratis, qui venientes in Angliam tot occiderunt et in mare merserunt, ut nullus sit hominum qui sciat numerum pereuntium.”
This seems to come from the Chronicle; but “þa Englisce men þe wærdedon þære sæ” are distinctly sent on board vessels of some kind by the name of “piratæ.”
The “pirates” too and the sea-fight come out more distinctly in the narrative of the Hyde writer quoted above (see [p. 76]). His tale must really mean the attack on Pevensey with which we are now dealing, though he has strangely confused times, places, and persons.
Roger of Wendover (ii. 34) gives the narrative of William of Malmesbury a new turn, and specially puts the “perfidi” of his version in an unlooked-for light;
“Inter has obsidionis moras, ministri regis mare custodientes quosdam quos dux Robertus in auxilium prædictorum miserat schismaticorum, partim cæde et partim naufragio oppresserunt: quorum quidam fugam meditantes vento destituuntur, et sic ludibrio Anglis sibique exitio exstiterunt, nam, ne vivi caperentur, ultro sese fluctibus submerserunt.”
Florence (see [p. 74]) gives an animated account of the operations by land; but he wholly leaves out the coming of the Norman fleet.
The Bishopric of Somerset and the Abbey of Bath.
William of Malmesbury (Gest. Pont. 194) has got wrong in his chronology when he makes John already bishop before the death of the Conqueror, but unable to carry out his scheme for the removal of the bishopric till the accession of Rufus. “Minoris gloriæ putans si in villa [should this be some form of Wells?] resideret inglorius, transferre thronum in Bathoniam animo intendit. Sed cum id inaniter, vivente Willelmo patre, cogitasset, tempore Willelmi filii effecit.” Gisa certainly did not die till 1088, and John was consecrated in July of that year. “Qui cum rex excellentissimus Willielmus senior, qui xxij. annis regnaverat, fine laudabili vitam conclusisset, et Willielmus junior filius ejus pro eo regnaret, consecratus est episcopus in Julio.” (Historiola, 21.)
The transfer of the bishopric to Bath and the union of the abbey with the bishopric are undoubted facts; as the writer of the Historiola says, “Statim cathedram pontificis transtulit de Wella Bathoniæ.” The charter of William Rufus making this grant is printed in the Monasticon, ii. 266; the original is preserved in the chapter library at Wells. It is in two handwritings, the former part containing the first grant of 1088, while the second consists of a confirmation of 1090, or rather 1091. The substance of the grant is contained in the words;
“Ego Willelmus Willelmi regis filius, Dei dispositione monarches Britanniæ, pro meæ meique patris remedio animæ, et regni prosperitate, et populi a Domino mihi collati salute, concessi Johanni episcopo abbatiam sancti Petri Bathoniæ, cum omnibus appendiciis, tam in villis quam in civitate et in consuetudinibus, illis videlicet, quibus saisita erat ea die qua regnum suscepi. Dedi, inquam, ad Sumersetensis episcopatus augmentationem, eatenus præsertim ut inibi instituat præsuleam sedem.”
On the use of the title “monarches Britanniæ,” see N. C. vol. i. p. 561. It is somewhat singular that, when Henry of Huntingdon (211) speaks of the Conqueror as leaving “regnum Angliæ” to his second son, Robert of Torigny, in his own Chronicle, 1085, changes it into “monarchiam Angliæ.”
The date of the first grant is thus given;
“Lanfranco archipræsule machinante, Wintoniæ factum est donum hujus beneficii, mill. lxxxviiiᵒ. anno ab incarnatione Domini, secundo vero anno regni regis Willelmi filii prioris Willelmi.”
The second year of William Rufus takes in from September 26, 1088, to September 26, 1089. It is perhaps not necessary to suppose that this first grant was made in an assembly at all. If it was, we must either suppose an extraordinary assembly in the autumn of 1088 (for we have seen by the story of Bishop William of Durham that the Christmas assembly of that year was held as usual at Westminster, see [p. 116]), or else we must suppose that it was done in the Easter assembly of 1089. Yet it is rather straining chronology, even if we begin the year at Easter, to reckon that assembly to 1088. (In 1089 Easter-day fell on April 1st.) But that the dates of this charter begin the year at some time later than the 1st of January is plain from the confirmation, which was made at Dover “anno Dominicæ incarnationis mill. xc. regni vero mei iiii. indictione xiii. vi. kal. Febr. luna iii.” This must mean the January of 1091, as the January of 1090 comes in the third, not in the fourth, year of Rufus. Also the charter is signed by Ralph Bishop of Chichester and Herbert Bishop of Thetford, who did not become bishops till 1091, and who thus seem to have been consecrated very early in the year. The confirmation would thus seem to have been made just before William Rufus crossed into Normandy in 1091 (see [p. 273]), when Dover was a likely place to find him at. A long list of signatures was made ready, though some only of the names actually received the cross from the signer’s own hand. Among these indeed are the names of Ralph and Herbert themselves, as well as those of Saint Wulfstan and Bishop Geoffrey of Coutances. Bishop Howel of Le Mans signs with his own hand, and after the abbots comes the unsigned name of “Gosfridus Mala Terra” without any further description. Can this be the historian of the Apulian wars? The earls and counts whose names are given are Roger (of Shrewsbury), Robert (of Mortain or of Meulan?), Simon (of Northampton), Hugh (of Chester), Alan (of Britanny and Richmond), Henry, Walter, and William. Of these, Roger, Simon, and Alan actually sign. Earl Walter must be Walter Giffard, created Earl of Buckingham by Rufus (see Stubbs, Const. Hist. i. 361). Henry must be Henry Earl of Warwick, brother of Robert of Meulan (see Will. Gem. vii. 4; Ord. Vit. 676 A; Will. Malms. v. 393; Stubbs, u. s.), and William must be the younger William of Warren, Earl of Surrey, that is, if his father died as is asserted by the Hyde writer, or even so soon as we should infer from Orderic (680 D). The signatures to this charter thus help us in fixing the dates of the creation of these earldoms. “Robertus cancellarius” is the future Bishop of Lincoln. “Samson capellanus,” who does not sign though his name is there, must surely be he who refused the bishopric of Le Mans (see [p. 205]), or else he who was afterwards Bishop of Worcester (see [p. 542]), if the two are not the same. Among smaller lay names are many with which we are familiar. The name of Robert Fitz-hamon stands apart after the earls, marking his special position in the King’s favour. The name of Randolf Peverel, whom we have met with in the story of Bishop William (see [p. 109]), is followed in the original by that of William Peverel, which is left out in the Monasticon. The Sheriff Aiulf (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 163) and Ælfred of Lincoln (see N. C. vol. iii. p. 778) are the only names which can be those of Englishmen. So soon were the promises of the Red King forgotten.
It was almost needless on the part of Roger of Wendover (ii. 42), or whoever he followed, to say that the change was made “consensu Willelmi regis, albo unguento manibus ejus delibatis,” a phrase which reminds one of “candidi nummi” in Domesday, 164.
Of the two societies which this change so deeply affected, we hear the moan of the monks of Bath in William of Malmesbury (Gest. Pont. 195), and that of the canons of Wells in the local Historiola (22). Of Bishop John’s doings at Bath we read;
“Primo aliquantum dure in monachos agebat, quod essent hebetes et ejus æstimatione barbari, et omnes terras, victualium ministras, auferens, pauculumque victum per laicos suos exiliter inferens. Sed, procedentibus annis, factis novis monachis, mitius se agere, aliquantulum terrarum, quo se hospitesque suos quoquomodo sustentarent, priori indulgens. Multa ibi nobiliter per eum incepta et consummata, in ornamentis et libris, maximeque monachorum congregatione, qui sunt scientia literarum et sedulitate officiorum juxta prædicabiles…. Obiit grandævus, qui nec etiam moriens emolliri potuit, ut plena manu monachorum terras redderet, successoribus suis non imitandum præbens exemplum.”
The Wells tale forms a very remarkable piece of local history, the main features of which are given in the local Historiola (22), and which has been illustrated by Dr. Stubbs.
Our more general history is chiefly concerned with the undoing of the work of Gisa;
“Domiciliis quoque canonicorum quæ Gyso venerabilis construxerat, refectorio scilicet et dormitorio necnon et cellario et aliis officinis necessariis, cum claustro dirutis, canonici foras ejecti coacti sunt cum populo communiter vivere, quos Gyso docuerat regulariter et religiose cohabitare.”
He afterwards, we are told, repented; but the canons of Wells did not recover their property till the days of Bishop Robert (1136–1166), who, though himself a monk, settled the constitution of the church of Wells after the usual pattern of secular chapters.
The later Wells writer in Anglia Sacra, i. 560, tells this story, that is the story of the Historiola, with a few further touches. We read how John, “inconsultis canonicis Wellensibus et præter eorum consensum, transtulit sedem episcopalem Wellensem in abbatiam Bathoniensem … et dimisso nomine episcopatus Wellensis, primus omnium fecit se Bathoniensem episcopum appellari.” This last charge is doubtless true; but it may be doubted whether the bishopric of the Sumorsætan, though its bishopsettle was at Wells, had ever been know by the local style of bishopric of Wells (see N. C. vol. ii. pp. 606, 608). He tells the story of the destruction of the canonical buildings, with the addition that “fundum in quo prius habitabant sibi et suis successoribus usurpavit, palatiumque suum episcopale ibidem construxit.” One is almost inclined to think that there is here some confusion between John’s two sets of victims, at Bath and at Wells. The use of the word “palatium” is later than the days of John; but he doubtless did build his chief house at Bath, and it may very likely have been at the cost of the monks. He is not at all likely, when forsaking Wells, to have built himself a house there, and, unless Bishop Robert in the next century altogether changed the site of the church, no cloister can ever have stood on the site of the present palace of Wells. Yet the building of the house supplies a motive for pulling down the cloister, which otherwise seems to be lacking.
The grant of the city of Bath to Bishop John was first made by William Rufus, and was afterwards confirmed by Henry the First. The first grant is recorded in the Historiola (21);
“Cum in multis et magnis obsequendo regis familiaritatem obtineret, impetravit ab ipso sibi civitatem Bathoniæ.”
The confirmation by Henry is recorded by Florence (1122), and by William of Malmesbury, Gest. Pont. 194;
“Nec eo contentus, totam etiam civitatem in suos et successorum usus transtulit, ab Henrico rege quingentis libris argenti mercatus urbem, in qua balnearum calidarum latex emergens auctorem Julium Cæsarem habuisse creditur.”
(He goes on with more about the Bath waters and the history of the place.)
The Monasticon contains several charters bearing on this matter (ii. 267, 268). There is first the charter of Rufus, addressed “O[smundo] episcopo Saresbergensi et T[urstano] abbati, Glastoniensi et A[iulfo?] vicecomiti, omnibusque baronibus Francigenis et Anglis de Sumerseta et de Wiltunscire,” which grants “totam civitatem Bathoniæ in eleemosynam et ad augmentationem pontificalis sedis suæ … ut cum maximo honore pontificalem suam habeat sedem.” Then comes one of Henry’s grants at Windsor in 1101, when he says, “Renovavi donum quod fecerat frater meus Willelmus rex de civitate Bathoniæ, et eamdem civitatem donavi Deo et beato Petro apostolo et Johanni episcopo, cum omnibus consuetudinibus et appendiciis quæ ad ipsum pertinent, civitatem constitui et concessi, ut ibi deinceps sit caput et mater ecclesia totius episcopatus de Sumersete.”
Another charter of Henry, confirming various privileges, is granted at Bishop’s Waltham in 1111 “in transitu regis in Normanniam” (see the Chronicle, 1111, and N. C. vol. v. p. 182). It says, “Eam donationem quam donavi Deo et sancto Petro in Batha, ubi frater meus Willielmus et ego constituimus et confirmavimus sedem episcopatus totius Summersetæ, quæ olim erat apud villam quæ dicitur Wella, scilicet ipsam urbem et omnia pertinentia ad firmam ejusdem civitatis, dono et confirmo ipsi Domino nostro Jesu Christo et beato apostolo Petro et Johanni episcopo ejusque successoribus jure perpetuo et hæreditario.”
Another from Geddington in 1102 is addressed to a string of great men, “omnibusque baronibus Francigenis et Angligenis de Sumerset et de omni Anglia.”
The wording of these charters illustrates a crowd of points which we have come across at various times, as the name of the land of Somerset, the use of “jus hæreditarium,” and specially the “barones [þegnas] Angligenæ.” Among the signatures the charter of 1111 has the unsigned names of two Romans, “Johannes Tusculanus episcopus” and “Tyberius dapifer et legatus.” (This Tiberius is spoken of again in a letter of Anselm to Gundulf, Ep. iii. 85, and in a letter to King Henry, iii. 86, therefore before 1108, the date of Gundulf’s death, but after the promotion of Gerard to the archbishopric of York; he was in England on business about the Romescot.) The second has the name of “Johannes Baiocensis,” seemingly the son of Bishop Odo. Naturally neither King makes any mention of the five hundred pounds which, according to William of Malmesbury, the Bishop paid for the grant.
Lastly, there is Bishop John’s charter of 1106 (“regnante Henrico filio magni Willelmi Northmannorum ducis et Anglorum regis”), which records his own acts, and makes some restitution at least to the monks;
“Notum vobis facio quod ad honorem Dei et sancti Petri elaboravi et ad effectum perduxi, cum decenti auctoritate, ut caput et mater ecclesia totius episcopatus de Sumerseta sit in urbe Bathonia in ecclesia S. Petri. Cui beato apostolo et servitoribus ejus monachis reddidi terras eorum quas aliquamdiu injuste tenueram in manu mea, ita integre et libere sicut Alsius abbas ante me tenuit.”
He grants them certain lands which he had bought, amongst others the estate of Hugh or Hugolin with the Beard, a purchase mentioned also in the Historiola, where the price is given at sixty pounds. A comparison of the three places in Domesday 49 b, 50 b, and 99 seems to show that Mr. Hunter (p. 38) is right in making “Hugo barbatus” in Hampshire and “Hugolinus interpres” the same man. But he leaves out his third description in 50 b as “Hugo latinarius.” It is some comfort to learn from Mr. Hunter that the “taini regis” were “a very respectable class;” but it is perhaps more important to note that we have here a “tainus Francigena” to match the “barones Angligenæ.” Some of Hugh’s lands had been held of Earl Tostig by one Siward.
In the Monasticon (ii. 264) and the Codex Diplomaticus (vi. 209–211) are some English documents, chiefly sales and manumissions, done at Bath in the days of Abbot Ælfsige and Bishop John. As usual in these private documents, there is a great mixture of Norman and English names among the signatures. Take such a list as this in Cod. Dipl. vi. 210;
“Osward preóst, and Willelm ðe clerce, and Hugo ðe postgerefa, and Beóring, and Leófríc, and Heoðewulf, and Burchhard, and Wulwi, and Geosfræi, and Ælfword ðe smið, and Eádwi se rédes sune, and Rodberd ðe Frencisce.”
Here we have one of our puzzling Domesday Ælfreds (see N. C. v. 737, 777) witnessing a manumission of Bishop John;
“Her swutelað on ðisse Cristes béc ðæt Lifgið æt Forda is gefreód and hire twa cild for ðone biscop Iohanne and for ealne ðone hired on Baðon on Ælfredes gewitnesse Aspania.”
Again in Monasticon, ii. 265 (cf. p. 269), we have a somewhat puzzling mention of an Abbot Wulfwold as well as Ælfsige;
“Her geswytelað on þysan gewrite þa forefarde þa Willelm Hosatt geworhte wið Wlfwold abbod, and wið Ælfsige abbod and wið eall þone hired on Baðan.”
All this must be a little startling to those who believe that the Conqueror ordered all documents to be drawn up in French.
There is also a Latin document printed in the Archæological Journal, No. 145, p. 83, in which William of Moion, the first Norman lord of Dunster, grants the church of Dunster to Bishop John and his monks (“ecclesiæ beati Petri de Bathonia et Johanni episcopo ejusdem monasterii et monachis tam præsentibus quam futuris”). William of Moion’s witnesses seem to be all Normans; but we get some English names among those on the part of the Bishop; “Gireuuardus monachus et Girebertus archidiaconus et Dunstanus sacerdos et Gillebertus sacerdos et Willelmus clericus et Adelardus dapifer et Turaldus et Sabianus.”
There is a letter of Anselm (Ep. iii. 151) addressed to John Prior of Bath and the monks, but it contains no historical information. John was the first Prior after the change of foundation.
The Character of William Rufus.
Some of the main points in the character of William Rufus are not badly hit off by Giraldus (de Inst. Princ. iii. 30), though there are features on which he does not dwell;
“Erat rex ille strenuus in armis et animosus, sed tyrannus, adeo militiam diligens ecclesiamque Dei exosam habens ut monasteria cuncta domosque religiosas ab Anglis olim per Angliam fundatas et ditatas, cum terris omnibus et possessionibus, vel ex majori mutilare vel in militares feodos convertere proposuisset.”
These last words are of importance for another part of our inquiry (see [p. 346]); but the general phrase “militiam diligens,” a phrase capable of more meanings than one, is, in all its meanings, strictly applicable to Rufus.
Part of the character of him given by the Hyde writer (299) has been already quoted (see [p. 353]). He is brought in as follows, with the further note that he was “nimis amator pecuniæ;”
“Willelmus rex animo ferus, corpore strenuus, defensor quidem patriæ cœpit esse, sed non satis idoneus procreator [protector? or is a “nursing-father” meant?] ecclesiæ. Si enim ita studeret religioni quam vanæ curiositati, nullus ei profecto deberet princeps comparari.”
Geoffrey Gaimar (Chron. Ang. Norm. i. 30) brings him on the stage with some respect;
“Willam out non come son père,
Et cil refut mult allosé.
Englois, Normanz, l’ont honuré;
Tant come le duc ala conquere,
Le firent roi en Engleterre;
Et il la tint et bien regna,
Normanz, Englois, fort justisa,
Tote la terre mist en peès.”
(For “honuré” another reading is “coroné.”) He then goes on to the war in Maine, so closely that he reaches Seez on his march soon enough for the name of that city to rime with “peès.”
But, after the picture in the Chronicles (1100), the character of William Rufus is best studied in the two works of William of Malmesbury. On the account in the Gesta Regum I have of course drawn largely; it is in fact, with some help from Orderic, our main storehouse. The tone which its writer takes throughout is very remarkable; he tries to make the best of things without directly contradicting the facts. In his prologue to the fourth book he complains of the difficulty, one which has not lessened since his time, of telling the exact truth about recent matters, especially when kings are concerned; and he at last lays down a rule which would forbid any suggestio falsi, but would allow a good deal of suppressio veri;
“Dicam in hoc libro … quidquid de Willelmo filio Willelmi magni dici poterit, ita ut nec veritas rerum titubet, nec principalis decoloretur majestas.”
He brings William Rufus in in the beginning of the book itself;
“Incomparabilis proculdubio nostro tempore princeps, si non eum magnitudo patris obrueret, nec ejus juventutem fata præcipitassent, ne per ætatem maturiorem aboleret errores licentia potestatis et impetu juvenili contractos.”
Certainly Rufus, like many other sinners, might have reformed; but the charitable hope is made less likely by the general witness, including that of the writer himself, that he grew worse and worse. For William of Malmesbury (iv. 312) says himself;
“Excellebat in eo magnanimitas, quam ipse processu temporis nimia severitate obfuscavit; ita in ejus furtim pectus vitia pro virtutibus serpebant ut discernere nequiret. Diu dubitavit mundus quo tandem vergeret, quo se inclinaret, indoles illius. Inter initia, vivente Lanfranco archiepiscopo, ab omni crimine abhorrebat, ut unicum fore regum speculum speraretur; quo defuncto, aliquamdiu varium se præstitit æquali lance vitiorum atque virtutum, jam vero, postremis annis bonorum gelante studio, incommodorum seges succrescens incaluit. Et erat ita liberalis quod prodigus, ita magnanimus quod superbus, ita severus quod sævus. Liceat enim mihi, pace majestatis regiæ, verum non occuluisse, quia iste parum Deum reverebatur, nihil homines.”
He then gives some details, most of which I have quoted already, and adds an elaborate discourse on real and false liberality. He is obliged to allow (ib. 313) that the liberality of William Rufus was of the latter kind;
“Quidam, cum non habeant quod dent, ad rapinas convertuntur, majusque odium assequuntur ab his quibus auferunt quam beneficium ab his quibus contulerunt; quod huic regi accidisse dolemus.”
Some way on, after more about his liberality, followed by the description of the vices of the court, of which more anon, and a short reference to Anselm and Eadmer, comes (iv. 316) a most singular passage;
“Vides quantus e liberalitate quam putabat fomes malorum eruperit. In quibus corrigendis quia ipse non tam exhibuit diligentiam quam prætendebat negligentiam, magnam et vix abolendam incurrit infamiam; immerito, credo, quia nunquam se tali supponeret probro qui se tanto meminisset prælatum imperio. Hæc igitur ideo inelaborato et celeri sermone convolvo, quia de tanto rege mala dicere erubesco, in dejiciendis et extenuandis malis laborans.”
Then come the anecdotes, the annals of the reign, and the account of the King’s death. Then (iv. 333) we get another small picture of him, how he was
“Ingentia præsumens, et ingentia, si pensa Parcarum evolvere vel violentiam fortunæ abrumpere et eluctari potuisset, facturus.”
Lastly, he is dismissed with this general character;
“Vir sacrati ordinis hominibus, pro damno animæ cujus salutem revocare laborent, maxime miserandus; stipendiariis militibus pro copia donativorum mirandus; provincialibus, quod eorum substantias abradi sinebat, non desiderandus.”
The Gesta Regum was the courtly book, written for courtly readers, and dedicated to Earl Robert, the Red King’s nephew. The subject demanded that the writer should say something about the Red King; he had no mind to tell actual lies; so he made the best of him that he could without telling any. But William of Malmesbury also wrote the Gesta Pontificum for ecclesiastical readers. In that book bishops were the main subject; kings came in only incidentally. But, when he did speak of them, he was not under the same necessity as he was in his other work of speaking of them with bated breath. In this work he treated William Rufus very much as he treated several bishops, William’s own Flambard among them. He first wrote a most severe character of him, and then cut it out altogether. The passages which thus perished in the second edition are printed in Mr. Hamilton’s notes, pp. 73, 79, 84, 104. In the first place (73) he tells us how the King, “abjecto respectu omnis boni, omnia ecclesiastica in fiscum redegit.” He was “juvenili calore et regio fastu præfervidus, humana divinaque juxta ponderans et sui juris æstimans.” But he has spoken of his ways elsewhere—doubtless in the Gesta Regum—he will now speak of them only as occasion serves. In the next place (79) he wrote at first;
“Licet nulla Dei consideratio, nulla cujuscunque hominis sanctitas, ejus proterviam sedare possent, adeo cuncta quæ sibi dicebantur vel turbida ira vel facetis, ut sibi videbatur, salibus eludebat.”
This was too strong; in the second edition things are put in another light;
“Hoc in rege magnificum videri debet, quod qui omnia pro potestate facere posset, magis quædam joco eludebat, ad sales multa extra judicium animi transferens.”
The third passage (84) comes in the story of Anselm; the part of it which concerns us here runs thus;
“Rex in eum [Anselmum] et in omnes venabatur lites, commentabatur caussas quibus congregaret pecunias. In exactionibus sævus, in male partis dispertiendo prodigus, ibi harpyiarum ungues, hic Cleopatræ luxum, in utroque impudentiam prætendens. Si quis ei sponte quid obtulisset, nisi quantitas dati suæ conveniret menti, statim obliquo intuitu exterrebat quoad illum ad quas liberet doni conditiones adduceret.”
The last passage (104) also comes in the story of Anselm. William’s character is thus drawn;
“Protervus et arrogans, æque in Deum ut in homines rebellis, religioni Christianæ magis ex usu quam amore addictus, ut qui plures Judæos Christianos factos ad Judaismum pecuniis corruptus revocaret. Omnia fato agi credulus, nullum sanctorum nos posse adjuvare credebat et dicebat, subinde increpitans et dicens, scilicet ea cura jam olim mortuos sollicitat ut nostris intersint negotiis. Proindeque, si ab apostolico excommunicaretur, in secundis haberet, qui quantum suæ conscientiæ interesset, non multum curaret si totis annis sacramentorum expers esset.”
This last passage is remarkable, as seeming to show that Rufus rather wondered that he was not excommunicated (see [p. 611]). And one wonders too, on reading this passage and some others (see [p. 166]), that no controversialist has ever claimed Rufus as a premature Protestant. Even Sir Richard Baker, a yet more loyal apologist than the author of the Gesta Regum, did not hit upon that.
William of Malmesbury then goes on to tell the story of the accused deer-stealers—doubtless from Eadmer, to whom he so often refers—and then gives some reasons for not enlarging further on the evil doings of Rufus. One is “quod non debeam defunctum meo premere judicio qui habet judicem præfata [sic], cui judicanti omnis attremit creatura.” The other is that it is better, for the sake of edification, to pass by evil doings, especially some kinds of evil doings; “Adulterium discitur dum narratur, et omne crimen faciendum menti male inculcatur, dum qualiter ab alio factum sit studiosius explicatur.”
Orderic is in this case less elaborate in his portrait-painting than William of Malmesbury. Some of his sayings bearing on the character of William Rufus have been already quoted. He sometimes brings him in, after his fashion, with some epithet, appropriate or quaint—“liberalis rex,” “turgidus rex,” “pomposus sceptriger,” and the like. But he twice gives something like a full-length picture. The first is at 680 A;
“In diebus illis lucerna veræ sanctitatis obscurius micabat pene cunctis in ordinibus, mundique principes cum subjectis agminibus inhærebant tenebrosis operibus. Guillelmus Rufus Albionis rex juvenis erat protervus et lascivus, quem nimis inhianter prosequebantur agmina populorum impudicis moribus. Imperiosus et audax atque militaris erat, et multitudine militum pompose tripudiabat. Militiæ titulis applaudebat, illisque propter fastum secularem admodum favebat. Pagenses contra milites defendere negligebat, quorum possessiones a suis tironibus et armigeris impune devastari permittebat. Tenacis memoriæ et ardentis ad bonum seu malum voluntatis erat. Terribilis furibus et latrunculis imminebat, pacemque serenam per subjectam regionem servari valenter cogebat. Omnes incolas regni sui aut illexit largitate, aut compressit virtute et terrore, ut nullus contra eum auderet aliquo modo mutire.”
This comes just before the pious and humane speech (see [p. 223]), in which Rufus proposes the first war in Normandy. Towards the end of the reign of Rufus (763 C), Orderic takes up his brush again;
“Guillelmus Ruffus, militia clarus, post mortem patris in Anglia regnavit, rebelles sibi fortiter virga justitiæ compressit, et xii. annis ac x. mensibus ad libitum suum omnes suæ ditioni subjugavit. Militibus et exteris largus erat, sed pauperes incolas regni sui nimis opprimebat, et illis violenter auferebat quæ prodigus advenis tribuebat. Multi sub ipso patris sui proceres obierunt, qui proavis suis extraneum jus bellicose vendicaverunt, pro quibus nonnullos degeneres in locis magnatorum restituit, et amplis pro adulationis merito datis honoribus sublimavit. Legitimam conjugem nunquam habuit, sed obscœnis fornicationibus et frequentibus mœchiis inexplebiliter inhæsit, flagitiisque pollutus exemplum turpis lasciviæ subjectis damnabiliter exhibuit.”
There is also an earlier passage (669 A) which sets forth how William kept the peace of the land. He records the surrender of Rochester, and adds;
“Omnium qui contra pacem enses acceperant nequam commotio compressa est. Nam iniqui et omnes malefactores, ut audaciam regis et fortitudinem viderunt, quia prædas et cædes aliaque facinora cum aviditate amplexati fuerant, contremuerunt, nec postea xii. annis quibus regnavit mutire ausi fuerunt. Ipse autem callide se habuit et vindictæ tempus opportunum exspectavit.”
This of course refers to disturbers on a larger scale than common robbers. But one law applied to all. King William kept down all evil-doers, save himself and his own company.
Henry of Huntingdon (vii. 22) mainly translates the Chronicle; but he adds some touches of his own, and strengthens some of the epithets, “invisus rex nequissimus et Deo et populo,” &c. His general picture is;
“Nec respirare potuit Anglia miserabiliter suffocata. Cum autem omnia raperent et subverterent qui regi famulabantur, ita ut adulteria violenter et impune committerent, quicquid antea nequitiæ pullulaverat in perfectum excrevit, et quicquid antea non fuerat his temporibus pullulavit.”
He makes also, improving the words of the Chronicler, an important addition;
“Quicquid Deo Deumque diligentibus displicebat hoc regi regemque diligentibus placebat. Nec luxuriæ scelus tacendum exercebant occulte, sed ex impudentia coram sole.”
This represents the English words (Chron. Petrib. 1100), “And þeah þe ic hit lang ylde, eall þet þe Gode wæs lað and rihtfulle mannan, eall þæt wæs gewunelic on þisan lande on his tyman.”
Somewhat later again the discerning William of Newburgh (i. 2) thus paints the Red King;
“Factum est ut … Willelmus in principio infirmius laboriosiusque imperaret, et ad conciliandos sibi animos subditorum modestior mitiorque appareret. At postquam, perdomitis hostibus et fratre mollius agente, roboratum est regnum ejus, exaltatum est illico cor ejus, apparuitque, succedentibus prosperis, qualis apud se latuisset dum premeretur adversis. Homo vecors et inconstans in omnibus viis suis; Deo indevotus et ecclesiæ gravis, nuptiarum spernens et passim lasciviens, opes regni vanissima effusione exhauriens, et eisdem deficientibus subditorum fortunas in hoc ipsum corradens. Homo typo immanissimæ superbiæ turgidus, et usque ad nauseam vel etiam derisionem doctrinæ evangelicæ, temporalis gloriæ fœdissima voluptate absorptus.”
This description, after all, is very much that of William of Malmesbury translated into less courtly language. The “magnanimitas” has now fully developed into “immanissima superbia.”
From putting together all these descriptions we get the portrait of William Rufus as one of those tyrants who keep a monopoly of tyranny for themselves and their immediate servants. He puts down other offenders, and strictly keeps the general peace of the land. His justice, in the technical sense, is strong, with of course the special exceptions hinted at by William of Malmesbury (see p. 143). There is no charge of cruelty in his own person; but he allows his immediate followers, his courtiers and mercenaries, to do any kind of wrong without punishment. He oppresses the nation at large by exactions for the pay of his mercenaries. He is withal a warlike and chivalrous king. We must take in the full sense of phrases like “militiam diligens,” which mean more than simply “warlike;” the technical sense of “miles” and “militia” often comes in. He was bountiful to his mercenaries, and generally lavish. He was renowned for a quality called “magnanimitas.” He was irreligious and blasphemous. Lastly, he and his immediate company were noticed for specially foul lives, of a kind, it would seem, out-doing the every-day vices of mankind.
Some of these points call for a more special notice. The “magnanimitas” of William of Malmesbury is not exactly “magnanimity” in the modern sense, which generally means a certain grand and stately kind of mercy. The magnanimous man nowadays chiefly shows his magnanimity, not so much in forgiving wrongs as in passing them by without notice; they have hardly moved him enough for forgiveness to come in. There is something approaching to this in the “magnanimitas Willelmi” (iv. 309) shown to the knight who unhorsed him before Saint Michael’s Mount (see [p. 289]). But the “præclara magnanimitas” (iv. 320) shown in his voyage to Touques is of another kind. Then it is that we have the wonderful comparison, or rather identification of William Rufus and Cæsar, of which more in a later note (see [Note PP]). William of Malmesbury clearly means the word for praise; and it is at least not meant for dispraise when Suger, at the beginning of his life of Lewis (Duchèsne, iv. 283), speaks of “egregie magnanimus rex Anglorum Guillelmus, magnanimioris Guillelmi regis filius Anglorum domitoris.” But the word seems to have reached a bad sense when (p. 302) Count Odo is called “tumultuosus, miræ magnanimitatis, caput sceleratorum” (see N. C. vol. v. p. 74). And it is surely a fault, though it seems to be recorded with admiration, that the first Percy who held Alnwick “fuit vir magnanimus, quia noluit injuriam pati ab aliquo sine gravi vindicta” (see the Chronicle of Alnwick in the second volume of the Archæological Institute at Newcastle, Appendix, p. v). And, as it is not exactly our “magnanimous,” neither is it exactly the μεγαλόψυχος of Aristotle (Eth. iv. 3)—ὁ μεγάλων αὐτὸν ἀξιῶν ἄξιος ὤν axios ôn—though it comes nearer to it. William of Malmesbury’s “magnanimus” is perhaps Aristotle’s μεγαλόψυχος verging towards the χαῦνος. The essence of the character is self-esteem, self-confidence; a step will change him from William’s “magnanimus” into Orderic’s “turgidus.” And this comes pretty much to the τετυφωμένος of the New Testament (2 Tim. iii. 4), who is not unlike William Rufus, only that he has at least a μόρφωσις εὐσεβείας. Here our version has “high-minded”—the Revised Version has “puffed up”—just as in the departed service for January 30 the slayers of Charles the First were called “high-minded” by those who certainly did not mean to praise them. This again is not quite the “magnanimitas” with which we have to do, which is still a virtue, though a dangerous one. Perhaps we may say that William the King really was “high-minded” in this sense, and that William the monk used a slightly ambiguous word, in order to pass him off for “high-minded” in the other sense.
The mercenary soldiers, the excesses wrought by them, and the extortion by which their pay and largesse were supplied, all come out in the words of the Chronicler that the land was vexed “mid here and mid ungylde.” That they were chiefly foreigners appears from Orderic’s phrase “advenæ,” which is doubtless opposed, not only to the “Angli naturales,” but to the companions of the Conqueror and their sons. The “advenæ” are opposed to the “incolæ,” whether the “incolæ” have been settled for one generation or twenty. So says William of Malmesbury (iv. 314);
“Excitabat ergo totum occidentem fama largitatis ejus, orientem usque pertendens; veniebant ad eum milites ex omni quæ citra montes est provincia, quos ipse profusissimis expensis munerabat; itaque cum defecisset quod daret, inops et exhaustus ad lucra convertit animum.”
Of their doings he tells us that, “soluta militari disciplina, curiales rusticorum substantias depascebantur, insumebant fortunas.” But the fullest account of their misdeeds is that given by Eadmer (Hist. Nov. 94), when he records the statute passed by Henry, when he and Anselm give their minds “qualiter aliquo modo mala quæ pauperes maxime deprimebant mitigarentur.”
“Tempore siquidem fratris sui regis hunc morem multitudo eorum qui curiam ejus sequebantur habebat, ut quæque pessumdarent, diriperent, et, nulla eos cohibente disciplina, totam terram per quam rex ibat devastarent. Accedebat his aliud malum; plurimi namque eorum sua malitia debriati dum reperta in hospitiis quæ invadebant, penitus absumere non valebant, ea aut ad forum per eosdem ipsos quorum erant pro suo lucro ferre et vendere, aut supposito igne cremare, aut si potus esset, lotis exinde equorum suorum pedibus, residuum illius per terram effundere, aut certe alio aliquo modo disperdere solebant. Quæ vero in patres-familias crudelia, quæ in uxores et filias eorum indecentia, fecerint, reminisci pudet. Has ob causas quiqui, præcognito regis adventu, sua habitacula fugiebant, sibi suisque quantum valebant in silvis vel aliis locis in quibus se tutari posse sperebant, consulentes.”
Here doubtless the misdeeds of courtiers, soldiers, and camp-followers, are all mixed together; but all were in the train of the King. In short, the march of the second William through his own kingdom must have done at least as much harm as the march of the first William when he was only seeking to make it his kingdom. All these horrors undoubtedly fell on the native English more heavily than on anybody else; only I see no reason to think that, when the houses of a small English and a small Norman landowner, or the houses of the English and Norman tenants of a great landowner, stood near together, the Norman house would be respected, while the English house was plundered. The plunderers would hardly touch the house of Thurkill of Warwick any more than that of Roger of Ivry; but, among their smaller neighbours, William and Matilda would hardly fare better than Godric and Godgifu. Indeed William of Malmesbury a little further on (iv. 319) speaks of the general oppression of Rufus as one that touched all classes, “Non pauperem tenuitas, non opulentum copia, tuebatur.”
The mercenaries of the days of Rufus forestall the mercenaries of the days of Stephen and John; but, unless we are to reckon a man of the rank of Walter Tirel, we do not get such a clear notion of any particular persons among them. The phrase of Orderic, in one of the passages already quoted (see above, [p. 495]), about the promotion of “degeneres” in the room of the nobles of the Conqueror’s day might make us think that some of them were put in high places. But no such instances seem to be recorded. And the word “restituit” might suggest the restoration of native Englishmen, a process which may really (see [p. 88]) have happened to some extent after the suppression of the rebellion in 1088. But “Ordericus Angligena” would never speak of the “Angli naturales” as “degeneres.”
The dress, manners, and morals of the court of William Rufus stand out clearly in several descriptions. “Tunc effeminati passim in orbe dominabantur” says Orderic (682 B, cf. 781 D), following the remark with stronger and plainer words. He is eloquent on their womanish fashion of dressing and wearing the hair;
“Ritus heroum abjiciebant, hortamenta sacerdotum deridebant, barbaricumque morem in habitu et vita tenebant. Nam capillos a vertice in frontem discriminabant, longos crines velut mulieres nutriebant et summopere curabant, prolixisque nimiumque strictis camisiis indui tunicisque gaudebant. Omne tempus quidam usurpabant, et extra legem Dei moremque patrium pro libitu suo ducebant…. In diebus istis veterum ritus pene totus novis adinventionibus commutatus est. Femineam mollitiem petulans juventus amplectitur, feminisque viri curiales in omni lascivia summopere adulantur…. Humum pulverulentam interularum et palliorum superfluo scirmate verrunt, longis latisque manicis ad omnia facienda manus operiunt; et his superfluitatibus onusti celeriter ambulare vel aliquid utiliter operari vix possunt. Sincipite scalciati sunt ut fures, occipite autem prolixas nutriunt comas ut meretrices…. Crispant crines calamistro. Caput velant vitta sine pileo. Vix aliquis militarium procedit in publicum capite discooperto legitimeque secundum apostoli præceptum tonso.”
Yet, with all this aping of female manners, the gallants of Rufus’ court did in one respect follow the law of masculine nature more closely than their immediate antecessores, either Norman or English;
“Nunc pene universi populares cerriti sunt et barbatuli, palam manifestantes specimine tali quod sordibus libidinis gaudent, ut fœtentes hirci.”
Bishop Serlo in the sermon (816 A, B) enlarges on this last comparison with much greater strength of language; and brings in another likeness, and a reason which certainly has an odd sound;
“Barbas suas radere devitant, ne pili suas in osculis amicas præcisi pungant, et setosi Saracenos magis se quam Christianos simulant.”
Seemingly the shaving of the ancient heroes of Normandy was but rare, perhaps weekly, like the bath of their Danish forefathers (see N. C. vol. i. p. 651).
Of the long hair, and what Anselm thought of it, we hear again in the course of our story (see [p. 449]). William of Malmesbury also (iv. 314) has his say about the courtiers;
“Tunc fluxus crinium, tunc luxus vestium, tunc usus calceorum cum arcuatis aculeis inventus; mollitie corporis certare cum feminis, gressum frangere, gestu soluto et latere nudo incedere, adolescentium specimen erat. Enerves, emolliti, quod nati fuerant inviti manebant, expugnatores alienæ pudicitiæ, prodigi suæ. Sequebantur curiam effeminatorum manus et ganearum greges.”
A various reading in a note in Sir T. D. Hardy’s edition is stronger still.
In the Life of Wulfstan (Anglia Sacra, ii. 254) William tells us of the strictness of that saint in this matter, in which he gave Bishop Serlo his model;
“Ille vitiosos, et præsertim eos qui crinem pascerent, insectari, quorum si qui sibi verticem supponerent, ipse suis manibus comam lascivientem secaret. Habebat ad hoc parvum cultellum, quo vel excrementa unguium vel sordes librorum purgare consueverat. Hoc cæsariei libabat primitias, injungens per obedientiam, ut capillorum ceterorum series ad eandem complanarentur concordiam. Si qui repugnandum putarent, eis palam exprobrare mollitiem, palam mala minari.”
But it is rather hard when William of Malmesbury forgets that all this belongs to the last years of Wulfstan’s episcopate and not to the first, and when he goes on to say that the fashion of wearing long hair led to a decay of military prowess in England, and thereby to the Norman Conquest. This can be paralleled only with those astounding notions of Matthew Paris about our beards which I have spoken of in N. C. vol. iv. p. 686.
As the practice could be put down for a moment only, whether by Wulfstan, Anselm, or Serlo, William has to come back to it again in the Historia Novella, i. 4, where he tells of a momentary reform in 1129. See Sir T. D. Hardy’s note.
Some of these descriptions carry us back to earlier times, as to the picture of the “molles” at Carthage down to Saint Augustine’s day (Civ. Dei, vii. 26), “qui usque in hesternum diem madidis capillis, facie dealbata, fluentibus membris, incessu femineo, per plateas vicosque Carthaginis etiam a populis unde turpiter viverent exigebant” (only the “molles” of the Red King’s day took what they would by force). Cf. Lucan, i. 164;
“Cultus gestare decoros
Vix nuribus rapuere mares.”
About the shoes much has been written, and the fashion, in one shape or another, seems to have lasted for several ages. Orderic is quite as wrathful at this seemingly harmless folly, as he is at the other evil fashions which seem more serious. But perhaps the force lies in the passage where he says (682 C), “Pedum articulis, ubi finis est corporis, colubrinarum similitudinem caudarum imponunt, quas velut scorpiones præ oculis suis prospiciunt.” The practice seems to have been looked on as a profane attempt to improve the image of God, an argument which surely told no less strongly against the practice of the ancient heroes when they shaved themselves. With Count Fulk (682 A) one cannot help feeling some sympathy. “Quia pedes habebat deformes, instituit sibi fieri longos et in summitate acutissimos subtolares, ita ut operiret pedes, et eorum celaret tubera quæ vulgo vocantur uniones.” Yet this is very gravely set down among his many evil deeds. Then seemingly another stage took place, when (682 B) “Robertus quidam nebulo in curia Rufi regis prolixas pigacias primus cepit implere stuppis, et hinc inde contorquere instar cornu arietis. Ob hoc ipse Cornardus cognominatus est.”
A number of hints in the above passages seem to show us that the vices of Rufus were literally the works of darkness, works which even his own more outspoken age shrank from dwelling on in detail. It is hardly a metaphor when Orderic says (680 A), “In diebus illis lucerna veræ sanctitatis obscurius micabat.” For, among the reforms of Henry the First (Will. Malms. v. 393), “effeminatos curia propellens, lucernarum usum noctibus in curia restituit, qui fuerat tempore fratris intermissus.” That Henry the First could be looked on as a moral reformer is the best sign of what he had to reform. Henry, with his crowd of mistresses and bastards, is described as loathing the profligacies (“obscœnitates,” a word which seems used in a special sense) of his brother (Will. Malms. iv. 314, and specially the wonderful passage, v. 412, as to the force of which there can be no doubt), and as making it his first business on his accession to clear the court of its foulest abuses. (Cf. Mrs. Hutchinson’s account of Charles the First’s reforms, i. 127.) We must remember that no mistresses or children of Rufus are mentioned or hinted at. Orderic’s phrase of “mœchus rex” is quite vague, perhaps euphemistic, and when the Welsh chronicler (Ann. Camb. 1100) says that “concubinis usus, sine liberis obiit,” he may be sheltering himself under an ambiguous word. In the Chronicle of Hugh of Flavigny (Pertz, viii. 496) is a strange legend of what the writer truly calls “inauditum seculis omnibus monstrum,” but one which could not have been devised except in the state of things which William of Malmesbury and Eadmer describe. After all (see Hen. Hunt. vii. 32; N. C. vol. v. p. 195), the reform wrought by Henry seems to have been only for a season. It is some slight comfort to hear from the mouth of Anselm, in his first protest to the King (Eadmer, Hist. Nov. 24), that the presence of Eastern vices in England was something new—“noviter in hac terram divulgatum.”
Of the blasphemies of William Rufus several instances have been given in the text. He had also, like everybody else of his time, his own special oath. As his father swore “par la resplendar Dé,” as other kings swore “per oculos Dei,” “per pedes Dei,” “per dentes Dei,” William Rufus swears (“sic enim jurabat,” says William of Malmesbury, iv. 309) “per vultum Dei,” or more commonly “per vultum de Luca.” Some of the older writers oddly mistook this for an oath by Saint Luke’s face. But the true meaning of the “vultus de Luca” was long ago explained by Ducange under the word “vultus,” where he refers to the then manuscript “Otia Imperialia” of Gervase of Tilbury, iii. 24, which will be found in Leibnitz’s collection of Brunswick writers, i. 967. The “vultus Lucanus” was held to have been made by Nicodemus from the impression of our Lord’s face taken on linen immediately after the crucifixion. This it was by which the Red King swore. In French the oath takes the form “Li vo de Luche” (Roman de Rou, line 14920). M. Charles de Rémusat (St. Anselme de Cantorbéry, 133) remarks, “Il se peut même que ce ne soit pas précisément celui de Lucques; car on appela Saint Voult-de-Lucques, vulgairement et par corruption Saint Godeln, tout crucifix habillé semblable à celui-là tel que ceux qu’on voyait jadis à Saint-Etienne-de-Sens, au Sépulcre à Paris.” But it is strange that Lappenberg (Geschichte von England, ii. 172), when telling the story of the Red King’s “magnanimitas” before Saint Michael’s Mount (see [p. 289] and [Appendix N]), brings in the oath “per vultum de Luca” in Wace’s story, where it is not found, in the form “bei dem heiligen Antlitz zu Lucca,” and afterwards in William of Malmesbury’s story in the form “bei St. Lucca’s Antlitz.”
The Ecclesiastical Benefactions of William Rufus.
I think that an examination of the cases in which William Rufus has the credit of an ecclesiastical benefactor will show that in most of them, if not in all, there is a direct or implied reference to the memory of his father. In the case of Battle and Saint Stephen’s this is plain on the surface. Of his moveable gifts to Battle some have been mentioned already (see [p. 18]); he also gave (Chron. de Bello, 40) considerable gifts in real property, specially the royal manor of Bromham in Wiltshire, valued at forty pounds yearly. One year’s income then was to be got back by converting the young Jew back to Judaism (see [p. 163]). At the dedication of Battle he gave (Chron. de Bello, 41; Mon. Angl. iii. 246) a number of churches, “pro anima patris mei regis Willielmi, et matris et omnium parentum nostrorum qui ibi in bello ceciderunt, et aliorum omnium.” The local writer, who records none of his evil deeds, gives him this character (42);
“Tantopere memoratus rex eandem amabat, excolebat, tuebaturque ecclesiam, ejusque dignitates et regales consuetudines conservabat, ut quemadmodum patris ejus tempore nullus ei adeo adversari præsumeret, ipse quoque quotiens casu vicinia peteret, ex dilectionis abundantia sæpius eam revisere, fovere, et consolari solitus fuerat.”
As for Saint Stephen’s, there is a charter in Neustria Pia, 638, of William Rufus of 1088 granting various lands in England, among them Coker in Somerset and Wells in Norfolk, with the church of Corsham in Wiltshire and other tithes. The signatures show that it is very carelessly copied or printed; but among them is “Willelmus cancellarius,” that is, William Giffard, afterwards Bishop of Winchester; [see vol. ii. p. 349]. We read how “glorioso patri gloriosus filius Willelmus in regnum successit,” and how he made his gifts, “prædicti cœnobii utilitati prospiciens, habito procerum et religiosarum personarum Angliæ et Normanniæ consilio.”
The Waltham writer (De Inv. c. 22) has another way of looking at things. Of the Conqueror he speaks most respectfully, but adds;
“Successit ei filius Willelmus Ruphus cognomento, hæres quidem beneficiorum, sed degener morum, cui breves annos credimus indultos, quia concessis sibi beneficiis a Domino minus aptus nec ecclesiæ devotus sicut expediret, nec justitiæ strenuus executor, sed vir desideriorum eisque indulgens semper exstitit.”
The wrongs which Rufus did to Waltham are told with great fervour of declamation; and specially why he did them, namely,
“Vilia censens Anglorum instituta, nec eousque valitura quin eis eligeret ditare prædecessorum sepulturas, et ecclesiam Cadomensem ex rapina ornare, et spoliis Walthamensis ecclesiæ salubre remedium credens animarum patris et matris ibi quiescentium, si de alieno et quasi ab uno altari distracto aliud ornatur, et quasi munus gratum et valde preciosum alicui patri offerantur præcisa proprii membra filii.”
The words about English customs are meant, with whatever truth, to contrast William the Red with his father, who is praised for observing them. The plunder transferred from Waltham to Caen consisted of moveable wealth of every kind, among other things books, valued altogether at the incredible sum of 6666 pounds. The King afterwards repented, and, though the spoil stayed in the two minsters at Caen, he gave back, after the death of Bishop William of Durham (who is confounded with Walcher), that is in 1096 or later, during the vacancy, the lands which had been given to the bishopric (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 664). Dr. Stubbs (p. 50) prints a writ of William Rufus addressed “vicecomitibus suis et ministris [þegnas],” confirming to the canons of Waltham all “terras suas et consuetudines” which they held in his father’s time. It is a mere writ; but it must, as Dr. Stubbs suggests, be the occasion of the burst of joy in c. 23;
“Laudamus præsentem hunc Willelmum, qui ob reconciliandam sibi crucifixi gratiam quam offendisse plurimum non dubitamus in hujus perpetratione spoliationis, qui eam carta sua ecclesiæ confirmavit, et sub prædicto anathematis edicto, assistentibus archiepiscopis, episcopis, et universo clero, communiter roboravit.”
Dr. Stubbs (De Inv. 14) suggests, with great likelihood, that this robbery of the moveable wealth of Waltham was not done for the enriching of Saint Stephen’s, but that it was part of the general robbery of all churches to pay the price of Normandy in 1096 (see [p. 358]). And this is the more likely, because the 6666 pounds (= 10,000 marks) said to have been taken from Waltham was actually the sum paid to Robert. The Waltham writer has made some confusion in his reckoning. Still the general picture of the Red King robbing Waltham and enriching Caen holds good. For we have seen that he was a benefactor to Saint Stephen’s, and the writ seems to imply some meddling with the lands, as well as the treasures, of Waltham.
The curious story about the hospital of Saint Peter, afterwards Saint Leonard, at York, all about Æthelstan and the Culdees, and the grant of the thrave of corn which became memorable in the fifteenth century (see Lingard, iv. 163), will be found in the local history in the Monasticon, vii. 608. We read how the Conqueror confirmed everything, and then—
“Willelmus Rufus, filius Conquestoris prædicti, rex immediate succedens, fundavit seu mutavit situm dicti hospitalis in locum regium ubi nunc situatur,… et dedit et confirmavit dictas travas hospitali prædicto, sicut fecit pater ejus Conquestor.”
So Leland speaks of “Gulielmus junior, rex Angliæ, fundator hospitalis, qui etiam ecclesiolam ibidem construxit et S. Petro dedicavit.”
So the hospital of God’s House at Thetford is attributed to William Rufus, Mon. Angl. vii. 769. He is also said to have founded the nunnery of Armethwaite in Cumberland, and the foundation charter is printed in the Monasticon, iii. 270. But it is spurious on the face of it. The date given is January 6, 1089; yet Rufus is made to give grants in Carlisle which he did not yet possess, and to call himself “dux Normannorum.” He appears too in the Abingdon History, ii. 26, 284, as granting the church of Sutton to the abbey of Abingdon on the petition of Abbot Reginald. The grant has three somewhat characteristic witnesses, Robert Fitz-hamon, Robert the Chancellor, that is Robert Bloet, and our old friend Croc the Hunter.
He is also called a benefactor to the church of Rochester; but it is not clear that he actually gave anything of his own cost. In the local histories (Mon. Angl. i. 161, 162, 174) we read that Rufus “reddidit et restituit Lamhethe et dedit Hedenham ecclesiæ Roffæ;” “dedit Lamtheam [hetham] et Aedenham ad victum monachorum,” &c. In p. 163 is his writ granting the manor of Stone to the church of Saint Andrew and Bishop Gundulf; and in 173, 174 he grants Lambeth and Hedenham. But Henry’s charter in the same page speaks of Lambeth and Hedenham as gifts of Bishop Gundulf to the monks, and in p. 165 Stone is held by Ralph the son, and Osmund the son-in-law, of Gilbert, who becomes a monk at Rochester. The brothers find the King a harsh lord (“ambo regis exactionibus tantum fuerunt gravati ut vix amplius hoc possent ferre. Erant enim illis diebus consuetudines regis gravissimæ atque durissimæ per totum regnum Angliæ”); they therefore suggest that the Bishop should get the manor of the King, and they will hold it of him. “Quo audito, episcopus quam citius potuit regem impigre adiit, amicorum itaque apud regem usus auxilio, tandem obtinuit quod petiit; dedit ergo episcopus Willielmo regi, magni regis Willielmi filio, xv. libras denariorum et unam mulam quæ bene valebat c. solidos.” Ralph and Osmund become the Bishop’s men for the manor—a very good case of round-about commendation—but presently, by an exchange of lands between them and the Bishop, Stone becomes a direct possession of the see. We have also heard something about Hedenham in N. C. vol. iv. p. 366, and William of Malmesbury also (Gest. Pont. 137) speaks of it as bought by Gundulf—“ex suo villam coemptam.” Lambeth may have been a free gift. It afterwards, as all the world knows, passed by exchange to the see of Canterbury.
There is a very curious document in the Monasticon (ii. 497) from the cartulary of Tavistock in which Rufus—“inclitæ recordationis secundus Guillielmus”—confirms in 1096 to the abbey a manor, Wlurintun, which some said belonged to the crown. The grant of course takes the form of a gift. But the only thing which Rufus really seems to have given was an ivory knife, a symbol which is also met with in other cases;
“Sciant omnes quod rex per cultellum eburneum quod in manu tenuit et abbati porrexit hoc donum peregit apud curiam … qui quidem cultellus jacet in feretro sancti Rumoni.”
The witnesses are Bishop Walkelin of Winchester, Bishop John of Bath, and Abbot Thurstan of Glastonbury. The demand had been made before commissioners sent in Lent to Devonshire, Cornwall, and Exeter—the local capital stands apart—“ad investiganda regalia placita.” They were Bishop Walkelin, “Randulfus capellanus” (Flambard), William Capra (see him in Domesday, 110, as Chievre; he is Capra in Exon), and “Hardinus Belnoldi filius.” Is not “Belnoldus,” a strange name, a miswriting for Ednodus? See N. C. vol. iv. p. 756.
Lastly, we have elsewhere seen (see N. C. iv. 411) that William granted the manor of Bermondsey to the foundation of the Englishman Ælfwine Child. See the charter in Monasticon, v. 100. It is witnessed by the founder Ælfwine, also, between the bishops and Eudo dapifer, by “Johannes de Sumbresetta.” Is this the Bishop of Bath, not yet used to his new title?
A crowd of writs securing churches in rights already possessed, as well as simple confirmations of the grants of others, do not bear upon the matter. And we must not forget that he showed a degree of tenderness to the monks of Durham during the banishment of their bishop (see [p. 299]) which he failed to show to other monks. Still, in any case, the gifts of William Rufus make a poor show between the gifts of the founder of Battle and those of the founder of Reading.
Chivalry.
I refer to the remarkable passage of Sir Francis Palgrave, Normandy and England, iv. 438;
“Are we not told that ‘the Spirit of Chivalry was the parent and offspring of the Crusades?’ again that in ‘the accomplished character of the Crusader we discover all the virtues of a perfect Knight, the true Spirit of Chivalry, which inspired the generous sentiments and social offices of man?’—the Historian might reply in the words of a great Teacher, whose voice already resounds in History—‘I confess that if I were called upon to name what Spirit of evil predominantly deserved the name of Antichrist, I should name the Spirit of Chivalry: the more detestable for the very guise of the Archangel ruined, which has made it so seductive to the most generous spirits—but to me so hateful, because it is in direct opposition to the impartial justice of the Gospel, and its comprehensive feeling of equal brotherhood, and because it so fostered a sense of honour rather than a sense of duty.’… Take the huge folio of the Gesta Dei per Francos—search it boldly and honestly, turn over its fifteen hundred pages, examine their contents according to the rules of moral evidence, the praises the Writers bestow, and more than their praises, their blame; their commentaries upon deeds of cruelty, and more than their commentaries, their silence—and try how much you can extract which will justify any one of the general positions which the popular enthusiasts for Chivalry have maintained.”
The extract is from a letter of Arnold to Archdeacon Hare in 1829 (Life and Correspondence, i. 255). A note adds;
“‘Chivalry,’ or (as he used more frequently to call the element in the middle ages which he thus condemned) ‘feudality,’ is especially Keltic and barbarian—incompatible with the highest virtue of which man is capable, and the last at which he arrives—a sense of justice. It sets up the personal allegiance to the chief above allegiance to God and law.”
Nothing can be better; only it is not quite clear what Arnold meant by “Keltic;” continental chivalry must be carefully distinguished from devotion to the chief of the clan, though there is much analogy between the two feelings. But, as I have said elsewhere (N. C. vol. v. p. 483), chivalry is Norman rather than English and French rather than Norman; so in that sense it may be called “Keltic.”
Sir Francis Palgrave goes on to discuss one of the stories of the boasted generosity of Bayard. Like some others, it merely comes to this, that he did not act a part which would have been singularly shameful.
About chivalry and other kindred matters, I had my own say in an article on the Law of Honour in the Fortnightly Review, December 1876. But I must decline to pledge myself to Sir F. Palgrave’s condemnation of the crusades. All that he says is perfectly true of the crimes and follies in detail with which the crusades were disgraced. And in those days it would have been hard to carry out a crusade without a large measure of those crimes and follies. And this might be in itself a fair argument, though not one which the age would have understood, against undertaking any crusade at all. But I must hold that the general idea of the crusade itself was something high above all chivalry. I must hold that all the crusades before the fourth, whatever we say of the way in which they were carried out, were in themselves fully justifiable, both in morality and in policy. Surely, in all that bears on this matter, it is Cohen rather than Palgrave that speaks. With all his learning and acuteness, with all his lofty and Christian morality, his deep and wide-reaching sympathy with right and hatred of wrong in every shape, my illustrious predecessor in Norman and English history was still, as a man of the East, unable thoroughly to throw himself into the Western side of a great struggle between East and West.
The Purchase of the Côtentin by the Ætheling Henry.
I have told this part of my story as I find it in Orderic, whose account seems to me to be probable, and to hang well together, while it is confirmed, not indeed in every detail, but in its leading outlines, by the account in the Continuation of William of Jumièges; that is, by Robert of Torigny. But William of Malmesbury and Wace give quite different versions. That of William is found, not in the part of his work where he records the events of the reign of William Rufus, but at the beginning of his fifth book (v. 392), where he introduces the reign of Henry with a sketch of his earlier life. While the rebellion of 1088 is going on in England, and while Robert is waiting—waiting, our historian says, for a favourable wind—to go to help his supporters there, Henry, by the Duke’s order, goes away into Britanny (“Henricus in Britanniam ejus jussu abscesserat”). Meanwhile Robert spends on his mercenaries the money which the Conqueror had left to Henry, which is here cut down from 5000 pounds to 3000 marks—a mistake partly arising from a confusion between the whole sum left to Henry and the sum paid for the Côtentin (“Ille, occasione aucupata, omnem illam pecuniarum vim testamento patris adolescentulo legatam, quæ erat trium millium marcarum, in stipendiarios suos absumpsit”). Then follows a very confused story, how Henry came back and passed over the wrong in silence (“Henricus reversus, licet forsitan ægre tulisset, taciturna præteriit industria”); the reason given being the restoration of peace in England (“enimvero, nuntiata pacis compositione in Anglia, deposita militia ferias armis dedere”). He then goes away into some quarter where the Duke had given or promised him lands, but he is at the same time entrusted with the keeping of the castle of Rouen (“comes in sua, junior in ea quæ frater suus dederat vel promiserat, discessit; namque et in acceptum promissa referebat, custodiens turrim Rotomagi in ejus fidelitatem.” Or can these last words mean that Henry kept the castle of Rouen in pledge till the promised lands were actually put into his hands?). Presently, on the accusation of some very bad people—if the Bishop of Bayeux was one of them, he is not mentioned by name—Henry is unjustly kept in ward for half a year in this same tower of Rouen (“delatione pessimorum cessit in adversum fidelitas, et nulla sua culpa in ipso eodem loco Henricus libere custoditus est, ne servatorum diligentiam [who are the “servatores”?] effugio luderet”). Then he goes by William’s invitation to England, and enters the King’s service; there William keeps him for a year, making promises which he never fulfils. Robert meanwhile sends a message promising redress, on the strength of which Henry goes back to Normandy (“post medium annum laxatus, fratri Willelmo invitanti serviturum se obtulit; at ille, nihilo modestius ephebum remunerans, plus anno inanibus sponsionibus agentem distulit. Quapropter, Roberto emendationem facti per nuntios promittente, Normanniam venit”). There he was exposed to intrigues on the part of both his brothers, which are very darkly described; but he escapes from all danger, and, by seizing Avranches and some other castles, compels Robert to make peace with him (“amborum fratrum expertus insidias; nam et rex, pro repulsa iratus, ut retineretur frustra mandarat; et comes, accusatorum lenociniis mutatus, voluntatem verterat ut blanditiis attrectatum non ita facile dimitteret. Verum ille, Dei providentia et sagaci sua diligentia cuncta evadens pericula, occupatione Abrincarum et quorundam castellorum coegit fratrem libenter paci manum dedere”). Then comes the invasion of Normandy by William, the sedition at Rouen, the death of Conan by Henry’s own hand (see [p. 257]). Robert then ungratefully drives Henry from the city (“parum hic labor apud Robertum valuit, virum animi mobilis, qui statim ad ingratitudinem flexus, bene meritum urbe cedere coegit”). Then, without any explanation, comes the siege of Saint Michael’s Mount, which he had already described elsewhere (iv. 308). Of Domfront and Saint James we hear nothing.
There is in this account a greater attempt at chronological precision than is usual with William of Malmesbury, especially when he tells a story out of its chronological place. And the dates do not hang badly together. Henry is put in ward late in 1088 for six months. On his release he goes to England for a year, comes back, and seizes Avranches. This brings us well into 1090, the year of the vicarious invasion of Normandy by Rufus, of the sedition at Rouen, and of the death of Conan. But these dates do not agree with the more exact chronology of Orderic. According to him (672 D), Henry went to England in the summer of 1088, and came back to Normandy in the autumn of the same year (“In æstate, postquam certus rumor de Rofensis deditione citra mare personuit … transfretavit … deinde in auctumno regi valefecit”). He is at once imprisoned, and is released, as far as one can see, about February 1089. At least Orderic mentions his release as happening about the same time as the death of Durand Abbot of Troarn, on February 3 in that year (676 B, C). Moreover the order of events, both with regard to the voyage and imprisonment, is altogether changed, and the whole story is told in a different way from that of Orderic. The story about Robert taking Henry’s money contradicts the express statement of Orderic (659 D) that Henry had put his money in safe keeping; it contradicts too the implied statements of Orderic and all the other writers who describe the cession of the Côtentin to Henry as a sale, or at least as a pledge, as something in either case by which Henry paid down money and received land. And it may be hard to reconcile William of Malmesbury’s narrative here with his own statement just before (v. 391), that Henry was “paterna benedictione et materna hæreditate, simul et multiplicibus thesauris, nixus.” Nor has William of Malmesbury any distinct mention of the Côtentin, or of any other possessions of Henry, till after his release from prison. And then he represents Henry as obtaining them by force, a story which most likely comes from some confusion with the later events, mentioned in p. 286. The visit to Britanny on the part of Henry which comes earlier in the story is most likely his visit to Britanny after the siege of Saint Michael’s Mount (see p. 294) moved out of its place. The whole narrative is dark and perplexed throughout, in marked contrast to the clear and careful statement of Orderic. And among the points on which William differs from Orderic the only one on which he is at all borne out by any trustworthy authority is, as we shall presently see, that by which he makes Rouen the place of Henry’s imprisonment. Yet there are one or two points on which we might almost think that William had some narrative like that of Orderic before him. Though Robert gets possession of Henry’s money in different ways in the two stories, yet in both he takes it for the same purpose, that of paying his mercenaries. And there is a certain likeness in the pictures which they both give of Henry as exposed to the enmity of both his brothers at once. It is possible that William’s version may really be an unsuccessful attempt to put together the detached facts of Orderic’s story, not necessarily of Orderic’s text.
Wace tells the story in a yet more confused way than William of Malmesbury, and with the events strangely transposed throughout. But he gives one or two details, bringing in persons of whom we hear elsewhere, which are likely enough to be authentic. When Robert is planning the invasion of England, he wants money, and for that end, pledges (14505–14520), not grants or sells, the Côtentin to Henry.
“Henris li a l’aveir presté,
Si come il li out demandé:
Costentin en gage reçut,
E tant lunges aveir le dut
Ke li dus li soen li rendist,
E del tot son gréant en fist.”
He adds that Richard of Reviers, or Redvers, left Robert’s service for that of Henry, in answer to a special request made by Henry to his brother. This is likely enough. Richard of Redvers appears once in Domesday (Dorset 83), and his pedigree is set forth in a special note by Mr. Stapleton (ii. cclxix), who corrects the belief (see Prevost on Wace, ii. 307; Ellis, i. 377) that he was a son of Baldwin of Exeter (see Norman Conquest, iv. 161). He appears in Orderic (689 C) and the Continuation of William of Jumièges (viii. 4), along with Earl Hugh of Chester, as one of Henry’s supporters in the Côtentin, and we see throughout that he was an important person in Henry’s reign (see vol. ii. p. 362. Cf. Orderic, 783 D, 833 D; Mon. Angl. v. 105, in the account of Saint James’ priory near Exeter). The words in which the Duke bids Richard leave his service for that of Henry (14534–14545) are curious, and throw light on the many expressions in Domesday about the grant or invasio of a freeman and the like (see N. C. iv. 723; v. 751;
“Jo ne sai ke Richart pensa,
Mais semblant fist ke li pesa
K’il deveit del duc tot partir
E son frère Henris servir.
Richart, dist li dus, si fereiz,
Henris mon frere servireiz,
Vostre fieu è vos li otrei;
N’est pas meinz gentil hom de mei;
Sis hoem seiez; jel’ vos comant;
Servez le bien d’ore en avant:
Vos n’arez jà de li hontage,
Nos somes andui d’un parage.”
We may compare the story in Orderic, 814 B, C, where Duke Robert grants Count William of Evreux to his brother (“ei Guellelmum consulem Ebroarum cum comitatu suo et omnibus sibi subjectis concessit”), and where the Count is amazed at finding himself likened to a horse or an ox (“præclarus comes, ut se quasi equum vel bovem dandum audivit”). The thoughts of Richard, which Wace did not know, may have been much the same as those of Count William.
Robert then goes on his invasion of England, but leaves off on William’s engaging to pay him five thousand pounds yearly (14548–14871). This, I need hardly say, is pure fiction; or rather it is Robert’s expedition in the reign of Henry carried back to the reign of Rufus. On coming back to Normandy, Robert quarrels with Henry, it is not easy to see why, while William is also angry with him on account of the help in money given by him to Robert. Robert then takes possession of the Côtentin, and does not repay Henry his money (14874–14887);
“Robert out l’aveir despendu,
E Costentin a retenu,
Ne Henris Costentin n’en out,
Ne ses deniers aveir ne pout.”
Henry then defends himself on Saint Michael’s Mount, and the account of the siege follows. Henry’s voyage to England, and his imprisonment, which is said to be at Rouen, are placed later still (14754–14759).
On the other hand, the short account given by Robert of Torigny in the Continuation of William of Jumièges (viii. 2) is much more nearly in agreement with Orderic. He records the bequest of five thousand pounds to Henry, with the addition that it was in English money (N. C. vol. iv. p. 854). He then mentions the cession of the Côtentin to Henry, but he is uncertain whether to call it a grant, or, with Wace, a pledge (“Robertus frater suus dedit illi comitatum Constantiensem, vel, ut alii volunt, invadiavit”). He says nothing about Henry’s voyage to England in 1088; but he mentions the slanders against Henry and his consequent imprisonment by Robert. Here comes in his only point of difference from Orderic. Orderic (672 D, see above, [p. 199]) makes Henry come back from England in company with Robert of Bellême; they are both seized on the sea-shore, and are shut up in different prisons;
“Quidam malevoli discordiæ satores eos anticipaverunt, et, falsa veris immiscentes, Roberto duci denuntiaverunt quod … cum rege Rufo essent pacificati, et ad ducis damnum sacramenti etiam obligatione confœderati. Dux igitur … cum Baiocensi episcopo consilium iniit et præfatos optimates præoccupavit. Nam antequam aliquid molirentur, quum securi ad littus maris de navibus egrederentur, valida militum manu missa eos comprehendit, vinculis coarctavit, et unum Baiocis aliumque Noilleio sub manu Baiocensis tyranni custodiæ mancipavit.”
Robert of Torigny, on the other hand, like Wace, makes Rouen the place of arrest; but he does not go on to say with William of Malmesbury that it was the place of imprisonment (“Inventis quibusdam vilibus occasionibus, per malorum tamen hominum suggestiones, ipsum nihil tale meditantem apud Rothomagum capiens, quod dederat indecenter extorsit”). These last words of course refer to the Côtentin, and imply an occupation of it by Robert during Henry’s imprisonment. Later events follow in much the same order as in Orderic.
The author of the Brevis Relatio, who wrote in Henry’s reign, must have drawn from the same sources as the Continuator, as the words of his short account (11) are to some extent the same. He gives a clear and terse summary of the fortunes of Henry during the reign of Rufus, which is almost his only mention of that reign. The words which at present concern us are these; “Henricus remansit in Normannia cum Roberto fratre suo, qui dedit ei quamdam terram in Normannia, sed non diutius inde gaudium habuit [“Non diutius inde gavisus est,” says the Continuator]. Non multo enim tempore, inventis quibusdam vilibus occasionibus, ei illam abstulit.”
The agreement between Orderic and Robert of Torigny is the more valuable, because they clearly write from independent sources, and, as we shall see presently, fill up gaps in one another. William of Malmesbury brings in his story incidentally, and has made confusions. Wace, as is not at all wonderful, is less accurate at this part of his narrative than he was at an earlier stage. The expedition of the Conqueror was his main subject, and on that he evidently bestowed the greatest care, not only in gathering information from all quarters, but very often in sifting it. He is now dealing with the kind of time which most men in all ages know least about, the times a little before and a little after his own birth. I must confess, for my own part, that there is no part of English history in which I feel so little at home as in the administration of the Earl of Liverpool.
Anyhow William of Newburgh speaks with great truth when, after (i. 2) sketching the character of William and Robert, he adds; “Porro Henricus frater junior, laudabilem præferens indolem, duris et infidis fratribus militabat.”
The Death of Conan.
The death of Conan suggests the death of Eadric (see N. C. vol. i. pp. 415, 740); only, while the story of Eadric’s death has grown into several mythical forms, we have only two versions of the death of Conan. These are given us by Orderic (689) and by William of Malmesbury (v. 392). Both of these are contemporary writers in the sense of having been born at the time—Orderic was about fourteen—though neither could have written his account till a good many years after. Orderic’s account is remarkably clear and circumstantial; and, if the sharp interchang of sentences between Henry and Conan is open to suspicion of another kind, it is not open to the same kind of suspicion which attaches to rhetorical speeches in Orderic or anywhere else. No one but Henry himself could have told the story in the first instance, and stories of this kind, coming under the head of personal anecdote, commonly get improved as they pass from mouth to mouth. But there is no reason to suspect any invention on the part of Orderic himself, which in a long speech we always may suspect. With these prudent allowances, we may surely accept the tale as it stands in Orderic. The version of William of Malmesbury reads like a rather careless summary of some account to the same general effect as Orderic, but with some differences of detail. But the dramatic effect of Orderic’s dialogue has wholly passed away from William’s abridgement.
I will mention the chief differences between the two accounts. According to Orderic, Duke Robert was all this time on the other side of the Seine; William, who knows nothing about his flight, keeps him still at Rouen. Here Orderic’s version is clearly to be preferred. The story of Robert’s flight is either true, or else direct invention. I do not mean an invention of Orderic, but an invention of Robert’s enemies at the time. But if William had never heard that story, he would conceive the Duke to be at Rouen as a matter of course. William then makes Robert wish to put Conan in prison; but Henry demands that he should be given over to himself (“Conanum quendam, proditionis apud comitem insimulatum, quem ille vinculis irretire volebat, arbitratus nihil calamitosius posse inferri misero quam ut exosum spiritum in ergastulo traheret—hunc ergo Conanum Henricus suæ curæ servatum iri postulavit”). Robert here seems to wish for Conan’s imprisonment, not out of the merciful feeling which Orderic attributes to him when he comes back to the city, but rather as deeming imprisonment worse than death. In either case Henry goes on the principle that “stone dead hath no fellow.”
In the summary of the dialogue, William brings in one or two points which are not in Orderic. As Henry shows the view to Conan, he promises in mockery that all shall be his; “sua per ironiam omnia futura pronuntians.” This differs altogether from “quam pulcram tibi patriam conatus es subjicere.” One is half tempted to see in William’s version a touch of legend worked in from the Gospels.
Instead of Henry’s characteristic oath by the soul of his mother, which must surely be genuine, William puts into his mouth a discourse on the duty of the vassal, and his punishment if faithless, which seems a little too long for the time and place; “Nullam vitæ moram deberi traditori: quoquo modo alieni hominis posse tolerari injurias, illius vero qui tibi juratus fecerit hominium, nullo modo posse differri supplicium si fuerit probatus perfidiæ.”
From the narrative of Orderic, one would certainly infer that Henry and Conan were alone together in the tower, Henry doubtless armed and Conan unarmed. William of Malmesbury gives Henry companions who help to throw Conan down; “comitibus qui secum aderant pariter impellentibus.” The exact spot also seems differently conceived by the two writers. William of Malmesbury makes Conan fall into the river; “inopinum ex propugnaculo deturbans in subjectam Sequanam præcipitavit.” This seems quite inconsistent with Orderic, whose words (690 D) are;
“Contemptis elegi supplicationibus, ipsum ambabus manibus impulit, et per fenestram turris deorsum præcipitavit. Qui miserabili casu in momento confractus est, et antequam solum attingeret mortuus est. Deinde cadaver illius jumenti caudæ innexum est, et per omnes Rothomagi vicos ad terrendos desertores turpiter pertractum est.”
From this it seems clear that Conan fell on dry ground. And though the river, before the quays were made, certainly came nearer to the walls of the castle than it now does to their site, one can hardly fancy that it came so close to the foot of the great tower that Conan could actually fall into the water. William too conceives those concerned—whether two or more—as standing on the top of the tower, whence Conan is thrust down from a battlement (“propugnaculum”) to which he clings. Orderic seems to conceive him as pushed out of a window (“fenestra”) in one of the upper rooms “solaria”) of the tower. It is possible however that by “fenestra” Orderic may mean the embrasure of a battlement. There is not so much difference between the two things as might seem at first sight. When the towers (see Viollet-le-Duc’s Military Architecture, passim) were covered with roofs fitting down on the battlements, the embrasure was in fact a window. In no case must we fancy Henry and Conan standing together in the open air on the top of a flat-roofed tower.
The Siege of Courcy.
The siege of Courcy by Duke Robert (Ord. Vit. 692) is remarkable for some picturesque details, which are interesting in themselves, and throw light on the times, though they do not directly concern the history of William Rufus. I was at Courcy in 1875; but I cannot find any notes on the castle. As far as I remember, it does not stand on any remarkable height, and does not contain among its remains any marked features of the eleventh century. There is however at Courcy a remarkably fine church of the twelfth.
Among the allies who came to the help of the besieged were several French knights, two of whom bore epithets which show that, in the days of the chivalrous King, we are getting near to the times of chivalry. Among the defenders of Courcy were the White Knight and the Red Knight;
“Ad conflictus istorum convenerunt Mathæus comes de Bellomonte et Guillelmus de Garenna, aliique plures, ut in tali gymnasio suas ostentarent probitates. Ibi Tedbaldus Gualeranni de Britolio filius et Guido Rubicundus occisi sunt. Quorum prior, quia cornipes et omnia indumenta ejus candida erant, Candidus Eques appellabatur. Sequens quoque Rubeus, quia rubeis opertus erat, cognominabatur.”
Of these persons, the younger William of Warren, son of the elder William and Gundrada, elder brother of the Reginald whom we have met at Rouen, belongs to our home circle. Count Matthew of the French Beaumont in the modern department of Oise—to be distinguished alike from our Norman and our Cenomannian Beaumont—a kinsman of Hugh of Grantmesnil’s wife (Ord. Vit. 691 D), appears again twice in Orderic, 836 B, 854 B, the second time at the battle of Noyon. Both times he appears in company with his neighbour Burchard of Montmorency. Guy the Red Knight appears in the former passage as an intended father-in-law of the future King Lewis;
“In juventute sua Ludovicus filiam Guidonis Rubei comitis de Rupeforti desponsavit, et hereditario jure competentem comitatum subjugare sibi sategit. Capreosam et Montem Leherici, et Bethilcurtem aliaque oppida obsedit, sed multis nobilibus illi fortiter obstantibus non obtinuit, præsertim quia Lucianam virginem quam desponsaverat Guiscardo de Belloloco donaverat.”
This Rochefort is in the department of Seine and Oise, between Montfort l’Amaury and Montl’hery. The redness of its Count and the whiteness of Theobald land us in quite another state of things from the personal whiteness and redness of Fulk the Red, Wulfward the White, and others. We seem to be in the fourteenth century rather than in the eleventh. But we must remember that at the battle of Noyon, twenty-eight years later, the French knights at least had armorial bearings (Ord. Vit. 855 B, C; see N. C. v. 189). All these things are French to begin with; they spread from France into Normandy, and from Normandy into England.
In this siege we meet with an instance, of which I shall have to speak again (see [Note FF]), of the wooden tower employed against a fortified place; not a moving tower, it would seem, but one of those of which we have so often heard. Yet it is spoken of as “ingens machina quam berfredum vocitant” (Ord. Vit. 692 C, cf. 878 C). So in Will. Malms. iv. 369, “pro lignorum penuria turris non magna, in modum ædificiorum facta; Berfreid appellant, quod fastigium murorum æquaret.” This is the beffroi, whose English form of belfry has got quite another use. It was made at Christmas, seemingly by order of Robert of Bellême. But one day, when the arch-enemy was driven back, a daring esquire, a kind of land Kanarês, climbed into it, and set it on fire (“Justo Dei judicio machina combusta est, quæ tyrannico jussu in diebus sanctæ nativitatis Domini proterve fabricata est;” 693 A). We have a story something like this in the legend of our own Hereward (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 472). The castle being newly built, they had not been able to build an oven inside it (“pro acceleratione obsidionis in novo munimento construere furnum oppidanis fas non fuerat”). They had therefore to make use of one which stood outside the castle, commanded by the beffroi (“Clibanus extra munitionem inter machinam oppidique portam stabat, ibique panificus [surely Eurysakês by the Porta Maggiore would have liked so sounding a title] ad subsidium inclusorum panes coquebat”). The beffroi then was not brought up immediately against the wall. There was therefore much fighting over the loaves, and many men were killed at this particular point. In one day’s fight twenty men were killed and many wounded. These last had a scruple; “de panibus emptis cruore suo non gustaverunt.” Notwithstanding the beffroi and the fighting, Duke Robert kept very bad watch; “In conspectu obsidentium commilitones obsessorum in castellum quotidie intrabant, et armis ac alimentis non curante duce socios ne deficerent confortabantur.”
The bishop of the diocese, Gerard of Seez (1082–1091), came and took up his quarters in the neighbourhood, in the abbey of Saint Peter-on-Dive, and tried to bring about peace (“ut dissidentes parrochianos suos pacificaret”); but in vain. A boy of noble birth in the Bishop’s service (“puer quidam qui præsuli ministrabat; idem puer Ricardus de Guaspreia, filius Sevoldi, vocitabatur”), who is afterwards described as “clericus” and “imberbis clericus,” rides about the camp in boyish fashion (“dum per exercitum puerili more ludens equitabat”). The boy’s family are among those who had to defend themselves against the devil of Bellême (“cujus parentela contra Robertum sese jamdudum defendere totis viribus nitebatur”). So, when young Richard appears in the camp, Robert pushes him from his horse, puts him in prison, takes the horse to himself, and threatens his master the Bishop (“Robertus injuriam ei [Gerardo] maximam fecit, eumque minis contristavit. Nam puerum … ejectum de equo comprehendit et in carcere trusit, sibique cornipedem retentavit”). The Bishop threatens the whole army with interdict, unless his beardless clerk is restored, which is done after a few days. The Bishop by this time is sick; he goes to Seez and dies, January 23, 1091, in the same week, according to Orderic (693 B), in which William Rufus crossed the sea. His successor was the more famous Serlo, who so vigorously sheared the locks of the Lion of Justice and his court.
The boy of high birth serving in the bishop’s household, and counted as belonging to the clerical order—he may even have held preferment, as “pueri canonici” were not unknown—is worth notice. The incredible tale told by Giraldus of William Longchamp (iv. 423) at least witnesses to the existence of “pueri nobiles ad mensam ministrantes” in a bishop’s court.
Lastly, it must not be forgotten that it was during the siege of Courcy, on the first day of the year 1091 (“in capite Januarii”), that a priest of the diocese of Lisieux, Walchelm by name, saw that wonderful vision of souls in purgatorial suffering, including many of his personal acquaintance and several respectable prelates, for Bishop Hugh of Lisieux and Abbot Mainer of Saint Evroul (see N. C. vol. iii. p. 383, vol. iv. p. 655) were there also, which is told so graphically by Orderic (693 C). A rationalistic mind may be tempted to see in the supernatural procession another of the endless forms of the Wild Huntsman; but a Defoe-like feeling of reality is given to the picture, when he reads that Walchelm thought that they were the following of Robert of Bellême going to besiege Courcy. He had gone to visit a sick parishioner at a great distance; “unde dum solus rediret, et longe ab hominum habitatione remotus iret, ingentem strepitum velut maximi exercitus cœpit audire, et familiam Roberti Belesmensis putavit esse, quæ festinaret Curceium obsidere.”
The Treaty of 1091.
On the whole, though with some hesitation, I accept Caen as the place of the treaty between William Rufus and Robert. Orderic (693 B) places the meeting of the brothers at Rouen; “Duo fratres Rothomagum pacifice convenerunt, et in unum congregati, abolitis prioribus querimoniis, pacificati sunt.” The meeting at Caen and the mediation of the King of the French come from the Continuation of William of Jumièges (viii. 3). The passage stands in full thus;
“Facta est tandem inter eos apud Cadomum, ut diximus, adminiculante Philippo rege Francorum, qui in auxilium ducis contra Willelmum regem apud oppidum Auci ingenti Anglorum et Normannorum exercitu tunc morantem venerat, qualiscumque concordia, et quantum ad ducem Robertum spectat probrosa atque damnosa.”
The story is here told in a hurried and inverted way, as the whole tale is from the beginning of the chapter; but there is nothing strictly to be called inaccurate in the story. It may be that the mention of Philip now is merely a confusion with his former appearance at Eu; but an intervention of Philip is not unlikely in itself; Caen too as the place of meeting is less obvious than Rouen, and so far the statement in favour of it is to be preferred. But the point is not of much importance, and the evidence is fairly open to doubt.
In any case William of Malmesbury (iv. 307, 308) is mistaken in speaking of the peace as agreed and sworn to before William crossed into Normandy. He gives a picture of the anarchy of Normandy which is true enough; only he seems to conceive it too much after the pattern of the later anarchy of England. King Philip (see the passage quoted in p. 239) has got his money and has gone back to his banquet;
“Ita bello intestino diu laboravit Normannia, modo illis, modo istis, vincentibus; proceres utriusque furorem incitabant, homines levissimi, in neutra parte fidem habentes.”
Now in the days of Stephen the anarchy at least took the form of a war between rival claimants of the crown. Men really fought for their own hands; but they at least professed to fight for King or Empress. But the special characteristic of the Norman anarchy is that everybody is already fighting with everybody else, and that the invasion of the country makes no difference, except so far as it adds a new element of confusion. Ralph of Conches goes over to William only because Robert fails to defend him against a local enemy; William’s name is not mentioned at all in the war of Courcy, till his actual coming frightens both sides alike. William of Malmesbury misses the special point of the whole story, namely that the strife between William and Robert stands quite distinct from the local struggles which still went on all over the country, except when the two got intermingled at particular points. He then adds;
“Pauci quibus sanius consilium, consulentes suis commodis quod utrobique possessiones haberent, mediatores pacis fuere; ut comiti rex Cinomannis adquireret, comes regi castella quæ habebat et Fiscannum cœnobium concederet. Juratum est hoc pactum, et ab utrorumque hominibus sacramento firmatum. Nec multo post rex mare transiit, ut fidem promissorum expleret.”
Florence (1091) puts the case much better;
“Mense Februario rex Willelmus junior Normanniam petiit, ut eam fratri suo Rotberto abriperet; sed dum ibi moraretur, pax inter eos facta est.”
It will be seen that William of Malmesbury gives only a very imperfect statement of the terms of the treaty. They are nowhere so fully and clearly given as in our own Chronicle; only the English writer is not quite so exact with regard to the territorial cessions as those writers who wrote in Normandy. The brothers meet—the place is not mentioned—and agree on the terms, which are given in words which sound like the actual words of the treaty, which was likely enough to be set down in an English as well as a Latin copy. They stand thus;
“þæt se eorl him to handan let Uescam and þone eorldom æt Ou, and Kiæresburh. And þærto eacan þes cynges men sæclæs beon moston on þam castelan þe hi ær þes eorles unþances begiten hæfdon. And se cyng him ongean þa Manige behet þa ær heora fæder gewann, and þa fram þam eorle gebogen wæs gebygle to donne, and eall þæt his fæder þær begeondan hæfde, butan þam þe he þam cynge þa geunnen hæfde; and þæt ealle þa þe on Englelande for þam eorle æror heora land forluron hit on þisum sehte habban sceoldan and se eorl on Englelande eallswa mycel swa on heora forewarde wæs.”
The emphatic references to his father are preeminently characteristic of the Red King. We seem to hear his very words, the words of the dutiful son, granting, not without some sarcasm, to the rebel, the heritage of the father against whom he had rebelled. This emphatic feature disappears in the other versions, even in the abridged Latin version of Florence. To the list of places in Normandy to be given up he adds “abbatiam in monte sancti Michaelis sitam,” and the last words, which are certainly not very clear, he translates “et tantum terræ quantum conventionis inter eos fuerat comiti daret.” This can only refer to something which William was to grant to Robert as a free gift. Domesday shows that there were no older English possessions of Robert to be given back to him. See N. C. vol. iv. p. 629.
Besides William of Malmesbury, only the Chronicler and Florence mention the stipulation about Maine. This is again a sign that in the Chronicle we are dealing with an actual document. For, as nothing came of that clause, no part of the treaty was more likely to be forgotten. William of Malmesbury seems to have caught up the first words of the treaty, and to have got no further. Thus Maine gets in his text an undue prominence, which may possibly account for a statement of his which follows, and which has nothing at all like it anywhere else. The King and the Duke are going to attack Maine the very first thing after the conclusion of the treaty; only they are hindered by the campaign against Henry; “Ergo uterque dux ingentes moliebantur conatus ut Cinomannis invaderent; sed obstitit jam paratis jamque profecturis Henrici fratris minoris animositas.”
It may be needful to point out that the Chronicle really does mention Maine; for Mr. Earle seems to have been the first of its editors to find out the fact. Gibson, Ingram, and Thorpe all print “þa manige,” with a small m, and explain it “the many,” “the many castles,” “multa castella.” But, if there were no other reason, the words which answer to it in Florence, “Cenomannicam vero provinciam,” are enough to show that we should read with Mr. Earle “þa Manige,” the county of Maine. The French idiom, whatever may be its origin, which, as is always the case in Wace, adds the article to Le Mans, Le Maine, is here found in English. So it is in 1099, 1110, 1111, 1112. The earlier entry in 1073, “þæt land Mans,” is less clear.
Those who wrote in Normandy say nothing about Maine; but they more distinctly define the cessions in Normandy itself. Thus Robert of Torigny in his Continuation (Will. Gem. viii. 3);
“Quidquid rex Willelmus in Normannia occupaverat, per infidelitatem hominum ducis, qui eidem regi suas munitiones tradiderant, quas suis militibus ipse commiserat ut inde fratrem suum infestarent, impune permissus est habere. Munitiones illæ quas hoc modo tenebat fuerunt, Fiscannum, oppidum Auci quod Willelmus comes Aucensis cum reliquis suis firmitatibus illi tradiderat; similiter Stephanus comes de Albamarla, filius Odonis comitis de Campania, Willielmi autem regis Anglorum senioris ex sorore nepos, fecerat, et alii plures ultra Sequanam habitantes.”
The words in Italics are the writer’s backward way of recording the events of 1090 among the clauses of the treaty of 1091. In his own chronicle (1091) Robert of Torigny has nothing to say, except “ut castra illa quæ frater ab eo acquisierat regi remanerent.” This not very clear account comes from Henry of Huntingdon (vii. 2, p. 215 ed. Arnold), with the omission of an important word. But though Robert mentions no particular places in his summary of the treaty, yet, in copying Henry of Huntingdon’s account of the places occupied by William’s troops in 1090, to Saint Valery which alone are mentioned by Henry, he adds, not only Eu like our authorities, but also Fécamp. The Chronicle, as we have seen, mentions Fécamp among the places which were to be ceded to William in 1091; no one else mentions it among the places which were occupied in 1090.
Orderic has three references to the cessions; but he nowhere mentions either Fécamp or Saint Michael’s Mount. In his first account (693 B, C) he says only “Robertus dux … ei [regi] Aucensem comitatum et Albamarlam, totamque terram Gerardi de Gornaco et Radulfi de Conchis, cum omnibus municipiis eorum eisque subjectorum concessit.” In 697 C he says only “Robertus dux magnam partem Normanniæ Guillelmo regi concessit.”
It is the Chronicle again which seems to give us the real text of the clauses about the succession;
“And gif se eorl forðferde butan sunu be rihtre ǽwe, wære se cyng yrfenuma of ealles Normandig. Be þisre sylfan forewarde, gif se cyng swulte, wære se eorl yrfenuma ealles Englalandes.”
It is perhaps worth notice that these words taken strictly do not contemplate the possibility of William Rufus leaving children. This is slightly altered in Florence;
“Si comes absque filio legali in matrimonio genito moreretur, hæres ejus esset rex; modoque per omnia simili, si regi contigisset mori, hæres illius fieret comes.”
Henry of Huntingdon (vii. 2, p. 215 ed. Arnold), who, as we have seen, is followed with some changes by Robert of Torigny, seems to abridge the account in the Chronicle. After speaking of the events of 1090, he adds;
“Anno vero sequenti rex sequens eos concordiam cum fratre suo fecit. Eo tamen pacto ut castra illa quæ frater ab illo injuria acquisierat, regi remanerent, rex autem adjuvaret eum ad omnia quæ pater suus habuerat conquirenda. Statutum etiam, si quis eorum moreretur prior altero sine filio, quod alter fieret hæres illius.”
A good deal of the diplomatic exactness of the Chronicle is lost here, and it is not easy to see what castles Robert had taken from William, unjustly or otherwise. Robert of Torigny hardly mends the matter by leaving out the word “injuria.”
Henry is not mentioned in any account of the treaty; but his possessions come by implication under the head of the lands which William was to win back for Robert, with the exception of Cherbourg and Saint Michael’s Mount—if we are right in adding the Mount on the authority of Florence—which William was to keep for himself. The shameful treatment of Henry by his brothers naturally calls forth a good deal of sympathy on the part of some of our writers, though they do not always bring out the state of the case very clearly. They speak of his brothers refusing him a share in his father’s dominions, rather than of their depriving him of the possessions which one of themselves had sold to him. Hear for instance the author of the Brevis Relatio (11), writing in Henry’s own reign;
“Concordiam adinvicem fecerunt Willelmus secundus rex Angliæ et Robertus comes Normanniæ, et quum fratrem suum Henricum debuissent adjuvare, eique providere ut honorabiliter inter illos sicut frater eorum et filius regis vivere posset, non hoc fecerunt, sed de tota terra patris sui expellere conati sunt.”
The same words are used by Robert of Torigny, in the Continuation of William of Jumièges, viii. 3.
William of Malmesbury (iv. 308), in a passage which follows that which has been already cited about Maine, after the words “Henrici fratris minoris animositas,” adds, “qui frenderet propter fratrum avaritiam, quod uterque possessiones paternas dividerent, et se omnium pene expertem non erubescerent.”
The treaty takes a very strange form in Matthew Paris, Hist. Angl. i. 39. The brothers are reconciled by wise friends, who say to them, “Absit, ne Franci fraternas acies, alternaque regna profanis decertata odiis, derideant subsannantes.” And the reason is given; “Franci enim eo tempore multa super ducem occupaverant.” This hardly means the Vexin; it is more likely to be a confused version of Philip’s intervention.
The only writers who mention the driving out of Eadgar are the Chronicler and Florence. The former brings it into connexion with the treaty, without seeming to make it exactly part of the treaty itself. Having given the clauses of the treaty, and mentioned its confirmation by the oaths on both sides, he adds; “Onmang þisum sæhte wearð Eadgar æþeling belandod of þam þe se eorl him æror þær to handa gelæten hæfde.” The measure seems to have had something to do with the treaty without being one of its clauses. Were such things as secret or additional articles, or agreements which were to go for nothing because they were not written on the same paper as other agreements, known to so early a stage of diplomacy?
The Chronicler does not mention the siege of Saint Michael’s Mount; but, immediately after the confiscation of Eadgar’s lands in Normandy, he mentions his voyage to Scotland and the events which followed on it. Florence puts his account of the siege of the Mount directly after the treaty and the oaths of the twenty-four barons. He then goes on;
“At rex cum obsidionis diutinæ pertæsus fuisset, impacatus recessit, et non multo post Eadgarum clitonem honore, quem ei comes dederat, privavit et de Normannia expulit.” And a little way on he speaks of “clito Eadgarus, quem rex de Normannia expulerat.” These expressions make the treatment of Eadgar more distinctly William’s own act than one would infer from the words of the Chronicle, and they might suggest that Eadgar’s Norman estates lay within the districts which were ceded to William. But it may only mean that Robert sent Eadgar away on William’s demand.
The Siege of Saint Michael’s Mount.
The primary account of the siege which Henry endured at the hands of his brothers is the short one in Orderic, which I have chiefly followed in the text. There are still shorter notices in Florence of Worcester and in the Continuation of William of Jumièges. The shortest of all is in the local Annals;
“1090. Obsessio montis hujus, quæ facta est a Guillelmo Rufo rege Anglorum et a Roberto comite Normannorum, Henrico fratre eorum in hoc monte incluso.”
There is no objection to this date, as the writer seemingly begins the year at Easter. The accession of Harold is placed under 1065.
The account in Florence is noteworthy, as seeming to supply a reason for the attack made by the two older brothers upon the younger. After the treaty between William and Robert, he goes on;
“Interim germanus illorum Heinricus montem Sancti Michaelis, ipsius loci monachis quibusdam illum adjuvantibus, cum omnibus militibus quos habere potuit, intravit, regisque erram vastavit, et ejus homines quosdam captivavit, quosdam exspoliavit. Eapropter rex et comes, exercitu congregato, per totam quadragesimam montem obsederunt, et frequenter cum eo prœlium commiserunt, et homines et equos nonnullos perdiderunt. At rex, cum obsidionis diutinæ pertæsus fuisset, impacatus recessit.”
This account is true in a sense; it gives the purely military history, except that the words “impacatus recessit” would hardly suggest Henry’s honourable surrender. But no one would find out from Florence’s version that Henry occupied the Mount simply as the last spot left to him in his dominions. As a matter of warfare, it doubtless may be said that William and Robert besieged Henry because he occupied the Mount, and because he was, as we can well believe, driven to harry the neighbouring lands. But he occupied the Mount and harried the lands only because he was driven out of the rest of his county. That Florence misunderstood the matter is plain from his use of the words “regis terra,” which cannot apply to any land which could be reached from the Mount.
Wace has a long account, very confused in its chronology and in the sequence of events; but I have trusted to his local knowledge for some topographical details. William of Malmesbury twice refers to the siege. He tells it under the reign of Rufus (iv. 308); but seemingly wholly for the purpose of bringing in two famous anecdotes about William and Robert. The second time is in his sketch of Henry’s early life (v. 392). In the first account he at least puts the siege in its right place after the Treaty of 1091. In the second he seems, strangely enough, to make the siege immediately follow the death of Conan, or at least to follow Henry’s driving out of Rouen (see above, [p. 512]), which he places just after Conan’s death;
“Illud fuit tempus quo, ut supra lectum est, apud montem sancti Michaelis ambobus fratribus Henricus pro sui salute simul et gloria restitit.”
And, as Orderic (see p. 294) is careful to insist on the wholesome effect which the season of exile which followed had on Henry’s character, so William insists on the wholesome effect of the siege itself;
“Ita, cum utrique germano fuerit fidelis et efficax, illi nullis adolescentem possessionibus dignati, ad majorem prudentiam ævi processu penuria victualium informabant.”
The Red King’s way of schooling a brother was not quite so harsh as that by which Gideon taught the men of Succoth; but it is essentially of the same kind.
Nothing can be more confused than the way in which Wace brings in the story (see Pluquet’s note, ii. 310). I have already (see above, [p. 514]) mentioned the course of his story up to that point. Robert, without any help from William, has deprived Henry of the Côtentin, while William is angry with Henry for having paid the purchase-money to Robert. Henry then goes to the Mount (14588);
“Por sei vengier se mist el munt
U li muignes Saint Michiel sunt.”
Then, having no place of shelter anywhere, he gathers a large company of nobles and others who serve him willingly (14598);
“N’alout mie eschariement,
Asez menout od li grant gent
Des plus nobles è des gentilz,
Mena od li freres è filz;
E tuit volentiers le servient,
Kar grant espeir en li aveient.”
He thinks of seeking a lasting shelter in Britanny; but he is entertained by Earl Hugh at Avranches, with whom he has much talk, and who one day counsels him to occupy the Mount and to make a castle of the monastery. This is without any reference to the lines just quoted in which Henry is made to have been there already. But the speech of the Earl is well conceived (14624);
“Li munt Saint Michiel li mostra:
Veiz tu, dist-il, cele roche là;
Bel lieu è forte roche i a,
Ke jor ke noit ja ne faldra;
Flo de mer montant l’avirone,
Ki à cel lieu grant force done.”
Henry will do well to get together Bretons and mercenaries, and hold the rock against the Normans (14625);
“Bretuns mandasse è soldéiers,
Ki gaaignassent volentiers,
Mult méisse gent en grant esfrei;
Jà Normant n’éust paiz vers mei.”
Henry adopts Hugh’s advice, rides off at once, occupies the Mount, and sends a defiance to Robert (14646);
“Maiz Henris est sempres monté,
Et el munt est sempres alé.
Del munt Saint Michiel guerréia,
Robert son frere desfia.
Ja mez, ço dist, sa paiz n’areit,
Se son aveir ne li rendeit.”
Henry ravages the neighbouring lands (see above, [p. 529], and p. 286); then the King and the Duke come to besiege him, without any hint how William came to be in Normandy, or how the two brothers, who were enemies less than a hundred lines before, have now come to be allies.
It is plain that the striking event of the occupation of the Mount of which he would hear a good deal in his childhood, if it did not actually come within his own childish days, was strong in Wace’s imagination, but that he took very little pains to fit the tale into its right place in the history. It is specially hard to reconcile his picture of the action of Earl Hugh with the facts of the case. There is perhaps no literal contradiction. Hugh, while giving up his castles to Robert (see p. 284), may have given Henry secret advice, and the words of Robert of Torigny in the Continuation of William of Jumièges (see p. 323) may be taken as implying that Henry looked on him as having been on the whole faithful to him. But Wace could hardly have conceived Hugh as giving up the castle of Avranches to Robert.
The ending of the siege is still more thoroughly misconceived than the beginning. The brothers are all reconciled; Henry gets the Côtentin back again (14740);
“De l’acordement fu la fin
K’à Henri remest Costentin,
K’en paiz l’éust tant è tenist,
Ke li Dus li suen li rendist.”
William goes back to England, whereas we know (see p. 293) that he stayed in Normandy for six months. Robert goes to Rouen. Henry pays off his mercenaries—out of what funds we are not told, and the other accounts do not speak of his followers as mercenaries. He then follows Robert to Rouen (14750);
“Henris sis soldeiers paia,
As uns pramist, as uns dona
Al terme k’il out establi;
A li Duc a Roem sui.”
There the Duke imprisons Henry; that is, the imprisonment which happened long before (see p. 199) is moved out of its place. But Wace cannot tell why he was imprisoned, or how it was that he was released and made his way to France (14754);
“Ne voil avant conter ne dire
Par kel coroz ne par kele ire
Henris fu poiz a Roem pris,
E en la tur à garder mis;
Ne coment il fu delivrez,
E de la terre congéez,
E coment il ala el Rei,
Ki en France l’out poiz od sei.”
In opposition to all this, Orderic’s account of the siege, its beginning and its ending, is perfectly straightforward, and hangs well together. He alone puts everything in its place, and gives an intelligible reason for everything. Robert of Torigny, in the Continuation (viii. 3), preserves the fact that Henry surrendered on honourable terms, but he is in rather too great a hurry to get him to Domfront;
“Unde accidit ut quadam vice ipsum obsidione cingerent in monte sancti Michaelis. Sed illis ibidem incassum diu laborantibus, et ad ultimum inter se dissidentibus, comes Henricus inde libere exiens oppidum munitissimum nomine Danfrontem sagacitate cujusdam indigenæ suscepit.”
The words in Italics may perhaps refer to the story about the water; but William and Robert were in any case sure to quarrel about something. And it was quite in William’s character to get tired of a fifteen days’ siege, as he is represented both here and by Florence (see p. 292); only Florence is not justified in saying that at once “impacatus rediit.” William of Malmesbury too (iv. 310) tells his story about the water, and then adds;
“Ita rex, deridens mansueti hominis ingenium, resolvit prælium; infectaque re quam intenderat, quod eum Scottorum et Walensium tumultus vocabant, in regnum se cum ambobus fratribus recepit.”
On these last words, which are so startling at first sight, I have spoken in the next Note.
The two anecdotes of William and Robert seem, in William of Malmesbury’s first account (iv. 308), to be his chief or only reason for mentioning the siege at all;
“In ea obsidione præcluum specimen morum in rege et comite apparuit; in altero mansuetudinis, in altero magnanimitatis. Utriusque exempli notas pro legentium notitia affigam.”
Then come the two stories “De Magnanimitate Willelmi” and “De Mansuetudine comitis Roberti,” which I have told in the text after him. Both of them are also told by Wace; that is, if the story “De Magnanimitate Willelmi” is really the same story as the corresponding story in Wace. Every detail is different; but both alike set before us the self-confidence of the Red King. In this version he is unhorsed and wounded; but he keeps hold of his saddle, and fights on foot with his sword (14672);
“E li reis i fa abatuz,
De plusors lances fu féruz.
Li peitral del cheval rompi
E li dui cengles altresi;
Od sa sele li reis chaï,
Maiz bien la tint, ne la perdi,
Delivre fu, en piez sailli;
Od s’espée se desfendi,
Unkes la sele ne leissa,
Bien la tint è bien la garda.”
We hear nothing of any discourse with Henry’s followers, nothing of any dealings with the knight who had unhorsed him. But he calls to his vassals, Normans and English, who do not appear in the other story, but who in this press to his help, and, after many blows, take him off safely;
“Tant cria chevaliers léals,
Ke la presse vint des vassals,
E li Normanz le secorurent
E li Engleiz ki od li furent,
Maiz maint grant colp unt recéu
Ainz k’il l’éussent secoru.
Mené l’en unt à salveté.”
Then his own men, not those of Henry, talk merrily with him about his defence of his saddle. He answers in the like strain, telling them that it is a shame if a man cannot keep his own, and that it would have grieved him if any Breton had boasted that he had carried off his saddle;
“Poiz unt li reis asez gabé
De la sele k’il desfendeit,
E des granz colps ke il soffreit.
E li reis diseit en riant
K’il debveit estre al suen garant;
Hunte est del suen perdre è guerpir;
Tant com l’en le pot garantir:
Pesast li ke Brez s’en vantast
De la sele k’il emportast.”
If this is the same story as that in William of Malmesbury, it is a very inferior version of it. Lappenberg (Geschichte von England, ii. 172) takes the two for distinct stories and tells them separately. (See above, [p. 503.]) But it is strange that his translator (p. 232) should tell both stories after his original, should give the reference to Wace, and should then, at the end of William’s story, remark, giving the same reference again—“Wace gives a version of the occurrence totally different from the above as related by Malmesbury.”
The “Normanz” and “Engleiz” of Wace appear in Lappenberg as “Normannen und Angelsachsen.” This involves the old question about the force of the word “Angli,” which is very hard to answer at this particular stage. In a narrative actually written in 1091, I should certainly understand the words as Lappenberg does, and should see in the “Engleiz” men of the type of Tokig son of Wiggod and Robert son of Godwine. But, as Wace, if he were already born in 1091, did not write till many years after, it is more likely that we ought to take the words “Normanz” and “Engleiz” in the sense which they took in the course of Henry the First’s reign. That is, by “Normanz” we should understand those only who were “natione Normanni,” and by “Engleiz” all who were “natione Angligenæ,” even though many of them were “genere Normanni.” See N. C. vol. v. p. 828.
Whatever we make of the relations between the two stories, the reference to the “Brez” in Wace’s version has a very genuine ring. That name came much more home in Jersey, or even at Bayeux, than it did in Wiltshire.
The story “De Mansuetudine comitis Roberti” connects itself with the fact stated by Orderic—who does not tell either of the anecdotes—that the besieged really did suffer for want of water (see p. 292). William of Malmesbury, whom I have followed in the text, tells the story straightforwardly enough from that point of view. Wace does casually speak of the water, but his main thought is of wine (see p. 291). Henry thus states his case to Robert (14704);
“Quant Henris out lunges soffert,
Soef manda al Duc Robert,
Ke de vin aveit desirier,
D’altre chose n’aveit mestier.”
Robert then sends him the tun of wine, of the best they have in the host, and throws in a truce to take water daily seemingly of his own free will (14712);
“E tot li jor a otréié
E par trièves doné congié,
Ke cil del munt ewe préissent,
E li munt d’ewe garnessissent,
U k’il volsissent la préissent
Séurement, rien ne cremissent.
Dunc veissez servanz errer,
Et à veissels ewe aporter.”
The King is angry at all this, and sets forth his principles of warfare (14729);
“Il les déust fere afamer
E il les faisoit abevrer.”
He is inclined to give up the siege (“Del siege volt par mal torner”); but he listens to Robert’s excuse;
“Torné me fust à félonie,
E joféisse vilanie
De li néer beivre è viande,
Quant il méisme le demande.”
Here we have nothing of the argument in William of Malmesbury, an argument essentially the same as that which is so thoroughly in place in the mouth of the wife of Intaphernes in Herodotus (iii. 119), and so thoroughly out of place in the mouth of the Antigonê of Sophoklês (892). But the words are very like those which we shall find Wace putting into the mouth of Robert at a later time. (See 15456, and [vol. ii. p. 406].)
The Adventures of Henry after the Surrender of Saint Michael’s Mount.
That Henry was in possession of Domfront in 1094 is certain from the witness of the Chronicle under that year; “Se cyng W. sende æfter his broðer Heanrige, se wæs on þam castele æt Damfront.” But we have no hint when he got possession of it. Florence has no mention of Henry between his account of the siege of Saint Michael’s Mount—from which William “impacatus recessit”—and his election as king. William of Malmesbury (see p. 293) brings him to England with William and Robert in August 1091. As I have already said, such is William of Malmesbury’s carelessness of chronology that I should not have ventured to accept this statement on his showing only. But it has a piece of the very strongest corroborative evidence in the form of the Durham charter of which I have spoken in the text (see p. 305). This is the one which is printed at p. xxii of the volume of the Surtees Society called “Historiæ Dunelmensis Scriptores Tres,” a document which has every sign of genuineness. It is a grant by Bishop William of the churches of Northallerton, Sigston, and Brunton to the convent of Durham, and confirms the picture given by Simeon (see p. 508) of William Rufus as a benefactor to Durham;
“Hæc omnia, præcipiente domino meo Willielmo rege, domini mei magni regis Willielmi filio, feci, qui Alvertonescire sancto Cuthberto et episcopis ejus in perpetuum dedit. Has vero ecclesias monachis sancto Cuthberto servituris pro salute animæ suæ dedit, et mihi donare præcepit.”
I have shown that the deed must belong to a time after the pacification with Malcolm, but before Christmas, 1091. At no other time could we have had the signatures of Robert and Eadgar, nor probably that of Duncan. And the signature of Henry shows that William of Malmesbury is right, and that Henry was in England at this time. There was then some assembly held in the autumn of 1091, and that seemingly at Durham or somewhere in the North. Its object would probably be to confirm the treaty with Malcolm. Indeed, except a few bishops and abbots, most of the men who sign would naturally be in the camp. The signatures are in two columns. That to the right contains the names of Bishop William, King William (signum Willielmi regis secundi), his brothers (signum Rodberti fratris regis, signum Henrici fratris regis), Robert Bloet (Roberti cancellarii regis cognomento Bloet), Duncan (Dunechani filii regis Malcolmi), Earl Roger, Randolf Flambard (Ranulphi thessarii—thesaurarii?), three local priests, Merewine (Mervini), Eglaf (Ælavi; in another document, p. xx, we get the dwelling-places of these priests, Eglaf of Bethlington and Merewine of Chester—that is of course Chester-le-Street), and Orm, Robert “dispensator regis” (see p. 331), Siward Barn, and Arnold of Percy. The left-hand column contains Archbishop Thomas, the Bishops Remigius of Lincoln, Osmund of Salisbury, and John of Bath, the Abbots Guy of Saint Augustine’s, Baldwin of Saint Eadmund’s, and Stephen of Saint Mary’s at York, Earl Hugh, Philip son of Earl Roger, Earl Robert, “signum Eadgari clitonis,” Roger Bigod, “signum Morealis vicecomitis,” William Peverel, “signum Gileberti dapiferi.”
This list, though singular and startling, is perfectly possible. This cannot be said of some of those in the same volume. Thus in the document just before this one, John Bishop of Bath is made to sign in the time of the Conqueror, and in that which follows (p. xxvii), Lanfranc and Abbot Ælfsige are made to sign in 1093.
The evidence of this charter, combined with the notice in William of Malmesbury, seems conclusive. Henry was in England during part of 1091. We therefore cannot accept the obvious meaning of Orderic’s story which makes Henry a wanderer from the time of the surrender of the Mount till his reception at Domfront. In this version he leaves the Mount, and spends two years, or somewhat less, in a very poor case (697 B);
“Per Britanniam transiit, Britonibus, qui sibi solummodo adminiculum contulerant, gratias reddidit, et confines postmodum Francos expetiit. In pago Vilcassino nobilis exsul non plenis duobus annis commoratus, diversa hospitia quæsivit. Uno tantum milite unoque clerico cum tribus armigeris contentus pauperem vitam exegit.”
In another place (698 C) we find a date given to the occupation of Domfront, and a duration assigned to Henry’s wanderings, which at first sight seems not to agree with this version;
“Anno ab incarnatione Domini MXCII. Indictione XV. Henricus Guillelmi regis filius Danfrontem oppidum, auxilio Dei suffragioque amicorum, obtinuit, et inde fortiter hereditarium jus calumniari sategit. Nam idem, dum esset junior, non ut frater a fratribus habitus est, sed magis ut externus, exterorum, id est Francorum et Britonum, auxilia quærere coactus est, et quinque annis diversorum eventuum motibus admodum fatigatus est. Tandem Danfrontani nutu Dei ærumnis tam præclari exsulis compassi sunt, et ipsum ad se de Gallia accersitum per Harecherium honorifice susceperunt, et, excusso Roberti de Belesmo, a quo diu graviter oppressi fuerant, dominio, Henricum sibi principem constituerunt. Ille vero contra Robertum Normanniæ comitem viriliter arma sumpsit, incendiis et rapinis expulsionis suæ injuriam vindicavit, multosque cepit et carceri mancipavit.”
The five years mentioned in the above extract must be meant to take in all Henry’s adventures, lucky and unlucky, from the death of his father in 1087 to his settlement at Domfront in 1092. From his surrender of the Mount in February 1091 to his settlement at Domfront Orderic makes, as we have seen, somewhat less than two years; that is, Henry came to Domfront quite at the end of 1092.
In 706 C (under 1094, see p. 319) he says;
“Henricus Guillelmi Magni regis Anglorum filius Danfrontem possidebat, et super Robertum [de Belesmo], cui præfatum castellum abstulerat, imo super fratres suos regem et ducem guerram faciebat, a quibus extorris de cespite paterno expulsus fuerat.”
In 722 D he says;
“Henricus frater ducis Danfrontem fortissimum castrum possidebat, et magnam partem Neustriæ sibi favore vel armis subegerat, fratrique suo ad libitum suum, nec aliter, obsecundabat.”
This is in 1095, and it is meant as a summary of Henry’s course up to that year. Lastly, the promise of Henry never to give up Domfront to any other master comes quite incidentally in Orderic’s account (788 B) of the treaty between Robert and Henry in 1101 (see [vol. ii. p. 413]). By that treaty Henry ceded to Robert everything that he held in Normandy “præter Danfrontem.” The reason for the exception is added;
“Solum Danfrontem castrum sibi retinuit, quia Danfrontanis, quando illum intromiserunt, jurejurando pepigerat quod numquam eos de manu sua projiceret nec leges eorum vel consuetudines mutaret.”
This is Orderic’s account, in which I see no difficulty at all in accepting all that concerns Domfront. Henry was in England late in 1091; but he may have been in France or anywhere else late in 1092. And Henry may have had a time of distress and wandering in the Vexin, either between March and August 1091 or at any time in 1092. Where Orderic goes wrong, it is through forgetting Henry’s visit to England in 1091, which was of no importance to his story. He therefore naturally spreads the season of wandering in the Vexin over the whole time from the surrender of the Mount early in 1091 to the occupation of Domfront late in 1092.
Robert of Torigny, in the Continuation of William of Jumièges (viii. 3), is in a still greater hurry to get Henry to Domfront (see above, [p. 532]). The passage, as far as it concerns the relations between Henry and Domfront, runs thus;
“Comes Henricus, inde [from the Mount] libere exiens, oppidum munitissimum nomine Danfrontem sagacitate cujusdam indigenæ suscepit. Indignabatur enim prædictus indigena, utpote vir nobilis et dives, oppressiones amplius perpeti quas Robertus de Belismo, homo ferox et mentis inhumanæ, sibi et aliis convicaneis inferebat, qui tunc temporis illud castrum possidebat. Quod tanta diligentia Henricus exinde custodivit ut usque ad terminum vitæ illius in suo dominio habuerit.”
The “indigena nobilis et dives” of this account is of course the same as the Harecherius of Orderic. And the statement that Henry kept Domfront all his days agrees with Orderic’s statement about his promise. Wace (14762–14773) gives us some, perhaps legendary, details of the way in which Henry was brought from Paris—from the French Vexin, one would have thought, from Orderic’s account—to Domfront; but he is clearly wrong in making any Robert, whether the Duke or him of Bellême, turn Henry out of Domfront;
“Ne coment Haschier le trova
A Paris donc il l’amena,
Ki se fist un des oilz péier,
Ke l’en nel’ péust encercier,
Ne voil dire par kel savoir
Haschier li fist Danfront aveir,
Ne coment il fu recéuz
Quant il fu à Danfront venuz,
Ne coment il cunquist Passeiz
E le toli as Belesmeiz;
Ne coment Robert le cunquist,
E de Danfront partir le fist.”
The covering of one of Henry’s eyes with pitch by way of disguise may be believed or not; but the “savoir” of Haschier answers to the “sagacitas” of the “indigena nobilis et dives.” Passeiz, Passais (see Pluquet, Wace, ii. 319; Neustria Pia, p. 423), is the district which contains Domfront and the abbey of Lonlay, a district which lay in the ancient diocese of Le Mans, but which was added to Normandy by William’s conquest.
This name “Haschier” or “Harecherius” is supposed by Le Prévost (Pluquet, ii. 319) to be the same name as “Achardus,” the name of one of the witnesses to the foundation charter of Lonlay abbey in 1026. He signs as “Achardus dives, miles de Donnifronte.” This document is contained in an inspeximus of Peter, Count of Alençon (1361–1377), contained in an inspeximus of Henry, King of France and England about 1423 (Neustria Pia, p. 424). The founder is the old William of Bellême, father of William Talvas and grandfather of Mabel. There is a certain interest in a document relating to Domfront and Lonlay before they became Norman, when lands there could be granted “usque in Normaniæ commarchiam.” Among the signatures are those of the founder’s brother Avesgaud Bishop of Le Mans (994–1036, see N. C. vol. iii. p. 191), Siegfried Bishop of Seez (1007–1026), the founder and his wife, “Guillelmus princeps [in the body of the document he is “Guillelmus Bellismensis, provinciæ principatum gerens”] et Mathildis uxor ejus,” and this “Achardus dives” whom Le Prevost takes for a forefather of the “indigena nobilis et dives.”
Orderic says that Henry obtained Domfront “suffragio amicorum.” Robert of Torigny, in the next chapter of his Continuation (viii. 4), tells us who his friends a little later were. He is established at Domfront; then we read;
“Redeunte Willelmo rege in Angliam, Henricus haud segniter comitatum Constantiniensem, qui sibi fraudulentia ante præreptus fuerat, consensu Willelmi regis et auxilio Richardi de Revers et Rogerii de Magna-villa, ex majori parte in ditionem suam revocavit.”
He then goes on with the passage about Earl Hugh and the grant of Saint James to him, quoted in p. 323.
I think that this distinct assertion that Henry was now in William’s favour outweighs the vague expressions of Orderic about Henry making war on both his brothers. By 1093, the earliest date for these exploits, William was again scheming against Robert, and his obvious policy would be to ally himself with Henry.
Henry, as we have seen in the extracts from Orderic, carried on war in the usual fashion. But he at least treated his prisoners better than Robert of Bellême did. We have (698 D) a picture of one Rualedus—a Breton Rhiwallon, or what?—who is carried off from the lands of Saint Evroul to the castle of Domfront. It was winter; but he was not left to die of cold and hunger for Count Henry’s amusement; we see him sitting comfortably by the fire (“quum sederet ad focum; hiems enim erat”). On the road he had fallen from the horse on which he was tied, and had suffered some hurt. But, after prayer to Saint Evroul, followed by a comforting dream, he wakes, and, as his keeper’s back is turned, he gets up, unbars the door, walks into the garden, and, after some further adventures, gets back to Saint Evroul. He was a man “legitimus et laudabilis vitæ;” so Orderic, who heard the story from his own mouth, believes it. There seems no reason why anybody should disbelieve it; as the only part of the tale which sounds at all incredible is the very bad guard which Henry’s men kept over their prisoner.
The Homage of Malcolm in 1091.
The account of Malcolm’s homage to William Rufus which is given by Orderic (701 A) is treated with some contempt by Mr. E. W. Robertson (Scotland under her Early Kings, i. 142), while it is naturally not forgotten by Sir Francis Palgrave (English Commonwealth, ii. cccxxxii). The main fact of the homage itself, paid to the second William on the same terms on which it had been paid to the first, is abundantly proved by the Chronicle. Nothing is gained by disproving at this stage the exaggerated account of Robert’s expedition in 1080 which is to be found in the local History of Abingdon (see N. C. vol. iv. pp. 671, 790). The only question is, whether, accepting the general fact from the Chronicle, we can or cannot accept any of the very curious details with which Orderic tells the story.
First of all, while Orderic’s geography is right, his topography is wrong. The mention of the “magnum flumen quod Scotte watra dicitur” must come from some genuine source. “Ordericus Angligena” heard the tale from some one who told it him in English. And, if there could be the shadow of a doubt, this shows that “Loðene” in the Chronicle means Lothian, and nothing else. Mr. Burton (Hist. Scot. i. 412) insists on carrying Malcolm to Leeds; but he cannot make the Aire to be the “Scotte watra.” But Orderic, who plainly got his account from some quite different source from the Chronicler, failed to take in the actual position of the two armies. He failed to see that Malcolm, having crossed the Scots’ Water into Lothian and therefore into England, was necessarily on the south side of the Scots’ Water. He fancied that the two kings were on opposite sides of the firth. William reaches the Scots’ Water; “sed, quia inaccessibilis transitus erat, super ripam consedit. Rex autem Scottorum e regione cum legionibus suis ad bellandum paratus constitit.” So he doubtless did; only they were both south of the water. The Chronicle shows plainly that Malcolm, as soon as he heard of William’s coming, determined that the invader should not, as his father had done, cross into the proper Scotland to Abernethy or elsewhere, but that he would meet him, for peace or for war, in the English part of his dominions.
This topographical confusion does not affect the main story, nor does it greatly matter whether the picturesque details of Robert’s visit to Malcolm literally happened or not. It is further plain that Orderic has left out one of the two mediators, namely Eadgar. But he records the main fact of the homage no less than the Chronicler. The question is whether we can accept the curious conversation between Robert and Malcolm, in which Malcolm makes two statements, which are perhaps a little startling in themselves, which are not mentioned elsewhere, but which certainly do not contradict what we find elsewhere.
First, Malcolm asserts that King Eadward gave him the earldom of Lothian, seemingly as the dowry of Margaret; “Fateor quod rex Eduardus, dum mihi Margaritam proneptem suam in conjugium tradidit, Lodonensem comitatum mihi donavit.” Now it is certainly true that King Eadward, or Earl Siward in his name, gave Malcolm the earldom of Lothian; only he gave him something else too, namely the kingdom of Scotland. And I have mentioned elsewhere (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 785) that a betrothal of Margaret to Malcolm, when Malcolm received the kingdom from Siward, though recorded nowhere else, is perfectly possible.
Secondly, Malcolm’s strong point is that he does owe a homage to Robert, but that he owes none to William. This he asserts in his first message; “Tibi, rex Guillelme, nihil debeo, nisi conflictum si a te injuriis lacessitus fuero. Verum si Robertum primogenitum Guillelmi regis filium videro, illi exhibere paratus sum quicquid debeo.” Afterwards, in his conference with Robert, he is made to say, after mentioning Eadward’s grant of Lothian, “Deinde Guillelmus rex quod antecessor ejus mihi dederat concessit, et me tibi primogenito suo commendavit. Unde quod tibi promisi conservabo. Sed fratri tuo nihil promisi et nihil debeo. Nemo, ut Christus ait, potest duobus dominis servire.” To this Robert agrees; “Ut asseris, ita est. Sed mutationes rerum factæ sunt, et statuta patris mei a pristina soliditate in multum vacillaverunt.” I do not know that a homage of Malcolm to Robert is recorded anywhere else, unless we so understand the confused Abingdon story about the expedition of 1080. But nothing was more likely than that William the Conqueror should at Abernethy call on Malcolm to pledge himself, as was so often done, not only to himself but to his son after him. In 1072 there could have been no reason for looking to any one but Robert as the probable successor; least of all could any one have thought of William the Red. He was not even the second son, as Richard was still alive. And the time when King William renewed the gift of his predecessor Eadward must surely be the day of Abernethy, and none other.
There is then really nothing in Orderic’s story which gainsays any known facts, and it is hard to see what should have made him think of a betrothal of Margaret, a homage to Robert, and the rest, unless he had some ground for them. And the general argument put into Malcolm’s mouth seems exactly in place. It is of a piece with the arguments of Scottish disputants long after Orderic’s day. Something is admitted, that something is perhaps specially insisted on, in order to avoid the admission of something else. Lothian is the special personal gift of Eadward to Malcolm himself, though it is certain, on any view of the cession of Lothian, that predecessors of Malcolm had held it of predecessors of Eadward. That gift of Eadward, renewed by William the Great, is allowed to carry with it a personal duty to William the Great and to his personal heir. But the denial of any duty to William the Red implicitly denies any duty to the King of the English as such. Still this question is in words left open; so is all that relates to the proper Scotland left open. Malcolm at last consents to do homage to William for something; but, in Orderic’s story at least, it is not very clear for what. (The Chronicler, we may be sure, felt so certain of its being for Scotland that he did not think it needful to say so.) All this is exactly like later controversies on the same subject. When the two kingdoms were on friendly terms, it often suited both sides that the homage should be general, leaving it open to each side to assert its own doctrine the next time there should be any dispute (see N. C. vol. v. p. 209). And we must remember that by this time it is quite possible that Rufus might make claims which Malcolm would, on the principles of an earlier time, do quite right in refusing. Strictly feudal ideas were growing, and when a King of the English demanded homage for the kingdom of Scotland, he may well have meant more than had been meant when the king and people of the Scots sought Eadward the Unconquered to father and lord. Certainly, when the whole thing had stiffened into a question of ordinary feudal law, Edward the First, if judged by the standard of the tenth century, asked more than his historic rights over Scotland, less than his historic rights over Lothian. See Historical Essays, Series I. p. 65; N. C. vol. i. p. 128.
I am therefore inclined to believe that Orderic has, in this case, as in some others, incidentally preserved facts of which we have no record elsewhere. But I am not anxious strongly to insist upon this. The general course of the history is the same, whether Margaret had or had not been betrothed to Malcolm before his marriage—or whatever it was—with Ingebiorg; it is the same whether Malcolm had or had not done an act of homage to Robert. And I must allow that, as Orderic has misunderstood some points at the beginning of the story, so he has more thoroughly misunderstood some points at the end of the story. For he makes Malcolm go into England—Florence would have said into Wessex—with William and Robert; “Deinde reges agmina sua remiserunt, et ipsi simul in Angliam profecti sunt.” This comes, as we shall presently see, from rolling together the events of the years 1091 and 1093.
The twelve “villæ” which, according to Florence, were to be restored to Malcolm are, I suppose, the same as the “mansiones” which the kings of Scots are said to have held in England in times both earlier and later than those with which we are dealing. This comes from Roger of Wendover’s account (i. 416; cf. N. C. vol. i. p. 584) of the grant of Lothian by Eadgar to Kenneth. It was given “hac conditione, ut annis singulis in festivitatibus præcipuis, quando rex et ejus successores diadema portarent, venirent ad curiam, et cum cæteris regni principibus festum cum lætitia celebrarent; dedit insuper ei rex mansiones in itinere plurimas, ut ipse et ejus successores ad festum venientes ac denuo revertentes hospitari valuissent, quæ usque in tempora regis Henrici secundi in potestate regum Scotiæ remanserunt.” The slighter mention in Florence gives some confirmation to the story in Roger. And though it was not likely that the King of Scots, or even the Earl of Lothian, should regularly attend at the great festivals, yet it was doubtless held that it was the right thing that he should do so; and we find Malcolm himself coming to the King’s court not long after (see [vol. ii. p. 13]), and his son Eadgar after him (see [vol. ii. p. 265]).
There is not much to be got from the other writers. William of Malmesbury twice refers to the matter, but as usual without much regard to chronology. It is seemingly this submission of Malcolm to which he refers in iii. 250, where, having said that Malcolm, in the days of the elder William, “incertis et sæpe fractis fœderibus ævum egit,” adds “filio Willelmi Willelmo regnante, simili modo impetitus, falso sacramento abegit.” He must also refer to this time in iv. 310–311, where he says that, after the siege of Saint Michael’s Mount, he went back to England, “quod eum Scottorum et Walensium tumultus vocabant.” There was (see [vol. ii. pp. 78], [79]) a considerable “Walensium tumultus” this year; but it does not seem that the King himself did anything in those parts till later in his reign. William however says;
“Primo contra Walenses, post in Scottos, expeditionem movens, nihil magnificentia sua dignum exhibuit, militibus multis desideratis, jumentis interceptis.”
He then goes on to speak more at large of Welsh matters, and comes back to speak of the action of Robert in Scotland (see p. 301). The old friendship which he there speaks of between Malcolm and Robert falls in with Orderic’s story, and specially with Orderic’s way of telling it. We shall hear of it again in [Notes BB], [EE].
Henry of Huntingdon (vii. 2, p. 216) tells the story thus;
“Interea Melcolm rex Scotorum prædatum veniens in Angliam validissime vexavit eam. Venientes igitur in Angliam rex, et cum eo Robertus frater suus, direxerunt acies in Scotiam. Itaque Melcolm, nimio terrore perstrictus, homo regis effectus est et juramento fidelitatis ei subjectus.” Matthew Paris (Hist. Angl. i. 40) has a wonderful version in which the invasion is altogether left out. Malcolm, hearing of the peace between the brothers, begins to fear for his own kingdom. He therefore comes to William and makes a very humble homage indeed; “Veniens ad regem Angliæ Willelmum, humilitate sua regis flexit ferocitatem, asserens se nullum hostium suorum receptasse vel recepturum fore, nisi tali intentione, ut ipsos dominum suum recognoscentes, regi, persuasionibus suis mediantibus, redderet pacificatos et fideliores.”
The Earldom of Carlisle.
It is certainly a singular fact that, so lately as 1873, a long controversy raged in the Times newspaper as to the reason why Cumberland and Westmoreland were not surveyed in Domesday. The dispute was kept up for some time among men who seemed to have some local knowledge; but, till Dr. Luard kindly stepped in to set them right, every reason was guessed at but the true one. No one seemed to grasp the simple facts, that no part of England was known at the time of the Survey by the name Cumberland or Westmoreland—that so much of the shires now bearing those names as then formed part of the kingdom of England is surveyed under the head of Yorkshire—that the reason why the rest is left unsurveyed is because it formed no part of the kingdom of England. The whole matter had long before been thoroughly sifted and set right by two local writers, who, I am tempted to suspect, were only one writer; yet the received local confusions were just as strong as ever.
The general history of Cumberland, and of this part of it in particular, was very minutely examined in the Introduction to the volume published in 1847 by the Society of Antiquaries of Newcastle-upon-Tyne under the name of “The Pipe-Rolls or Sheriffs’ Annual Accounts of the Revenues of the Crown for the Counties of Cumberland, Westmorland, and Durham, during the Reigns of Henry II, Richard I, and John.” After this, in 1859, a paper was read by Mr. Hodgson Hinde at the Carlisle meeting of the Archæological Institute, “On the Early History of Cumberland,” which appeared in the Archæological Journal, vol. xvi. p. 217. These two essays have pretty well exhausted the piece of Cumbrian history with which I have now to deal, and they contain a great deal more with which I am not concerned.
The word Cumberland, I need not say, is a word of many meanings, and at the present moment we have not to do with any of them. We have to do only with the city and earldom of Carlisle, which does not answer to Cumberland in either the older or the later sense. The confusion which has immediately to be got rid of is the notion that Carlisle and its district already formed an English earldom in the time of the Conqueror. Thus we read in Sir Francis Palgrave (English Commonwealth, i. 449);
“‘Cumberland’—for we must now call the Dominion by its modern appellation—was, as I have observed, retained by the Conqueror; Malcolm had invaded the country; but he could not defend the territory against William, who granted Cumberland to Ranulph de Meschines, one of his Norman followers; and the border Earldom became wholly assimilated, in its political character, to the other great baronies of England…. Carlisle was always excepted from these grants. The city, and the territory of fifteen miles in circuit, had become English by Ecgfrid’s donation, and probably was always held, either by the Kings or Earls of Bernicia or of Northumbria. Little further is known concerning ‘merry Carlisle,’ the seat of Arthur’s chivalry. Until the reign of William Rufus, this city, desolated by the Danes, was almost void of inhabitants. William completed the restoration of its walls and towers, which his father had begun.”
This comes primarily from a passage in the so-called Matthew of Westminster under the year 1072;
“Rex Gulihelmus cum grandi exercitu Scotiam ingressus est, et obviavit ei pacifice Malcolmus rex Scotorum apud Barwicum et homo suus devenit. His temporibus regebat comitatum Carleoli comes Ranulphus de Micenis, qui efficax auxilium præbuit regi Gulihelmo in conquestu suo Angliæ. Hic urbem Carleoli cœpit ædificare, et cives ejusdem plurimis privilegiis munire. Sed rediens rex Gulihelmus a Scotia per Cumbriam, videns tam regale municipium, abstulit illud a Ranulpho comite, et dedit illi pro eo comitatum Cestriæ, multis honoribus privilegiatum. Carleolum vero precepit rex Gulihelmus turribus propugnaculisque muniri firmissimis. Rex vero Gulihelmus Conquestor in redeundo de Scotia apud Dunelmum novum ibidem construxit castellum contra irruptiones Scotorum.”
There is also printed in the Monasticon, vol. iii. p. 584, a genealogical document called “Chronicon Cumbriæ,” which comes from the Register of Wetheral priory. This begins by saying that
“Rex Willielmus, cognomine Bastardus, dux Normanniæ, conquestor Angliæ, dedit totam terram de comitatu Cumbriæ Ranulpho de Meschines, et Galfrido fratri ejusdem Ranulphi totum comitatum Cestriæ, et Willielmo fratri eorundem terram de Copland, inter Duden et Darwent.”
The source of error here is that Matthew of Westminster, so to call him, mixed up the Scottish expedition of the Conqueror in 1072 with the Scottish expedition of William Rufus in 1091, and made the restoration of Carlisle a work of the father and not of the son. He also brings in Earl Randolf, with whom we are not as yet concerned; but it is to be noticed that he says nothing about an earldom of Cumberland, but speaks only of an earldom of Carlisle. It is only in the Wetheral document that an earldom of Cumberland is carried back to the days of the Conqueror. Sir Francis Palgrave failed to notice this distinction; but he knew his books far too well to pass by the entries in the Chronicle and Florence under 1092. He therefore tried to reconcile them with the passages in Matthew of Westminster and the Wetheral chronicle by supposing an earldom of Cumberland which did not take in Carlisle and its district. The error and its source were first pointed out by Lappenberg (ii. 175 of the German original, p. 234 of Mr. Thorpe’s Anglo-Norman Kings, where, as usual, some of Lappenberg’s notes and references are left out). Lappenberg notices the difference between Matthew’s story and Palgrave’s; he suggests that Matthew has further confounded the events of 1072 and 1092 with those of 1122; and he gives a summary of the whole matter in the words;
“Wichtig aber ist es wahrzunehmen, dass erst Rufus und nicht sein Vater Cumberland zu einer wirklichen Provinz des normannischen Englands machte.”
Here is the root of the matter, so far as we have got rid of the notion of the Conqueror having done anything at Carlisle or thereabouts. Still Lappenberg should not have spoken, as I myself ought not to have spoken (N. C. vol. v. p. 118), of Cumberland now becoming an English earldom. The district with which we are concerned forms only a very small part of the old kingdom of Cumberland, while it does not answer to the modern county of Cumberland, which does not appear by that name till 1177 (see Pipe Rolls of Cumberland, p. 18; Archæological Journal, xvi. 230). The land with which we are concerned bears the name of the city. It is the land and earldom, not of Cumberland, but of Carlisle.
The point to be clearly taken in is that the district with which we are concerned was not part of England till 1092; more accurately still, it ceased to be part of England in 685, and became so again in 1092. For those four centuries, Carlisle, city and district, had as much or as little to do with England as the lands immediately to the north of it, the lands which formed that part of Cumberland in the wider sense which became in the end part of the kingdom of Scotland. This district of Carlisle does not answer to any modern shire, and it is of course not surveyed in Domesday. But it does answer to the diocese of Carlisle, as it stood before late changes. That diocese took in part of modern Cumberland and part of modern Westmoreland. The rest of those shires, with Lancashire north of Ribble and the wapentake of Ewecross (Pipe Rolls, p. xlii), formed the Domesday district of Agemundreness (see Domesday, 301 b), forming part of Yorkshire, as it formed part of York diocese till the changes under Henry the Eighth. Mr. Hinde suggests (Arch. Journal, xvi. 227) that this district was conquered by Earl Eadwulf, the great enemy of the Britons (see N. C. vol. i. p. 526), a position which it might be hard either to prove or to disprove. Before the death of Henry the First, the Carlisle district was divided into two shires, Carlisle and Westmoreland (Chaerleolium and Westmarieland, Pipe Roll Hen. I. pp. 140, 143). This last consisted of the barony of Appleby, specially known as Westmoreland. Enlarged by the barony of Kirkby Kendal in Yorkshire, it became the modern county of Westmoreland. So the shire of Carlisle took the name of Cumberland in 1177, and, enlarged by the part of Yorkshire north of the Duddon, it became the modern county of Cumberland. But these added lands remained part of the diocese of York, till Henry the Eighth removed them to his diocese of Chester. This last diocese must not be confounded with the diocese of Chester—otherwise of Lichfield or Coventry—with which we have to do in our story. That diocese did not reach north of the Ribble, and its seat at Chester was in Saint John’s minster, while the new see of Henry the Eighth was planted in Saint Werburh’s.
The earldom of Carlisle brings us among old acquaintances. It was granted early in the reign of Henry the First (see Arch. Journal, xvi. 230, 231) to Randolf called Meschines, de Micenis, and other forms, who in 1118 became Earl of Chester, on the death of Earl Richard in the White Ship (see N. C. vol. v. p. 195), on which he gave up Carlisle. He died in 1129, being the second husband of the younger Lucy (see N. C. vol. ii. p. 682; vol. iii. p. 778), daughter of Ivo Taillebois. Ivo himself, at some time after the drawing up of Domesday (Carlisle Pipe Rolls, p. xliii) appears in the same part of the world as lord of Kirkby Kendal. After 1118 the earldom of Carlisle or Cumberland remained in the crown, till it was granted to David of Scotland in 1136 (see N. C. vol. v. p. 259).
The name of the city and earldom of Carlisle is the best comment on its history. Alone among the names of English cities, it remains purely British, not only in its root, but, so to speak, in its grammar. The British idiom, I need hardly say, places the qualifying word second; the Teutonic idiom places it first. Thus Caer Gwent and Caer Glovi have become Winchester and Gloucester. But Caer Luel has not changed; it remains Carlisle, and has not become something like Lilchester. The reason is doubtless because the first English occupation of Caer Luel did not last long enough to give it a lasting English name. In 1092 nomenclature had lost the life which it had in 685, and a foreign tongue moreover had the upper hand. No one then thought of turning the name of Carlisle about, any more than of doing so by the names of Cardiff (Caerdydd), Caermarthen, or the Silurian Caerwent and Caerleon.
As for the colonists brought from the south, I have assumed them to be a strictly Saxon element added to the already mixed population of the border. And there may have been a Flemish element too, as I was inclined to think when I wrote N. C. vol. v. p. 119. The point is not of much importance, as the two kindred elements would easily fuse together; but it strikes me now that, if any part of the settlers had come from beyond sea, the Chronicler would not have so calmly spoken of them as churlish folk from the south. That phrase however is one well worthy of notice. The words “hider suð” can hardly have been written at Peterborough. That abbey certainly lies a long way south of Carlisle; but Peterborough would hardly speak of itself in this general way as “south.” (In 1051 Worcester, which lies south of Peterborough, counted itself to be “at this north end”—“ofer ealre þisne norð ende” says the Worcester Chronicle. See N. C. vol. ii. p. 620.) The suggestion that these “churlish folk” (“multi villani” in the translation in the Waverley Annals) were the men who had lost their lands at the making of the New Forest has high authority in its favour. It seems to have been first made by Palgrave (English Commonwealth, i. 450), and it is supported by Lappenberg (ii. 175, Thorpe 235). Still it is a simple guess, and I cannot say that to my own mind it has any air even of likelihood. It arises, it seems to me, from an exaggerated notion of the amount of havoc done at the making of the New Forest, combined with a forgetfulness of the time which had passed since that event. We cannot fix its exact date, but the Survey shows that whatever was done in the New Forest, much or little was fully done before 1085, and we are now in 1092.
The earliest official notice of Carlisle and Westmoreland, the Pipe Roll of the 31st year of Henry the First, contains several interesting entries. The city wall was building. There are entries, “in operationibus civitatis de Caerleolio, videlicet in muro circa civitatem faciendo” (p. 140), “in operatione muri civitatis de Caerleolio” (p. 141), and (p. 142) “in liberatione vigilis turris de Penuesel,” which needs a local expounder. Both in this roll and in the rolls under Henry the Second we notice a mixture of personal nomenclature, Norman, Danish, English, and Scottish, which is just what we should look for. Distinctly British names I do not see. In the first few pages of the roll of 1156 we find at least three Gospatrics. One is very fittingly the son of Orm; another is the son of Beloc (6), whose nationality may be doubted; a third is the son of Mapbennoc, a clear Pict or Scot. So again we have Uhtred son of Fergus (p. 5), William son of Holdegar, Æthelward [Ailward] son of Dolfin, hardly the dispossessed prince. Swegen son of Æthelric [Sweinus fil. Alrici] in the roll of Henry the First (142) is a local man; but Henry son of Swegen, who comes often under Henry the Second, is the unlucky descendant of Robert son of Wymarc. See N. C. vol. iv. p. 735. There are a good many entries about the canons of Saint Mary of Carlisle who were founded before the bishopric, in 1102 (see Haddan and Stubbs, ii. 13). There is a notice in 1156 (p. 3) of the Bishop of Candida Casa or Whithern. That see was (Haddan and Stubbs, ii. 25) revived about 1127, as suffragan of York, and 1156 is the date of the death of Æthelwulf the first Bishop of Carlisle.
The Early Life of Randolf Flambard.
I quoted some of the passages bearing on the early life of Randolf Flambard in N. C. vol. iv. p. 521. I mentioned there that he had a brother named Osbern, who appears in the Abingdon History. He had another brother Fulcher, of whom we shall hear again. See Ord. Vit. 788 D, and vol. ii. p. 416. He had also a son Thomas. I do not feel quite so sure as I did then, or as Dr. Stubbs seems to be (Const. Hist. i. 348), that he really did hold lands in England T. R. E. The entry which looks like it is the second of the three in Domesday, 51, which stands thus in full;
“Isdem Ranulfus tenuit in ipsa villa i. hidam, et pro tanto se defendebat T. R. E. modo est tota in foresta exceptis iiii. acris prati terra fuit iiii. carucatarum. Hæ duæ terræ valebant iiii. libras.”
It appears then that Flambard lost the arable part of this hide at the making of the New Forest, as he also lost another hide, with the same exception of four acres of meadow, which had been held T. R. E. by one Alwold. A third hide, of which it is said that “duo alodiarii tenuerunt,” he kept, as well as his holdings in Oxford and Oxfordshire. Dr. Stubbs suggests that these lands were “possibly acquired in the service of the Norman Bishop William of London.” Sir F. Palgrave (England and Normandy, iv. 52) makes the most of this despoiling of a Norman holder. But I am not clear that the words of the entry which I have given in full necessarily imply that the land was held by Flambard himself T. R. E. And, if we need not suppose this, his story becomes a great deal simpler. Above all, we need no longer suppose that a man who lived till 1128, and whose mother was living in 1100 (see [vol. ii. p. 398]), had made himself of importance enough to receive grants of land at some time before 1066.
The account of Flambard which is given by Orderic (678 C) would certainly not suggest that he had been in England in the time of Eadward;
“Hic de obscura satis et paupere parentela prodiit, et multum ultra natales suos ad multorum detrimentum sublimatus intumuit. Turstini cujusdum plebeii presbyteri de pago Bajocensi filius fuit, et a puerilibus annis inter pedissequos curiales cum vilibus parasitis educatus crevit, callidisque tergiversationibus et argutis verborum machinationibus plusquam arti literatoriæ studuit. Et quia semetipsum in curia magni regis Guillermi arroganter illustribus præferre ardebat, nesciente non jussus, multa inchoabat, infestus in aula regis plures procaciter accusabat, temereque majoribus quasi regia vi fultus imperabat.”
It is not easy to reconcile this with the version which makes Flambard pass into the King’s service from that of Bishop Maurice, who did not become bishop till Christmas, 1085. The story of his service with Maurice appears in the account of him which is printed in Anglia Sacra (i. 705), and also along with Simeon (249 ed. Bedford, and X Scriptt. 59). It is much more likely that the name of the bishop should be wrongly given than that his service with some bishop of London should be mere invention. If so, he may have passed into the service of the Conqueror at almost any time of his reign, while still so young that it becomes an easy exaggeration on the part of Orderic to say that he was in the King’s service from his childhood. The passage in the Life which continues Simeon stands thus;
“Fuerat autem primo cum Mauritio Lundoniensi episcopo; sed propter decaniam sibi ablatam orto discidio, spe altioris loci se transtulit ad regem.”
This must surely refer to something which really happened; and in the Register of Christchurch Twinham (Mon. Angl. vi. 303) we distinctly read of Flambard, “qui Randulphus antea fuerat decanus in ecclesia Christi de Twynham.” But this is directly followed by another extract from the same register which denies that the heads of the church of Twinham ever bore the title of dean, and which connects Flambard with Twinham in quite another way. According to this story, there were at Twinham in the time of William Rufus twenty-four canons under a chief named Godric (“Hunc Godricum sui tunc temporis clerici, non pro decano, quasi nominis ignorantes, sed pro seniore ac patrono venerabantur”). Flambard, already bishop of Durham, obtains a grant of Twinham and its church from William Rufus (“Randulfus episcopus hanc ecclesiam cum villa a rege Willielmo impetravit”). If I rightly understand a very corrupt text, Flambard enriches the church and designs to rebuild it, and then to put in monks instead of canons; meanwhile he keeps the prebends vacant as they fall in. This Godric opposes; but in the end Flambard rebuilds the church, and keeps the prebends in his own hands till there are only thirteen left. Then comes his own banishment, and the grant of the church to one Gilbert de Dousgunels, after which Flambard seems to have had nothing more to do with it.
It is odd that so many prebends should have become vacant in the single year during which Flambard held the bishopric for the first time, and one would not have expected him to have been a favourer of monks. But I can get no other meaning out of the words “cupiens et disponens … præfatam ecclesiam … funditus eruere, et meliorem decentioremque cuilibet ædificare religioni.” What comes after seems plainer still;
“Fregit episcopus illius loci primitivam ecclesiam, novemque alias quæ infra cimiterium steterant, cum quorundam domibus canonicorum prope locum ecclesiæ cimiterii, et officinarum compenciorem [?] faciendum et canonicis in villa congruum immutationem [sic] ut dominus adaptavit locum. Fundavit equidem hanc ecclesiam episcopus Randulfus quæ nunc est apud Twynham, et domos et officinas cuilibet religioni. Obeunte canonicorum aliquo, ejus beneficium in sua retinebat potestate, nulli tribuens alii, volens unamquamque dare præbendam religioni, si eos omnes mortis fortuna in suo tulisset tempore.”
Now all this can hardly have happened between Flambard’s consecration in 1099 and his imprisonment in 1100. But he may have had the grant of Twinham before he was bishop. Again, in two charters (Mon. Angl. vi. 304), granted by the elder Baldwin of Redvers, we hear of deans of Twinham and of “Ranulfus decanus,” which seems to mean Flambard himself. The lands of the canons of Twinham are entered in Domesday, 44; but there is no mention of Flambard.
We thus have the absolutely certain fact that Flambard held lands near Twinham. In two independent sources he is said to have been dean of Twinham. In another independent source he is said to have held and lost some deanery not named. In yet another story he is described, not as dean of Twinham, but as doing great things at Twinham in another character. These accounts cannot literally be reconciled; but they certainly point to a connexion of some kind between him and the church of Twinham.
We must indeed mourn the loss of the primitive church of Twinham with its nine surrounding chapels, something like Glendalough or Clonmacnois. The nave of the present church may well be Flambard’s work; but it has no special likeness to his work at Durham. But this may only prove that he built it before he went to Durham, and there learned the improvements in architecture which had been brought in by William of Saint-Calais (see N. C. vol. v. p. 631). The seculars of Twinham made way for Austin canons about 1150.
While speaking of Twinham, I must correct a statement which I made long ago with regard to one of the chief worthies of my earlier story. I said (N. C. vol. ii. p. 33) that Earl Godwine was “nowhere enrolled among the founders or benefactors of any church, religious or secular.” I find him enrolled among the benefactors of Twinham. And here again we mark that, as with his wife (see N. C. vol. ii. p. 358) and his son, his bounty goes to the seculars. The passage, in one of the charters of the elder Baldwin of Redvers granted to Hilary Dean of Twinham (Mon. Angl. vi. 304), stands thus;
“Ecclesiam de Stoppele cum omnibus quæ ad eam spectant; unam virgatam terræ cum appendiciis in eadem villa ex dono Godwini comitis, quam Orricus de Stanton eidem Christi ecclesiæ violenter surripuit.”
I cannot identify this “Orricus de Stanton” in Domesday, nor do I know anything as to the genuineness of the charter. But no one in the twelfth century or later would be likely to invent a benefaction of Earl Godwine.
Orderic, in the passage quoted above (678 C), distinctly speaks of Randolf as having been in the service of the Conqueror, and it must have been in his court that he got the surname which, in so many forms, has stuck to him, and which we find even in Domesday (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 521). The way in which he came by it is thus described—his false accusations have just been mentioned;
“Unde a Roberto dispensatore regio Flambardus cognominatus est, quod vocabulum ei secundum mores ejus et actus quasi prophetice collatum est. Flamma quippe ardens multis factis intulit genti novos ritus, quibus crudeliter oppressit populorum cœtus, et ecclesiæ cantus temporales mutavit in planctus.”
In this last piece of rhetoric we seem to lose the real reason why he was called Flambard, which is not very clear: still less do we get any explanation of the form “Passeflambard.” Lappenberg (ii. 167) says “er habe den Beinamen von der Fackel wegen seiner schon früh bewährten Habsucht erhalten.” But one has some fellow-feeling with his translator (225)—if he would only have written English to match Lappenberg’s German—“It is not easy to conceive how the sobriquet of Flambeau could be given to an individual on account of his covetousness.” Nor is it quite clear that it is covetousness strictly so called of which Orderic speaks. He says elsewhere (786 D); “Erat sollers et facundus, et, licet crudelis et iracundus, largus tamen et plerumque jocundus, et ob hoc plerisque gratus et amandus.”
In a letter to Pope Paschal (Epp. iv. 2) Anselm seems quite carried out of his usual mildness of speech by the thought of Flambard, especially by the thought of his being made a bishop. The letter must have been written just after Paschal and Flambard had received their several promotions. We get the same derivation of the name as in our other extracts; “Quando de Anglia exivi, erat ibi quidem professione sacerdos [see p. 330], non solum publicanus, sed etiam publicanorum princeps infamissimus, nomine Ranulphus, propter crudelitatem similem flammæ comburenti, promine Flambardus; cujus flamma qualis sit, non in Anglia solum, sed in exteris regnis longe lateque innotuit.”
Lappenberg, in the passage quoted above, refers to Thierry’s wonderful account of Flambard (ii. 141);
“Renouf Flambard, évêque de Lincoln, autrefois valet de pied chez les ducs de Normandie, commettait, dans son diocèse, de tels brigandages, que les habitants souhaitaient de mourir, dit un ancien historien, plutôt que de vivre sous sa puissance.”
I cannot find that Thierry speaks of Flambard anywhere else. The “valet de pied” must come from the bit in Orderic about the “pedissequi curiales.” The rest, including the wonderful confusion which makes him bishop of Lincoln, comes, as Lappenberg points out, from a passage in the Winchester Annals, 1092 (cf. 1097), which I shall presently have to refer to. But it is really amazing that Flambard’s loss of property in the New Forest did not cause him to be brought in at some stage or other as an oppressed Saxon.
The Official Position of Randolf Flambard.
The exact formal position held by Flambard under William Rufus has in some measure to be guessed at, as the rhetoric of our authorities sometimes veils such matters in rather vague language. Thus his biographer (Anglia Sacra, i. 706) describes him;
“Admixtus enim causis regaliorum negotiorum, cum esset acrioris ingenii et promptioris linguæ, brevi in tantum excrevit ut adepta apud regem familiaritas totius Angliæ potentes et natu quoque nobiliores illum superferret. Totius namque regni procurator constitutus, interdum insolentius accepta abutens potestate, cum negotiis regis pertinacius insisteret, plures offendere parvi pendebat. Quæ res multorum ei invidiam et odium contraxerat. Crebris accusationibus serenum animi regalis ei obnubilare, et locum familiaritatis conabantur interrumpere.”
Here we have a vague description of a position of great influence, without the bestowal of any official title whatever. Orderic (678 B), in first introducing him, comes somewhat nearer to a formal description;
“His temporibus quidam clericus nomine Rannulfus familiaritatem Rufi regis adeptus est, et super omnes regios officiales ingeniosis accusationibus et multifariis adulationibus magistratum a rege consecutus est.”
What then was the formal description of this office which set its holder above all other officers of the King? Lappenberg (ii. 168, p. 226 of the English translation) and Stubbs (Const. Hist. i. 347) both rule, and seemingly with good reason, that the office held by Flambard was really that of Justiciar. Official names were at this time still used so vaguely that it seems to be only in another passage of Orderic (786 C, see p. 559) that he is directly called so; but, as Lappenberg says, his office is distinctly marked by the words of the Chronicler (1099), when he says that the King “Rannulfe his capellane þæt biscoprice on Dunholme geaf þe æror ealle his gemot ofer eall Engleland draf and bewiste.” The same office seems to be meant when Florence (1100) says, “Cujus astutia et calliditas tam vehemens extitit, et parvo tempore adeo excrevit, ut placitatorem ac totius regni exactorem rex illum constitueret.” Henry of Huntingdon uses the same word, when (vii. 21, p. 232 ed. Arnold) he seems to be translating the entry in the Chronicle; “Anno illo [1099] rex Ranulfo placitatori sed perversori, exactori sed exustori, totius Angliæ, dedit episcopatum Dunhelme.” Florence himself, in his entry under the same year, calls him “Rannulfus, quem negotiorum totius regni exactorem constituerat.” (In 1094 he is “Rannulphus Passeflambardus.”) Dr. Stubbs (Const. Hist. i. 348) remarks that these “expressions recall the ancient identity of the gerefa with the exactor, and suggest that one part of the royal policy was to entrust the functions which had belonged to the præfectus or high steward to a clerk or creature of the court.” In the Gesta Pontificum (274) William of Malmesbury, like the Biographer, calls him “totius regni procurator;” in Eadmer (Hist. Nov. 20), he is more vaguely “Ranulfus regiæ voluntatis maximus executor.”
We have seen that Randolf Flambard was a priest (see above, p. 556), and he is spoken of in a marked way as the King’s chaplain. His biographer (Angl. Sac. i. 706) says that “propter quandam apud regem excellentiam, singulariter nominabatur capellanus regis.” And we have seen that he is so called in the Chronicle. The word is found in only one other place in the Chronicle, namely in 1114, where it is said of Thurstan Archbishop of York, “Se wæs æror þæs cynges capelein.” We must remember that, with all the Red King’s impiety and blasphemy, he seems never to have formally renounced the fellowship of Christians, as he was never formally cut off from it. But his choice of an immediate spiritual adviser is at least characteristic.
Some of the passages describing the administration of Flambard are of special importance. That given by William of Malmesbury (iv. 314) I have had occasion to quote piecemeal; but it may be well to give it as a whole;
“Accessit regiæ menti fomes cupiditatum, Ranulfus clericus, ex infimo genere hominum lingua et calliditate provectus ad summum. Is, si quando edictum regium processisset ut nominatum tributum Anglia penderet, duplum adjiciebat, expilator divitum, exterminator pauperum, confiscator alienarum hæreditatum. Invictus causidicus, et tum verbis tum rebus immodicus, juxta in supplices ut in rebelles furens; subinde cachinnantibus quibusdam ac dicentibus,” &c.
The last words of this extract are of special importance (see p. 332). Florence (1100) speaks to much the same effect; “Tanta potestate adepta, ubique locorum per Angliam ditiores ac locupletiores quosdam, rerum terrarumque ablatione, multavit, pauperiores autem gravi injustoque tributo incessanter oppressit, multisque modis, et ante episcopatum et in episcopatu, majores et minores communiter afflixit, et hoc usque ad regis ejusdem obitum.”
Orderic, in his second description (786 C), thus speaks of him;
“Hic nimirum de plebeia stirpe progressus Guillelmo Rufo admodum adulatus est, et machinationibus callidis illi favens super omnes regni optimates ab illo sublimatus est. Summus regiarum procurator opum et justitiarius factus est, et innumeris crudelitatibus frequenter exercitatis exosus, et pluribus terribilis factus est. Ipse vero contractis undique opibus, et ampliatis honoribus, nimis locupletatus est, et usque ad pontificale stemma, quamvis pene illiteratus esset, non merito religionis, sed potentia seculari provectus est. Sed quia mortalis vitæ potentia nulla longa est, interempto rege suo, ut veternus patriæ deprædator a novo rege incarceratus est.”
Henry imprisons him, he goes on to say, “pro multis enim injuriis, quibus ipsum Henricum aliosque regni filios, tam pauperes quam divites, vexaverat, multisque modis crebro afflictos irreverenter contristaverat.” The tradition of him in later times remained to the same effect, as we see by the description of him in Roger of Wendover (ii. 165), which is copied with some improvements by Matthew Paris (Hist. Angl. i. 182);
“Tenuit autem eo tempore rex in custodia Ranulphum, episcopum Dunelmensem, hominem perversum et ad omne scelus pronum et paratum, quem frater ejus rex Willelmus episcopum fecerat Dunelmensem et regni Angliæ apporriatorem et potius subversorem, nam vir fuit cavillosus. Qui cum regi jam dicto nimis fuisset familiaris, constituerat eum rex W[illelmus], quia quilibet sibi similes quærit questores, procuratorem suum in regno, ut evelleret, destrueret, raperet et disperderet, et omnia omnium bona ad fisci commodum comportaret.”
In this extract the “apporriator,” a queer word enough, but the meaning of which is plain, the “vir cavillosus,” and the “quæstores,” all come from Matthew’s own mint.
The Biographer of the Durham bishops has a story to tell of Flambard at this time of his life. Some of those who had suffered by his false accusations and his other devices, seemingly persons about the court, make a plan to get rid of him altogether. A certain Gerald undertakes the task. He meets the Chaplain—Flambard is so called in a marked way throughout the story—in London, and tells him a feigned tale that his old master Bishop Maurice is lying at the point of death in one of his houses on the banks of the Thames—Stepney perhaps; it cannot be Fulham (see Domesday, 127 b) as the story shows—and wishes greatly to see Flambard once more before he dies. He himself had been sent by the Bishop with a boat to bring him with the more speed. Flambard, suspecting no harm, enters the boat with a few followers. The boat goes down the river to a distance which puzzles the Chaplain, who is put off with false excuses. At last he sees a larger vessel anchored in the middle of the stream, and clearly waiting for his coming. He now understands the plot. He is carried into the ship, which he finds full of armed men. With admirable presence of mind, he drops his ring, and his notary (“notarius suus”) drops his seal (“sigillum illius”), into the middle of the river—somewhat after the manner of James the Second—that they may not be used to give currency to any forged documents (“ne per hæc ubique locorum per Angliam cognita, simulata præcepta hostibus decipientibus transmissa rerum perturbarent statum”). Then his men are allowed to go on shore, on taking an oath that they will tell no one that their lord has been carried off. The ship puts out to sea, and presently goes with full sail southward. The Chaplain sits in the stern, while the sailors debate what kind of death he shall die. Two sons of Belial are chosen, who, for the wages of the fine clothes which Flambard has on, will either throw him into the sea or brain him with clubs (“Eliguntur duo filii Belial, qui illum in fluctus projicerent, vel fracto fustibus cerebro enecarent, habituri pretium sceleris optimas quibus tunc indutus fuerat vestes”). The would-be murderers dispute who shall have his mantle, and this delay saves his life. By this time the wind changes; a storm comes from the south, night comes on, the ship is dashed about hither and thither; there is no hope save to try to go back in the direction by which they have come. At this point they again debate the question of Flambard’s death. There is now a fear lest he should escape and avenge the wrong done to him. But, as is usual in such stories, one was found who was of milder mood; his name is not given, but he held the place in the ship next after Gerald (“quidam secundus in navi a Geraldo tantum exhorrens scelus”). He is struck with remorse; he confesses his crime to Flambard, and says that, if he will grant him his pardon, he will do what he can for him and stand by him as his companion in life or death. Then Flambard, whose spirit we are told always rose with danger, speaks to Gerald in a loud voice; Gerald is his man, whose faith is pledged to him; he will not prosper if he ventures on such a crime as this (“Tunc ille, sicut magnanimus semper erat in periculis, ingenti clamore vociferans, quid tu, inquit, Geralde, cogitas? Quid de nobis machinaris? Homo meus es; fidem mihi debes; hanc violare non tibi cedet in prosperum”). He calls on him to give up his wicked purpose; let him name his reward, and he shall have it; he will give him his hand as a sign of his own good faith (“Pete quantum volueris. Ego sum qui plura petitis præstare potero; et ne discredas promissis, ecce manu affirmo quod polliceor”). Gerald, having less faith in his promises than fear of his power, agrees. He goes back to the haven, and receives Flambard in his own house near the shore (“Ille non tam promissis illectus, quam potentia viri exterritus, consentit, eductumque de navi jam in portum repulsa honorifico in sua domo quæ litori prominebat procuravit apparatu”). But, still not trusting Flambard, he took himself off for ever (“Nequaquam credulus promissorum fugæ præsidium iniens æterno disparuit exilio”). Flambard goes back to London with a great array (“Ranulphus vero accitis undique militibus multa armatorum manu grandique strepitu deducitur Lundoniam”). All are amazed to see him whom they had believed to be dead. He takes his old place in the King’s counsels; he rises higher in the King’s favour than ever, and no man dares to form any more schemes against him as long as the King lives.
There seems no reason why this story should not be true; true or false, it is characteristic. Just as in the later case of Thomas of London, we see the greatness to which men of the class of Randolf Flambard could rise—their wealth, power and splendour, their numerous and even knightly following. One is tempted to ask something more about Gerald the author of this daring plot against Flambard’s life. Except that he is said to have gone away for ever, one would be tempted to think that he must be the same as Gerard—the two names are easily confounded—afterwards Bishop of Hereford and Archbishop of York, a man seemingly of much the same class and disposition as Flambard himself, and who appears (see pp. 524, 543) as a ready instrument of the will of William Rufus.
The alleged Domesday of Randolf Flambard.
I suppose that the story about a new Survey of England, to which Sir Francis Palgrave attached such great importance, may be held to be set aside by the remarks of Dr. Stubbs, Const. Hist. i. 302, 348. He rules that in all likelihood Flambard had a hand in the real Domesday, and that Orderic simply made a mistake as to the date, which he is not at all unlikely to have done. Long before Dr. Stubbs wrote, I had come to the conclusion that the story in Orderic, as it stood, could not be accepted. It is found in Orderic’s first account of Flambard (678 C), where he tells us that he persuaded William Rufus to make a new Survey of England. He measured, we are told, by the rope—according, as it would seem, to the measure of Normandy instead of the measure of England—in order in some way to increase the King’s revenue. The words stand thus;
“Hic juvenem fraudulentis stimulationibus inquietavit regem, incitans ut totius Angliæ reviseret descriptionem, Anglicæque telluris comprobans iteraret partitionem, subditisque recideret, tam advenis quam indigenis, quicquid inveniretur ultra certam dimensionem. Annuente rege, omnes carucatas quas Angli hidas vocant, funiculo mensus est et descripsit; postpositisque mensuris quas liberales Angli jussu Eduardi regis largiter distribuerant imminuit, et regales fiscos accumulans colonis arva retruncavit. Ruris itaque olim diutius nacti diminutione et insoliti vectigalis gravi exaggeratione, supplices regiæ fidelitati plebes indecenter oppressit, ablatis rebus attenuavit, et in nimiam egestatem de ingenti copia redegit.”
I do not profess to know exactly what Flambard is here supposed to have done. Sir Francis Palgrave goes into the matter at some length, both in his English Commonwealth (ii. ccccxlvii) and in his History of Normandy (iv. 59). If I rightly understand his meaning, the carucata in the valuation of the Conqueror was not an unvarying amount of the earth’s surface, but differed according to the nature of the land. A carucate of good land would consist of fewer acres than a carucate of bad. Flambard, we are to understand, measured out the land by the rope into carucates of equal size, and exacted from each the full measure of the geld. That is to say, an estate consisting mainly of poor land would be reckoned at many more carucates, and therefore would have to pay a much higher tax, than it had before. I do not say that this may not be the meaning; but the words of Orderic read to me as if they applied to an actual taking away of land, as well as to a mere increase in its taxation. One might almost fancy that, if a man had land of greater extent than answered to his number of carucates according to the new reckoning, the overplus was treated as land to which he had no legal claim, and was therefore confiscated to the crown. But the real question is whether anything of the kind happened at all. It is not mentioned by any writer except Orderic, and it is the kind of thing about which Orderic in his Norman monastery might not be very well informed. It should be remembered, as Lappenberg (ii. 168 of the original, 226 of the English translation) remarks, that Orderic makes no distinct mention of the real Domesday Survey, and this statement may very well have arisen from a confusion between the great Survey of the Conqueror and some of the local surveys of which there were many. Sir Francis Palgrave believed that he had found a piece of Flambard’s Domesday in an ancient lieger-book of Evesham abbey, which the mention of Samson Bishop of Worcester fixes to some date between 1096 and 1112. Of the genuineness of the document there is no doubt; but I cannot see, any more than Lappenberg did, any reason for supposing it to be anything more than a local survey. The passage printed by Sir Francis Palgrave, which he compares with the corresponding part of the Exchequer Domesday—to which it certainly has no likeness—relates wholly to the two towns of Gloucester and Winchcombe, so that it gives no means of seeing whether the number of carucates in any particular estate differs in the two reckonings.
I cannot believe with Lappenberg that “Henricus comes,” who appears among a crowd of not very exalted people as the owner of one burgess at Gloucester, is the future King; it is surely Henry Earl of Warwick.
Dr. Stubbs, while rejecting Orderic’s story altogether, further rejects Sir Francis Palgrave’s explanation of it. He merely hints that Orderic “may refer to a substitution of the short hundred for the long in the reckoning of the hide of land.” But it is safer to look, as he does, on the whole story as a misapprehension.
Of this way of measuring by the rope—whence the Rapes in Sussex—several examples are collected by Maurer, Einleitung zur Geschichte der Mark- Hof- Dorf- und Stadtverfassung, 72. 135. Cf. Herodotus, vii. 23; ὤρυσσον δὲ ὧδε· δασάμενοι τὸν χῶρον οἱ βάρβαροι κατὰ ἔθνεα, κατὰ Σάνην πόλιν σχοινοτενὲς ποιησάμενοι.. In Sussex itself we have (see above, [p. 68]) the story of the measuring of the lowy of Lewes by the rope, which is at least more likely than the story told by the same writer (Will. Gem. viii. 15) that the earldom of Hereford passed in this way to Roger of Breteuil; “Cui comitatus Herefordi funiculo distributionis evenit.”
The practice, in short, was so familiar that in the Glossary of Rabanus Maurus (Eckhardt, Rer. Franc. Or. ii. 963) “funiculum” is explained by lantmarcha (cf. Du Cange in “funiculus”). So Suger (c. 15, Duchèsne, iv. 296) says how the Epte “antiquo fune geometricali Francorum et Danorum concorditer metito collimitat.”
The Dealings of William Rufus with vacant Bishoprics and Abbeys.
The chief point to be insisted on is that the appropriation of the revenues of vacant bishoprics and abbeys by the King was an innovation of William Rufus on the suggestion of Flambard. Such a thing may possibly have happened before, though I am not prepared at this moment with an instance; but, if so, it was merely a case of the irregular way in which Church property, and all property, was often dealt with by those who had the power. It was not a logical deduction from any legal principle, such as it at once became when Flambard had established the doctrine that the greater Church benefices were fiefs held of the King by military service. The passage in the Chronicle which I have quoted at p. 348 does not say in so many words that the practice was an invention of Rufus or his minister, though the tone of the passage certainly implies that their doings were something new. Other writers speak more distinctly.
Next in authority to the Chronicler comes Eadmer, who is naturally full on the subject. He tells us in detail (Hist. Nov. 14) how Rufus dealt with the Church of Canterbury after the death of Lanfranc, speaking more lightly of other cases as being of the same kind;
“Cuncta quæ juris illius erant, intus et extra per clientes suos describi præcepit, taxatoque victu monachorum inibi Deo servientium, reliqua sub censu atque in suum dominum redigi jussit. Fecit ergo ecclesiam Christi venalem: jus in ea dominandi præ cæteris illi tribuens, qui ad detrimentum ejus in dando pretium alium superabat. Unde misera successione singulis annis pretium renovabatur. Nullam siquidem conventionem Rex stabilem esse sinebat, sed qui plura promittebat excludebat minus dantem; nisi forte ad id quod posterior offerebat, prima conventione vacuata, prior assurgeret. Videres insuper quotidie, spreta servorum Dei religione, quosque nefandissimos hominum regias pecunias exigentes per claustra monasterii torvo et minaci vultu procedere, hinc inde præcipere, minas intentare, dominationem potentiamque suam in immensum ostentare.”
He goes on to tell of the sufferings of the monks and of their lay tenants;
“Quidam ipsi ecclesiæ monachi malis ingruentibus dispersi ac missi sunt ad alia monasteria, et qui relicti multas passi tribulationes et improperia. Quid de hominibus ecclesiæ dicam qui tam vasta miseria miseraque vastatione sunt attriti, ut dubitarem, si sequentia mala non essent, an salva vita illorum possent miserius atteri.”
He then mentions the like dealings with other churches, and adds the emphatic words;
“Et quidem ipse primus hanc luctuosam oppressionem ecclesiis Dei indixit, nullatenus eam ex paterna traditione excipiens. Destitutas ergo ecclesias solus in dominio suo tenebat. Nam alium neminem præter se substituere volebat quamdiu per suos ministros aliquid quod cujusvis pretii duceret ab eis extrahere poterat.”
William of Malmesbury (iv. 314) is no less distinct as to the difference between the practice of the two Williams, and as to the agency of Flambard. Having given his character of him (see above, [p. 558]) he goes on;
“Hoc auctore sacri ecclesiarum honores, mortuis pastoribus, venum locati; namque audita morte cujuslibet episcopi vel abbatis, confestim clericus regis eo mittebatur, quo omnia inventa scripto exciperet, omnesque in posterum redditus fisco regio inferret. Interea quærebatur quis in loco defuncti idoneus substitueretur, non pro morum sed pro nummorum experimento; dabaturque tandem honor, ut ita dicam, nudus, magno tamen emptus.”
He then goes on to contrast in a marked way the conduct of Rufus in these matters with that of his father; “Hæc eo indigniora videbantur, quod, tempore patris, post decessum episcopi vel abbatis omnes redditus integre custodiebantur, substituendo pastori resignandi, eligebanturque personæ religionis merito laudabiles; at vero pauculis annis intercedentibus omnia immutata.”
Orderic has two passages on the subject. One of them (763 C) is a mere complaint; “Defunctis præsulibus et archimandritis satellites regis ecclesiasticas possessiones et omnes gazas invadebant, triennioque seu plus dominio regis omnino mancipabant. Sic nimirum pro cupiditate reddituum, qui regis in ærario recondebantur, ecclesiæ vacabant, necessariisque carentes pastoribus Dominicæ oves lupinis morsibus patebant.” In the other (678, 679) he distinctly speaks of Flambard’s innovation, and goes more at length into the matter than any of the other writers. He has given one of the descriptions of Flambard which has been already quoted (see [p. 559]); and then goes on;
“Hujus consilio juvenis rex, morientibus prælatis, ecclesias cum possessionibus olim sibi datis invasit, et tam in abbatiis cœnobitas quam in episcopiis episcopales decanos et canonicos cuilibet satellitum suorum subegit. Parcam autem ad victum suum distributionem rerum eis delegabat, et reliquos redditus suæ ditioni mancipabat. Sic avaritia regis in ecclesia Dei nimis exarsit, et nefarius mos, tunc incœptus usque in hodiernum diem perseverans, multis animabus exitio fit. Hac enim de causa cupidus rex pastores ecclesiis imponere differebat, et populus rectore et grex pastore carens lupinis dentibus patebat, et multimodarum toxicatis missilibus culparum sauciatus interibat.”
He then goes on to contrast the greediness and sacrilege of William Rufus with the bounty of the ancient kings and nobles from Æthelberht onwards. He again records and moralizes on the special innovation of Rufus with regard to the treatment of ecclesiastical properties during vacancies;
“Antequam Normanni Angliam obtinuissent, mos erat, ut dum rectores ecclesiarum obirent, episcopus cœnobiorum quæ in sua diocesi erant, res sollicite describeret et sub ditione sua, donec abbates legitime ordinarentur, custodiret. Similiter archiepiscopus episcopii res, antistite defuncto, servabat, et pauperibus vel structuris basilicarum, vel aliis bonis operibus, cum consilio domesticorum ejusdem ecclesiæ distrahebat. Hunc profecto morem Guillelmus Rufus ab initio regni sui persuasione Flambardi abolevit et metropolitanam Cantuariæ sedem sine pontifice tribus annis esse fecit ejusque redditus suis thesauris intulit. Injustum quippe videtur, omnique rationi contrarium, ut quod Deo datum est fidelium liberalitate principum, vel solertia dispensatorum ecclesiasticæ rei laudabiliter est auctum, denuo sub laicali manu retrahatur, et in nefarios sæculi usus distrahatur.”
One effect of this practice must have been to make the monks and canons of the cathedral churches specially anxious to establish their distinct property in some part of the estates of the local church, separate from the property of the bishop. Under Flambard’s system, all the estates of the church were during a vacancy seized by the King, who allowed the monks or canons only such a pittance as he thought good. When episcopal and capitular estates were divided, when the body of canons held certain estates, and each canon by himself held certain others, all in frank-almoign, the seizure into the King’s hands of the estates which the bishop held by military tenure made no difference to the incomes of the canons.
The Appointment of Herbert Losinga to the See of Thetford.
I have said something of the appointment of Bishop Herbert in N. C. vol. iv. p. 420. The notices in our authorities are a little puzzling. The Chronicle contains no mention of his appointment, but we read in 1094 (see p. 448) of his staff being taken from him by the King (“Herbearde Losange þam bisceop of Theotfordan his stæf benam”). This passage, of which I shall have to speak again, seems to have been misunderstood by a copyist of Florence, who, instead of his genuine text, has inserted the words which I have quoted in N. C. vol.iv. p. 420. This account would imply that Herbert bought both the bishopric for himself and the abbey for his father in 1094. Then follows a passage which is found in nearly the same words in both the works of William of Malmesbury (Gest. Reg. iv. 339; Gest. Pont. p. 151);
“Verumtamen erroneum impetum juventutis abolevit pœnitentia, Romam profectus severioribus annis; ubi loci simonicum baculum et annulum deponens, indulgentia clementissimæ sedis iterum recipere meruit. Domum vero reversus, sedem episcopalem transportavit ad insignem mercimoniis et populorum frequentia vicum nomine Nordevic, ibique monachorum congregationem instituit.”
This would place the journey to Rome after 1094. But there can be no doubt that Herbert received the bishopric in 1091, and that his repentance and journey to Rome took place between that year and 1094. He signs as bishop the charter of Osmund Bishop of Salisbury in 1091. And if any suspicion is thought to attach to that instrument, the profession rolls at Canterbury, as certified by Dr. Stubbs, are evidence enough of his consecration and his profession to a future archbishop. His consecration by Thomas of York is also recorded by T. Stubbs, Scriptt. 1707. The true story is given in another manuscript of Florence, the reading of which is given by Mr. Thorpe in a note, and in which the entry of 1094 stands thus; “Ubi etiam Herebertum, Theotfordensem episcopum, pastorali baculo privavit. Latenter enim Urbanum papam adire, et ab eo pro episcopatu quem sibi, et abbatiam quam patri suo Rotberto, ab ipso rege Willelmo mille libris emerat, absolutionem quærere voluit.” The case seems quite clear. Herbert buys the bishopric of the King; he repents, goes to Rome, and is reinvested by the Pope. The King looks on this as an insult to the royal authority and takes his staff from him. But he must have made his peace with the King within the next two years. For at the end of that time he began the translation of his see from Thetford to Norwich. The Annals of Bartholomew Cotton (Anglia Sacra, i. 397) give 1091 as the date of his appointment to Thetford, 1094 as the year of his translation to Norwich, and 1096 as the beginning of the foundation of the church of Norwich. And it appears from the local Annals of Saint Eadmund’s (Liebermann, 275) that he was acting as bishop in East-Anglia, whether by the style of Thetford or of Norwich, in 1095. I cannot help thinking that the date assigned to the translation by Bartholomew Cotton is really a confusion with the date of his temporary deprivation. In either case he ceased to be Bishop of Thetford in 1094; most likely he did not become Bishop of Norwich till 1096. It seems from the Norwich documents in Anglia Sacra (i. 397, 407; Mon. Angl. iv. 13–15) that he began to build the church of Norwich in 1096, and planted monks there in 1101. The local writers are full of panegyrics on his virtues. His letters are printed in the series called Scriptores Monastici, but they do not contain much that is of importance for our history. He has a few correspondents with English names, one of whom, Ingulf by name, was Prior of the newly founded monastery of Norwich.
A third manuscript of Florence, the text of which is printed by Mr. Thorpe in a note, seems to follow the version which was acceptable at Norwich and leaves out the deprivation in 1094; “Hoc anno [1094] venerabilis Herbertus, Theotfordensis episcopus, a Roma cum benedictione apostolica rediit: et a Willelmo rege impetravit ut sedes episcopalis in Norwicensi ecclesia firmaretur, ubi ipse, Christi juvante gratia, pulcherrimam congregationem monachorum ad honorem Sanctæ Trinitatis adunavit.”
The account in William of Malmesbury (Gesta Regum, iv. 338, 339) is evidently meant to make a striking rhetorical contrast between the unregenerate Herbert who bought the see of Thetford and the converted and sanctified Herbert who founded the church of Norwich. He becomes a special enemy of the simony which he had himself once practised; “Sicut tempore istius regis symoniæ causidicus, ita posterius propulsator invictus, neque ab aliis fieri voluit quod a se præsumptum quondam juvenili fervore indoluit.” His fuller picture in his earlier state is that he was “magnus in Anglia symoniæ fomes, abbatiam episcopatumque nummis aucupatus; pecunia scilicet regiam sollicitudinem inviscans, et principum favori non leves promissiones assibilans.” Then follow the well-known verses containing the lines
“Surgit in ecclesia monstrum, genitore Losinga.
…
“Filius est præsul, pater abbas, Symon uterque.”
William of Malmesbury (iv. 339) makes one very singular remark in recording the restoration of Herbert to his see by the Pope;
“Iterum recipere meruit; quod Romani sanctius et ordinatius censeant ut ecclesiarum omnium sumptus suis potius marsupiis serviant quam quorumlibet regum usibus militent.”
The fling at Roman greediness is in the true English style of all times; but, in the connexion in which it stands, the idea which it suggests is that Herbert, who had once bought his bishopric of the King, bought it again of the Pope.
On the name Losinga see De Rémusat, Anselme, 199; Diez, Etymologisches Wörterbuch, i. 255. It seems to come from laudare.
The Letters of Anselm.
The letters of Anselm throw so much light on the events of the time, they open to us so many bits of local and personal detail, both in England and in Normandy, that we are not only thankful for the help which they give us for this period, but sometimes feel a certain grudge that we have no help of the same kind for earlier periods. Anselm’s correspondents are found in all lands and in all ranks. All his letters are of course in Latin, a tongue which must, one would think, have in many cases needed to be interpreted to those to whom the letters came. A touch or two in any natural language, whether English, French, or whatever may have been the exact form of Romance spoken at Aosta, would have been, not only a relief, but a precious source of knowledge. But for this of course we must not look in these times, whether from Anselm or from any one else.
In several places in the text I have used the letters of Anselm among my most important materials. They form one of our sources for the details of his own appointment to the archbishopric (see p. 400), while his correspondence with Cardinal Walter has given us (see p. 537, and [vol. ii. p. 41]) some details not found elsewhere with regard to the campaign against Robert of Mowbray. We have also had, in one of his letters to Archbishop Hugh of Lyons (iii. 24, see p. 419), Anselm’s fullest account of the questions which led to the Assembly at Rockingham. The correspondence of course goes on into the reign of Henry, and many of the letters which pass between the King and the Archbishop are in fact state papers, and are, as such, inserted by Eadmer in his history. The immediate historical value of these belongs of course to a time later than that dealt with in the present volume. But the whole series is full of matter bearing on English affairs, and on the affairs of other persons and places in which we are interested. I will therefore go on to mention some of the matters connected with our own and kindred subjects which are suggested by the letters here and there. Many are addressed to Lanfranc, Gundulf, Priors Henry and Ernulf of Canterbury, and others who play parts of more or less importance in our story. A good many are to princes of various lands, many to devout ladies, with the names of some of whom, as those of Countess Adela, the daughter of the Conqueror, and Countess Ida of Boulogne, we are already familiar. There are also the special “ladies and mothers” (dominæ et matres) of the church of Bec, who, without embracing the monastic profession, had given themselves to a devout life under the shadow of the monastery (Chronicon Beccense, Lanfranc, ed. Giles, i. 202; De Nobili Crispinorum Genere, ib. 347; Anselm, Epp. ii. 26, 51; iii. 138). These were Basilia the wife of Hugh of Gournay—who himself, with Hugh of Meulan, the father of the famous Count Robert, became a monk at Bec—her niece Amfrida, and Eva, the widow of William Crispin. There are also a crowd of letters to prelates, nobles, monks, nuns, and persons of all kinds, which throw incidental light on various points in the history of the time.
The close connexion between Bec and England comes out very early in the series. It is perhaps not inappropriate that the earliest mention of England concerns its money, which was so much sought after beyond sea. This is in i. 13, where a moneyer of Arras, who wishes to turn monk, but who has first to pay his debts, is sent by Anselm, not yet abbot, to Lanfranc, already archbishop, who will give him a hundred shillings of English money towards paying them. In i. 15 he writes to Henry, seemingly the future Prior of Christ Church, who was already in England, with a piece of advice which we should hardly have expected from Anselm. Being a monk, he is not to go into Italy to try to defend his sister whom a certain rich man unjustly claims as a slave or villain (“ire de Anglia in Italiam sororem tuam defendere, quam audis quemdam divitem indebitæ servituti calumniose subjicere”). (It is less unreasonable when (iii. 127) he counsels the nun Matilda not to go and visit her lay kinsfolk.) In another letter (i. 35) Anselm speaks of the number of Normans who were crossing into England, and how few of them there were whom he could trust with a letter (“Licet multi Northmanni ad Anglos transeant, paucissimi tamen sunt qui, me sciente, hoc faciant; in quibus paucissimis vix est aliquis quem nostrum legationem sine dilatione et non negligenter facturum confidam”). This is written to Maurice, a monk of Bec, who, with some others, had moved to Canterbury. Of the English monks at Bec (i. 65) I have already said something (see p. 375). When Anselm becomes abbot, and has to deal with the possessions of the monastery in England, the references to English matters naturally thicken, as in ii. 3, 4, 5, 6. This last is addressed to Richard of Clare and his wife Rohais or Rohesia, the daughter of Walter Giffard, of whose name the old commentator Picard oddly says, “insuper nomen Rohais pleno gutture personat Anglismum.” The next letter (iii. 7) shows that some of the Normans who passed into England did not always choose the best parts of our character to copy. For a monk named Henry is rebuked for drinking to excess at gild-meetings. Here an English word thrusts itself in, and we read, “audio quia in multis inordinate se agit, et maxime inbibendo, ita ut in gildis cum ebriosis bibat et cum eis inebrietur.” In ii. 9 Anselm records one of his own journeys to England, and his reception at Lyminge by Lanfranc. We have more references to his own English journeys and those of others in ii. 13, 18, 19, 26 (a most remarkable one, of which I have spoken in N. C. vol. iv. p. 440), 27, 30, 45, 46 (where he prays for the forgiveness of a runaway monk called Moses of Canterbury), 47, 53.
Anselm’s letters as archbishop are of course yet fuller of the English history of the time. The first part of the third book is wholly taken up with the correspondence following on his appointment to the archbishopric. The second letter in this book is a most remarkable letter from Anselm’s friend Osbern (see p. 374) strongly exhorting him to accept the archbishopric. He is not to set up his own will against the will of the whole English Church which calls for him as its chief;
“Ut enim in offenso dulcissimo mihi amore tuo loquar, aut cunctis, quod non credimus, meliorem te fateberis, quippe cui soli revelatum est quod universæ Anglorum ecclesiæ fas non erat revelari; aut facias necesse est quod universalis Anglorum ecclesia suadet, hoc est, ut pontificalis infulæ principatum inter beatos apostolos sustinere non renuas.”
Osbern goes on to say that Anselm has already proof enough that it is God’s will that he shall take the offered post. In so doing, he gives a vivid picture of the circumstances of the appointment and of the Red King’s momentary reform;
“Quid insignius ad te eligendum ostenderet Deus, quam, ut tu promovereris, regem triumphis nobilem, severitate cunctis formidabilem, lecto decubuisse, ad mortem usque ægrotavisse, te autem provecto, statim eundem respiravisse, convaluisse, atque ex fero et immani mitissimum pariter et mansuetissimum redditum fuisse? Quid, inquam, aut effectum dulcius, aut ad innocentiam præstantius, quam te ante lectum ægrotantis violenter pertractum, dextram aliorum dextris impudenter de sinu abstractam, sinistram, ne sororem juvaret, fortiter retentam, virgam, ceteris digitulis pertinaciter occlusis, pollici atque indici crudeliter impactam, post hæc toto corpore e terra te elevatum, episcopalibus brachiis ad ecclesiam deportatum, ibique adhuc te reclamante, et importunis nimis obsistente, Te Deum laudamus esse cantatum? Quid, inquam, vel ad divinas laudes magnificentius vel ad humana spectacula gaudentius, quam quod in tua electione, exclusis omnibus transactæ tempestatis afflictionibus, omnia ad proprii juris possessionem veluti jubileo termino cucurrerunt, dum vincti ad expeditionem, carcerati ad lucem, captivi ad libertatem, oppressi dirissimis exactorum furoribus redierint ad erectionem.”
Osbern clearly had an eye for the comic element in the amazing scene at Gloucester. He then goes on, among other things, to enlarge on the dignity of the church of Canterbury. By a bold figure, he conceives Anselm at the last day called before the judgement-seat, because he had slain thousands of men, while seeking for the safety of a few (“cur non cogitabas infinita hominum millia te occidisse, dum paucorum volebas saluti consulere”). The church of Canterbury, the bride of Christ, consecrated from the beginning by the blessing of his Apostle Peter—the same story which we have heard at Westminster (see N. C. vol. ii. p. 511), and which is told in a slightly different, and still more daring, shape at Glastonbury—enriched by the privileges of so many popes, and to which, saving the authority of the Roman church alone, all the other churches round about were used to look for the defence of their freedom (“ad quam, salva Romanæ et apostolicæ sedis auctoritate, omnium circa regionum ecclesiæ in suis oppressionibus confugere atque ab ea tuendæ libertatis præsidia expetere simul ac suscipere solebant”), now called on Anselm to come to the succour of her liberties, and he refused. Osbern draws out this bold metaphor at great length, and at last disposes of Anselm’s scruples about his allegiance to the Norman Duke and to the church of Bec (“præmonstravi oraculis, comprobavi miraculis; verum tu mihi prætulisti Normanniæ comitem, Deo vermem, viventi mortalem, latitudini Anglorum angustæ solitudinis nidum”). He draws largely on Canterbury legends about Laurence and Dunstan, in order to set forth that church as specially under the divine favour. He, Anselm, had been called in a special way to be their successor (“cum neque sis privata gratia exhibitus, neque mercenarius, neque Simonis discipulus, sed quem et divina vocavit electio et apostolica informavit institutio”), and that call he was bound to obey.
The word “mercenarius” in the extract just made is perhaps meant to contrast the palpable purity of Anselm’s nomination with the appointment of those bishops who, whether they actually bought their sees or not, at least received them us the reward of temporal services. There is another letter (iii. 5) from Osbern to Anselm, which is simply an earnest prayer that he will no longer put off his full admission to the archbishopric.
There are also several letters of Anselm (iii. 1, 4, 7), and one of Gundulf (iii. 3), to the monks of Bec, to which some references have already been made (see pp. 405, 406). There is also one (iii. 6) from the monks of Bec to Anselm, announcing their consent to his acceptance of the archbishopric. It describes the division in the convent, how each monk gave his vote at the call of the president, whom, from this form of words, we may suppose not to have been the prior (“omnes in unum congregati sumus, unusquisque nostrum de sua sententia ab eo qui præsidebat nominatim est requisitus”). The party which opposed Anselm’s removal is described as “suo potius quam vestro utens atque fidens consilio, ardentiori, atque, ut sibi videtur, rectiori, amoris vestri zelo.” The monk Lanfranc, nephew of the Archbishop, a person who is often mentioned in the letters, is to give Anselm a fuller account (“quæ pars alteram aut numero aut ratione præponderet, domnus Lanfrancus, qui interfuit, et omnia hic apud nos gesta sive dicta et vidit et audivit, plenissime per seipsum et sufficienter vobis dicit”). We have here a trace of that odd appeal from the “major pars” to the “sanior,” which seems so utterly to upset every notion of real election, but which is so often heard of in the ecclesiastical debates of the time. The letter of the monks however, though not very positively expressed, seems to have been taken as a release. Other letters follow, in which Anselm recommends (iii. 8) William of Montfort (see Vitæ Abbatum Beccensium, i. 313, Giles) as his successor in the abbacy, and commands the Prior Baldric to keep his place, whoever may be chosen abbot. In another letter (iii. 15) he announces to the monks his coming consecration, and tells them that the King has promised to protect all their rights in England as long as they live according to Anselm’s counsel (“Rex Anglorum vobis mandat salutem et auxilium suum et custodiam rerum vestrarum quæ sunt in sua potestate, quamdiu meo consilio agetis et vivetis. Si autem illud spreveritis, in illo proficuum non habebetis”). He writes also a letter (iii. 10) to Bishop Gilbert of Evreux, of whom we have often heard, but who in Migne’s text is strangely changed into “Eboracensis episcopus,” explaining his motives for accepting the archbishopric. He writes to the same effect (iii. 11) to Fulk Bishop of Beauvais.
Once settled in the archbishopric, Anselm has to write about other matters. The affairs of his province bring much correspondence. Thus he writes (iii. 20) to Bishop Osbern of Exeter and his canons on behalf of the monks of Battle (“monasterium quod vulgo dicitur de Batailla”), who held the church of Saint Olaf at Exeter (see N. C. vol. ii. p. 350, vol. iv. pp. 166, 406; Eadmer, Hist. Nov. 64). He urges that they may be allowed to ring their bells. In a letter (iii. 23) to Ralph Abbot of Seez, afterwards Anselm’s own successor, we get a mention of Bishop Herewald of Llandaff (see N. C. vol. ii. pp. 447, 692), who, it seems, like his brother bishop Wilfrith of Saint David’s (see p. 534), had been suspended from the episcopal office;
“De fratre illo quem dicitis esse ordinatum a quodam episcopo, quia a nobis est interdictus, hoc respondeo, quia si ordinatus est ab episcopo de Walis, qui vocatur Herewardus, nec illis ordinibus, quos ab illo accepit, nostra concessione aliquando utetur, nec ab ullo episcopo reordinari debet.”
The same letter contains Anselm’s views, not on any matter touching Norman or English history, but on a point of obvious morality which had been dealt with long ago by the singer of the Odyssey (i. 260–263);
“De altero vero fratre, qui herbas quæsivit mulieri, quibus virum suum interficeret, quamvis prope vos habeatis de hac re in Northmannia sufficiens consilium, tamen quia a me hoc petitis, nostrum negare non debeo sensum. Si monachus noster esset, et vir ille cujus morti quæsivit herbas ipsis interfectus esset, nunquam ad diaconatum per me, vel ad sacerdotium ascenderet.”
Next follows the great letter to Archbishop Hugh of Lyons, to which I have often referred; and not long after come the important letters (iii. 35, 36), of which also I have often spoken. In iii. 29 Anselm writes to Prior Henry and the rest of the monks of Christ Church—among them Anthony, Ernulf, and Osbern, all names known to us—charging them to leave off disputes, and to enforce holy obedience. Next (iii. 30) comes a letter to Matilda Abbess of Wilton (Wintoniensis in Migne), urging obedience to the diocesan Bishop Osmund of Salisbury. The house of Saint Werburh at Chester, in whose foundation Anselm had had a hand, comes in several times for his notice (iii. 34, 49). A crowd of letters bearing on points in the history later than our time may be passed by, but there are two very singular ones which throw a curious light on English nomenclature. In iii. 133 we have a letter thus addressed;
“Anselmus archiepiscopus amico et filio carissimo Roberto, et sororibus et filiabus suis dilectissimis Seit, Edit et Hydit, Luverim, Virgit, Godit, salutem et benedictionem Dei et suam, si quid valet.”
In the second letter, numbered in Migne iv. 110, the heading is, “Anselmus archiepiscopus, Roberto, Seyt, Edit, carissimis suis filiis, salutem et benedictionem Dei, quantum potest.” The persons addressed seem to have been devout women of some kind, living under the spiritual care of their confessor Robert. The letters tell us nothing as to the position of the persons addressed; they contain nothing but good advice which might be useful in any time or place; but the names seem to have greatly perplexed the German and French biographers of Anselm. Hasse (Anselm von Canterbury, i. 502) says, “Interessant ist besonders ein Brief an die Nonnen eines Klosters in Wales, wie es scheint,” and he adds in a note;
“Ich schliesse dies aus den Namen ‘Seit, Edit, Hydit, Luverim, Virgit, Godit’ die in der Ueberschrift genannt werden. Ob es wohl weibliche Namen sind? In dem Briefe v. 16 [iv. 110, Migne] werden nämlich dieselben Personen als filii (wenn dies nicht ein Druckfehler ist) angeredet, die hier [iii. 133, Migne] filiæ heissen. Ein celtisches Kloster war es jedenfalls; doch kann es auch in Irland oder Schottland gewesen sein.”
M. de Rémusat (S. Anselme de Cantorbéry, 177) had yet further lights;
“On suppose qu’une lettre adressée à Robert son ami et son fils très cher, et à ses sœurs et filles bien-aimées, qui, toutes, portent de bizarres noms, a pour objet d’encourager et de guider une congrégation de femmes qui, sous la direction de quelques missionnaires, essayait de se former dans une province Galloise.”
There is really something very amusing in the difficulties of these scholars over a list of people one of whom bears the very commonest of English female names at the time. M. de Rémusat at least knew the earlier name of Queen Matilda, and can bring it in where it is not to be found in his authorities. For he makes the abbess in the story of Hermann of Tournay (see vol. ii. p. [32], and [Appendix EE]) enlarge on “la beauté de la jeune Edithe,” though in that story she bears no name at all. “Godit” too, that is “Godgyth” or “Godgifu,” is clear enough; and a little knowledge of English nomenclature will carry us through most of the others, even though some of them may be rare or unique. “Seit” must he “Sigegyth,” a perfectly possible name. “Virgit” would seem to be “Wergyth,” also quite possible, while “Luverim,” which the manuscripts write in two or three ways, is surely a wild miswriting of Leofrune, of a bearer of which name we have heard something in N. C. vol. i. p. 352. “Hydit” is the only name on the list about which there can be any real difficulty; it is clearly one of the -gyth names, though it is not easy to see what the first half of the name is. It is perhaps a little odd when Anselm addresses Robert and his sisterhood as “filii” in the second letter, but the form is surely a lawful shortening of “filius et filiæ.” There is, one would think, a certain pleasing international unity in this picture of a company of Englishwomen, directed, it would seem, by a Norman priest, and so lovingly addressed by a Burgundian archbishop. Anyhow there is no need to doubt of the sex of Eadgyth and Godgyth, or to carry them off to Wales, Scotland, Ireland, or anywhere but the land of their own speech.
Anselm had other nuns and other devout women to write to and about, besides the bearers of these supposed puzzling names. There are several letters, as iii. 125, to a certain Abbess Eulalia. In iii. 70 he writes (in Henry the First’s time) to Athelis or Adeliza, Abbess of Wilton (it is again Wintonia in Migne’s text), comforting her during the banishment of William Giffard, bishop-elect of Winchester (see vol. ii. [p. 349]). More important is the letter (iii. 51) in which he sends the Archdeacon Stephen to hinder the abbess and nuns of Romsey from paying the worship of a saint to some person lately dead (“Tunc ex toto prohibeant ut nullus honor, qui alicui sancto exhiberi debet, exhibeatur ab illis, aut permittant ab aliquo exhiberi mortuo illi quem quidam volunt pro sancto haberi”). This reminds one of the story of Abbot Ulfcytel and the worship of Waltheof (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 598); but we need not suppose, with the old commentator in Migne, that the person worshipped was Waltheof himself. For it is added that the son of the dead man is to be driven out of the town, and Waltheof left no son. In iii. 84 he writes to Matilda, the first abbess of the house of the Trinity at Caen (see N. C. vol iv. p. 630), about her intended resignation of her abbey. On other monastic affairs there are several letters, as iii. 61, 118, about the affairs of the abbey of Saint Eadmund, whose prior bears the English name of Ælfhere. He speaks of their tribulations and the patience with which they bore them; the letters therefore most likely refer to the difficulties which followed the appointment of Abbot Robert (see p. 359). There are two letters (iii. 100, 108) addressed to a monk Ordwine, in the latter of which he is coupled with two others, Farman—can he be the aged friend of Eadmer?--and Benjamin, which last name we should hardly have looked for. The first letter is a very important one; it deals with the subject of investitures, and distinctly shows that Anselm had no objection of his own to investiture by the King;
“Non ego prohibeo per me a rege dari investituras ecclesiarum, sed quia audivi apostolicum in magno concilio excommunicare laicos dantes illas investituras et accipientes, et qui accipientes sacrabunt, nolo communicare excommunicatis nec fieri excommunicatus.”
This letter contains also a good deal about the relations of laymen to churches as patrons or “custodes” (see p. 455, and N. C. vol. v. p. 501). In iii. 83, when already Archbishop, Anselm writes to Eustace, the father of Geoffrey a monk of Bec, at his son’s instance, rebuking him for a singular kind of bigamy. His wife, the mother of Geoffrey, had become a nun, and he himself had taken a vow; but had nevertheless married a second wife. Anselm argues that, whether he had taken a vow or not, still, though his wife had become a nun, it is unlawful for him to marry again during her lifetime. Of a more strictly domestic nature are the letters to his sister Richera or Richeza, and her husband Burgundius (iii. 63, 66, 67). Burgundius is meditating a pilgrimage to Jerusalem; and he exhorts him so to order his affairs before he goes that his wife may not lose her estate in case he dies by the way.
Anselm’s correspondence with royal and princely persons in various parts is very large. There are many letters to King Henry, in one of which (iii. 79) he cannot keep himself from the established pun on the name of Henry’s people. He prays, “Ut Deus vos et vestra sic regat et protegat in gloria temporalis regni super Anglos, quatenus in æterna felicitate regnare faciat inter angelos.”
He writes (iv. 81) a letter of rebuke to his old friend Earl Hugh, about the captivity of one monk of Clugny, and the irregular burial of another. He warns the Earl frankly; “Familiariter dico vobis, sicut homini cujus honorem et utilitatem multum amo, quia si non feceritis quod dico, inde blasphemabimini; et ego etiam si non fecero quod ecclesiastica disciplina præcipit inde fieri, a multis blasphemabor.” To his former enemy Count Robert of Meulan he writes a letter during his second exile which is given by Eadmer (Hist. Nov. 82), where the Count is addressed as “dominus et amicus;” in another (iv. 99) he is advanced to “dominus et amicus carissimus,” and is addressed as “vestra dilectio.” The subject of the letter is the endless dispute between York and Canterbury. The mention of the younger Thomas as archbishop-elect fixes the date to about 1108.
Among foreign kings and princes there is (iii. 65) a graceful letter to his native sovereign, Humbert Count and Marquess, written, it would seem, at the time of his first passing into Italy. Nearer to his Norman and English dwelling-places, we find him receiving during his exile a letter from King Philip (iv. 50) offering his sympathy and help, and praying for a visit in his dominions, chiefly for the sake of Anselm’s bodily health;
“Cæterum quia in loco corporeæ sanitati contrario exsulatis, rogamus vos quatenus Galliam nostram vestro adventu visitare dignemini, ibique affectum mentis meæ experiemini, et vestræ consuletis sanitati. Valete.”
A letter to the same effect, which must belong to Anselm’s second exile, follows from Philip’s worthier successor, Lewis (iv. 51).
Both the famous chiefs of the Cenomannian state came in for a share of Anselm’s correspondence. In iv. 11 we have one letter of Anselm to Hildebert, but it contains no historical information. There are several (iii. 53, 160, 161, 162) from Hildebert to Anselm, all theological, and in which we could have wished that the Bishop of Le Mans could have brought himself to speak more civilly of the eastern half of Christendom. More interesting is a letter (iv. 98) addressed “Domino et amico, et in Deo dilectissimo Eliæ comiti,” full of praise and affection for the noble Count, and granting him absolution for some fault not described (“Absolutionem nostram, quam per eundem fratrem, sicut ipse mihi retulit, a me petitis, et corde, et ore, et scriptura dilectioni vestræ mitto, et quotidie pro vobis oro”).
To Countess Ida of Boulogne (see pp. 374, 384) he writes as an intimate friend (iii. 56, 58). In the former of these we hear of her chaplain Lambert, who was in England in her service. He seems to have been a canon of some chapter, and to have been in danger of losing part of the income of his prebend on account of his absence. To Countess Clemence of Flanders, wife of Count Robert of Jerusalem and niece of Pope Calixtus, he writes (iii. 59), praising her and her husband, because certain abbots in Flanders are admitted without the Count’s investiture;
“Relatum mihi est quosdam abbates in Flandria sic constitutos ut comes vir vester nullam cis manu sua daret investituram. Quod sicut non sine ejus prudenti clementia ita non esse æstimo factum absque vestra clementi prudentia.” The play on the Countess’s name reminds one of King Robert and “O constantia martyrum.” In iv. 13 there is a letter to Count Robert, to the same effect as that to his wife.
But the care of Anselm extended to more distant, at least less known lands. He has two letters (iii. 142, 147) to King Murtagh in Ireland; but they deal only with the reforms needed in Murtagh’s own island. So, at a later time than ours, he writes (iii. 132) a letter to Alexander King of Scots, in which he mentions certain monks whom he had sent into Scotland at the request of the late King Eadgar, of whom he speaks most highly. When in a letter to a King of Scots we read that “quidem reges, sicut David, sancte vixerunt,” we are apt to forget that, in Alexander’s reign, the reference must still be to the King of Israel. Where such a reference would have been strictly to the merits of a predecessor, namely, in two letters to King Baldwin of Jerusalem (iv. 10, 36), it is not found; and the exhortations are very general.
Nor does Anselm forget the Scandinavian lands. He writes (iv. 92) a letter of good advice to Hakon Earl of Orkney, who had received the earldom of his father Paul after the death of Magnus of Norway. He writes about the religious ignorance of the people, which he hopes will be reformed by the bishop who had lately been sent to them. As Hakon only received his earldom in 1105, this letter must belong to the last years of Anselm’s life. The murder of Saint Magnus by Hakon, followed by the murderer’s repentant pilgrimage to Jerusalem, did not happen till after Anselm’s death (see Torfæi Orcades, p. 86, where the date of Magnus’s murder is fixed to 1110). He has two letters (iii. 143, iv. 90) about the newly-founded archbishopric of Lund in Denmark. At another end of Christendom he writes to Diacus, Bishop of Saint James of Compostella. The Spanish Bishop asks for English help against the Saracens, and he answers that England is so beset by wars at home that he fears that no help can be given.
To the Popes Urban and Paschal he naturally writes some very important letters, some of which have been already referred to. There is one (iii. 37) to Urban, in which he sets forth his strong desire to come to Rome, and alleges the wars which were raging everywhere as the cause of the King’s unwillingness to let him go.
“Quia bellis undique quatimur, hostiles impetus indesinenter et insidias adversantium metuimus, dominus noster rex extra regnum me procedere hactenus non permisit, nec adhuc procedere posse ullatenus assensit…. Sed inter hæc, quo labore, quaque anxietate gravatus, iter arripere conarer, si omnipotens Deus et in regno Anglorum bella sedaret, et in regnis et regnorum provinciis, per quas ad vos est eundum, illam pacem tribueret, quemadmodum oporteret et expediret iter ipsum explere liceret.”
This letter one would have been inclined to place in 1097; but, unless we can understand the “regnum Anglorum” as taking in Wales, the mention of wars would seem to fix it to the time of the rebellion of Robert of Mowbray in 1095, when the war did indeed affect Anselm’s movements. In the same letter he makes intercession for Fulk Bishop of Beauvais, one of the prelates to whom he had written at the time of his own appointment to the archbishopric (see iii. 11, and above, p. 576), on account of some matter which is not explained.
To Paschal he writes a most important letter (iii. 40) at some time during the short interval between Paschal’s election and William’s death; here he sets forth his own case very distinctly;
“Videbam in Anglia multa mala quorum ad me pertinebat correctio, quæ nec corrigere nec sine peccato meo tolerare poteram. Exigebat enim a me rex ut voluntatibus suis, quæ contra legem et voluntatem Dei erant, sub nomine rectitudinis assensum præberem. Nam sine sua jussione apostolicum nolebat recipi aut appellari in Anglia, nec ut epistolam ei mitterem aut ab eo missam reciperem, vel decretis ejus obedirem. Concilium non permisit celebrari in regno suo ex quo rex factus jam per tredecim annos. Terras ecclesiæ hominibus suis dabat; in omnibus his et similibus si consilium petebam, omnes de regno ejus etiam suffraganei mei episcopi negabant se consilium daturos nisi secundum voluntatem regis.”
Here we have Anselm’s grievances very clearly set forth, and without any kind of exaggeration or strong language of any kind. We may also mark the legal term “rectitudo.” He next goes on to describe the council of Winchester;
“Hæc et multa alia, quæ contra voluntatem et legem Dei sunt, videns, petii licentiam ab eo sedem adeundi apostolicam, ut inde consilium de anima mea et de officio mihi injuncto acciperem. Respondit rex me in se peccasse pro sola postulatione hujus licentiæ, et proposuit mihi ut aut de hac re, sicut de culpa, satisfacerem, et securum illum redderem ne amplius peterem hanc licentiam, nec aliquando apostolicum appellarem, aut de terra ejus cito exirem.”
He then describes the dealings of the King with the estates of the see after he was gone, and speaks of the dealings of Urban with the King, in the style in which it was perhaps becoming to speak to a Pope of the dealings of his predecessor;
“Rex, mox ut de Anglia exivi, taxato simpliciter victu et vestitu monachorum nostrorum, totum archiepiscopatum invasit et in proprios usus convertit. Monitus et rogatus a domino papa ut hoc corrigeret contempsit, et adhuc in hoc perseverat.”
He then asks the Pope that he may not be commanded to return to England, “nisi ita ut legem et voluntatem Dei et decreta apostolica voluntati hominis liceat mihi præferre: et nisi rex mihi terras ecclesiæ reddiderit, et quidquid de archiepiscopatu propter hoc quia sedem apostolicam petii, accepit.”
Presently a wholly new set of questions was opened by the accession of Henry and the second controversy. Anselm’s account, it will be seen, strictly agrees with the narrative of Eadmer, and we may again mark that he does not speak of lay investitures as a grievance. That is to say, William Rufus had not been to blame, or at least Anselm had not found out that he was to blame, for continuing the ancient custom of his kingdom. Henry was to blame because he claimed to continue that right in the teeth of the new decrees, and of the new lights which Anselm had learned from them.
Robert Bloet.
There is something startling in the simple way in which the Chronicler (1093) puts together the appointment of Anselm and that of Robert Bloet; “And þæt arcebiscoprice on Cantwarbyrig, þe ær on his agenre hand stód, Anselme betæhte, se wæs ær abbot on Bǽc, and Rodbeard his cancelere þæt biscoprice on Lincolne.” Florence translates, with a word or two of explanation inserted; “Insuper Anselmo Beccensi abbati qui tunc in Anglia morabatur, Dorubernensem archiepiscopatum, et cancellario suo Rotberto, cognomento Bloet, Lindicolinensem dedit præsulatum.” But this way of speaking is quite of a piece with the small amount of notice which the Chronicler seems throughout to give to Anselm and his affairs. That is, we are used to read the story of Anselm in Eadmer in the minutest detail, and we are surprised to find his story told in the Chronicle only on the same scale as the stories of other people.
We have heard of Robert Bloet before, as one high in the confidence of both Williams, father and son (see vol. i. p. 13). As a bishop, he is one of those persons of whom William of Malmesbury wrote an account which he afterwards found it expedient to alter. In his received text (Gest. Pont. 313) he is brought in in a singular and sneering way. The writer had just recorded the death of Remigius before he was able to consecrate the minster, and he then gives this account of his successor;
“Rem dilatam successor ejus non graviter explevit, utpote qui in labores alterius delicatus intrasset; Rotberto Bloet homini nomen. Vixit in episcopatu annis paulo minus xxxᵗᵃ, decessitque procul a sede apud Wdestoche, cum regio lateri cum alio quodam episcopo adequitaret, subito fato interceptus. Cetera satis suis hilaris et parum gravis, negotiorum scientia secularium nulli secundus, ecclesiasticorum non ita. Ecclesiam cui sedit ornamentis pretiossissimis decoravit. Defuncti corpus exinteratum, ne tetris nidoribus vitiaret aerem. Viscera Egnesham, reliqua Lindocolinæ sepulta sunt. Monachos enim qui apud Stou fuerunt vivens Eglesham [Egnesham] migraverat.”
Here we have the implied picture of a bishop of the more worldly sort, and we can see that he was not in good favour with monks. But no particular fault is brought against him. But in the earlier version, the text, after the words “homini nomen,” reads, “Qui nihil unquam pensi fecerit, quominus omnis libidinis et infamis et reus esset. In cunctam religionem protervus, monachos Stou summoveri et apud Egnesham locari jussit. Gratis malus et gloriæ antecessoris invidus, a vicinis monachis sua commoda præverti causabatur. Quocirca, si monachi Egneshamnenses Dei dono pulchrum incrementum acceperint, procul illi gratias, quibus eximium se gloriabatur commodum inferre si vel illos sineret vivere.”
There is enough here to show that Robert Bloet was thoroughly disliked by the monks everywhere on account of his dealings with their brethren at Stow in removing them to Eynsham. His dislike to monks is also witnessed by the Chronicler, 1123, in recording the election of William of Corbeuil to the see of Canterbury (see N. C. vol. v. p. 236); “Ðis wæs eall ear gedon ðurh se biscop of Seresbyrig, and þurh se biscop of Lincolne, ær he wære dead, forði þet næfre ne luueden hi munece regol, ac wæron æfre togænes muneces and here regol.”
On the other hand, Robert Bloet has not been without his admirers and defenders both in his own time and since. Henry of Huntingdon, who was brought up in his court, always speaks of him with the deepest affection; and in our time he has found a gallant champion in Mr. Dimock in his preface to the seventh volume of Giraldus, pp. xxiii. et seq. Henry, like Florence, has the Chronicle before him in recording the appointments of Anselm and Robert, and he too makes (vii. 3. p. 216) his insertions. With him the passage stands thus;
“Dedit [junior Willelmus] archiepiscopatum Cantuariæ Anselmo abbati, viro sancto et venerabili. Roberto quoque cognomento Bloet cancellario suo, dedit episcopatum Lincoliæ, quo non erat alter forma venustior, mente serenior, affatu dulcior.”
Further on he records his death in 1123 (p. 244), and gives him a splendid epitaph. He is “pontificum Robertus honor,” and his special virtues fill two elegiac couplets;
“Hic humilis dives, (res mira,) potens pius, ultor
Compatiens, mitis cum pateretur erat.
Noluit esse suis dominus, studuit pater esse,
Semper in adversis murus et arma suis.”
He speaks of him again in the letter “de Contemptu Mundi” (p. 299), where he gives a glowing description of the splendour of his court, and speaks of him as “ipse quasi pater et deus omnium æstimatus,” and as “justitiarius totius Angliæ et ab omnibus summe formidatus.” He then goes on to quote him as an example, like so many others, of the uncertainty of earthly prosperity. He tells how he was troubled before his death by law-suits brought by some inferior justiciar, and then records his death at Woodstock. He adds, “Fuit autem Robertus præsul mitis et humilis, multos erigens, nullum deprimens, pater orphanorum, deliciæ suorum.” Further on (p. 305) we learn that Robert Bloet had a son named Simon, who was born before he was Bishop, but whom he made Dean of Lincoln while he was very young. Simon’s prosperity and unhappy end are also among the instances which are to lead to “contemptus mundi.” He is thus brought in;
“Decanum nostrum Simonem non prætereo, qui filius Roberti præsulis nostri fuit; quem genuerat dum cancellarius Willelmi magni regis esset. Qui, ut decebat, regaliter nutritus, et adhuc impubis decanus noster effectus, in summam regis amicitiam et curiales dignitates mox provectus est.”
We may be sure that it was the existence of this son which caused Bishop Robert to be reproached with looseness of life. Yet Simon may very likely have been born in lawful wedlock, though it is hardly safe to assume with Mr. Dimock that he certainly was. But, when Robert had once become an object of monastic dislike, stories grew as usual; it was found out that his tomb in Lincoln minster was haunted. So says the so-called Bromton (X Scriptt. 988), who is copied by Knighton (2364);
“Episcopatum Lincolniensem, per mortem sancti Remigii vacantem, Roberto cognomento Bloet cancellario suo, viro quidem libidinoso, dedit, qui prædictam ecclesiæ dedicationem Lincolniensis postea segniter explevit. Hic demum apud Wodestoke a latere regis recedens obiit et exenteratus est, cujus viscera apud monasterium de Eynesham quod ipse fundaverit, cetera apud Lincolniam sunt humata, ubi satis constabat loci custodes nocturnis umbris esse agitatos, quousque ille locus missis et eleemosynis piaretur.”
The reputation which Bishop Robert left behind him at Lincoln we learn from Giraldus and John of Schalby in the seventh volume of Dimock’s Giraldus. Giraldus himself (p. 31) brings him in as “prudentia et probitate conspicuus.” He records his gifts to his church, and his doubling the number of its prebends. From a Lincoln point of view, he highly approves of the translation of the monks of Stow to Eynsham; but he seems not to like the separation of Ely from the diocese of Lincoln (see N. C. vol. v. p. 229), and he speaks of Robert’s “inconsiderata largitio” and “alia sui deliramenta” in charging his see with the gift of a mantle of sable, worth a hundred pounds, to the King. John of Schalby (195) copies Giraldus, but abridges him, and leaves out some of his epithets both of praise and blame.
The death of Bishop Robert in 1123 is recorded by several of our writers, but there is no account so graphic as that in our own tongue. The King is riding in his deerfold at Woodstock with the two bishops, Robert of Lincoln and Roger of Salisbury, on either side of him. The three ride and talk. The Bishop of Lincoln suddenly sinks, and says to the King, “Lord King, I die (Laferd kyng, ic swelte).” The King gets down from his horse, lifts him in his arms, and has him carried into the house, where he soon dies (“Se king alihte dune of his hors, and alehte hine betweox his earmes, and let hine beran ham to his inne, and wearð þa sone dead”). Does this “inne” mean the King’s own house at Woodstock, or any separate quarters of the Bishop, like the “hospitium” of Anselm at Gloucester and elsewhere?
There is something odd in the Bishop’s last words being given in English. The King knew that tongue, and the Bishop may very likely have done so; but we can hardly fancy that they spoke it to one another.
The name “Bloet,” according to M. de Rémusat (Anselme, 160), is the same as “blond.”
The Mission of Abbot Geronto.
I am not aware that this mission of the Abbot of Dijon has hitherto found any place in any narrative history of the times of William Rufus. And I confess that it is not without a certain misgiving that I bring it in. It is certainly remarkable that our own writers should with one consent pass by an event of this kind; but it would be yet more amazing if it were sheer mistake or invention on the part of the foreign writer who records it. It is one of those cases in which, without any actual contradiction, it is very hard to bring a certain statement into its right place. There is nothing in the story told by Hugh of Flavigny which is really inconsistent with the narrative of Eadmer; our only difficulty is how it came that, if these things happened, Eadmer, who could not fail to have known of them, did not think them worthy of any place in his very minute narrative. This difficulty we must get over how we can. Otherwise the evidence of Hugh of Flavigny is in a certain sense as good as that of Eadmer himself. He stood to Abbot Geronto in much the same relation in which Eadmer stood to Anselm. In his narrative, Geronto is sent by the Pope on a mission to Normandy and England, and Hugh himself, a monk of Geronto’s monastery, comes with him. For the mere facts therefore of Geronto’s mission Hugh is as good a witness as Eadmer; but, as a foreigner on a short visit, he could not be expected to have the same thorough knowledge of English affairs as Eadmer, or any other English, or even Norman, writer. There is to us at least something very strange in his tone towards Anselm, or rather in the lack of any mention of Anselm at all. He never speaks of him by name, and the only fact which he records of him is the very strange one which I have mentioned in p. 535, that at some time, seemingly at the reception of the pallium, Anselm took an oath to the Pope, with a reservation of his duty to the King. One hardly sees how far he means to blame Anselm. The person chiefly blamed is Cardinal Walter; Anselm comes in, in a strange casual way, between the King and the Cardinal.
I have given the whole or nearly the whole of Hugh’s story in the foot-notes to those parts of the text which are founded upon his account. He goes on a little later in his story (Pertz, viii. 495, 496) to record the death of William Rufus, and to say something more about English affairs in general. It is plain that his friends in England found him perfectly ready to believe the wildest tales that they chose to tell him. At the same time, the tales that they did tell him are such as could hardly have come into any man’s head to tell, except in the reign of William Rufus. It is Hugh of Flavigny who tells us those specially amazing stories to which I have referred in vol. i. p. 544 and p. 503. He has also (496) some odd notices of the dogs of the city of London, which were small, but very fierce, and which gathered together by night in front of Saint Paul’s church, so that no one could dare to pass by. He has also a good deal to say about those natural phænomena of the reign of which we have heard a good deal from other writers. He tells the story of the storm which visited the church of Saint Mary-le-bow, with some further embellishment, that “quadros super muri altitudinem sitos, supra quos tectum stabilitum erat, usque ad septem milliaria evolare fecit.” And while two servants of the church were sleeping in one bed, a beam was driven down between them into the earth without doing them any harm, except nearly frightening them to death; “In eadem etiam ecclesia jacebat quidem ædituus cum alio quodam in lecto uno, et inter medium eorum, cum jacerent distante inter se spacio, una trabium vento acta per medium lecti terram intravit, ut vix summitas ejus appareret, nec læsit jacentes, nisi quod timore pene exanimati sunt.”
Hugh’s Chronicle, in two books, reaches from the Christian æra to the year 1102. He was born at Verdun in 1065. He was a monk, first at Verdun, then at Flavigny in the diocese of Toul, then at Dijon, and lastly Abbot of Flavigny. Jarento or Geronto—I hardly know how to spell his name—was in the close confidence of Gregory the Seventh and his successors. There is a letter of Anselm’s (iii. 87) addressed to Geronto; but it contains nothing bearing on his mission to England. It is all concerned with the affairs of certain monks at Dijon and Chartres.
NOTE BB. [Vol. ii. p. 9.]
The Embassies between William Rufus and Malcolm in 1093.
The fullest and clearest narrative of the transactions between William Rufus and Malcolm which led to their rupture at Gloucester in 1093 comes from the Chronicle, while some particular points are given at greater length by Florence. In the Chronicle the story runs thus;
“Ða æfter þisson sende [se] cyng of Scotlande and þære forewarde gyrnde þe him behaten wæs, and se cing W. him steofnode to Gloweceastre and him to Scotlande gislas sende, and Eadgar æþeling æfter, and þa men syððan ongean, þe hine mid mycclon wurðscipe to þam cynge brohtan. As þa þa he to þam cynge com, ne mihte he beon weorðe naðer ne ure cynges spæce ne þæra forewarde þe him ær behatene wæron, and forði hi þa mid mycclon unsehte tohwurfon.”
Here we have very clearly an embassy of complaint sent by Malcolm to William—an invitation or summons, whichever it is to be called, to the Gemót at Gloucester sent by William to Malcolm and accompanied by hostages for his safety—a second embassy from William to Malcolm, with Eadgar at its head, in whose company Malcolm’s ambassadors went back to Scotland and Malcolm himself came to England. All this is cut short by Florence, who however distinctly affirms the going to and fro of some embassies, while it is from him that we get the date and a fuller account of what happened at Gloucester. His narrative stands thus;
“Rex Scottorum Malcolmus, die festivitatis S. Bartholomæi Apostoli [24 Aug.], regi Willelmo juniori, ut prius per legatos inter eos statutum fuerat, in civitate Glaworna occurrit, ut, sicut quidam primatum Angliæ voluerunt, pace redintegrata, stabilis inter eos amicitia firmaretur; sed impacati ab invicem discesserunt; nam Malcolmum videre aut cum eo colloqui, præ nimia superbia et potentia, Willelmum despexit.”
Colloqui is the technical word which we so often come across. The meeting of the two kings would have been a colloquium or parliament. It is from Florence again that we get all the technical law. His account goes on thus;
“Insuper etiam illum [Malcolmum] ut secundum judicium tantum suorum [Willelmi] baronum, in curia sua rectitudinem ei faceret, constringere voluit; sed id agere, nisi in regnorum suorum confiniis, ubi reges Scottorum erant soliti rectitudinem facere regibus Anglorum, et secundum judicium primatum utriusque regni, nullo modo Malcolmus voluit.”
William of Malmesbury (iv. 311) loses the fact of the embassies and the summons in a cloud of words;
“Multis controversiis utrobique habitis, et fluctuante propter utrorumque animositatem justitia, Malcolmus ultro Gloecestram venit, æquis duntaxat conditionibus, multus pro pace precator.”
With regard to more modern discussions, I do not know that I can do more than give the reader the same references which I gave in N. C. vol. v. p. 120. But Mr. Robertson (i. 144 note) certainly has reason when he says that “it does not follow that Malcolm spoke feudal Latin because Florence wrote it.” One would be glad to have the actual words in French, English, or, more precious than all, Irish. (This sets one thinking what languages Malcolm may have spoken. We know that he understood English, whether he learned it at the court of Eadward, or afterwards from his wife. In one or other of those schools he would most likely also pick up French. Margaret herself may also have learned High Dutch, and possibly Magyar, from her parents.) But I can make nothing of Mr. Robertson’s strange comment that “it is singular to mark how nearly all the English authorities accuse Malcolm of ‘a breach of faith’ because he resented the conduct of William, whilst they pass over without notice the glaring ‘breach of faith’ on the part of their own king.” Who charges Malcolm with any breach of faith, except William of Malmesbury in the almost casual passage, iii. 250? And what more could he wish the Chronicler and Florence to say against William Rufus than what they do say? Mr. Robertson’s criticism is more to the purpose when he attacks the words of William of Malmesbury, iv. 311; “Nec quicquam obtinuit, nisi ut in regnum indemnis rediret, dedignante rege dolo capere quem virtute subegisset.” He remarks that “the safe-conduct and the hostages detract something from this much vaunted magnanimity, but Malmesbury would sacrifice a good deal for the sake of a well-turned period.” It is certainly hard to see what William had done to Malcolm which could be called “virtute subegisse;” but Mr. Robertson fails to notice that this particular scruple is characteristic of William Rufus. Careless of his faith in so many other cases, he is always careful to observe a safe-conduct.
NOTE CC. [Vol. ii. p. 16.]
The Death of Malcolm.
The last invasion of England by Malcolm was clearly made in reprisal for the treatment which he had received at Gloucester. The words of the Peterborough Chronicler are very remarkable. They seem to describe a war which is acknowledged to be just in itself, but which is carried on with needless cruelty;
“And se cyng Melcolm ham to Scotlande gewænde. Ac hraðe þaes þe he ham com he his fyrde gegaderode.”
Most of the other writers fail to bring out the connexion both of time and of cause and effect between the scene at Gloucester and the invasion which led to Malcolm’s death at Alnwick. Perhaps we may count Matthew Paris, the zealous panegyrist of Malcolm, as an exception. He has nothing to tell us about Malcolm’s coming to Gloucester; but, having mentioned William’s sickness there, which he wrongly places in 1092, he goes on (i. 43);
“Eodem anno pius rex Scotorum Malcolmus, cujus actus in benedictione vivunt immortales, cum non immerito contra tirannum Willelmum II. regem sibi injuriantem guerram movisset, interceptus est subito et, positis insidiis, interemptus.”
So in a later passage (i. 47) he speaks of Robert of Mowbray overcoming Malcolm “proditiose.” Moreover several even of the English writers seem to imply that there was something treacherous about the way in which Malcolm met his death. The words of the Chronicler are, “hine þa Rodbeard se eorl of Norðhymbran mid his mannan unwæres besyrede and ofsloh.” And directly after he describes the grief of Margaret on hearing “hyre þa leofstan hlaford and sunu þus beswikene.” William of Malmesbury mentions the death of Malcolm twice, and in rather different tones. The first time (iii. 250) he seems to jumble up together Malcolm’s two invasions, leaving out all about the meeting at Gloucester. He had said that through the whole reign of the Conqueror Malcolm “incertis et sæpe fractis fœderibus ævum egit,” and adds;
“Filio Willelmi Willelmo regnante, simili modo impetitus, falso sacramento insequentem abegit. Nec multo post, dum fidei immemor superbius provinciam inequitaret, a Roberto de Molbreia comite Northanhimbriæ, cum filio cæsus est.”
In the second place (iv. 311), after describing the meeting at Gloucester, he adds; “Idem proxima hyeme, ab hominibus Roberti comitis Humbrensium, magis fraude quam viribus occubuit.” No one would think from this that Malcolm had gone back to Scotland, got together his army, and invaded Northumberland. It would rather suggest the idea that he was attacked on his way back from Gloucester. And this comes out more strongly in the very confused account of Orderic, 701 C. He mixes up the events of 1091 and 1093. After the first conference by the Scots’ water, the two kings go quietly together into England; then we read;
“Post aliquod tempus, dum Melcoma rex ad sua vellet remeare, muneribusque multis honoratus a rege rediret pacifice, prope fines suos Rodbertus de Molbraio, cum Morello nepote suo et militibus armatis occurrit, et ex insperato inermem interfecit. Quod audiens rex Anglorum, regnique optimates, valde contristati sunt, et pro tam fœda re, tamque crudeli, a Normannis commissa, nimis erubuerunt. Priscum facinus a modernis iteratum est. Nam sicut Abner, filius Ner, a Joab et Abisai, de domo David pacifice rediens, dolose peremptus est, sic Melcoma rex, de curia Guillelmi regis cum pace remeans, a Molbraianis trucidatus est.”
This is one of those sayings of Orderic by which we are now and then fairly puzzled. He gets hold of a scriptural or classical parallel, and seems to be altogether carried away by it. It is hard to see the likeness between the cases of Malcolm and Abner; but it is harder to see why the deed is in a marked way attributed to “Normanni,” who seem to be distinguished from the “rex Anglorum regnique optimates.” In what sense were Morel and Robert of Mowbray Norman, in which the King and the great mass of the “optimates” were not Norman just as much?
Confused as these two last accounts are, they still suggest that there was something about the way in which Robert and Morel contrived the death of Malcolm which William Rufus would have looked on as not quite consistent with the character of a “probus miles.” The one word “beswikene” in the Chronicle doubtless goes for more than any amount of Latin rhetoric, though its force is a little weakened by its not occurring in the actual narrative of Malcolm’s death, but in the account of Margaret’s grief at hearing of it, at which point most of our writers put on more or less of the tone of hagiology. But the only writer who gives us any details is Fordun (v. 20), in a passage which professes to come from Turgot, on which see the remarks of Mr. Hinde in his Simeon, p. 261. In his story we read how Malcolm,
“Cum maximam prædam ex Anglia, more solito, ultra flumen These, de Clefeland, Richemond, et alibi sæpius adduceret, castrumque de Aylnwick, sive Murealden, quod idem est, obsideret, obsessosque sibi rebellantes oppido affligeret, hi, qui inclusi fuerant, ab omni humano excludebantur auxilio.”
The besieged, having no other chance, take to treachery. One man offers himself to go on the desperate venture; he makes his way to the Scottish camp, and asks for the King;
“Quærentibus causam inquisitionis dixit, se castrum regi traditurum, et in argumentum fidei claves ejusdem in hasta sua coram omnibus portavit oblaturus. Quo audito rex, doli nescius, incaute a tentorio inermis exiliens et minus provide, occurrit proditori; at ille, quæsita opportunitate, inermem regem armatus transfixit, et, latibula silvæ vicinæ festinanter ingressus, eorum manus evasit.”
Then follows the death of the King’s son Eadward;
“Turbato igitur exercitu, dolor dolorem accumulat: nam Eadwardus regis primogenitus a Northumbris lethaliter vulneratur.”
He dies three days later “apud Eardwardisle foresta de Jedwood,” and was buried at Dunfermline “juxta patrem.”
It is really impossible that this can be a genuine bit of Turgot. There is nothing anywhere else about a siege of Alnwick, and Mr. Hinde pertinently raises the question whether there was anything at Alnwick to besiege. At any rate, it is strange that the defenders of Alnwick, or anybody else whom Malcolm might come across in Northumberland, should be called “rebellantes” against him. There is a very mythical sound about the alleged form of Malcolm’s death. In the Tapestry (see N. C. vol. iii. p. 240) keys are handed to a victorious besieger on the point of a spear; but it is from the walls of the besieged place, and they are received in the like sort. They surely would not be presented in this way in the King’s own camp. And, if Malcolm was killed in this way, how came Eadward to be mortally wounded? Mr. Hinde adds;
“The ridiculous tale of the person who pierced the king’s eye, receiving from that exploit the designation of ‘Piercy, quod Anglice sonat perforare oculum,’ is interpolated in some MSS. of Fordun. This story must necessarily have been invented after the Percy family became the possessors of Alnwick, and so gave point, if not probability, to the fiction.”
I suspect that Malcolm was killed in some ambush or in some other way unlike open battle. Then sympathy for Margaret called up—except at Durham and other parts more nearly concerned—sympathy for Malcolm. Then the Chronicler, in this state of mind, used the harsh word “beswikene,” and so a tale of actual treachery grew up. The version in Fordun gives us the story in the form of a detailed legend; in Orderic the tale itself is still vague; but the events which went before are so altered as to make any attack on Malcolm treacherous. In that version, he is going home from the King’s court in the King’s peace. In the true version, he is invading England, perhaps on just grounds in his own eyes, certainly on grounds which made his invasion by no means wonderful. Still resistance to him was a rightful operation of war, unless there was any actual treachery in the form which the attack took. That such there was we have no direct evidence; but there must have been something or other to account for the tone of so many writers. Florence is colourless; so is Henry of Huntingdon.
The Hyde writer, as usual, takes a line of his own. He speaks (301) of “quidam Robertus Northamhumbrorum comes, vir dives et potens, qui regem Scotorum Malcolmum, patrem Matildis reginæ, bellando cum toto pene exercitu interfecit.” It is not unlikely that the fact that Malcolm was not only the husband of the sainted Margaret, but also the father of the popular Queen Eadgyth-Matilda, won for him a measure of sympathy after his death which he had not enjoyed while he was alive. Indeed we get this relation distinctly set forth by the Continuator of William of Jumièges (viii. 8), who after recording the life-long imprisonment of Robert of Mowbray, adds, “Dictum est a pluribus, hanc talionem sibi redditam fuisse, quia regem Scotiæ, patrem videlicet nobilissimæ Mathildis postea reginæ Anglorum, dolose peremerat.”
Alnwick, as the place of Malcolm’s death, and of the capture of another Scottish king in the next century, awakens a certain amount of real interest beyond the range of mere legend and misapplied sentiment. The late Mr. Hartshorne wrote with a strange feeling of devotion towards anything that did profess and call itself Percy; but he gives us the facts. All that need be known about Alnwick will be found in his papers in the Archæological Institute’s second Newcastle volume, p. 143. Robert of Veci appears in Domesday in several shires as far north as Lincoln, but of course we cannot track him in the unsurveyed parts of Northumberland. Of the original Percy we have heard something in various parts in N. C. vol. iv. pp. 215, 295, 789; vol. v. p. 773. The second set of Percies, those of Louvain, got to Alnwick by a grant from Bishop Antony Beck in 1309 (Hartshorne, ii. 150, 152). Very little can be made of the Alnwick Chronicle printed in Mr. Hartshorne’s Appendix. What can we say to a “William Tisonne” who dies on the English side at Senlac, and who is the brother of Richard Tisone who founds chapels in the year 1000, as his father “Gisbright” founded abbeys before him? In this story the first Norman lord of Alnwick is Ivo of Veci, who is described as “miles de secretariis,” whatever that may mean, to the Conqueror, and he gets Alnwick along with the daughter of the slain William Tisonne. Alnwick may quite possibly have passed to a Norman lord by marriage with an English heiress, but assuredly her father was not called William and did not bear an hereditary surname, and it is much to his credit if, in the teeth of his Earl, he found his way to the great battle from a point so far north as Alnwick.
NOTE DD. [Vol. ii. p. 28.]
The Burial of Margaret.
I do not wish to commit myself to any view as to the authorship of the writings attributed to Turgot. It is sometimes, as I have more than once remarked, hard to believe that the passages which are worked into the text of Fordun, and which are printed at the end of the Surtees Simeon as Turgot’s writing, can really come from a contemporary writer. Still, whether Turgot’s or not, they contain fragments of real information for which, in the great meagreness of our notices of Scottish matters, we may well be thankful. In this case, it is from one of these passages that we learn for certain, what we might for ourselves have been inclined to guess, that Margaret, so deeply reverenced in England then and in Scotland in later times, was not popular in Scotland in her own day. Of her death, as we have seen, we have several accounts, the fullest and most trustworthy being in her own Life by Turgot. Again, we have several notices, though somewhat meagre ones, of the national Scottish movement which placed Donald on the throne. But it is only from one of these other bits of Turgot (if it be Turgot) that we could find out that the two things had anything to do with one another, and that the first thing which the national party did was to attempt to disturb the burial of the holy Queen. There is nothing of this in the Life, a fact which may possibly mark the difference between Turgot writing hagiography, though I believe truthful hagiography, and the same Turgot writing ordinary history. In the former character, he does not invent or pervert; he simply leaves out an unpleasant fact which in the other and humbler character he records.
The account of Margaret’s burial in the Life (Surtees Simeon, p. 254) stands thus;
“Corpus ipsius honorabiliter, ut reginam decebat, involutum, ad Sanctæ Trinitatis, quam ipsa construxerat, ecclesiam deportavimus, ibique, sicut ipsa jusserat, contra altare et sanctæ crucis (quod ibidem erexerat) venerabile signum, sepulturæ tradidimus.”
These words cannot come directly from Turgot himself, who was not there, but from the priest (see [p. 27]) who told him the story. Again, Turgot’s readers would most likely understand that by the church of the Holy Trinity was meant the church of Dunfermline. Otherwise one might easily read the passage as implying that Margaret was buried in the same place in which she died, though no name is given for either. It is from the other account (Fordun, v. 21) that we learn that the death happened at Edinburgh and the burial at Dunfermline. Here we get a picture of Donald at the head of the insurgents or patriots, or whatever we are to call them, entering Edinburgh by one gate, while the body of Margaret is carried out by the other. The story runs thus;
“Cum adhuc corpus sanctæ reginæ esset in castro [puellarum] ubi illius felix anima ad Christum quem semper dilexerat migravit, Donaldus Rufus vel Bane, frater regis, ejus audita morte, regnum multorum manu vallatus invasit, et prædictum castrum, ubi regis justos et legales sciebat heredes, hostiliter obsedit. Sed quia locus ille natura sui in se valde munitus est, portas solummodo credidit custodiendas, eo quod introitus aut exitus aliunde non de facili pateat. Quod intelligentes qui intus erant, docti a Deo, meritis, ut credimus, sanctæ reginæ, per posticum ex occidentali plaga sanctum corpus deferebant. Ferunt autem quidam, in toto itinere illo nebulam subnubilam omnem familiam illam circumdedisse, et ab omnibus aspectibus hostium miraculose protexisse, ut nec itinerantibus terra vel mari nihil obfuit, sed ad optatum prospere locum, ecclesiam scilicet de Dunfermlyn, ubi nunc in Christo requiescit, sicut ipsa prius jusserat, pervenientes deportarunt.”
In the story of the mist we may clearly see a natural phænomenon set down as a miracle (see Robertson, i. 156). But there seems no reason for doubting the general outline of the story, namely, that Margaret was unpopular with the party headed by Donald, and that they would have gladly disturbed her burial. By comparing this story with the Life we see how easy it is to leave out an important part of a tale without bringing in anything that contradicts it.
NOTE EE. [Vol. ii. p. 31.]
Eadgyth-Matilda.
That the daughter of Malcolm and Margaret who afterwards became the wife of Henry the First by the well-known name of Matilda was baptized by the name of Eadgyth, rests wholly on the authority of Orderic, who mentions it twice. After recording the death of Malcolm (702 A), he gives an account of his daughters;
“Duas filias, Edith et Mariam, Christianæ, sorori suæ, quæ Rumesiensis abbatiæ sanctimonialis erat, educandas, sacrisque litteris imbuendas miserat. Illic diutius inter monachas enutritæ sunt, et tam litteratoriam artem quam bonorum observantiam morum edidicerunt, nubilemque ætatem pertingentes, solatium Dei devotæ virgines præstolatæ sunt.”
And directly after he calls her “Mathildis quæ prius dicta est Edith.” It is a point on which Orderic was likely to be well informed, as he is always careful and scrupulous in matters of nomenclature, and often helps us to double names, as we have seen in the case of Mark Bohemond. And the name Eadgyth is much more in harmony than Matilda with the other names of Margaret’s children. Orderic however does not mention the implied change of name where one might have looked for it, namely where he records her marriage in 784 A. She is there only “generosa virgo nomine Mathildis;” but in recording her death (843 B), he again says “Mathildis regina, quæ in baptismate Edit dicta fuit.” M. Francisque Michel, in his note on Benoît, iii. 344, refers also to the Waverley Annals, 1086, for the earlier name; but there is nothing of the kind there. There is Eadward and Eadgar, but not Eadgyth. Is one English name held to be as good as another, even when a confusion of sex is involved?
In Eadmer, Hist. Nov. 56, where he describes the discussions which went on before the marriage of Henry the First, we get Eadgyth’s own story. She was brought up by her aunt Christina, of whom we have already heard (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 695, where I carelessly spoke of Christina as abbess), in the abbey of Wilton—it should surely be Romsey. She was not a nun, nor designed to be one, but she was compelled by her aunt to wear the veil to shelter her from the violence of the Normans. Whenever her aunt’s back was turned, she tore it from her head, and trampled upon it, for which the stern nun gave her niece a good deal of blows and bad language;
“Cum adolescentula essem, et sub amitæ meæ Christianæ, quam tu [Anselmus sc.] bene nosti, virga paverem, illa servandi corporis mei causa contra furentem et cujusque pudori ea tempestate insidiantem Normannorum libidinem nigrum panniculum capiti meo superponere, et me illum abjicientem acris verberibus et nimis obscœnis verborum conviciis sæpe cruciare simul et dehonestare solebat. Quem pannum in ipsius quidem præsentia gemens ac tremebunda ferebam, sed mox ut me conspectui ejus subtrahere poteram, arreptum in humum jacere, pedibus proterere, et ita quo in odio fervebam, quamvis insipienter, consueveram desævire.”
Then her father comes, sees her with the veil, tears it from her head, and says that he does not mean her to be a nun, but to be the wife of Count Alan (“Pater meus cum me, quemadmodum dixi, velatam forte vidisset, furore succensus, injecta manu velum arripuit, et dissipans illud, odium Dei imprecatus est ei qui mihi illud imposuit, contestans se comiti Alano me potius in uxorem quam in contubernium sanctimonialium prædestinasse”).
Here we are not told how she came under her aunt’s care, nor what became of her after her father’s death. And there is something odd in the general reference to the “Normans,” unless it is meant as part of the outburst of special English feeling in the later months of the year 1100. Another version, instead of Normans in general, attributes the danger to a particular Norman whom we should hardly have looked for. This version is to be found in a most singular story, to which I have slightly referred in the text (see [p. 32]) and also in N. C. vol. v. p. 169, in the Narratio Restaurationis Abbatiæ S. Martini Tornacensis (D’Achery, ii. 893). The story is brought in at the same point at which it is brought in by Eadmer, at the time when Eadgyth—if that is to be her name—is sought in marriage by King Henry. The writer, Hermann, Abbot of Saint Martin’s, says that he had heard the story as a young man from Anselm himself. As Eadmer reports Eadgyth’s own statement, Hermann reports the statement of the abbess—“abbatissa in cujus monasterio puella illa fuerat nutrita.” If any trust can be put in the uncertified list of abbesses of Romsey in the Monasticon, ii. 507, the head of the sisterhood at that time would seem to have been an English Æthelflæd. The maiden herself also is without a name, and her brother is confounded with her father. She is “puella quædam, filia David regis Scotiæ.” The Abbess’s story is that the Scottish King entrusted his daughter to her care, not to become a nun, but simply for education (“Rex David pater ejus mihi eam commendavit, non ut sanctimonialis fieret, sed ut solummodo in ecclesia nostra propter cautelam cum ceteris puellis nostris coætancis suis nutriretur et literis erudiretur”). When the girl is about twelve years old (“cum jam adolevisset,” which is explained afterwards to mean “duodennis”), the Abbess hears that king William (defined as “rex Willelmus, domini mei regis Henrici germanus”) has come to see her (“propter eam videndam venisse”). In the case of any decent king such a visit would surely have been neither scandalous nor wonderful. The King is at the abbey-gate with his knights, and asks to have it opened. The Abbess fears that he may conceive some bad purpose towards the maiden, but hopes that he will respect her if she wears the monastic veil. She therefore persuades Eadgyth to wear the veil for the time;
“Hæc audiens, nimiumque perterrita, ne forte ille, ut juvenis et rex indomitus, qui omne quod animo sibi occurrisset illico facere volebat, visa pulcritudine puellæ aliquam ei illicitam violentiam faceret, qui tam improvisus et insperatus propter eam videndam advenisset, in secretius cubiculum eam introduxi, rem ei sicut erat aperui, eaque volente velum unum capiti ejus imposui, quatenus eo viso rex ab illicito complexu revocaretur.”
The King goes into the cloister, as if to look at the flowers “quasi propter inspiciendas rosas et alias florentes herbas”). He sees Eadgyth with the veil, and goes away, showing, according to the Abbess, that his visit had been on her account only (“mox ut eam vidit cum ceteris puellis nostris velum capite gestantem, claustro exivit et ab ecclesia recessit, aperte ostendens se non nisi propter eam venisse”). Within a week King David came; seeing his daughter with the veil on her head, he was very angry; he tore it from her head, trampled it under-foot, and took his daughter away.
As the Abbot’s memory clearly failed him on one point, it may have failed him in others. This is, as far as I know, the only time in history or legend in which William Rufus is brought into connexion with the name of any woman. It may well be that Abbess Æthelflæd—if that was her name—did not know the secrets of the Red King’s court, and reckoned him among ordinary, instead of extraordinary, sinners.
The accounts of Orderic and Hermann assert, and that of Eadmer seems to imply, that Eadgyth at least, most likely Mary also, was sent to be brought up by their aunt when they were quite children. But there is something a little odd in the appearance of Malcolm both in Eadmer and in Hermann, where he is spoken of as if it were an every-day thing for a King of Scots to show himself at Romsey. We may here perhaps help ourselves to a date. The visit of Malcolm must surely have been when he was in England in 1093. Eadgyth then, according to Hermann, was about twelve years old. Now, it seems from William of Malmesbury (iv. 389) that she had a godfather whom we should hardly have looked for in the person of Duke Robert. When could Robert have been godfather to a daughter of Malcolm and Margaret? Surely when he was in Scotland in the autumn of 1080 (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 671). That was therefore the time of Eadgyth’s birth; she would then be under thirteen when her father came into England. (Since this note was printed, I see that M. Gaston Le Hardy, p. 41, takes this date for granted.)
The fact that Malcolm and Margaret themselves sent their daughters into England seems to dispose of the account in Fordun (v. 21; see [p. 30]), according to which their uncle Eadgar somehow contrived to bring them to England after the death of their parents. The only way in which the two versions could be reconciled would be by supposing that, when Malcolm, according to Hermann, took Eadgyth away from Romsey, he took her back to Scotland.
In Eadgyth’s own statement in Eadmer, she says that her father meant her to marry Count Alan. So Orderic (702 A) says;
“Alanus Rufus Britannorum comes Mathildem, quæ prius dicta est Edith, in conjugem sibi a rege Rufo requisivit; sed morte præventus non obtinuit.”
Mr. Robertson (i. 152) makes merry over this passage, and takes the opportunity to sneer at Orderic. How, he asks, could Alan, who outlived Eadgyth-Matilda and died in 1119—she died in 1118—have been prevented by his own death from marrying her? He objects also that Alan married the second time (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 647) in 1093, “before Matilda could have sought refuge in England.” He adds, “Alan, however, was once a suitor for the hand of Matilda, but to her own father Malcolm (according to her own words), not to Rufus,” and goes on to tell about Orderic’s “gossip,” “infinity of error,” and what not. But though Orderic has made a slight slip, Mr. Robertson’s own error is much greater. There can be little doubt that the Alan meant is not the Alan of Britanny who married first Constance the daughter of the Conqueror and then Ermengarde of Anjou, but Alan the Black the second lord of Richmond (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 294, and Mrs. Green, Princesses, i. 25), a much more likely husband for the Scottish King to think of for his daughter. Now this Alan died in 1093, just about the right time. Orderic has put Rufus instead of Niger, which is about the extent of his offence—perhaps confounding Alan the Black with his brother Alan Fergeant, the first lord of Richmond. But Mr. Robertson quite forgot that Malcolm sent his daughters into England long before 1093. Thierry (ii. 152) saw clearly which Alan it was.
William of Malmesbury (v. 418) has a singular passage, where he tells us that “Matildis, filia regis Scotorum, a teneris annis inter sanctimoniales apud Wiltoniam et Rumesium educata, literis quoque fœmineum pectus exercuit. Unde, ut ignobiles nuptias respueret plusquam semel a patre oblatas, peplum sacratæ professionis index gestavit.”
But who could look on a marriage with Count Alan as “ignobilis”?
NOTE FF. Vol. ii. pp. [17], [47], [49], [53].
Tynemouth and Bamburgh.
The history of Tynemouth, and of Saint Oswine in relation to Tynemouth, comes largely from the Life of Saint Oswine in the Miscellanea Biographica published by the Surtees Society. This is the work of a monk of Saint Alban’s who went to Tynemouth in 1111. There are also several Saint Alban’s documents printed in the Monasticon, iii. 312. There is a large history of Tynemouth by Mr. W. S. Gibson, from which much may be learned, though the valuable facts and documents have largely to be dug out of a mass of irrelevant matter.
According to the Saint Alban’s writer, Eadwine built a wooden church at Tynemouth, and there his daughter Rosella took the veil. The name is strange enough, but we may perhaps see a confused tradition of a British name, when we read that “locus ubi nunc cœnobium Tinemuthense est, antiquitus a Saxonibus dicebatur Penbalcrag, i.e. caput valli in rupe. Nam circa hunc locum finis erat valli Severiani.” This building must be the same as that which is referred to in the Life, p. 11; “Delatus est ad ostium Tynæ fluminis, locum videlicet ab incolis regionis ob imminentis rupis securitatem ab hostibus celebrius frequentatum. Sed ob reverentiam gloriosæ Virgini Mariæ inibi exhibitam tenerius amatum, ibique sepultus est in oratorio ejusdem Virginis, quod constructum erat ad aquilonem fluminis.” He goes on to tell how Oswald rebuilt the wooden church of stone, and how the monastery was more than once destroyed by the Danes. The Saint Alban’s writer (Mon. Angl. iii. 312) speaks more specially of the Danes. The biographer carries us at once to the time of Tostig;
“Memoria sancti martyris Oswini, obsoleta et penitus deleta, funditus ab hominum notitia evanuit. Jacuitque per multa annorum curricula gleba sancti corporis sub abjectiori cespite tumulata et usque ad tempora Thostii comitis et Ægelwini præsulis Dunelmi, incuriæ pariter et ignorantiæ neglectu, debita veneratione est fraudata.”
The writer has a curious remark to account for the neglect of the saint; “Genti prædictæ nunc fideles, nunc infideles principabantur, et juxta principum instituta, varia divinus cultus in subjectarum plebium studiis sensit dispendia.” This is doubtless true of Deira, hardly so of Bernicia, where no heathen prince reigned, though passing heathens did a good deal of damage.
He then gives a long account of the invention of the saint’s body, which came about through the vision of a monk named Eadmund. Judith, according to the character which she bears elsewhere (see N. C. vol. ii. p. 391), appears as “devota Deo famula,” “præpotens et devota femina,” “veneranda comitissa.” Of Tostig we are told that he succeeded Siward, “non testamenti beneficio, sed sancti regis Ædwardi dono regio.” He is described as beginning the new church which the monks of Saint Alban’s afterwards finished (p. 15); “Cujus tamen fundamenti initia, ut dicitur, comes Thostius jecerat, a fundamentis ædificaverunt.” But his deposition and death seem to be looked upon as a judgement for not being present in person at the invention (“Quia prædixtus comes Thostius interesse sanctæ inventioni in ditione sua factæ noluit, eodem anno culpis suis exigentibus ab Anglorum regno expulsus,” &c.), the exact date of which is given, March 15, 1065. It is added, “Thostio comite proscripto, hæreditas ejus devoluta est ad fiscum regium.”
Simeon in his History of the Church of Durham, iv. 4, puts the acts of Tostig and of Waltheof together under the head of Northumbrian earls; “Ecclesiam sane sancti Oswini in Tinemuthe, jamdudum donantibus Northymbriæ comitibus, monachi cum adhuc essent in Gyrvum possederant, unde etiam ipsius sancti ossa ad se transferentes in ecclesia sancti Pauli secum non parvo tempore habuerunt, quæ postmodum ad priorem locum retulerunt.” He then goes on to record the confirmation by Earl Alberic, who “hoc donum renovavit, ipsamque ecclesiam cum suo presbitero ecclesiæ sancti Cuthberti perpetuo possidendam adjecit.”
It would seem that the fall of Tostig hindered the completion of his church, and that at the time of Waltheof’s grant it was still without a roof; for he goes on to say, “Quæ cum jam per quindecim annos velut deserta sine tecto durasset, eam monachi culmine imposito renovarunt, et per tres annos possederunt.” On receiving the confirmation of Alberic, a monk with a good Danish name was sent to put things in better order (Simeon, Gesta Regum, 1121); “Ex capituli totius sententia monachus noster Turchillus illuc mittitur, qui renovato ecclesiæ ipsius culmine, per multum tempus habitavit ibidem.”
I have referred to the charter of Waltheof and to the entry in Simeon (Gesta Regum, 1080) in N. C. vol. iv. p. 666. It is printed, along with a charter of Bishop William confirming it, dated April 27, 1085, in the time of Earl Alberic, whose confirmation is recorded, in the Surtees book called Historiæ Dunelmensis Scriptores Tres, pp. xviii, xix. The signatures to both are nearly all English, with the single exception of two to the charter of Waltheof. These are Gilbert, the nephew (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 665) of Bishop Walcher, and an unknown Walter. We meet with several other men that we know, as Morkere’s father Ligulf and his brother Uhtred, and Leofwine, written “Leobwinus,” the Dean of Durham. We notice also “Ernan Biscope sune,” and three Englishmen with the knightly title “Alwinus miles,” “Wlstanus miles,” and “Kinewlfus miles,” but I do not understand “signum Aldredi comitis.” Earl Ealdred, the common grandfather of Waltheof and young Morkere, had been murdered long ago, as the sons of Carl found to their cost. The story is told again in Simeon, Gesta Regum, 1121.
The next stage in the story is the taking away of Tynemouth from the church of Durham. It is amusing to contrast the ways in which this story is told at Durham and at Saint Alban’s. Simeon, in the chapter just quoted, tells us that Earl Robert made the gift to Saint Alban’s “propter inimicitias quæ inter episcopum et ipsum agitabantur” (cf. Gesta Regum, 1121). The cause of their ill-will, a dispute about lands, comes out in the next chapter. Roger of Wendover (ii. 39), who is copied by Matthew Paris (Hist. Ang. i. 41, and Chron. Maj. ii. 31), tells us how Earl Robert—“vir quidem Deo devotus,” Matthew says—gave Tynemouth to Saint Alban’s “divina inspiratione tactus.” The Gesta Abbatum (i. 57) add that it was done “regis et archiepiscopi Lanfranci benevolentia.” It would seem that under Durham rule Tynemouth had been simply an impropriate church, while in the hands of Saint Alban’s it became a cell. The judgement on Abbot Paul is recorded in the Durham History, iv. 4. The Gesta Abbatum, which record much about him, both good and evil, say nothing about this. The Life of Oswine, p. 15, gives a full account of the ceremony of the translation of Saint Oswine, with the date. Bishop Randolf of Durham was there, Abbot Richard of Saint Alban’s, and “Abbas Salesberiensis Hugo,” where we may see (see Mon. Angl. iii. 495) the old confusion (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 799) between Salisbury and Selby.
Tynemouth then, at the time when the revolt of Robert of Mowbray began (see [p. 47]), was already a monastery and a cell to Saint Alban’s, though the monks of Durham still held that they had been wrongfully deprived of it. But it appears from the narrative that, besides the monastery, there was also a castle. The account in the Chronicle is, “And þone castel æt Tinemuðan besæt oððet he hine gewann, and þæs eorles broðer þærinne and ealle þa þe him mid wæron.” Florence says, “Rex exercitu de tota Anglia congregato, castellum prædicti comitis Rotberti, ad ostium Tinæ fluminis situm, per duos menses obsedit; et interim, quadam munitiuncula expugnata, ferme omnes meliores comitis milites cepit, et in custodia posuit; dein obsessum castellum expugnavit, et fratrem comitis, et equites, quos intus inveniebat, custodiæ tradidit.” Florence seems to me to have confounded the sieges of Tynemouth and of the New Castle. By the “castellum ad ostium Tinæ” he would seem to mean the New Castle, and by his “munitiuncula” he would seem to mean the Earl’s fortress at Tynemouth. Now what was the relation between the castle and the monastery? As things now stand, castle and monastery are one. That is to say, the deserted church—or more strictly the two deserted churches, monastic and parochial, once under one roof (see Archæological Journal, vol. xxxvii. p. 250, No. 147, 1880)—standing on the northern promontory is now surrounded by military buildings and the great gate-house. I get my notion of the early arrangements of Tynemouth from several old plans collected by Mr. Gibson. There is one which seems to be of the sixteenth century, and, as the names are written in a curious mixture of English, Latin, and Italian, it struck me that it might be the work of an officer of those Italian mercenaries who were employed in the civil wars of Edward the Sixth. This is the only one which distinctly shows “the Castle,” on the southern promontory, though all mark that point as taken in within the lines of defence. It seems to me that the southern promontory must have been the site of the original castle, and that the name of Castle has shifted to the great gate-house, which fairly deserves it.
With regard to the order of the sieges, Orderic, who gives us so full an account of the siege of Bamburgh, tells us nothing about the others. I gather from the words of the Chronicle that the New Castle, which we find in the King’s hands directly after, was the point which was first taken; “Sona þes þe he þider [to Norðhymbran] com, he manege and forneah ealle þa betste of þes eorles hirede innan anan fæstene gewann, and on hæftene gedyde.” Florence, as I have said, seems to have misunderstood the words of the Chronicler, and to have confounded Tynemouth and the New Castle. This last would surely be, as the Chronicle implies, the first point of attack after the army entered Northumberland in the sense which that word now bears. Next in the narrative of the Chronicle follows the siege and capture of Tynemouth, and then the great siege of Bamburgh. Of this famous fortress I found something to say long ago in N. C. vol. i. p. 410, where Bamburgh appears as marking one stage in the art of fortification. Bæda (iii. 16) witnesses that the place took its name “ex Bebbæ quondam reginæ vocabulo;” so also the Northumbrian writer copied by Simeon of Durham, 774;
“Bebba civitas urbs est munitissima, non admodum magna, sed quasi duorum vel trium agrorum spatium, habens unum introitum cavatum, et gradibus miro modo exaltatum. Habet in summitate montis ecclesiam præpulcre factam, in qua est scrinium speciosum et pretiosum. In quo involuta pallio jacet dextera manus sancti Oswaldi regis incorrupta, sicut narrat Beda historiographus hujus gentis.”
The reference here is to Bæda, iii. 6, where he tells the story of Oswald’s bounty and the prophecy of Aidan, and adds how his hand and arm, cut off after his death in the battle by Penda, “in urbe regia quæ a regina quondam vocabulo Bebba cognominatur, loculo inclusæ argenteo in ecclesia sancti Petri servantur, ac digno a cunctis honore venerantur.” So again, iii. 12, where Bamburgh is simply “regia civitas.” He goes on to speak of the well; “Est in occidente et in summitate ipsius civitatis fons miro cavatus opere, dulcis ad potandum et purissimus ad videndum.” Florence also refers to the origin of the name; with him it is “Bebbanbyrig, id est, Urbs Bebbæ reginæ;” and Orderic (704 A) draws a little picture of the spot; “Munitissimum castrum, quod Babbenburg dicitur, obsederunt. Et quoniam illa munitio inexpugnabilis erat, quia inaccessibilis videbatur propter paludes et aquas, et alia quædam itinerantibus contraria, quibus ambiebatur, rex novam munitionem ad defensionem provinciæ et coartationem hostium construxit, et militibus, armis, ac victualibus implevit.” This last fact, the making of the Malvoisin, is recorded by the Chronicler and Florence, both of whom give the name. The Chronicler says; “Ac þa þa se cyng geseah þæt he hine gewinnan ne mihte, þa het he makian ænne castel toforan Bebbaburh and hine on his spæce Malueisin het, þæt is on Englisc yfel nehhebur, and hine swiðe mid his mannan gesætte, and syððan suðweard for.” So Florence; “Ante Bebbanbyrig in quam comes fugerat, castellum firmavit, id que Malveisin nominavit, et in illo militibus positis, in Suthymbriam rediit.” We may here note the way in which the Chronicler assumes French as the language of William Rufus, and also Florence’s somewhat archaic way of speaking of “Suthymbria,” where the Chronicler says simply “suðweard.” It is something like his mention of West-Saxonia in 1091 (see vol. i. p. 305).
The Malvoisin was clearly such a tower as we often hear of, temporary and of wood, but still not moveable, as is implied in Florence’s word “firmavit.” But the name seems afterwards to have been transferred to moveable towers; see Du Cange in Malveisin, where he refers to the passage about the siege of Dover in Roger of Wendover, iii. 380; “Misso prius ad patrem suum propter petrariam, quæ ‘Malveisine’ Gallice nuncupatur, qua cum machinis aliis Franci ante castrum locata muros acriter crebris ictibus verberabant.” In his account of the siege of Bamburgh (ii. 46) Roger says, “Cum castellum inexpugnabile advertit, ante castellum illud castellum aliud ligneum construxit, quod Malveisin appellavit, in quo partem exercitus sui relinquens inde recessit.” Matthew Paris copies this in the Chronica Majora in the Historia Anglorum, i. 48; his words are, “Ante castellum illud aliud sed ligneum construxit, ad præcludendum illis exitum, quod patria lingua Maleveisine appellavit.” Viollet-le-Duc (Military Architecture of the Middle Ages, 24, Eng. trans.) seems to imply that moveable towers were known earlier than this time, but he seems (p. 30) to bring the petraria from the East.
As for the details of the siege, the Chronicler and Florence tell us nothing till we come to the escape of Robert from Bamburgh. It is Orderic who gives us the picture of the state of mind of Robert and his companions, which, if it belongs to any period of the siege, must belong to the time before the King went southward. We see the loyal troops busily working at the making of the Malvoisin;
“Conscii autem perfidiæ et fautores eorum detegi verentes conticuerunt, et metu exsangues, quia conatus suos nihil valere perpenderunt, regiis cohortibus immixti, ejus servitium, cujus exitium optaverant, prompte aggressi sunt. Interea, dum rex in armis cum agminibus suis ad bellum promptus constaret, et chiliarchos ac centuriones, aliosque proceres Albionis, cum subditis sibi plebibus, operi novæ munitionis indesinenter insistere compelleret, Rodbertus de propugnaculis suis contrarium sibi opus mœstus conspiciebat, et complices suos alta voce nominatim compellebat, ac ut jusjurandum de proditionis societate conservarent, palam commonebat. Rex autem cum fidelibus suis hæc audiens ridebat, et conscia reatus publicati mens conscios et participes timore et verecundia torquebat.”
Then the King goes away; in Orderic’s phrase, “rege ad sua prospere remeante, et de moderamine regni cum suis amicis solerter tractante,” a rather odd description of the war in Wales. Now comes Robert’s escape from Bamburgh. Orderic, who seems to have no clear idea of any place except Bamburgh, merely says that Robert, “longæ obsidionis tædio nauseatus, noctu exilivit, et de castro in castrum migrare volens in manus inimicorum incidit.” The Chronicle is fuller; “Ða sona æfter þam þe se cyng wæs suð afaren feorde se eorl anre nihte ut of Bebbaburh towardes Tinemuðan, ac þa þe innan þam niwun castele wæron his gewær wurdon, and him æfter foran and onfuhton and hine gewundedon, and syððan gelæhton, and þa þe mid him wæron sume ofslogan sume lifes gefengon.” But it is from Florence that we get the detailed account. His story runs thus;
“Post cujus discessum, comiti Rotberto vigiles Novi Castelli promisere in id se permissuros illum intrare, si veniret occulte. Ille autem lætus effectus, quadam nocte cum xxx. militibus ut id perageret exivit. Quo cognito, equites qui castellum custodiebant illum insequentes, ejus exitum custodibus Novi Castelli per nuntios intimaverunt. Quod ille nesciens, die dominica tentavit peragere cœpta, sed nequivit, deprehensus enim erat. Eapropter ad monasterium S. Oswini regis et martyris fugit, ubi sexto die obsessionis suæ graviter in crure est vulneratus dum suis adversariis repugnaret, quorum multi perempti, multi sunt vulnerati, de suis quoque nonnulli vulnerati, omnes sunt capti; ille vero in ecclesiam fugit, de qua extractus, in custodia est positus.”
Here now comes the obvious difficulty as to the way in which the Earl could have got into the monastery at Tynemouth after the castle had been taken. The Chronicler indeed does not necessarily imply that he got into Tynemouth at all. The fight which he describes might have happened somewhere else and not at Tynemouth. And if any one chooses to move the site of Robert’s resistance and capture from Tynemouth to some unknown spot, there is only the statement of Florence against him. That Robert was taken, and taken after a stout resistance, is plain.
With Robert’s capture, Orderic ends his story, as far as military operations are concerned. “Captus a satellitibus regis, Rodbertus finem belli fecit.” In a very general way this is not untrue; it was the capture of Robert which brought about the end of the war. But it is odd that he should have left out the striking story of the captive Earl being brought under frightful threats before the castle which his wife was defending. This stands out clearly in the Chronicle; “Ða þa se cyng ongean com, þa het he niman þone eorl Rotbeard of Norðymbram, and to Bæbbaburh lædan, and ægðer eage ut adon, buton þa þe þærinne wæron þone castel agyfan woldan. Hine heoldan his wif and Moreal, se wæs stiward and eac his mæg. Ðurh þis wearð se cartel þa agyfen.” Florence translates this.
Lastly comes the great difference of all as to Earl Robert’s last days. The Chronicler and Florence merely record his imprisonment at Windsor, without saying how long it lasted. Florence says only, “Comes forti custodiæ mancipandus ad Windlesoram est ductus,” followed by the passage about Morel quoted in [p. 55]. He says nothing about the many accusations brought by Morel, or about the special summons of all the tenants-in-chief to the trial, of which the Chronicler speaks (see [p. 56]). The Chronicler, after recording them, says; “And þone eorl Rotbert hét se cyng to Windlesoran lædan, and þær innan þam castele healdan.” This is consistent with any later destiny, with release and monastic profession or with lifelong imprisonment. This last is asserted by several authorities. Thus Orderic (704 A) says; “Rodbertus…. fere triginta annis in vinculis vixit, ibique scelerum suorum pœnas luens consenuit.” He then sets forth the sad state of his wife; “Mathildis uxor ejus, quæ cum eo vix unquam læta fuerat, quia in articulo perturbationis desponsata fuerat, et inter bellicas clades tribus tantum mensibus cum tremore viri thoro incubuerat, maritali consolatione cito caruit, multisque mœroribus afflicta diu gemuit.” The Continuator of William of Jumièges (viii. 8), who has nothing to say about Matilda, equally bears witness to Robert’s lifelong imprisonment; “Captus a militibus Willelmi regis, ipsoque jubente in ipsis vinculis diutius perseverans; regnante jam Henrico rege, tandem in ipso ergastulo deficiens mortuus est.” So William of Malmesbury, iv. 319; “Captus et æternis vinculis irretitus est.”
On the other hand, there clearly was a story according to which Robert was released some time or other, and died a monk at Saint Alban’s. It is somewhat remarkable that there is no mention of this in any of the chief writings of Matthew Paris, neither in the Historia Major nor the Historia Anglorum, nor the Lives of the Abbots. But we find the story implied in the extract from his Additamenta in the Monasticon, iii. 312; “Ibidem [at Tynemouth] monachos congregavit de domo sancti Albani, tanquam ab electissima domo inter omnia cœnobia Angliæ, ubi etiam se vovit monasticum habitum suscepturum, et sepulturam in loco memorato. Quæ omnia, Deo sibi propitio, feliciter consummavit.” So in the Abbreviatio Chronicorum (Hist. Angl. iii. 175), a marginal note is added to the name of Earl Robert; “Sepultus est apud sanctum Albanum.” But, oddly enough, the most distinct statement that he became a monk comes, not from any Saint Alban’s writer, but from one manuscript of the “De Regibus Saxonum Libellus” at the end of the Surtees Simeon, p. 214. King Henry keeps Robert of Mowbray some while in prison; then “rogatu baronum suorum eundem resolvens, concessit illi mutare vitam habitumque sæcularem. Qui ingressus monasterium Sancti Albani sub professione monastica ibidem vitam finivit.”
The story about Matilda’s second marriage and divorce comes from Orderic. His story runs thus; “Vir ejus, ut dictum est, in carcere vivebat, nec ipsa, eo vivente, secundum legem Dei alteri nubere legitime valebat. Tandem, permissu Paschalis papæ, cui res a curiosis enucleata patuit, post multos dies Nigellus de Albineio ipsam uxorem accepit, et pro favore nobilium parentum ejus, aliquamdiu honorifice tenuit. Verum, defuncto Gisleberto de Aquila fratre ejus, vafer occasionem divortii exquisivit, eamque, quia consanguinei sui conjux fuerat, repudiavit, et Gundream, sororem Hugonis de Gornaco, uxorem duxit.” If all this happened at all, it must have happened between 1099 and 1118, the years which mark the reign of Paschal.
Matilda of Laigle could not well have been the sister of William the Chaplain to whom Bishop Herbert Losinga writes his third letter (Ep. Herberti, p. 5). He there says; “De matrimonio sororis vestræ non aliud respondeo vobis, quam id quod præsens ex ore meo audivistis, suo videlicet ut vivente viro, secundum evangelium et secundum sanctorum canonum usum, alii viro nubere non potest.” But the person spoken of could hardly have been thinking of such a marriage, unless she had some special excuse, like this of Matilda.
The second wife of Nigel appears both as “Gundrea” and as “Gundreda.” There is a great deal about her husband Nigel and her son Robert, the founder of Byland Abbey, in the Monasticon, v. 346–351. The marriage of Nigel and Gundreda took place after Tinchebrai, and as King Henry gave Nigel the castle of Mowbray, and much else in Normandy and England which had belonged to Earl Robert, their son Roger called himself Roger of Mowbray. Such a description was likely to lead to confusion, and it may have led some to fancy that later bearers of the name of Mowbray had something to do with the famous Bishop and Earl of our story. The artificial Percy is indeed connected with the real one by grandmothers; but the artificial Mowbray was purely artificial. This Roger of Mowbray appears also in the Continuator of William of Jumièges, viii. 8, who tells us that Nigel himself became a monk at Bec.
As Walknol has been casually mentioned in the text ([p. 47]) there may be some interest in a document in the Cartulary of Newminster published by the Surtees Society, p. 178. The date must be after 1137, the date of the foundation of Newminster. The number of English names, and specially the two bearers of scriptural names who are sons of English-named fathers, illustrate points of which I have often had to speak;
“De terra de Walknol in castro. Johannes filius Edwyni fabri, salutem. Sciatis me concessisse, dedisse, et hac præsenti carta mea confirmasse, Bartholomæo filio Edricii illam terram totam quæ jacet in australi parte cimiterii capellæ beati Michaelis, in longitudine a curtillo Eadmundi clerici usque ad terram quæ fuit Johannis Stanhard, et in latitudine a cimiterio capellæ beati Michaelis usque ad antiquam communem viam subtus versus austrum. Habendum et tenendum eidem Bartholomæo et hæredibus suis de me et hæredibus meis et assignatis in perpetuum, libere, quiete, et pacifice, pro duabus marcis arg. quas michi dedit idem Bartholomæus in manu in mea magna necessitate.”
NOTE GG. [Vol. ii. p. 79.]
The Conquest of Glamorgan.
I gave a note to the conquest of Glamorgan in the Appendix to vol. v. of the Norman Conquest, p. 820. I look, as I did then, upon the account in what I find it convenient to call the later Brut as thoroughly legendary in its details, though I am perhaps inclined to put rather more faith in the general story than I was then. And I am not so much inclined as I was then to draw the same wide distinction as Mr. Floyd draws between the expeditions led by the King himself and those which partook more or less of the character of private adventure. There was doubtless a difference, when it was King William who called the whole force of England to his standard, and when it was only either Earl Hugh or Robert Fitz-hamon who set out on an expedition on his own account. But both processes were parts of the same general undertaking. Whatever individual lords conquered, they conquered with the King’s approval, to be held by them as his vassals and subjects. He himself stepped in only on great occasions, when the Welsh seemed to be getting too strong for the local lords. The same general work must have been going on all over the country. The only strange thing is that the conquest of Glamorgan, of whose general results there can be no doubt, and of which we have so very full a legendary account, is left out altogether in every really trustworthy history.
Jestin ap Gwrgan must be accepted as a real man, on the strength of his real sons and grandsons (for his sons see N. C. vol. v. p. 821); but that is all that can be said of him. We can hardly carry our faith so far as Mr. John Williams ab Ithel, the Editor of the Brut in the Chronicles and Memorials, who asks us (xxiii) to “consider the great age of the prince of Glamorgan when he died. He is said to have married his first wife A.D. 994”—it is perhaps prudent to mention the æra—“and to have died at the age of 111, according to others 129.” We Saxons do not venture to believe in the kindred tales of our own Harold and Gyrth. But we learn from Mr. Williams himself, at the very beginning of his Preface, that “the voice of Tradition would not lead us to suppose that the ancient Britons paid any very particular attention to the study of chronology previous to the era of Prydain, son of Aedd the Great, which is variously dated from the year 1780 to 480 before the nativity of Christ.” If centuries went for so little in the days of Prydain, it is not wonderful that decades did not go for much in the days of Jestin. Nor are we surprised to find that Mr. Williams knew the exact number of the descendants of Jestin, who were, like those of Attila, “pene populus.” All that we can say of Jestin’s story, in relation to Robert Fitz-hamon and his companions, is that there is no trustworthy evidence either for or against the story of his invitation to the Norman knights, but that the tale has a legendary sound, and that the date is in any case wrong. If we should be inclined, according to one or two indications (see [p. 84]), to place the conquest of Glamorgan several years earlier, perhaps even before the death of the Conqueror, we are only carried away yet further from the perfectly certain date of the death of Rhys ap Tewdwr. All that we can say is that the general story may be true, but that the list of settlers given in the later Brut (72 to 75) is largely due to family vanity. The Stradling family, for instance, had nothing to do with the original conquest.
The best account of the whole matter is to be found in Mr. Clark’s first paper on “The Land of Morgan,” in the Archæological Journal, xxxiv. 11. I cannot however admit with him (p. 18) that “it seems probable that to the early Vikings, and not to the later settlements of Flemings or English, is due the Teutonic element which prevails in the topography of lower Pembroke and Gower.” I am quite ready (see [p. 95]) to admit a certain Scandinavian element; but the Flemish settlement in Pembrokeshire is undoubtedly historical (see N. C. vol. v. p. 855), while we have fair legendary evidence for making the settlement in Gower West-Saxon (see [p. 103]). The name of Worm’s Head given to the great promontory of Gower, in marked distinction to the Scandinavian Orm’s Head in North Wales, goes a long way to show that the Teutonic settlers in Gower were either Flemish or Saxon, and not Scandinavian.
NOTE HH. [Vol. ii. p. 115.]
Godwine of Winchester and his son Robert.
I gave a short note to the history of Robert son of Godwine in N. C. vol. v. p. 819. On going again more minutely through the story, I am even more struck than before by the singular way in which different notices of Robert and Godwine hang together. It is one of the best cases that I know of the argument from undesigned coincidences. Besides the interest of the story in itself, it teaches us, like many other stories, how, if we work with a proper caution, we may dig truth out of quarters where we should hardly have looked for it, and it may specially suggest matter for thought as to the value of those pieces of Scottish history which one hardly knows whether to call the writings of Turgot or Fordun, or of any one else. I suspect that, if we simply read the story of Godwine and Robert as it stands in Fordun, we should be inclined to cast it aside altogether. The story undoubtedly has a legendary air, and the details of the single combat are likely enough to have received some legendary colouring even at the time. Some might even be a little startled at the appearance of Englishmen of knightly rank at the court of William Rufus. But we see from Domesday on the one hand, and from William of Malmesbury on the other, that Godwine and Robert were real men, and we see that the part which they play in Fordun’s story is exactly in accordance with their real position.
I have mentioned elsewhere (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 571; vol. v. p. 819) that there was a Godwine holding lands in Hertfordshire of the Ætheling Eadgar. We also have in two places in William of Malmesbury (iii. 251; iv. 384) notices of “Robertus Anglus,” “Robertus filius Godwini miles audacissimus,” who goes to the crusade with the Ætheling, and who does the exploits which I have spoken of in [p. 122]. Now if circumstantial evidence is ever good for anything, one can hardly doubt that the Godwine of Domesday is the same as the Godwine of William of Malmesbury and as the Godwine of Fordun, and that the Robert son of Godwine in Fordun is the same as the Robert son of Godwine in William of Malmesbury. The three accounts are wholly independent, but all bring Godwine and Robert into connexion with Eadgar. It is almost inconceivable that Fordun’s story should be mere invention, when it makes men of whom so little is known act exactly in character with the little that is known of them.
In the account in Fordun (ii. 22, Surtees Simeon 263), Ordgar, “Orgarus,” is described in the one text as “miles degener Anglicus,” in the other as “miles de genere Anglico,” which is clearly the better reading.
The name of Ordgar appears only twice in Domesday. In Oxfordshire, 161, Ordgar, a king’s thegn, holds two hides of the worth of forty shillings. He had two slaves on his domain, and half a carucate was held by two villains or churls. We then read, “Godwinus libere tenuit.” This is pretty sure to be our Ordgar, and it may very well be our Godwine, though we can say nothing for certain about so common a name. If they are the same, here is great likelihood, though no proof, that Godwine may have had other ground for willingness to fight Ordgar, besides his loyalty to the Ætheling. Ordgar, on the other hand, appears in Somerset, 93, as holding a hide which had passed to Robert of Courcelles, and which, with a good deal more, was held by Anschitil. Ordgar was not the only Englishman who, among the endless forfeitures and grants—to say nothing of ordinary sales, bequests, and exchanges, which went on T. R. W. as well as T. R. E.—lost in one part of England and gained in another.
In Fordun’s story Eadgar is described as “clito Eadgarus, viz. genere gloriosus, nam sic ipsum nominabant.” “De genere gloriosus,” it will be marked, is a more literal translation of “Clito” than it is of “Ætheling.” William is inclined to hearken to Ordgar, “quia Eadgarus de regia stirpe fuerat progenitus, et regno, jure Anglico, proximus.” We then read, “nec incerta de Eadgaro jam poterat esse sententia, si crimen impositum probari potuisset.” Eadgar is in great trouble for fear of not finding a champion, when Godwine steps forward; “Miles de Wintonia, Anglicus natione, genere non ignobilis, nomine Godwinus, veteris parentelæ ipsius non immemor, opem se præstiturum in hac re tam difficili compromisit.”
The two knights now go forth, as I have described in the text, and we have a significant comment on the lack of English patriotism shown by Ordgar;
“Hinc etiam calumniatorem cum justa animadversione increpat, qui Anglicus genere existens naturæ videretur impugnator, quem enim ut dominum venerari debuerat, utpote de jure generis existens cui se et omnia sua debuisset.”
Then come the details of the combat. We hear no more of Godwine after his victory and reward, which last is thus told; “Superati hostis terras et possessiones hereditario jure rex ei concederet possidendas.” “Hereditario jure” most likely simply means, as usual, that the land was to go on to Godwine’s heirs. It need not refer to the probable fact that part at least of Ordgar’s lands had once belonged to Godwine.
Robert first appears in Fordun, v. 25, on the march to Scotland (see [p. 119]). He is introduced as “quidam miles, Anglicus genere, Robertus nomine, filius antedicti Godwini, paternæ probitatis imitator et hæres.” Then come his exploits and adventures in Britain, as I have told them in the text. Afterwards must come his crusading exploits as described by William of Malmesbury. In the earlier of his two accounts (see [p. 122]) one might almost have thought that King Baldwin had no companion except Robert. The second passage, which gives them four other companions, has therefore the force of a correction; “Rex … quinque militibus comitatus, in montana rependo, insidiantes elusit. Militum fuit unus Robertus Anglus, ut superius dixi; cæteros notitiæ nostræ fama tam longinqua occubuit. Ille cum tribus comprehensus est; unus evasit cum rege.” Another point which is worth notice is that the period of the crusade at which Robert is brought in exactly agrees with the story of his doings in Scotland and Northumberland. A man who had difficulties with Flambard after he became bishop in 1099 could not have been with the first crusaders at Antioch and Jerusalem; he might have been quite in time to help Baldwin at Rama.
It would be worth the while of some Hertfordshire antiquary to see whether anything can be made out as to the descent of the lands held by Godwine, or as to any descendants of him and Robert. But I saw a little time back a newly published history of that county, which was eloquent about the grandmothers of various obscure persons of our own time, but which had not a word to say about the champion of Eadgar or the comrade of Baldwin.
NOTE II. [Vol. ii. p. 133.]
The Expedition of Magnus.
The expedition of Magnus, which, by leading him to the shores of Anglesey, had a not unimportant bearing on English affairs, is not spoken of at any great length by our own writers. The Chronicler does not name the Norwegian king; but he does not fail to mention the death of Earl Hugh of Shrewsbury, and, what was practically its most important result, the succession of his brother Robert. His words are; “And Hugo eorl wearð ofslagen innan Anglesege fram ut wikingan and his broðer Rodbert wearð his yrfenuma, swa swa he hit æt þam cynge ofeode.” Florence is fuller;
“Eo tempore rex Norreganorum Magnus, filius regis Olavi, filii regis Haroldi Harvagri, Orcadas et Mevanias insulas cum suo adjecisset imperio, paucis navibus advectus illuc venit. At cum ad terram rates appellere vellet comes Hugo de Scrobbesbyria, multis armatis militibus in ipsa maris ripa illi occurrit, et, ut fertur, mox ab ipso rege sagitta percussus … interiit.”
Florence, it will be seen, here makes the same confusion between the names Hardrada and Harfagra which he made in 1066, and which so many others made beside him. To the account in William of Malmesbury, iv. 329, I have referred in [p. 134]. He alone it is who mentions the presence of the younger Harold in the fleet of Magnus. His words, which I quoted in [p. 124], seem to come from the same source as the account in Florence; but he gives the story a different turn by distinctly making Magnus design an attack on England;
“Jam Angliam per Anglesiam obstinatus petebat; sed occurrerunt ei comites, Hugo Cestrensis et Hugo Scrobesbiriensis; et antequam continentem ingrederetur, armis eum expulerunt. Cecidit ibi Hugo Scrobesbiriensis, eminus ferreo hastili perfossus.”
Henry of Huntingdon would seem to translate the Chronicle; but he makes a confusion as to the persons by whom Earl Hugh was slain; “Hugo consul Salopscyre occisus est ab Hibernensibus. Cui successit Robertus de Belem frater ejus.”
If we could suppose that the Archdeacon of Huntingdon had paid so much attention to British affairs, we might fancy that he confounded the fleet of Magnus with the wikings from Ireland whom Cadwgan and Gruffydd hired a little time before. See [p. 128].
The Welsh writers naturally tell the tale as part of their own history. The Earls have come into Anglesey; then comes Magnus. There are two different accounts in two manuscripts of the Annales Cambriæ; that which the editor follows in the text runs thus;
“Francis in insula morantibus, Magnus rex Germaniæ cum exercitu venit in insulam volens. Sed ei nolenti Franci ei occurrentes se invicem sagittis salutaverunt, hi de terra, illi de mari, alter comes sagitta in facie percussus occubuit. Quo facto, Magnus abivit.”
The other manuscript reads;
“Francis in insula morantibus, Magnus rex Germaniæ ad insulam Mon venit et prœlium cum consulibus commisit; sed alter consulum vulneratus in facie cecidit; alter vero cum majoribus insulam dereliquit. Postea vero Magnus rex insulam Mon repente reliquit.”
“The French entered the island, and killed some of the men of the island. And whilst they tarried there, Magnus, King of Germany, came, accompanied by some of his ships, as far as Mona, hoping to be enabled to take possession of the countries of the Britons. And when King Magnus had heard of the frequent designs of the French to devastate the whole country, and to reduce it to nothing, he hastened to attack them. And as they were mutually shooting, the one party from the sea, and the other party from the land, Earl Hugh was wounded in the face, by the hand of the King himself. And then King Magnus, with sudden determination, left the borders of the country.”
It will be seen that both versions of the Annals call Magnus “rex Germaniæ.” In the text of the Brut he is “Magnus brenhin Germania.” Another manuscript, worse informed as to his name, better informed as to his kingdom, calls him “Maurus brenhin Norwei.” This odd description of a Norwegian king as king of Germany has been met with before in the Brut, 1056; but it is not found in the Annals for that year. But it must have been by a kindred flight that the annalist in 1066 called Harold Hardrada “rex Gothorum.”
Our fuller accounts of the course of Magnus come from Orderic, from the Manx Chronicle, and from the Saga of Magnus Barefoot (Johnstone, 231; Laing, iii. 129). Orderic, as we have seen, looks upon the expedition as being directly designed against Ireland. The Norwegian writer mentions Ireland only quite incidentally. Magnus plunders in Ireland, as everywhere else, on his way to Man, but the object of the expedition is clearly marked as being Man and the other islands which were so closely connected with it, a connexion which is also most strongly set forth in the pompous words of Orderic (767 D). We can have little doubt in accepting the Manx writer’s version of the history of his own island, rather than that of the Norwegian writer, to whom the internal affairs of the island were of no great interest, or the wild statement of Orderic (see [p. 141]) that Man was at this moment a desert island. On the other hand, the Saga is the best authority for the actual voyage of Magnus, though it is the Manx writer who preserves the fact or legend of the irreverent dealings of Magnus towards his sainted kinsman. As to what happened in Anglesey, I have already quoted the accounts of the English and Welsh writers, and the Manx chronicler does not go into any greater detail;
“Ad Moiniam insulam Walliæ navigavit, et duos Hugones comites invenit in ea; unum occidit, alterum fugavit, et insulam sibi subjugavit. Wallenses vero multa munera ei præbuerunt, et valedicens eis ad Manniam remeavit.”
The detailed accounts of the death of Earl Hugh come from the Saga and from Orderic. Orderic, it must be remembered, is writing on a subject of special interest to him, on account of his close connexion from childhood with the house of Montgomery. On the other hand, as we have seen (see [p. 143]), he does not well understand the geography, and seems to fancy that Dwyganwy was in Anglesey. But it will be at once seen that he conceives the death of Earl Hugh in a quite different way from the author of the Saga. In Orderic’s story, though there is a great deal of preparation for fighting, there is no actual fighting at all, except the one shot sent from the bow of the Norwegian King. His version stands thus;
“Quadam vero die, dum supra littus indigenæ turbati discurrerent, seque contra Nordicos, quos in navibus suis sævire contra Anglos videbant, præpararent, Hugo comes, equum calcaribus urgens, cœtus suos congregabat, et contra hostes, ne sparsim divisi invaderentur, principali rigore coercebat. Interea barbarus Nordwigena, ut comitem agiliter equitantem prospexit, instigante diabolo stridulum missile subito direxit, egregiumque comitem, proh dolor! percussit. Qui protinus corruit, et in fluctibus maris jam æstuantis exspiravit. Unde dolor ingens exortus est.”
This really seems hardly possible, and the Welsh account, as well as the Norwegian, distinctly records fighting and shooting of arrows on both sides. The Saga gives us the details, both in prose and verse. The shooting of the King and the other archer is described in prose as I have told it in [p. 144], and both the death of Earl Hugh and the general picture of the battle are given in vigorous verse from the minstrelsy of Biorn Cripplehand (Biörn inn Krepphendi). Besides the verses which Laing translates, the Saga gives others from another poet, Gisl, who vigorously describes the fight between the King and those whom he calls the Welsh Earls (Valsea Jarla), meaning doubtless rather Gal-Welsh than Bret-Welsh;
“Margan hŏfdo
Magnuss lidar
Biortom oddi
Baugvang skotit.
Vard hortoga
Hlif at springa
Kapps vel skiput
Fyrer konongs darri.
Bodkenner skaut
Badom hŏndum
Allr va hilmis
Herr prudliga
Stucku af almi
Þeims iŏfr sueigdi
Hvitmylingar
Adr Hugi felli.”
The relations between Magnus and the Irish King Murtagh are very puzzling. Orderic must have made some mistake when he attributes the expedition of Magnus to a dispute with an Irish king whose daughter he marries and sends back again (767 C, D). This must surely be a confusion between Magnus himself and his son Sigurd, who, according to the Saga, did marry the Irish king’s daughter. But it is possible that Orderic’s story about the Irish princess being sent back again, because her father did not fulfil the marriage contract, may be true of Sigurd, though not of his father. We should thus better understand the transactions which go on a little later about the marriage of a daughter of Murtagh, seemingly the same, to Arnulf son of Earl Roger (see [p. 442]). The Manx writer has nothing to say about these marriages, but he fills up the space between this expedition of Magnus and that in which he fell with some very strange dealings between Magnus and Murtagh. Magnus sends his shoes to the Irish king, bidding him bear them on his shoulders in public as a sign of subjection to their owner (“Murecardo regi Yberniæ misit calceamenta sua, præcipiens ei ut ea super humeros suos in die natalis Domini per medium domus suæ portaret in conspectu nunciorum ejus, quatinus intelligeret se subjectum esse Magno regi”). The Irish are naturally angry; but their king takes matters more quietly. He would willingly not only carry the shoes but eat them, sooner than a single province of Ireland should be laid waste. So he did as he was bid (“rex, saniori consilio usus, non solum, inquit, calceamenta ejus portare, verum etiam manducare mallem, quam Magnus rex unam provinciam in Ybernia destrueret. Itaque complevit præceptum et nuncios honoravit”). The Irish writers of course know nothing about the shoes; but the Chronicon Scotorum records a year’s peace made in 1098 between Murtagh and Magnus (“Magnus ri Lochlainne”). The Manx chronicler also goes on to say that a treaty followed the ceremony of the shoes, but that the ambassadors of Magnus gave such a report of the charms of Ireland, that he determined to invade it again in breach of the treaty.
This brings us to the date of the last expedition of Magnus. The Chronicon Scotorum records the death of Magnus (“Magnus ri Lochlainne ocus na Ninnsit”) in 1099 in an attack on Ulster. But this date must be too early. The Norwegian account places the second expedition of Magnus nine years after his accession in Norway (Laing, iii. 143, Johnstone, 239). This would fix its date to 1102. This is the date commonly given, with 1103, as the year of his death. The Manx writer places the death of Magnus six years after his first expedition (“regnavit in regno insularum sex annis,” p. 7), which would put his death in 1104. But he gives 1102 as the date of his successor in the island kingdom, Olaf the son of Godred Crouan (see [p. 137]). He was, it seems, at the English court; “Quo [Magno] mortuo, miserunt principes insularum propter Olavum filium Godredi Crouan, de quo superius mentionem fecimus, qui tunc temporis degebat in curia Henrici regis Angliæ filii Willelmi, et adduxerunt eum.”
The date of 1102 exactly falls in with the account of the attempt of Robert of Bellême to obtain help from Magnus in that year (see [p. 442]). For this I have followed the account in the Brut (1100; that is 1102). But it would seem that the Welsh writer was mistaken in saying that Magnus “sent over to Ireland, and demanded the daughter of Murchath for his son; for that person was the chiefest of the Gwyddelians; which he joyfully obtained; and he set up that son to be king in the Isle of Man.” His death is recorded in the next year, 1101 (1103), when “Magnus King of Germany” (“Vagnus vrenhin Germania”) is made to invade Britain and be killed by the Britons, who are said to have come “from the mouths of the caves in multitudes like ants in pursuit of their spoils.” Another manuscript for “Prydein” reads “Llẏchljẏn,” that is Denmark, which does not make matters much better. The followers of Magnus are called in the one manuscript “Albanians” (“yr Albanóyr”), meaning doubtless Scots; in the other manuscript they are men of Denmark (“gwyr Denmarc”). The Annales Cambriæ do not mention the dealings between Robert of Bellême and Magnus; but there is an entry under 1103; “Magnus rex apud Dulin [Dublin?] occiditur.”
The death of Magnus in his second Irish expedition is told with great detail in the Saga (Johnstone, 239–244; Laing, iii. 143–147). Orderic also tells the story in p. 812. The Irish, according to this account, call in Arnulf of Montgomery to their help; but, when Magnus is killed, the Irish try to kill Arnulf and his Norman companions. Murtagh now takes away his daughter from Arnulf, and marries her, according to the irregular fashion of the country, to a kinsman (“ipsam petulantem cuidam consobrino suo illicite conjunxit”). But twenty years later, Arnulf, by that time an old man, is reconciled to Murtagh, marries his daughter, and dies the next day. This carries us beyond the range of my story, and I must leave Irish, Norwegian, and Norman enquirers to see to it. It concerns me more that it is now that Orderic mentions the great treasure which Magnus had left with a rich citizen of Lincoln. (See [p. 134].) The Lincoln man seems to have thought that the death of the Norwegian king gave his banker a right to his money; but King Henry thought otherwise, and took the twenty thousand pounds to his own hoard.
NOTE KK. Vol. ii. pp. [196], [199], [211].
The Relations between Hildebert and Helias.
There is a remarkable difference of tone between Orderic and the Biographer of the Bishops of Le Mans in their way of speaking of Helias. That the Count should be blamed for making Bishop Howel a prisoner (see [p. 198]) is in no way wonderful; the thing to be noticed is the way in which he several times speaks of Helias during the episcopate of Hildebert; still more remarkable is the way in which Hildebert speaks himself. Orderic always puts the acts of Helias in the best light; the Biographer, during certain parts of his story at least, seems well-pleased to throw in any little insinuation against him. Perhaps the strangest case of all is the way in which he leaves out all mention of the double appointment to the see of Le Mans on the death of Howel (see [p. 211]), and of the action of Helias in that matter. One would have thought that, even from an ecclesiastical point of view, the story told more for Helias than against him. He put forth a claim which any other prince of his time would have equally put forward; he withdrew it in a way in which very few princes of his time would have withdrawn it. But the Biographer (see [p. 297]) lets us into the fact that there had been an opposition to Hildebert’s election in the Chapter itself. Could his enemies have been special partisans of Helias, and supporters of his candidate? If so, it is rather strange, though quite possible, that they should have been the accusers of Hildebert to Rufus, when the charge brought against him was that of being a confederate with Helias.
The Biographer is quite loyal to Helias during the campaign of 1098. He brings out prominently (see [p. 213], note) the cause of the war, namely the election of Hildebert by the Chapter and his acceptance by the Count, without any regard to the alleged claims of the Norman Dukes. Helias was in fact fighting on behalf of Hildebert. When Helias is taken prisoner, he raises a wail—“proh dolor” (see above, [p. 223])—which almost reminds us of Florence’s wail over the death-wound of Harold. He brings out strongly the Red King’s wrath against Hildebert, as shown in his ravages at Coulaines (see [p. 234]). He brings out also, what Orderic does not mention, the friendly relations between Hildebert and Helias which are shown in the negotiations which led to the Count’s release (see [p. 238]). We may perhaps infer that, during this stage, the friendship between the Count and the Bishop remained unbroken, and that the Biographer remains the Count’s friend so long as the Bishop does.
During the campaign of 1099 the Biographer’s tone becomes quite different. He has not a word to say about the zeal of the citizens of Le Mans on behalf of Helias, which comes out so strongly in Orderic, and after him in Wace (see [p. 279]). He rather implies that they fought against him. The enemies who meet him at Pontlieue are “milites regis cum populo” (see [p. 278], note 2). It is quite possible that, as the Normans had military possession of the city, its levies may have been made, even against their will, to take their place in the Norman ranks, and the presence of such unwilling allies may have very likely helped to bring about the Norman defeat. Still the insertion of the words without any comment or qualification gives the Biographer’s story a different turn from that of Orderic. Yet the Biographer himself after all allows that Helias entered Le Mans with the good-will of the citizens, when he allows (see [p. 297]) the accusers of Hildebert to say “quando Helias comes consentientibus civibus civitatem occupavit.” He next leaves out the fact recorded by Orderic (see p. 297) that, before William Rufus had crossed the frontier, Hildebert met him and was received to his peace, on affirming that he had no share in the enterprise of Helias. There is nothing wonderful in this. It is a case which often happens. The original cause of a war is forgotten, and the fault of the original enemy is forgiven, when a new enemy has given fresh offence. William was so wroth at Helias for seizing Le Mans, that he forgot any quarrels of earlier date. If Hildebert was clear on that score, William could pass by all that had gone before. He was therefore at this moment ready to forgive Hildebert in his wrath against Helias. But the old enemies of Hildebert in the Chapter were ready, for the sake of the old grudge, to turn against Helias. The chances are that Hildebert had nothing to do with the return of Helias, but that the towers of the cathedral were turned by Helias to military uses. Hildebert most likely deemed—and, as events proved, more wisely than either the Count or the citizens—that the enterprise of Helias was rash, and therefore unjustifiable. This would turn him, at least for the time, into an enemy of Helias, if not into a partisan of Rufus. The Biographer takes up this tone. It may be with a little feeling of spite that he records (see [p. 281]) the way in which the loyalty of the citizens towards the Count not unnaturally cooled after the fire. There is certainly such a feeling in the passage (see [p. 287]) where he speaks of Helias as flying, “saluti suæ consulens,” while Orderic rather describes him as swept away in a general flight. But this tone lasts only through the year 1099. When Helias comes back in 1100, all seems to be made up again; we now hear (Vet. An. 309, 311) of the “liberalitas” of the “liberalis comes;” the Normans are “hostes” and Helias brings back peace. That is to say, as the story shows, the Count and the Bishop were again reconciled, and the Biographer follows the lead of the Bishop.
But we need not wonder at the tone of the Biographer, if we know the tone of the Bishop himself. In a letter printed in Duchèsne’s French collection, iv. 247, Hildebert speaks of a space of three years, “peractum triennium,” within which time Le Mans has had six counts, all of them enemies to peace (“tam modico tempore sex in urbe sustinuimus consules, quorum nullus pacificum prætendens ingressum, gladiis et igne curtam sibi vendicavit potestatem.” It is certainly very hard to reckon up six counts in three years, seemingly the years 1096–1099. In twelve years (1087–1099) not more than five counts—William the Great, Robert, Hugh, Helias, William Rufus—can be made out, unless Helias, with his two reigns, is reckoned twice over. Hildebert then goes on;
“Plebe coacta in favorem, tyrannum suscepit ex necessitate, non ducem ex lege: in susceptum studia simulavit, non exhibuit. Fidem reperit in ea, quia superior. Consul vero tanto gravius dominatus est quanto brevius. Miles ejus simulatis usus injuriis, eos scelerum judicavit expertes quos rerum. Et quia non parcit populis regnum breve, finem rapinis inopia posuit, non voluntas.”
This certainly reads most like a description of the reign of Hugh; but in what follows we surely see the events of 1098 and 1099;
“Ea clades usque ad sanctuarium Domini pervagata est, et primo quidquid extra muros nostræ fuerat potestatis, vel evanuit in favillas vel dissipatum est in rapinam. Deinde similibus cecidere præjudiciis episcopales domus et ecclesiæ non paucæ. In reliquis quibus ignis pepercit æque periclitata est et facultas pauperum et reverentia sacerdotum. Omnia confracta sunt, omnia direpta, omnia contaminata. Nihil eorum manus evasit qui gratis ad flagitium discurrunt, ad honestum nec pretio.”
To what does all this refer? It reads most like a description of the Red King’s harryings at Coulaines in 1098 (see [p. 234]); but no one is mentioned, whereas the “Rex Anglicus” and his “tyrannis” are openly spoken of further on in the letter. And it is strange, if in all this there is no reference to the fire of 1099. Did Hildebert attribute the fire to Helias, and does that account for any enmity towards him? Yet the version of the Biographer as clearly makes the fire the work of the Normans as the version of Orderic. Helias is not mentioned by name, nor is any recorded act of his distinctly mentioned. The passage is obscure, most likely purposely obscure. It might be so construed as to attribute all mischief to Helias; it might be so construed as not to lay any particular act to his charge. But in any case Helias would at least come under the general condemnation which is pronounced upon all the counts of Maine, be they six or fewer. No friend of Helias could have so spoken; and it is plain that, when Bishop Hildebert wrote the letter, he was—very naturally—not a little angry, if not with Helias in particular, yet at least with a class of men among whom Helias must be reckoned.
Of the rest of the letter I shall have to speak in another Note.
NOTE LL. [Vol. ii. p. 238.]
The Surrender of Le Mans to William Rufus.
It is not very easy at first sight to reconcile our accounts of the negotiations which led to the surrender of Le Mans in August 1098. Yet there seems to be no direct contradiction of any moment. It seems not impossible that the difference is merely one of those cases where one writer gives prominence to some feature in the story which another writer leaves out.
According to all accounts, Le Mans was at this time in the possession of Fulk of Anjou. Orderic (see [p. 237]) makes him personally present in the city; the Biographer of the Bishops does not say whether he was there or not. But in any case the city had admitted his authority in May and had not yet thrown it off. Fulk was therefore fully in a position to negotiate with William, while Helias, who was a prisoner in William’s hands, was not strictly in a position to negotiate with anybody. Yet the Biographer makes no mention of Fulk as an actor or a party to the treaty, but only as one of whose devices Helias was afraid. In his version Bishop Hildebert and some of the chief men of Le Mans first, by the King’s leave, visit the captive Count, and agree on terms with him; then they draw up a treaty with the King according to those terms. The tale runs thus (Vet. An. 306);
“Helias timens ne Fulco comes proscriptioni ejus intenderet, manduvit ad se episcopum et quosdam ex primoribus civitatis ex consensu regis, et cœpit agere cum eis, eosque suppliciter deprecari, quatenus casibus illius condolentes, modis omnibus niterentur, qualiter civitatem regi traderent, ipsumque a vinculis liberarent. Timebat enim quod Fulco comes, regis deceptus muneribus, cum eo pacem faceret, atque civitate tradita perpetuo damnaretur exsilio. Episcopus autem et qui cum eo venerant, ejus angustias miserantes, cum rege de ejus liberatione locuti, cum eo tale pactum fecerunt, ut si eorum consilio atque ingenio sibi civitas traderetur, ipse Heliam comitem quietum et liberum abire permitteret.”
He adds, hurrying matters a little; “Quod negotium industria præsulis celerius quam sperabatur effectum, eodemque tempore et regi civitas et consuli abeundi libertas reddita est.”
Orderic, on the other hand (772 D), has a version in which there is no mention of any dealings with Helias, but which makes William and Fulk—the latter, it would seem, under some pressure—agree on terms substantially the same as those stated in the other account. His version runs thus;
“Andegavenses autem cum Cenomannis consiliati sunt, et sese Normannis in omnibus inferiores compererunt, unde colloquium inter regem et consulem procuraverunt. Ibi tunc, auxiliante Deo, necessaria pax inter eos facta est, et inde multis pro pluribus causis utriusque populi gaudium ingens exortum est. Requisitum est et concessum ut Helias comes et omnes qui capti fuerant ex utraque parte redderentur, et Cenomannis et omnia castra quæ Guillelmus rex habuerat Rufo filio ejus subjugarentur.”
The joy of which Orderic speaks clearly did not extend to Angers. The Chronicle of Saint Albinus (1098) puts things in quite another light; “Quam [Cenomanniam urbem] tribus mensibus retentam, Cenomanensibus, more suo, sibi fraudantibus et a se deficientibus, reddidit eam in amicitia præfato regi Anglorum, qui ipsam urbem magis pecunia quam viribus impugnabat jamque pene possidebat.”
Here we have no mention of Helias or of any dealings with him, nothing of any agreement between Fulk and William. The citizens of Le Mans fall away from the Angevin Count and betray their city to the King. And they fall away through the temptation which the Red King knew well how to bring to bear upon his other enemies, but of which there is no recorded instance in the whole history of the war of Maine. See [p. 290].
The tone and effect of these stories is very different, and yet they seem quite capable of being put together. It is simply that each writer enlarges on the persons and things which he cares most about. The Biographer of the Bishops of course enlarges on the part taken by Hildebert; next to Hildebert, he has to tell of Helias. A mission of Hildebert to Helias was a thing which he could not leave out; the fact that the terms were settled between his own Bishop and his own Count was more interesting to him than the fact that those terms were put in the form of a formal treaty between two foreign princes. He cannot leave out the Norman king, but he can and does leave out the Angevin count. He speaks of a treaty between William and Fulk as a thing which was likely to happen; he leaves out the fact that it actually did happen. The Angevin Chronicler is angry at the loss of Le Mans, and is glad to speak of its loss as due altogether to Cenomannian treason or fickleness. Orderic alone, who is, more strictly than either of the others, telling the history of the campaign, and who is less influenced by local passion one way or another, brings out the diplomatic fact that the treaty was formally agreed to in a meeting between King William and Count Fulk. It must have taken the shape of an agreement of some kind between them, unless Fulk and his troops had been driven out of Le Mans by force. But this in no way shuts out the possibility of the dealings between Hildebert and Helias which are described by the Biographer. The state of things would seem to be this. The people of Le Mans, tired of Fulk, unable to have Helias, think that the best thing is to submit to William, but on terms which will secure at least the personal freedom of their native prince. Hildebert and his companions are allowed by William to confer with Helias. The results of the conference are put into the shape of a treaty between William and Fulk. Fulk is in no condition to resist William and the Cenomannian people together; he therefore accepts the treaty, doubtless against his will. Thus the accounts of Orderic and the Biographer seem simply to fill up gaps in one another. The Angevin chronicler simply gives a short and snarling summary of the actual result.
NOTE MM. [Vol. ii. p. 239.]
The Fortresses of Le Mans.
A great deal about the walls and the castle of Le Mans, as well as about several other points in the county of Maine, will be found in M. Hucher’s book, Études sur l’Histoire et les Monuments du Département de la Sarthe (Le Mans and Paris, 1856). M. Hucher however hardly carries his researches beyond the city itself; so that, while his remarks and the documents which he quotes tell us much about the “regia turris,” the castle close to the cathedral, he has but little to tell us about the fortress of Mont-Barbé, which is for our purpose of at least equal interest.
I have quoted elsewhere (N. C. iii. 207) some of the passages which record the building of at least two castles by the Conqueror, the royal tower and that of Mont-Barbé. In the extract from William of Jumièges for “ponte Barbato” we must read “monte.” Benoît, oddly enough, knew the name of Mont-Barbé, but did not know that of the royal tower (35735);
“Por ce i ferma deus chasteaus
Hauz, defensables, forz e beaus;
Li uns en out non Monbarbé:
Mais que issi fu apelé
Ne sai retraire ne ne truis.”
Wace, on the other hand (15014), in his wild chronology of all Cenomannian matters, makes William Rufus build this castle in the expedition of 1099;
“Li Reis vint el Mans fièrement,
Son hostel prist vers Saint Vincent.
Por grever cels de la cité
Fist la mote devant Barbé.”
But this story, though utterly out of its place, may possibly preserve a fact. The royal tower was undoubtedly built by the Conqueror after he had taken Le Mans in 1063 in order to secure the possession of the city. But Mont Barbé looks rather like one of the besieging castles made in order to get possession. Nothing is now left but the mound. William may conceivably have found this mound ready made. If not, his building of 1063 must have been of wood, though it may very likely have had a stone successor. The mound, not far from Saint Vincent’s abbey, stands in a private garden, and the visitor to Le Mans, unless he has local guidance, may very likely fail to find it. I missed it at my first visit in 1868, which must be my excuse for the rather vague language in the third volume of the Norman Conquest. I saw it for the first time in 1876, through the kindness of M. Henri Chardon, and again in 1879 with Mr. Parker and Mr. Fowler.
The question remains, Was there a Mons Barbatulus as well as a Mons Barbatus? The passages quoted from Orderic and William of Jumièges (N. C. vol. iii. p. 207) seem to imply it; only the odd thing is that the words of William of Jumièges seem to leave out the royal tower, and to speak of Barbatus and Barbatulus only. And one might take the words of Wace, “La mote devant Barbé,” to mean Barbatulus rather than Barbatus; only it would be hard to find another mota. Barbatulus is conjecturally, but with every likelihood, placed on the site of the present Lyceum, between Barbatus and the city.
The royal tower was built just outside the Roman wall, two of whose bastions, known as La Tour Margot—after Margaret, the promised bride of Robert?—and La Tour du Cavalier, were taken into its precinct. All these must be distinguished from the palace of the Counts (see N. C. vol. iii. p. 205) which stands on the Roman wall, almost in a line with the east end of the cathedral. It contains a window of the twelfth century, of great width, a feature characteristic of Le Mans. In this palace was the sainte chapelle of the Counts.
NOTE NN. [Vol. ii. p. 240.]
The Dates of the Building of Le Mans Cathedral.
I have more than once, in the History of the Norman Conquest, had to speak of the dates of the various parts of the church of Saint Julian at Le Mans. The subject is so closely connected with so many names which appear in our story that an inquiry of this kind can hardly be thought out of place. My later visits to Le Mans have enabled me to examine and consider several points again; and I am now inclined to think that there is very little, if anything, standing in the present church of an earlier date than William the Conqueror’s first taking of Le Mans in 1063. I have got some help from a local book, called “Recherches sur la Cathédrale du Mans. Par L’Abbé….” (Le Mans, 1872); but its architectural criticism is not of a high order. Another local book, “L’Ancien Chapitre Cathédral du Mans, par Armand Bellée, Archiviste de la Sarthe” (Le Mans, 1875), is a very thorough piece of capitular history, but it throws little light on the architecture.
The earliest church of which we have any certain account was a basilica of the ninth century. Saint Aldric, bishop from 832 to 856, rebuilt the cathedral church, of which he consecrated the eastern part in 834 and the rest in 835. I have for these dates to trust the author of the “Recherches sur la Cathédrale du Mans,” who quotes from a manuscript life of Aldric in the library at Le Mans. (I have seen the volume, and I could wish that it was in print.) The time allowed for the building is wonderfully short; but Aldric, if he did all that is attributed to him by the Biographer of the Bishops (Vet. An. 276), must have been a man of wonderful energy. There is nothing said directly of his works at Saint Julian’s; but they might almost be taken for granted when we hear of the many churches which he built and restored (“Ædificia quæ prædictus pontifex multipliciter a novo operatus est, et ecclesias sive nonnulla monasteria quæ a novo fundavit atque perficere et ornare studuit, necnon et restaurationes aliorum monasteriorum et ceterarum ecclesiarum,” &c. &c. &c). In the days of the next Bishop Robert (856–885) Le Mans was sacked by the Northmen and the church burned. We are of course met by the usual difficulty as to the amount of destruction which is implied in words of this kind; but it naturally led to a restoration, and to a new dedication, on which last point however it seems to have been thought needful to consult the Pope (“Matrem ecclesiam, a paganis incensam, diligenti studio renovavit, et ex consilio Romani antistitis jam denuo celeberrime consecravit;” 287*). We hear again (296*) of a dedication under Bishop Mainard (940–960); but not of any rebuilding, just as in some of the intermediate episcopates (Vet. An. 288* et seqq.) we hear a good deal about havoc and desecration, but nothing about actual destruction. The church of Aldric, allowing for the restorations of Robert and any later repairs, seems plainly to have stood till the days of Vulgrin (1055–1067), the earliest Bishop of Le Mans who has even an indirect share in the building of the present church. No work of his, unless possibly the merest fragments, seems to be now standing; but he was the beginner of a great work of rebuilding which gave us what we now see.
In the Life of Vulgrin (Vet. An. 312*) we are simply told that in 1060 he began the foundations of a new church on a greater scale (“Quinto ordinationis suæ anno fundamenta matris ecclesiæ ampliora quam fuerant, inchoavit, sed morte inopina superveniente perficere non potuit”). His foundations were badly laid and his work was unskilful; so that, while attempts were making under his successor Arnold (1067–1082) to prop it up, it fell down. Arnold accordingly destroyed the whole work of Vulgrin, and began again from a new foundation. The extent of his work is clearly marked. He finished the eastern limb, as far as its walls and outer roof were concerned; its internal adornments he left for his successor. Of the transepts with their towers he merely laid the foundations;
“Fabrica novæ ecclesiæ quam præsul Vulgrinus inchoaverat, fundamentorum mobilitate atque lapidum debilitate corrupta, innumera crepidine ruinam suam cœpit terribiliter minitari; quam dum artifices fulcire conantur, repentino fragore nocturno tempore collapsa est…. Inde … episcopus totam cœpti operis fabricam usque ad ima fundamenta destruens, denuo ipsam ecclesiam fundamento firmiori et solidiori lapide construere cœpit, et parti superiori quæ vulgo cancellum nominatur etiam tectum imposuit, membrorum quoque quæ cruces vocantur atque turrium solidissima fundamenta antequam moreretur instituens” (313*).
That he added only the outer roof is plain from what we read of his successor Howel (Vet. An. 289). As Howel adorned the “cancellum” with a pavement and stained glass windows, he also added a painted ceiling;
“Cancellum quod ejus antecessor construxerat pavimento decoravit et cœlo, vitreas quoque per ipsum cancellum, per quod cruces circum quoque laudabili sed sumptuosa nimium artis varietate disponens.”
So again, p. 299;
“Cœpit … superiores partes ejusdem basilicæ diligenti sollicitudine laborare, oratorium scilicet quod chorum vocitant sedemque pontificalem, altaria congrua dimensione disponere, pavimenta substernere, columnas ac laquearia gratissima varietate depingere, parietes per circuitum dealbare.”
Howel also finished the transepts and towers of which Arnold had merely laid the foundations (Vet. An. 289);
“Fabricam novæ ecclesiæ … tanto studio aggressus est consummare ut cruces atque turres, quarum antecessor ipsius … jecerat fundamenta brevi tempore ad effectum perduxit.”
We see then what the work of Vulgrin and Arnold was. It touched the eastern part only; Aldric’s nave was left alone. The original church was a basilica, most likely with three apses, but without transepts. The new design was to rebuild the eastern part on a greater scale with transepts, transept towers (like Geneva and Exeter), and a choir ending in an apse with a surrounding aisle and chapels—as is shown by the mention of many altars. The arrangement was that of the two other great churches of Le Mans, La Couture and Saint Julian in the Meadow, with the single exception of the towers, which do not appear in either of those churches. Arnold built the choir, and began the transepts and towers; Howel adorned the choir and finished the transepts and towers. There is nothing to imply that either of them touched the nave. The arcades of Aldric’s basilica were therefore still standing when William the Great came in 1063 and again in 1073. The work of Vulgrin in the eastern part was doubtless going on at the earlier of those two dates, and that of Arnold at the later.
It must be plain to every one who has seen the building that the work of these bishops in the eastern part of the church has given way to the later choir and transepts. The choir was built between 1218 and 1254, and its great extension to the east involved, as at Lincoln, the destruction of part of the Roman wall. The transepts were built at several times from 1303 to 1424. They are among the very noblest works of the architecture of those centuries; but we may be allowed to rejoice that, as the works of Vulgrin and Arnold left Aldric’s nave standing, so the great works of the thirteenth century and later have left the nave which succeeded that of Aldric. With all its artistic loveliness, the work of the later day cannot share the historic interest of the works of the times of William and Howel, of Helias and Hildebert.
In the present nave it is plain at the first glance that there are two dates of Romanesque; a further examination may perhaps lead to the belief that there are more than two. It is easy to see outside that the aisles and the clerestory are of different dates. The masonry of the aisles is of that Roman type which, in places like Le Mans, where Roman models were abundant, remained in use far into the middle ages, and which in some places can hardly be said to have ever gone out of use at all. The masonry of the clerestory is ashlar. The difference is equally clear between the plain single windows of the aisles and the highly finished coupled windows of the clerestory. Inside, the eye soon sees that the design has undergone a singular change. Without the pulling down of any part, the church put on a new character. Columns supporting round arches after the manner of a basilica were changed into a series of alternate columns and square piers supporting obtusely pointed arches. Each pair of arches therefore forms a couplet, and answers to a single bay of the pointed vaulting and a single pair of windows in the clerestory. The object clearly was to give the building as nearly the air of an Angevin nave, like that of La Couture (see N. C. vol. v. p. 619), as could be given where there were real piers and arches. Now this reconstruction, one which brings in the pointed arch, cannot possibly be earlier than the episcopate of William of Passavant, Bishop from 1143 to 1187. He was a great builder; he translated the body of Saint Julian (Vet. An. 366); he celebrated a dedication of the church (Ib. 370), which my local book fixes, seemingly from manuscripts, to 1158, a date a little early perhaps for such advanced work, but not impossible. To William of Passavant then we must attribute the recasting of the nave, and whatever else seems to be of the same date. To this last head belongs the great south porch, and, I should be inclined to add, the lower part of the southern, the only remaining, tower, though some assign it to Hildebert. The question now comes, What was the nave which William of Passavant recast in this fashion, and whose work was it?
We have seen that we cannot attribute any work in the nave to any prelate earlier than Howel. He must have found the nave of the ninth century still standing. Did he do anything in that part of the church? He performed a ceremony of dedication in 1093 (Vet. An. 300); but that would be fully accounted for by his works in the eastern part. On the other hand, Hildebert celebrated in 1120 (Vet. An. 320) a specially solemn dedication, and the words used seem to imply that the church was now complete in all its parts. The words of Orderic (531 D) seem express. Howel began to build the church (“episcopalem basilicam … condere cœpit”); Hildebert finished it (“basilicam episcopii quam prædecessor ejus inchoaverat, consummavit, et cum ingenti populorum tripudio veneranter dedicavit”). It is doubtless not strictly true that Howel began the church, words which shut out the work of Vulgrin and Arnold; but the time when Orderic wrote makes him a better authority for Hildebert’s finishing than for Howel’s beginning, and the expression might easily be used if Howel began that particular work, namely the nave, which Hildebert finished. I do not think that we need infer from certain expressions of the Biographer that Hildebert left the nave, or any essential part of the building, unfinished. He says indeed (Vet. An. 320);
“Hildebertus opus ecclesiæ, quod per longa tempora protractum fuerat, suo tempore insistens consummare, dedicationem ultra quam res exposcebat accelerans, multa inibi necessaria inexpleta præteriit.”
Comparing this with the words of Orderic, this surely need not mean more than that, though the fabric was perfect, yet much of the ornamental work was left unfinished. Hildebert, in short, left the nave much as Arnold left the choir. At least the nave was in this case when he dedicated the church. For he had time after the dedication to make good anything that was imperfect.
We should then infer from Orderic that the nave which William of Passavant recast was begun by Howel and finished by Hildebert. This may give us the key to a passage in the Biographer on which we might otherwise be inclined to put another meaning. After describing Howel’s building of the transepts in the words quoted above in [p. 635], he goes on (289);
“Eisque [crucibus] celeriter culmen imponens, exteriores etiam parietes, quos alas vocant, per circuitum consummavit.”
One might have been tempted to take this of transept aisles; but, weighing one thing with another, it seems to be best understood as meaning that Howel rebuilt the whole of the outer walls of the nave and its aisles. This would give to him the whole extent of the quasi-Roman work of the aisles, together with the great western doorway. The interior work of the aisles seems also to agree with his date. We must therefore suppose that Howel rebuilt the nave aisles only, still leaving the arches of Aldric’s basilica. Then Hildebert rebuilt or thoroughly restored the nave itself, with the columns and arches and whatever they carried in the way of triforium and clerestory. We may therefore suppose that the existing columns, as distinguished from the square piers, are his work, though the splendid capitals of many of them must have been added or carved out of the block in the recasting by William of Passavant.
There is however one fragment of the nave arcades which is older than Hildebert, very likely older than Howel. This is to be seen in the first pier from the east. I need not say that the eastern bay of a nave often belongs to an older work than the rest, being in truth part of the eastern limb continued so far—perhaps for constructive reasons, to act as a buttress—perhaps for ritual reasons, to mark the ritual choir—very often for both reasons combined. One of the best examples is that small part of the nave of Durham abbey which belongs to the work of William of Saint-Calais (see N. C. vol. v. p. 631). At this point then in the nave of Le Mans, we find half columns with capitals and bases of a strangely rude kind, more like Primitive Romanesque (see N. C. vol. v. pp. 613, 618, 628) than anything either Norman or Angevin. These are assuredly not the work of Hildebert. There is one argument for assigning them to Howel, namely that something of the same kind is to be found in the remains of the northern tower of which I shall speak in another Note (see below, [Note RR]). But if any one holds them to be the work of Arnold or of Vulgrin, or even looks on them as a surviving fragment of the basilica of the days of Lewis the Pious, I shall not dispute against him.
I must add however that, between Hildebert and William of Passavant, we have, according to the use of Le Mans, to account for two fires—“solita civitatis incendia,” as the Biographer (Vet. An. 349) calls them—and their consequences. In 1134 there was a fire which, according to the Biographer (350), was more fearful than any which had ever happened at Le Mans since the city was built, not even excepting the great one of 1098. Everything perished. “Tota Cenomannensis civitas cum omnibus ecclesiis quæ intra muros continebantur, evanuit in favillas.” We read of the “matris ecclesiæ destructio” and “combustio,” all the more lamentable because of its beauty—“ipsa enim tam venustate sui quam claritate tunc temporis vicinis et remotis excellebat ecclesiis.” So Orderic (899 B); “Tunc Cenomannis episcopalis basilica, quæ pulcherrima erat, concremata est.” The then Bishop, Guy of Étampes (1126–1136), spent two hundred pounds in trying to repair the damage; “Ad cujus restaurationem cc. libras Cenomannenses dedit, sine mora contulit, et omnibus modis desudavit quomodo ipsa ad perpetuitatem decenter potuisset restaurari.” Under the next Bishop, Hugh of Saint-Calais (1146–1153), there was another fire, the account of which is very curious (Vet. An. 349);
“Ignis circa meridiem a vico sancti Vincentii prosiliens, sibi opposita usque ad muros civitatis et domos episcopales, tegmenque sacelli beati Juliani adhuc stramineum, cum fenestris vitreis concremavit et macerias, et in summis imagines sculptas lapidibus deturbavit.”
The people break open the shrine of Saint Julian in order to save his body, which they carry to the place where the Bishop was. The Bishop seems to have repaired the episcopal buildings before he touched the church, and the details have some interest in the history of domestic architecture (“domum petrinam ex parte sancti Audoëni positam, decenti solariorum interpositu numerosas fenestras habentium cum sua camera continuavit”). Presently we read;
“Beatissimum patrem nostrum Julianum ipso die a lignea basilica in occidentali membro ecclesiæ intra macerias facta, post incendium in qua fere triennio requieverat, in redivivam sollenniter, clero cantibus insultante, populo congaudente, transtulerunt ecclesiam.”
We do not hear of any more building, but there is a long list (Vet. An. 354) of the ornaments which Bishop Hugh gave to the Church.
Some of the expressions used in these passages are very odd. “Sacellum beati Juliani” is a strange phrase for the cathedral church, and yet the thatched roof and the glass windows must be spoken of a building and not of a mere shrine. It is Saint Julian’s church itself whose roof and windows are spoken of. But the phrase “lignea basilica,” which makes one think of Glastonbury, must not lead us to think that any wooden church of early days was then standing at Le Mans. The whole story seems quite intelligible, without supposing any really architectural work between Hildebert and William of Passavant. The language of the Biographer in describing the fire of 1134 is, as so often happens, very much exaggerated. His own account shows that the walls of the church were left standing. It looks on the whole as if the roof was destroyed in 1134. It was hastily repaired with thatch. It was burned again, and the clerestory (“fenestræ vitreæ”) with it, at the next fire in 1146–1153. The whole church perhaps remained for a while unfit for divine service. Then some wooden structure (“lignea basilica”) was raised within the walls of the nave (“in occidentali membro ecclesiæ intra macerias facta”). Meanwhile Bishop Hugh repaired the choir (“rediviva ecclesia”), seemingly doing nothing to the nave. Bishop William, finding things in this state, rebuilt the clerestory and vaulted it Angevin fashion. So to do required that every alternate column of the nave should be built up into a square pier. This again required a change in the line of the arches, and, according to the fashion just coming in, they were made obtusely pointed. If any one thinks that the superb foliage of the nave capitals must be later than 1158, he may hold that they were cut out afterwards, or he may even hold that Bishop William’s dedication in that year belongs only to the eastern parts—where something was clearly done in his time or thereabouts—and that the whole recasting of the nave came later in his long episcopate.
I am not writing an architectural history of the church of Saint Julian, and I have perhaps, as it is, gone more into detail than my subject called for. I think that any one who has been at Le Mans will forgive me. But there are many architectural points in this wonderful church on which I have not entered. There is much also in the other two minsters of Le Mans which throws much light on the work at Saint Julian’s. I have merely tried in a general way to assign to their most probable dates and founders the different parts of a church which so often meets us in our present history.
NOTE OO. [Vol. ii. p. 242.]
The Interview between William Rufus and Helias.
We have two chief accounts of this remarkable interview, one in Orderic, 773 B, the other in William of Malmesbury, iv. 320. As with some of the other anecdotes of William Rufus, Orderic tells the story in its place as part of his regular narrative, while William of Malmesbury brings it in, along with the story of his crossing to Touques, as a mere anecdote, to illustrate the King’s “præclara magnanimitas.” And he tells the tale very distinctly out of its place, for he puts it after the voyage to Touques, that is in the campaign of 1099, whereas it is clear that it happened during the campaign of 1098. One’s feelings are a little shocked when he speaks of “auctor turbarum, Helias quidam,” which reminds one of the meeting between the Count’s earlier namesake and another tyrant (“venit Achab in occursum Eliæ. Et cum vidisset eum, ait; Tune es ille, qui conturbas Israël?” 3 Regg. xviii. 16). To be sure he does afterwards speak of the “alta nobilitas” of the Count of Maine.
There is a good deal of difference in the details of the dialogue in the two accounts. That in William of Malmesbury is much shorter, and consists wholly of an exchange of short and sharp sayings between the speakers, which are certainly very characteristic of William Rufus. There is nothing in this version of the offer of Helias to enter the King’s service, or of the counsel given by Robert of Meulan. In Orderic’s version Helias speaks first, with the offer of service, beginning “Rex inclute, mihi, quæso, subveni pro tua insigni strenuitate;” and we read, “Liberalis rex hoc facile annuere decrevit, sed Rodbertus Mellenticus comes pro felle livoris dissuasit.” Then, after speeches on both sides which are not given, comes the defiance of Helias, in these words;
“Libenter, domine rex, tibi servirem, si tibi placeret, gratiamque apud te invenirem. Amodo mihi, quæso, noli derogare, si aliud conabor perpetrare. Patienter ferre nequeo quod meam mihi ablatam hæreditatem perspicio. Ex violentia prævalente omnis mihi denegatur rectitudo. Quamobrem nemo miretur si calumniam fecero, si avitum honorem totis nisibus repetiero.”
All this is represented in William of Malmesbury by two sentences;
“Cui [Heliæ] ante se adducto rex ludibundus, ‘Habeo te, magister,’ dixit. At vero illius alta nobilitas quæ nesciret in tanto etiam periculo humilia sapere, humilia loqui; ‘Fortuitu,’ inquit, ‘me cepisti; sed si possem evadere, novi quid facerem.’”
This is very characteristic of Rufus; is it equally so of Helias? Surely the two speeches given to him by Orderic—allowing for a little improvement in the process of turning them into Latin—much better suit his character and position. And we can hardly fancy that Helias’ offer to enter William’s service, the King’s inclination to accept it, and the evil counsel given by Robert of Meulan—all likewise thoroughly characteristic—are all mere invention.
The last speech of Rufus is much fuller in William of Malmesbury than in Orderic. Orderic simply says, “Cui turgidus rex ait, ‘Vade, et age quidquid mihi potes agere.’” In the other version this becomes;
“Tum Willelmus, præ furore extra se positus, et obuncans Heliam, ‘Tu,’ inquit, ‘nebulo, tu, quid faceres? Discede, abi, fuge; concedo tibi ut facias quidquid poteris; et, per vultum de Luca, nihil, si me viceris, pro hac venia tecum paciscar.’”
He adds, without any mention of a regular safe-conduct,
“Nec inferius factum verbo fuit, sed continuo dimisit evadere, miratus potius quam insectatus fugientem.”
I have in the text followed the version of Orderic, venturing only to add the eminently characteristic words with which William of Malmesbury begins and ends. They in no way disturb the main dialogue as given by Orderic. But I must add that William of Malmesbury warns us against supposing that William Rufus, either in this speech or in his speech on the voyage to Touques, knowingly quoted Lucan. His words are curious;
“Quis talia de illiterato homine crederet? Et fortassis erit aliquis qui, Lucanum legens, falso opinetur Willelmum hæc exempla de Julio Cæsare mutuatum esse: sed non erat ei tantum studii vel otii ut literas unquam audiret; immo calor mentis ingenitus, et conscia virtus, eum talia exprimere cogebant. Et profecto, si Christianitas nostra pateretur, sicut olim anima Euforbii transisse dicta est in Pythagoram Samium, ita possit dici quod anima Julii Cæsaris transierit in regem Willelmum.”
That is to say, Cæsar and William Rufus, being the same kind of men, uttered the same kind of words. The passage of Lucan referred to is where Domitius (ii. 512) is brought before Cæsar at Corfinium;
“Vive, licet nolis, et nostro munere, dixit,
Cerne diem, victis jam spes bona partibus esto,
Exemplumque mei: vel, si libet, arma retenta,
Et nihil hac venia, si viceris ipse, paciscor.”
That William Rufus should quote Lucan, as his brother Henry could most likely have done, was so very unlikely that William of Malmesbury need hardly have warned us against such a belief. At the same time it does not seem impossible that he might have heard of Cæsar without having read Lucan. But we must remember that whatever William Rufus said was said in French, and not in Latin. Without supposing either that Rufus had read Lucan or that the soul of Cæsar had passed into his body, we may believe that William of Malmesbury or his informant could not resist the temptation of translating his speech into the words of a really appropriate passage of a favourite author; then, when he had done this, the singular apology which I have quoted might seem needful.
It must be remembered that William of Malmesbury puts this story altogether out of place. It is put yet further out of its place by Wace (15106), who makes the capture of Helias follow the siege of Mayet (see [p. 289]). His version brings in some new details. Helias, having been taken prisoner, makes (15120) a boastful speech to his keepers, swearing by the patron saint of his city that, if he had not fallen by chance into an ambuscade, he would soon have driven the King of England out of all his lands beyond the sea (15120);
“Mais or vos dirai une rien:
Par monseignor Saint-Julien,
Se jo ne fusse si tost pris,
Mult éust poi en cest païs.
El rei eusse fait tant guerre,
Ke dechà la mer d’Engleterre
Plein pié de terre n’en éust,
Ne tur ne chastel ki suen feust;
Maiz altrement est avenu,
Il a cunquis è jo perdu.”
When this is told to the King, he causes Helias to be brought before him; he gives him a horse, and bids him mount and ride whither he will; only he had better take care that he is not caught again, as he will not be let out of prison a second time;
“Dunc le fist li reis amener,
E des buies le fist oster,
Son palefrei fist demander
E mult richement enseler;
El conte dit: Dans quens, muntez
Alez kel part ke vos volez,
Fetes al mielx ke vos porrez,
Maiz altre feiz mielx vos gardez;
Kar se jo vos prene altre feiz,
Jamez de ma prison n’iestreiz.
Ne voil mie ke vos kuideiz
Ke de guerre sorpris seiz,
Mais vos n’ireiz jà nule part,
Ke jo près dos ne vos gart.”
(vv. 15134–15147.)
In this version the horse is something new, though not at all out of place, as Helias could not well get away without a horse, and he could not have had any horse at his command at the moment. We may note also that William is here made, whether seriously or in mockery, to give Helias the title of Count, “Dans quens.” But the story has very much come down from the level of either of the other versions. The boastful speech to the keepers is not at all in the style of Helias, and it is a poor substitute either for the dignified offer and defiance in Orderic or for the lively dialogue in William of Malmesbury. This last we should gladly have had in Wace’s version, as there would have been some faint chance of recovering a scrap or two more of the original French to match the “Dans quens,” which has a genuine ring on the one hand, as the “magister” and the “nebulo” of William of Malmesbury have on the other.
Geoffrey Gaimar too (Chroniques Anglo-Normandes, i. 37) has a version in which Helias, when a prisoner, makes a boastful speech to the effect that, if it had not been by an ambush, he would never have been taken;
“Li quiens des Mans ert en prison,
Aüner voleit grant rançon;
Mès ceo diseit que, s’il séust
Qe l’om issi prendre le deust,
Tut autrement se contenist,
Li rois les Mans jà ne préist.”
He is brought before the King, to whom he says that he is much beloved in his land, and that, if he were only able to assemble his men, no king could subdue him in it. William lets him go to see what he can do, and gives up to him Le Mans and all the castles of the country;
“Quant fut conté devant le roi,
Si le fist mener devant soi;
Par bel amur li ad demandé
S’il estoit issi vaunté
Cil respondit: ‘Sire, jo’l dis,
Mult sui amé en cest païs.
Il n’ad souz ciel si fort roi,
Si par force venist sus moi,
Qu’il ne perdist, si jeo le seusse,
Pur quei ma gent assemblé eusse.’
Li rois, quant l’ot, si prent à rire:
Par bel amur et nient par ire,
Li comanda q’il s’en alast,
Préist les Mans, s’il guerreiast.
Et cil fui lez, si s’en ala.
Touz ses chastels renduz li a
Li rois par bone volonté,
Rendit les Mans la forte cité.”
Helias calls on his barons to help him in war with the King; but they decline, and advise him to give up the city and all the castles, and to become the King’s man. He does so; otherwise the poet says that the King would have thrown aside his friendship, and that he would have taken the castles and put all concerned to a vile death;
“Et cil manda pur ses barons,
Moveir voloit les contençons,
Mès si baron li ont loé
Qu’il rende au roi la cité
Et les chasteus de son païs,
Son hom lige seit tuz dis.
Li quens Elyes issi fist,
Onc ses homes n’en contredist.
Et s’il issi ne l’éust fet
Mult fust entre els en amur plet;
Li rois par force les préist
Et de vile mort les occeist.”
I need hardly stop to show how utterly unhistorical all this is. But the “bel amur,” the challenge, the release of the Count and the surrender of the city and the castles, the general looking on war as a kind of game, are all highly characteristic of the chivalrous King. The last words indeed give us the other side of chivalry; but I confess that they seem to me to be unfair to William Rufus, however well they might suit Robert of Bellême. Geoffrey Gaimar lived to see times when the doings of Robert of Bellême, exceptional in his own day, had become the general rule.
NOTE PP. [Vol. ii. p. 284.]
The Voyage of William Rufus to Touques.
This story is told by a great many writers; but, as in the story of the interview of William Rufus and Helias, our two main versions are those of Orderic (775 A) and of William of Malmesbury (iv. 320). And, as in the case of that story, with which William of Malmesbury couples it, he tells it simply as an illustrative anecdote, while with Orderic it is part of his regular narrative. And again William throws one of the speeches into the form of a familiar classical quotation, and the curious apology quoted in the last note is made to apply to this story as well as to the other. At the same time there is no actual contradiction between the two versions. The messenger—Amalchis according to Orderic—reaches England and finds the King in the New Forest. He thus (775 A) describes the delivery of the message; “Ille mari transfretato Clarendonam venit, regi cum familiaribus suis in Novam Forestam equitanti obviavit, et alacriter inquirenti rumores, respondit, Cœnomannis per proditionem surrepta est. Verum dominus meus Balaonem custodit, et regalis familia omnes munitiones sibi assignatas sollerter observavit, auxiliumque regalis potentiæ vehementer desiderat, in hostile robur quod eos undique includit et impugnat.” William of Malmesbury (iv. 320) does not mention the place; “Venationi in quadam silva intentum nuntius detinuit ex transmarinis partibus, obsessam esse civitatem Cinomannis, quam nuper fratre profecto suæ potestati adjecerat.” This is a somewhat inadequate summary of the Cenomannian war.
Now comes the King’s answer, in which I have ventured in the text to bring in both the speeches which are attributed to Rufus on first hearing the news of the loss of Le Mans. In Orderic the story stands thus;
“His auditis, rex dixit, ‘Eamus trans mare, nostros adjuvare. Eodem momento inconsultis omnibus equum habenis regiravit, ipsumque calcaribus urgens ad pontum festinavit, et in quandam vetustam navim quam forte invenit, sine regio apparatu velut plebeius intravit et remigare protinus imperavit. Sic nimirum nec congruentem flatum nec socios nec alia quæ regiam dignitatem decebant exspectavit; sed omnis metus expers fortunæ et pelago sese commisit, et sequenti luce ad portum Tolchæ, Deo duce, salvus applicuit.’”
He then goes on with the graphic details of the landing at Touques and the ride to Bonneville, which find no place in William of Malmesbury. William’s version is as follows;
“Statim ergo ut expeditus erat retorsit equum, iter ad mare convertens. Admonentibus ducibus exercitum advocandum, paratos componendos, ‘Videbo,’ ait, ‘quis me sequetur; putatis me non habiturum homines? si cognovi juventutem meam, etiam naufragio ad me venisse volet.’ Hoc igitur modo pene solus ad mare pervenit. Erat tunc nubilus aer et ventus contrarius; flatus violentia terga maris verrebat. Illum statim transfretare volentem nautæ exorant ut pacem pelagi et ventorum clementiam operiatur. ‘Atqui,’ inquit rex, ‘numquam audivi regem naufragio interiisse.’ Quin potius solvite retinacula navium, videbitis elementa jam conspirata in meum obsequium. Ponto transito, obsessores, ejus audita fama, dissiliunt.”
Then follows the interview with Helias, quite out of place.
Here we have several separate details in each version; but they quite fit into one another. Of Rufus’ two speeches before he rides off, each seems to need the support of the other. The speech to the sailors lurks as it were in the words of Orderic, “remigare protinus imperavit,” and his other words, “fortunæ et pelago sese commisit,” suggest the same general idea which comes out in them. They suggest the well-known story of Cæsar which William of Malmesbury seems to have in his head, which is told by Florus (iv. ii. 37), Appian (Bell. Civ. ii. 57), and Plutarch (Cæsar, 38). The Latin writer says only “Quid times? Caesarem vehis?” while the two Greek writers bring in the word τύχη (Ἴθι, γενναῖε, τόλμα καὶ δέδιθι μηδέν. Καίσαρα φέρεις καὶ τὴν Καίσαρος τύχην συμπλέουσαν). Our writers are not likely to have read either of the Greek books, and there is enough about “Fortuna” in the passage of Lucan (v. 577–593) which William of Malmesbury at least must have had in his eye, and where the few words of Appian and the fewer of Florus grow into a speech of many lines. The odd thing however is that the actual words do not seem to come from anything in Lucan, but to be in a manner made up out of two passages of Claudian. We get the sentiment in one (De III Cons. Hon. 96);
“O nimium dilecte Deo, cui fundit ab antris
Æolus armatas hiemes, cui militat æther,
Et conjurati veniunt ad classica venti.”
But the actual words come nearer to the other (De IV Cons. Hon. 284);
“Nonne vides, operum quo se pulcherrimus ille
Mundus amore ligat, nec vi connexa per ævum
Conspirant elementa sibi?”
Just as in the other story, we may suppose that Rufus said something which, in the course of improving into Latin, suggested the words of the two Latin poets. The saying that he had never heard of a king being drowned surely has the genuine stamp of the Red King about it. And it is to be remembered that there is a passage which evidently refers to the same story in a grave contemporary, who takes his quotations, not from heathen poets but from the New Testament. Eadmer (54) attributes to William Rufus, as a general privilege, something like what in our own day we have been used to call “Queen’s weather;”
“Ventus insuper et ipsum mare videbantur ei obtemperare. Verum dico, non mentior, quia quum de Anglia in Normanniam transire vel inde cursum prout ipsum voluntas sua ferebat, redire volebat, mox, illo adveniente, et mari appropinquante, omnis tempestas, quæ nonnunquam immane sæviebat, sedabatur, et transeunti mira tranquillitate famulabatur.”
It is worth notice that the same idea is found, besides Lucan and Claudian, in a third Latin writer, who is much less likely to have been known to either Orderic or William of Malmesbury. This is in the Panegyric addressed by Eumenius to the elder Constantius (Pan. Vet. v. 14). He is describing the voyage of Constantius to Britain to put down Allectus, when, as in the cases of Cæsar and William Rufus, the weather was bad;
“Quis enim se, quamlibet iniquo mari, non auderet credere, te navigante? Omnium, ut dicitur, accepto nuntio navigationis tuæ, una vox et hortatio fuit; ‘Quid dubitamus? quid moramur? Ipse jam solvit, jam provehitur, jam fortasse pervenit. Experiamur omnia, per quoscumque fluctus eamus. Quid est, quod timere possimus? Cæsarem sequimur.’”
Eumenius of course had the story of the earlier Cæsar in his mind.
In all these versions the saying of William Rufus seems to be quoted as an instance of his pride and irreverence. Matthew Paris alone (Hist. Angl. i. 166) gives his speech an unexpectedly pious turn. To the shipman, who addresses him as “hominum audacissime” and asks “numquid tu ventis et mari poteris imperare?” he answers, “Non frequenter [no longer “never” but “hardly ever”] auditum est, reges Christianos Deum invocantes fluctibus fuisse submersos. Aliqui de oppressis et obsessis apud Cenomannem orant pro me, quos Deus, etsi non me, clementer exaudiet.” Matthew also makes the news be brought to the King, not when he is hunting, but when he is at a feast.
The story is found, in one shape or another, in all the riming chronicles. Wace (14908), who tells the whole story of Helias’ entry into Le Mans with great spirit, but utterly out of place, gives a vivid picture of the coming of the messenger;
“En Engleterre esteit li reis,
Mult out Normanz, mult out Engleis;
Brachez aveit fet demander,
En boiz voloit aler berser.
Eis vus par là un sergeant
Ki d’ultre mer veneit errant;
Li reis l’a mult tost entercié;
El Mans garder l’aveit leissié,
Crié li a è dist de luing;
Ke font el Mans, out il busuing?
Sire, dist-il, li Mans est pris,
Li quens Helies s’est enz mis,
La cité a Helies prise,
E la tor ad entor assise;
Normanz ki dedenz sa defendent.”
The passage in its general effect, and to some extent in its actual words, recalls the better known description (10983; cf. N. C. vol. iii. p. 258) of the news of Eadward’s death and Harold’s election being brought to William the Great. It is perhaps to make the two scenes more completely tally that Rufus, who, in Orderic and William of Malmesbury, is already engaged in hunting, is in this version merely going out to hunt. Of his father it was said;
“Mult aveit od li chevaliers
E dameisels et esquiers.”
But the son,
“Mult out Normanz, mult out Engleis.”
This reminds us of the other passage (see above, [p. 533]) where “Normans” and “English” are made to help the fallen Rufus before Saint Michael’s Mount. And the question again presents itself; What did Wace exactly mean by Normans and English? We must remember his position. Wace was a writer locally Norman, the chronicler of the Norman Conquest, writing when, in England itself, the distinction of races had nearly died out. His way of thinking and speaking, as that of one accustomed to past times, would most likely be different both from that of the time of which he is writing and from that which would be familiar to either Normans or English—whether genere or natione—in his own time. In Rufus’ day “Normanz et Engleiz” would have meant “Normanni et Angli genere;” but it is not likely that many “Angli genere” would be in the immediate company of the King. In Wace’s own day, “Normanz et Engleiz” already meant “Normanni et Angli natione;” only there would hardly have been any occasion for using the phrase. Wace very likely used the phrase in a slightly different sense in the two passages. Before the Mount, in describing a warlike exploit, he most likely meant simply Norman and English natione. In the present passage his mind perhaps floated between the two meanings.
The King hears the news brought by the sergeant; he gives up his purpose of hunting that day, and swears his usual oath by the face of Lucca that those who have done him this damage shall pay for it;
“Li reis mua tot son corage
Dès ke il oï li message.
Li vo de Luche en a juré
Ke mult sera chier comperé.
Cest serement aveit en us,
Ne faiseit nul serement plus.”
He bids the messenger to cross the sea as fast as he can, to go to Le Mans and to tell his forces there that by God’s help he will be there to help them in eight days;
“D’ore en wit jors el Mans serai,
Dunc se Dex plaist les secorrai.”
He then—being in England, it must be remembered—asks the nearest way to Le Mans. On the direct line which is shown him, there is a well-built house. He says that he will not for a hundred marks of silver turn a hundred feet out of the way. So he has the house pulled down, and rides over the site to Southampton—not alone, in this version, but with a following;
“Une maiziere li mostrerent,
Ço distrent ke il Mans ert là,
E ço dist ke par la ira;
Por cenz mars d’argent, ço diseit,
Del Mans cenz piez n’esluingnereit
De là, ù il ses piez teneit,
Quant li besuing del Mans oeit,
Dunc fist abatre la maiziere,
Ki mult esteit bone et entiere;
La maiziere fu abatue
E fete fu si grant l’issue
Ke li Reis Ros è li vassal
I passerent tuit à cheval.”
Absurd as this story is, and utterly irreconcileable with the earlier versions, there is still a ring of William Rufus about it. And we may safely accept Southampton as the haven from which he set out. But the zeal for taking the straightest road which was so strong on him by land seems to have passed away by sea, as he goes not to Touques but to Barfleur, certainly not the nearest point for getting from Southampton to Le Mans. The story of the voyage is told in much the same way as in William of Malmesbury, the speech to the sailors standing thus;
“Unkes, dist-il, n’oï parler
De Rei ki fu néié en mer;
Fetes vos nés el parfont traire,
Essaïez ke porreiz faire.”
Geoffrey Gaimar (Chroniques Anglo-Normandes, i. 32) makes the messenger bring a letter, which the King seemingly gives to Randolf Flambard to read;
“‘Tenez cest bref, sire reis.’
Li reis le prist, tost le fruissat,
Ranulf Flambard le bref baillat.”
He sends the messenger back with a letter; he rides to Southampton, orders a force to be got together to follow him, and himself crosses with a company of twelve hundred rich knights. Otherwise the tale is essentially the same. But it is worth noticing that Geoffrey, when he gets among sea-faring folk, uses two English words (the steersman we have already met with in his English garb in Domesday; see N. C. vol. v. p. 763);
“Et il od mesnée privée,
Vint à la mier, si l’ad passée,
Encontre vent la mier passa.
Le stieresman li demanda
S’il voleit contre vent aler
Et périller enz en la mier.
Li rois respont; ‘N’estœt parler,
Onques ne veistes roi néer,
Ne jéo n’ierc jà le primer.
Fetes vos eschipes nager.’
Tant ont nagé et governé
Q’en Barbefloe e sont arivé.
Il out de privée meisnée
Mil-et-ii cenz à cele fiée.
Tuit erent riches chevaliers;
Sacez, li rois les out mult chers.”
Benoît (v. 40379) gives no details peculiar to himself; but he is worth comparing with the others as a piece of language;
“Si fu de passer corajos,
Volunteris e desiros:
Mais mult furent li vent contraire
E la mers pesme e deputaire.”
But the central speech about a king being drowned is in much the same words as in the other riming versions;
“E li reis corajos e proz
Responeit e diseit a toz
C’unques n’aveit oï parler
De ré qui fust neiez en mer,
N’il ne sera jà li premiers.”
This writer does not mention Southampton, Touques, Barfleur, or any particular port.
The doctrine that kings were never drowned might seem to be contradicted by the popular interpretation of the fate of the Pharaoh of Exodus. But the text certainly does not imply that the Pharaoh himself was drowned. On the other hand, there is somewhere the story of an Irish king who, setting out with his fleet, was met by Noah’s flood—conceived seemingly as something like the bore in the Severn—and was drowned.
It is worth while comparing this story of William Rufus with the behaviour of our next king of the same name in a case somewhat like this, when he too was sailing from England to the land of his birth. When William the Third was in danger in an open boat off the isle of Goree, we read (Macaulay, Hist. Eng. iv. 2);
“The hardiest mariners showed signs of uneasiness. But William, through the whole night, was as composed as if he had been in the drawing-room at Kensington. ‘For shame,’ he said to one of the dismayed sailors: ‘are you afraid to die in my company?’”
The difference between the two speeches is characteristic. But the parallel of Cæsar was seized on in both cases. Among the pageants when William entered the Hague (iv. 5), when the events of his own life were represented, this scene was shown;
“There, too, was a boat amidst the ice and the breakers; and above it was most appropriately inscribed, in the majestic language of Rome, the saying of the great Roman, ‘What dost thou fear? Thou hast Cæsar on board.’”
NOTE QQ. [Vol. ii. p. 289.]
The Siege of Mayet.
I visited Mayet with Mr. Fowler and Mr. Parker in July, 1879, when we examined many other of the castles and sites of castles in that neighbourhood. But we could not pitch on the actual site of the siege of Mayet with the same confidence with which we fixed most of the sites of our present story. The evidence is by no means so clear as it is in the case of most of the Cenomannian towns and fortresses. There are in truth too many sites to choose from.
The small town of Mayet is not rich in antiquities. Its ancient church has been, first desecrated, and then swept away. Nor is the town itself immediately commanded by any fortress, like those of Fresnay, Beaumont, and Ballon. But two spots lie to the east of the town which cannot fail to have had some share in our history. A large house of the Renaissance, with portions of an earlier castle worked into it, stands at the foot of a low hill at some distance from the town, and with a good deal of swampy ground lying between them. This boasts itself to be the site of the fortress where the second Cenomannian expedition of William the Red came to so strange and lame an ending. But there are no traces of eleventh-century work remaining, and the site itself is most unlike the site of an eleventh-century fortress. The hill immediately above the house, far lower than Ballon or any of its fellows, does make some feeble approach to the favourite peninsular shape, and fancy at least has traced, amid the havoc made by the plough, some faint signs of ditches and made ground. On the high ground on the other side of the swamp, less completely cut off from the town, rises a mound, of whose artificial construction and military purpose there can be no doubt, and where ancient objects of various kinds are said to have been found. But this mound seems far too small to have been the site of such a stronghold as the castle of Mayet appears in our story. Could we believe it to have been thrown up during William’s siege, as a besieging mound, like those of which we have so often heard, its interest as regards our story would be almost as great as if it were the site of the head castle itself. But it seems too far off for any purpose save that of keeping the garrison in check; if the besieged castle stood on the opposite hill or at its foot, the stress of the siege must have taken place at some point much nearer to its site. The siege of Mayet is so singular a story, and so important in the history of this war, that it is disappointing not to be able to fix its topography with any confidence. But it is unluckily true that he who traces out the siege of Mayet cannot do so with the same full assurance that he is treading the true historic ground which he feels at Ballon and Fresnay.
In the details of the siege I have strictly followed Orderic, save that I have ventured to bring in the very characteristic story of Robert of Bellême which is told by Wace. But it cannot well have had the effect which Wace (15074) attributes to it, that of causing the army to disperse, and so making the King raise the siege;
“Partant sunt del siège méu
A peine fussent retenu.
Li siège par treis dis failli,
Li reis si tint mal bailli
Del siège k’il ne pout tenir,
E de l’ost k’il vit despartir.
Ne pout cels de l’ost arester
Ne il n’oserent retorner;
Par veies fuient è par chans,
Dunc est li reis venu el Mans.”
The order of events in Wace is really wonderful. After Robert has gone to the East, William Rufus reigns in peace, seemingly over Maine as well as Normandy. Helias seizes Le Mans; the news is brought to William; he sails to Barfleur; he recovers Le Mans (having on his road the singular adventure described in 14998 of Pluquet’s text, 9899 of Andresen’s); he besieges Mayet; he returns to Le Mans; he ravages the land; Helias is taken prisoner; he is brought before the King and released, and then William goes back to England to be shot by Walter Tirel.
NOTE RR. [Vol. ii. p. 297.]
William Rufus and the Towers of Le Mans Cathedral.
Was the bidding of William Rufus actually carried out in this matter? Did Bishop Hildebert pull down the towers or not? Unluckily Orderic tells us nothing about the story, and the language of the Biographer seems to me to be purposely obscure.
Hildebert himself mentions the matter in a passage which I quoted in the text ([p. 298]), in which he complains of the horrors of a voyage to England. He says (Duchèsne, iv. 248);
“Longum est enarrare quam constanti tyrannide rex Anglicus in nos sævierit, qui, temperantia regis abjecta, decreverit non prius pontifici parendum quam pontificem compelleret in sacrilegium. Quia etenim turres ecclesiæ nostræ dejicere nolumus,” &c.
One can make no certain inference from this, except that Hildebert was not disposed to pull down the towers when he wrote the letter, seemingly in England. The Biographer is fuller. I have quoted (see [p. 298]) the passages which describe the commands and offers of Rufus; we then read;
“Verumtamen Hildebertus magnis undique coartabatur angustiis, quia sibi et de regis offensione periculum, et de turris destructione sibi et ecclesiæ suæ imminere grande prævidebat opprobrium: propter quod a rege dilationem petebat, donec super his consilium accepisset. Qua vix impetrata, cernens sibi nequaquam esse utile in illis regionibus diutius immorari, breviter ad suam reversus est ecclesiam…. Interea præsul de præcepto regis vehementer anxius, de urbis incendio, de domorum et omnium rerum suarum destructione, de civium expulsione; primo tamen de clericorum, quos violentia regis ab urbe eliminaverat, dispersione, mæstissimus, Dei omnipotentis clementiam jugiter precabatur, ut ab ecclesia et populo sibi commisso iram indignationis suæ dignaretur avertere.”
He then goes on to tell how wonderfully God saved them all by the sudden death of Rufus and the final coming of Helias. But he does not directly say whether the towers were pulled down or not. His way of telling the story might suggest the thought that the towers were pulled down, but that he did not like to say so.
To my mind the appearances of the building look the same way. We have seen that the towers of Howel were clearly at the ends of the transepts. Of the single tower now standing at the end of the south transept, the lower part is of the twelfth century; most likely the work of William of Passavant (see above, [p. 636]). The ruined building at the end of the other transept has columns and capitals of a much earlier character, agreeing with the work of Howel. A base of the same early kind as the single pair of piers spoken of in the nave (see above, [p. 638]) may be the work of Howel; it may be either a relic of Arnold’s foundations or a scrap of something much earlier. It has been objected that this ruined building does not seem to have been a tower. And I must allow that it must have been a tower of a somewhat unusual kind. But the appearances are quite consistent with the notion of a transept with aisles, and with its main body ending in an engaged tower.
If these ruins are not the remains of one of Howel’s towers, his towers must have stood nearer to the body of the church than the existing southern tower stands, and the ruins to the north-west must belong to the episcopal palace or some other building. If this be so, something of the interest of the place is lost, but the argument seems almost stronger. It would have been nothing wonderful if the later rebuilding of the transepts had swept away all trace of the work of the eleventh and twelfth century, so that the fabric should in no way show whether any Romanesque towers were ever pulled down or ever built. But it is not so. We see that a late Romanesque tower was built to replace one of the towers of Howel, while the other, according to this view, has vanished without trace or successor. This would seem to point even more strongly than the other view to the belief that two towers were built, that both were pulled down, that afterwards one was rebuilt and the other not.
It is the business of the topographer of Le Mans rather than of the historian of William Rufus to settle what the remains at the end of the north transept are, if they are not the remains of Howel’s tower. But it may be noticed that Howel was a considerable builder or restorer in the adjoining palace (Vet. An. 298), and that the palace itself had a tower hard by the church. William of Passavant (Vet. An. 373) made certain arrangements about the three chapels of the palace—Saint David’s itself has only two—one of which is described as “tertia altior, quæ in turri sita ecclesiam cathedralem vicinius speculabatur.” In any case this group of buildings and ruins at the north-east corner of Saint Julian’s is one of the most striking to be found anywhere. There are these puzzling fragments of the days of the counts and bishops of our story; there is the mighty eastern limb of the present church, begun when Maine had passed away from all fellowship with Normandy and England, when Le Mans was the city of a Countess, widow of Richard, vassal of Philip. There is the northern transept, begun when Maine and Normandy were wholly swallowed up by France, finished at the very moment when Maine had again an English lord (Recherches, p. 122). And earlier than all, there is the Roman wall which the vast choir has overleaped, but which still remains outside the church. And, as if to bring together the earliest and the latest times, one of its bastions is strangely mixed up with work of an almost English character, which seems plainly to proclaim itself as belonging to the reign of Henry, Sixth of England and Second of France. Truly, setting aside exceptional spots like Rome and Athens, like Spalato and Trier and Ravenna, no city of Christendom is fuller of lessons, alike in art and in history, than the city of Helias, the birth-place of Henry Fitz-Empress.
NOTE SS. [Vol. ii. p. 320.]
The Death of William Rufus.
I have briefly compared the chief versions of the death of William Rufus, and the writers from whom they come, in Appendix U. in the fifth volume of the Norman Conquest. I will now go somewhat more fully into the matter.
I still hold, as I held then, that no absolute certainty can be come to as to the actor, intentional or otherwise, in the King’s death. Our only sure statement is to be found in the vague and dark words of the Chronicle, which look most like an intentional murder, but which do not absolutely imply it. If Rufus was murdered, it is hopeless to seek for any record of his murderer. We may guess for ever, and that is all. At any rate there can be no ground for fastening a charge of murder on Walter Tirel; for, if we except the dark hint in Geoffrey Gaimar (see [p. 325]), all those who make him the doer of the deed make it a deed done by accident. And the consent in favour of the belief that Rufus died by an accidental shot of Walter Tirel is very general and very weighty. It is the account of all our highest authorities, except the very highest of all. And even with the version of the Chronicle it does not stand in any literal contradiction. We have to set against it Walter’s own weighty denial (see below, [p. 674]), and the fact that there were other versions which named other persons. We have also to set against it the circumstance that, if Rufus did die by any conspiracy, never mind on whose part, it was obviously convenient to encourage belief in such a story as the received one. (See [p. 326].) If there were anywhere English or Norman murderers, nothing could better serve their purpose, or the purpose of any who encouraged or sheltered them, than to attribute the deed to one who was French rather than either English or Norman, and to describe it as accidental on his part. And if, as one can hardly doubt, Walter Tirel was known to have been in the King’s near company on the day of his death, he was an obvious person to pick out for the character of the accidental slayer.
I can therefore do nothing but leave the doubtful story to the judgement of the reader. To that end I have given a summary of the chief versions in the text. The account of the early part of the day, as given by William of Malmesbury (iv. 333), which I have followed in [p. 327], fits in perfectly well with the account in Orderic (782 A), which begins only after dinner. Nor is there any difference, except in details of no importance, between the accounts of the King’s actual death as given by William and by Orderic (see [p. 333]). In both the King dies by a chance shot of Walter’s, but William makes the King and Walter shoot at two different stags, while in Orderic’s version they both shoot at the same stag. It is from William of Malmesbury that we get the graphic detail of the King sheltering his eyes from the sun’s rays. His whole account stands thus;
“Jam Phœbo in oceanum proclivi, rex cervo ante se transeunti, extento nervo et emissa sagitta, non adeo sævum vulnus inflixit; diutile adhuc fugitantem vivacitate oculorum prosecutus, opposita contra violentiam solarium radiorum manu. Tunc Walterius pulcrum facinus animo parturiens, ut, rege alias interim intento, ipse alterum cervum qui forte propter transibat prosterneret, inscius et impotens regium pectus (Deus bone!) lethali arundine trajecit. Saucius ille nullum verbum emisit; sed ligno sagittæ quantum extra corpus extabat effracto, moxque supra vulnus cadens, mortem acceleravit. Accurrit Walterius; sed, quia nec sensum nec vocem hausit, perniciter cornipedem insiliens, beneficio calcarium probe evasit.”
Orderic is shorter;
“Cum rex et Gualterius de Pice cum paucis sodalibus in nemore constituti essent, et armati prædam avide expectarent, subiter inter eos currente fera, rex de statu suo recessit, et Gualterius sagittam emisit. Quæ super dorsum feræ setam radens rapide volavit, atque regem e regione stantem lethaliter vulneravit. Qui mox ad terram cecidit, et sine mora, proh dolor! expiravit.”
Florence really adds nothing to the account in the Chronicle, except so far that he adds the name of Walter Tirel. He brings in the event with some chronological pomp, but he cuts the actual death of the King short. He is in a moralizing fit, and takes up his parable at much greater length than is usual with him;
“Deinde iv. non. Augusti, feria v., indictione viii., rex Anglorum Willelmus junior, dum in Nova Foresta, quæ lingua Anglorum Ytene nuncupatur, venatu esset occupatus, a quodam Franco, Waltero cognomento Tirello, sagitta incaute directa percussus, vitam finivit, et Wintoniam delatus, in veteri monasterio, in ecclesia S. Petri est tumulatus. Nec mirum, ut populi rumor affirmat, hanc proculdubio magnam Dei virtutem esse et vindictam.”
He then goes on with a great deal of matter, much of which I have referred to in various places. He speaks of the making of the New Forest, of the death of young Richard, the natural phænomena of the reign, the recent appearances of the devil, and the iniquities of Randolf Flambard. It is here that he notices (see [p. 335]) that a church had once stood on the spot where the King died. Henry of Huntingdon too brings in the event with some stateliness, as the last act of a great drama. But he gives no special details, beyond bringing in, like Orderic, Florence, and William, the name of Walter Tirel;
“Millesimo centesimo anno, rex Willelmus xiii. regni sui anno, vitam crudelem misero fine terminavit. Namque cum gloriose et patrio honore curiam tenuisset ad Natale apud Glouecestre, ad Pascha apud Wincestre, ad Pentecosten apud Londoniam, ivit venatum in Novo foresto in crastino kalendas Augusti, ubi Walterus Tyrel cum sagitta cervo intendens, regem percussit inscius. Rex corde ictus corruit, nec verbum edidit.”
He then goes on to describe at length the evils of the reign, partly in his own words, partly in those of the Chronicle, and records what followed in a kind of breathless haste, keeping the Chronicle before him, but giving things a turn of his own;
“Sepultus est in crastino perditionis suæ apud Wincestre, et Henricus ibidem in regem electus, dedit episcopatum Wincestriæ Willelmo Giffard, pergensque Londoniam sacratus est ibi a Mauricio Londoniensi episcopo, melioratione legum et consuetudinum optabili repromissa.”
The object of piling facts on one another in this fashion is to bring the record of Henry’s promised reforms as near as may be to the picture of the evil doings of Rufus.
By the time that Wace wrote, there were several stories to be chosen from. The King gives arrows to his companions, and specially to Walter Tirel. They go out to hunt in the morning, contrary to the accounts both of Orderic and of William of Malmesbury (15164 Pluquet, 10069 Andresen);
“A un matin qu’il fu leuez,
Ses compaignons a demandez,
A toz a saetes donees,
Que li esteient presentees.
Gaulter Tirel, un cheualier
Qui en la cort esteit mult chier,
Une saete del rei prist
Donc il l’ocist si com l’en dist.”
He distinctly says that he does not know who shot the arrow, but that it was commonly said to be Walter Tirel, with some of the variations in detail which we have already seen, as for instance whether the arrow glanced from a tree or not;
“Ne sai qui traist ne qui laissa,
Ne qui feri, ne qui bersa,
Mais co dist l’en, ne sai sel fist,
Que Tirel traist, le rei ocist.
Plusors dient qu’il trebucha,
En sa cote s’empeecha,
E sa saete trestorna
E al chaeir el rei cola.
Alquanz dient que Tirel uolt
Ferir un cerf qui trespassout.
Entre lui e le rei coreit:
Cil traist qui entese aueit;
Mais la saete glaceia,
La fleche a un arbre freia,
E la saete trauersa,
Le rei feri, mort le rua.
E Gauter Tirel fost corut
La ou li reis chai e iut.”
The other French rimers are this time, though certainly less trustworthy than Wace, of more importance in one way, as showing that there was in some quarters, as there well might be in Normandy, a more charitable feeling towards the Red King than we find in the English writers. I have given in the text the substance of the accounts of Geoffrey Gaimar and Benoît de Sainte-More. The version of Geoffrey Gaimar (Chroniques Anglo-Normandes, i. 54) I do not remember to have ever seen referred to, except in M. Michel’s note to Benoît. It is so curious in its details that it is worth giving at length. It is absolutely impossible to believe it in the teeth of opposite statements of so much higher authority, yet it is strange if all its graphic touches are a mere play of fancy;
“En la foreste estoit li rois,
En l’espesse, juste un maroi.
Talent li prist d’un cerf berser
Qu’en une herde vist aler,
Dejuste une arbre est descendu,
Il méisme ad son arc tendu.
Partut descendent li baron,
Li autre ensement d’environ.
Wauter Tirel est descenduz;
Trop près de roi, lez un sambuz,
Après un tremble s’adossa.
Si cum la herde trespassa
Et le grant cerf a mes li vint,
Entesa l’arc qu’en sa main tint,
Une seete barbelée
Ad tret par male destinée.
Jà avint si qu’au cerf faillit
De ci qu’au queor le roi férit.
Une seete au queor li vint
Mès ne savom qi l’arc sustint;
Mès ceo distrent li autre archer
Qu’ele eissi del arc Wauter.
Semblant en fut, car tost fuit;
Il eschapa. Li rois chéit,
Par iij. foiz s’est escriez,
Le corps diũ a demandez;
Mès n’i fut qui le li donast,
Loingnz fut del mouster en un wast;
Et nequedent un venéour
Prist des herbes od tut la flour,
Un poi en fist au roi manger,
Issi le quida acomunier.
En Dieu est ço et estre doit:
Il avoit pris pain bénoit
Le dimenge de devant:
Ceo li deit estre bon garant.”
Geoffrey, it should be noticed, has nothing to say about dreams and warnings; the gab between the King and Walter Tirel seems in his version to take their place (see [p. 322]). But in the other account which deals kindly with Rufus, that of Benoît de Sainte-More (see [p. 332]), the warning dream, in this case assigned to the King himself, plays an important part. So also does Gundulf, the expounder of the dream. His presence is thus explained (40523);
“Veirs est e chose coneue
C’une haors avoit eue
Od l’evesque de Rovecestre,
Qui chapelains est e deit estre
L’arcevesque de Cantorbire:
E por c’ert vers le rei en ire
Que Saint Anseaume aveit chacié
E fors de la terre essilié.
Cil evesque de Rovecestre
Ert à lui venuz à Wincestre
Por pais requerre e demander,
Mais ne la poeit pas trover;
E li bons hom plein de pitié
Out mult Nostre-Seignor preié
Que de cele grant mesestance
Eust e cure e remembrance.”
We may note that Anselm, not yet canonized, is already called saint in a formal way.
The King is to hunt the next day in the New Forest; in the night he has the dream, which is told with a singular variation. He first sees the dead body of a stag on the altar; then it changes into that of a man (40560);
“Quant il regardout sor l’autel,
Si i veeit, ce li ert vis,
Un mult grant cerf qui ert ocis,
Por eschiver le grant renei
Que il voleit faire de sei,
Alout e si ’n voleit manger;
Kar c’erent tuit si desirer.
La où il i tendeit la main,
Si li ert vis s’ert bien certain,
Que c’ert cors d’ome apertement
Ocis e nafré et sanglent.”
Gundulf, “li evesques, li sainz hom,” then preaches a sermon of some length, which the King listens to with unexpected docility; he promises amendment of life, and receives absolution;
“Simple e od bone volunté
Out li reis en pais esculté,
Bien sont e conut la raison
De cele interpretation,
Assez pramist amendement
Donc de sa vie doucement
Al saint evesque a pardoné
Tote sa male volonté
Quant sa grace out e son congé.
Mult s’en torna joios e lié.”
In this version there is no special mention of Anselm and the synod; the exhortation of Gundulf is quite general. In the account given by Giraldus (De Inst. Prin. p. 174)—who, it must be borne in mind, has two dreams, one dreamed by the King, and another by a premature canon of Dunstable—this is strongly brought out. The bishop, whose name is not given, exhorts the King at much less length than Gundulf does in the rimes of Benoît, and the promise of reformation stands thus;
“Cum episcopus consilium ei daret quatenus, convocatis illico episcopis regni sui et clero universo, eorundem consilio se Domino per omnia conciliaret, missisque statim nuntiis venerabilem sanctumque virum Anselmum Cantuariensem archiepiscopum, quem ea tempestate, quod libertates ecclesiæ tueri volebat, exulare compulerat, ab exilio revocaret, respondens rex se cum regni sui proceribus consilium inde in brevi habiturum.”
In Benoît’s version the King’s companions now urge him to go out to hunt. The description is very graphic;
“E si vaslet furent hoesé
E en lor chaceors munté,
Les arcs ès mains, gamiz e presz,
E detrès eus lor bons brachez;
Abaient chens e sonent corns,
Monté atendent le rei fors.”
He refuses for a while, and sets forth his troubled mind with some pathos;
“Avoi! fait-il, seignors, avoi!
Uncor sui-je plus maus assez
E plus cent tant que vos ne quidez;
Mais c’est la fin, remis m’en sui,
Que je n’irai mais en bois ui.
Ne voil por rien qu’alé i seie
Ne que jamais la forest veie.”
He goes forth, and, as I have said in the text ([p. 332]), is shot by the arrow glancing from a tree. Benoît knew through what agency;
“Mais tant li mostre li reis Ros
Que c’il r’a d’aïr entesée
Une sajette barbelée,
E deiables tant l’a conveié[e]
Qu’à un gros raim fiert e glaceie.
Le rei feri delez le quor.”
His speech to his accidental slayer is most pious;
“Va-t’en, fui-tei senz demorer,
Kar mort m’as par ma grant enfance.
Ci a Deus pris de mei venjance:
Or li cri merci e soplei
Qu’il ait oi merci de mei
Par sa sainte chere douçor,
Kar mult sui vers lui peccheor.”
In the earlier of Giraldus’ two stories, one which has much in common with this of Benoît, the arrow strikes the King accidentally, but there is nothing about its glancing from a tree. As he looks on William Rufus as the maker of the New Forest, he describes his going forth to hunt there with some solemnity;
“Protinus contra dissuasionem in prædictam forestam, ubi tot ecclesias destituerat, totosque fideles qui glebæ ibidem ab antiquo ascripti fuerant immisericorditer exheredaverat, venatum ivit. Nec mora, soluta per interemptionem contentione ubi deliquit, casuali cujusdam suorum ictu sagittæ letaliter percussus decubuit; miles enim directo in feram telo, nutu divino cælum pariter et telum regente, non feram eo sed ferum et absque modo ferocem, transpenetravit.” (Cf. the extracts in [p. 337].)
Having got thus far, pretty nearly in Benoît’s company, Giraldus goes on to tell his other story which brings in the Prior of Dunstable. But Dunstable, in its own Annals, did not claim an earlier founder than Henry the First. We are therefore left to guess as to the origin of a story which speaks of the priory of Dunstable as already existing in the time of Rufus, and even as enjoying exceptional favour at his hands. The “miles quidam” of the former story here becomes Ralph of Aix, who is brought in after much the same fashion in which Walter Tirel is in those versions of the story which mention him.
These are the chief varieties in the story of the death of Rufus; but the tale is so famous, it has taken such a hold on popular imagination from that day to our own, that it may be well to do as we have done in some earlier cases, and to trace some of the forms which the story took in the hands of writers of later times.
The Hyde writer (302), who always has notions of his own about all matters, has nothing special to tell us about the death of Rufus—“Norman-Anglorum rex Willelmus,” in his odd style—but the story of the dream takes a new shape. A monk in Normandy, in extreme sickness, sees the usual vision of the Lord and the suppliant woman, here called less reverentially “puella vultu sole speciosior,” who complains of the evil doings of Rufus and asks for vengeance (“celerrimam de eo expetiit vindictam, asserens se a canibus ejus et lupis potius quam ministris diu esse laniatam”). He has a further dream about the sins of his own abbot, whom he rebukes, and causes a letter to be sent to the King. The King mocks, but less pithily and characteristically than he does in Orderic (“Quicumque sorti vel somniis crediderit, sicut semper vivet suspiciosus et inquietus, ita semper revertitur”). On this manifestation of unbelief follows the judgement (“Deus Omnipotens telum quod diu vibraverat misericorditer, tandem super regem projecit terribiliter”). He is shot casually in his hunting (“venatum pergens, venatus est, et ex improviso sagitta percussus;”—where surely “venatus est” is meant to be passive). He dies without confession or communion; he is buried, and Henry reigns in his stead. Then, as a kind of after-thought, comes in the mention of Walter Tirel;
“Fertur autem quod eodem die venatum pergenti obtulit munus sagittarum quidam adveniens, quarum unam Waltero Tirello viro Ponteiensi in munere dedit secumque venire coegit. Denique silvam ingressi, dum gregem bestiarum accingunt et invicem trahunt, eadem sagitta, idem Walterus regem vicinus, ut aiunt, percussit et subito extinxit.”
The author of the “Brevis Relatio” (Giles, 11) cuts the actual death of Rufus very short, and mentions no particular actor, but he connects it in a somewhat singular way with the presence of Henry;
“Contigit vero postea ut Robertus comes Normanniæ Hierosolymam iret, totamque Normanniam fratri suo Willelmo regi Anglorum invadiaret, et tunc Henricus fratri suo omnino se conferret atque cum eo ex toto remaneret. Dum itaque cum eo esset post aliquantum temporis contigit ut quadam die rex Willelmus venatum iret, ibique, nescio quo judicio Dei, a quodam milite sagitta percussus occumberet. Quem statim frater suus Henricus Wintoniam referri fecit, ibique in ecclesia Sancti Petri ante majus altare sepulturæ tradidit.”
The introduction of Henry in the former part of the extract is the more remarkable, because the writer has either copied the account given by Robert of Torigny in the Continuation of William of Jumièges (viii. 9), or else he has borrowed from the same source. Robert’s words are;
“Igitur, sicut supra diximus, cum Robertus dux Normannorum anno ab incarnatione Domini mxcvi, Hierusalem perrexisset, et ducatum Normanniæ Willelmo fratri suo regi Anglorum invadiasset: contigit post aliquantum temporis, ut idem rex quadam die venatum iret in Novam forestam, ubi iv. nonas Augusti missa sagitta incaute a quodam suo familiari in corde percussus, mortuus est anno ab incarnatione Domini mc. regni autem sui xiii…. Occiso itaque Willelmo rege, ut præmisimus, statim frater suus Henricus corpus ejus Wintoniam deferri fecit ibique in ecclesia sancti Petri ante majus altare sepulturæ tradidit.”
The words which I have left out record the death of the elder Richard, the son of the Conqueror, in the New Forest—the younger Richard, the son of Robert, is not mentioned—and the belief that the deaths of the two brothers were the punishment of the destruction of houses and churches done by their father. One phrase is remarkable; “Multas villas et ecclesias propter eandem forestam amplificandam in circuitu ipsius destruxerat.” Here is nothing about Walter Tirel or any one else by name, and this is the more to be noticed, because in his own Chronicle, where he seems to have had before him the account of Henry of Huntingdon, who mentions Walter Tirel, he leaves out the name. Henry’s words are; “Ivit venatum in Novo foresto in crastino kalendas Augusti, ubi Walterus Tyrel cum sagitta cervo intendens, regem percussit inscius. Rex corde ictus corruit, nec verbum edidit.” This in Robert’s version becomes “Willelmus rex Anglorum in Nova Foresta, sibi multum dilecta, cum sagitta incaute cervo intenderetur, in corde percussus interiit, nec verbum edidit.” He then goes on to copy part of Henry of Huntingdon’s description of the doings of Rufus somewhat further on.
Among the monastic chroniclers and annalists, the History of Abingdon (ii. 43) seems to see in the Red King’s death a judgement on him for some dealings connected with the lands of that abbey. A man described as Hugo de Dun had, by the help of the Count of Meulan (“Comitis Mellentis Rotberti senioris ope adjutus”), got into his hands some lands of the abbey at Leckhampsted, as had also the better known Hugh of Buckland, Sheriff of Berkshire (“eo quod et Berchescire vicecomes et publicarum justiciarius compellationum a rege constitutus existeret”). The writer then goes on;
“Quadam itaque die rex Willelmus dum cibatus venatum exerceret, suorum unus militum, quasi ad cervum sagittam emittens, regem e contra stantem sibique non caventem eadem sagitta in corde percussit. Qui mox ad terram corruens exspiravit.”
The legend received at Saint Alban’s (Gesta Abbatum, i. 65) seems to have rolled together the dream of the monk at Gloucester and the revelation of William’s death to the abbot of Clugny (see [p. 343]). Anselm at Clugny has a vision in which many of the saints of England bring their complaints against King William before the tribunal of God. Then the story takes a local turn;
“Iratus Altissimus respondit,--Accede, Anglorum protomartyr. Et accedente Albano, tradidit Deus sagittam ardentem, dicens; vindica te, et omnes sanctos Angliæ, læsos a tyranno. Accipiens autem Albanus sagittam de manu Domini, projecit eam in terram, quasi faculam, dicens; Accipe, Satan, potestatem in ipsum Willelmum tyrannum. Et eadem die, mane, obiit rex transverberatus per medium pectoris sagitta. Dixit autem arcitenenti, Trahe, diabole. Erat tunc temporis, episcopo Wolstano defuncto, episcopatus Wygorniæ nimis afflictus sub manu regis, et multæ aliæ ecclesiæ, sedente tunc Paschali papa.”
I do not know why the Saint Alban’s writer should have specially mentioned the church of Worcester, which certainly had a Bishop (see vol. i. p. 542) at the time of William’s death. But neither should I at [p. 43] of this volume have mentioned Saint Alban’s among the churches vacant at that time. For the four years’ vacancy which followed the death of Paul was ended in 1097 by the election of Richard. “Determinata lite quæ in conventu exorta fuerat inter Normannos, qui jam multiplicati invaluerunt, et Anglos, qui, jam senescentes et imminuti, occubuerant” (Gest. Abb. i. 66). Here is a glimpse of the internal state of the convent which would be most precious if it came from a writer of the year 1097, but which must be taken for what it may be worth in the mouth of Matthew Paris or one whom he followed. This abbot Richard was on good terms with Rufus as well as with his successor (“Willelmi Secundi et Henrici Primi regum, amicitia familiari fultus, multos honores et possessiones adeptus est, et adeptas viriliter tuebatur”). Presently we get a second shorter entry of the Red King’s death;
“Tempore quoque hujus abbatis Ricardi, Willelmus rex—immo tyrannus—ultione divina, obiit sagittatus.”
The Winchester Annals which really should, just as much as the Hyde writer, have given us something original at such a moment, have nothing more to tell us than that “hoc anno rex a sagitta perforates est in Nova Foresta a Waltero Tirel et sepultus in ecclesia Sancti Swithuni Wintoniæ.” The Margam Annals merely mark that “hoc anno interfectus est rex Angliæ Willelmus junior, rex Rufus vulgo vocatus, non. Augusti, anno regni sui xiii. cum esset annorum plus xl.” This reckoning falls in with what I said in vol. i. p. 141, and N. C. vol. iii. p. 111. Dunstable, which is so strangely dragged into the tale by Giraldus, and Bermondsey, which has some special things to record during the reign, have nothing fresh to tell us, only Dunstable mentions Walter Tirel and Bermondsey does not. Osney and Worcester merely copy the usual story. Thomas Wykes has been quoted already. Roger of Hoveden simply copies Florence. Ralph the Black and Roger of Wendover at least give a little variety by copying the account in William of Malmesbury. It is not till we get to the English and French rimers, Robert of Gloucester and Peter Langtoft, that we come to anything worthy of much notice or anything showing any imagination. Robert of Gloucester tells the story of the dream, attributing it to a monk, but not saying of what monastery. The appearance on the altar loses perhaps somewhat of its awfulness when it is made into the ordinary rood of the church.
“Þat þe kẏng eode into a chẏrche, as fers man and wod,
And wel hokerlẏche bẏ held þe folc þat þere stod.
To þe rode he sturte, and bẏgan to frete and gnawe
Þe armes vaste, and þẏes mẏd hẏs teþ to drawe.
Þe rode ẏt þolede long, ac suþþe atte laste
He pulte hẏm wẏt vot, and adoun vp rẏgt hẏm caste.”
This is surely no improvement on the older version of the story. Robert does not forget the bodily appearances of the devil recorded by Florence, but at his distance of time he does not draw the national distinction which the earlier writer drew;
“Vor þe Deuel was þer byuore þer aboute ẏseẏe
In fourme of bodẏ, and spec al so mẏd men of þe countreẏe.”
He then goes on to tell the story, clearly after William of Malmesbury, but everywhere with touches of his own. They have the interest of being in any case the earliest detailed account, true or false, of the story in our own tongue. Thus the account of the King’s not going to hunt before dinner takes this shape;
“So þat þe kẏng was adrad and bẏleuede vor such cas
To wende er non an honteþ, þe wule he vastyng was.
Ac after mete, þo he adde ẏete and ẏdronke wel,
He nom on of hẏs priues, þat het Water Tẏrel,
And a uewe oþere of hẏs men, and nolde non lenger abẏde,
Þat he nolde to hẏs game, tẏde wat so bẏtẏde.”
The actual account of his death stands thus;
“He prẏkede after vaste ẏnou toward þe West rẏgt.
Hẏs honden he huld byuore hẏs eẏn vor þe sonne lẏgt.
So þat þẏs Water Tẏrel, þat þer bysẏde was neẏ,
Wolde ssete anoþer hert, þat, as he sede, he seẏ.
He sset þe kẏng in atte breste, þat neuer eft he ne speke,
Bote þe ssaft, þat was wẏþoute, grẏslẏch he to brec,
And anowarde hẏs wombe vel adoun, and deẏde without spech,
Wẏþoute ssrẏft and hosel, anon þer was Gode’s wreche.
Þo Water Tẏrel ẏseẏ, þat he was ded, anon
He atornde, as vaste as he mẏgte, þat was hẏs best won.”
Peter of Langtoft (i. 446) has some touches of his own. Among other things, the days of the week have got wrong, in order to bring in a precept as to the proper observance of the weekly fast-day. We also get a purely imaginary Bishop of Winchester;
“Par un Jovedy à vespre le ray ala cocher
En la Nove Forest, où devayt veneyer.
Si tost fu endormy, comença sounger
K’il fust en sa chapele, soul saunz esquyer,
Les us furent fermés k’yl ne pout passer;
Si graunt faym avayt, ke l’estout manger,
Ou mourir de faym, ou tost arager.
Il n’ad payn ne char, ne pessoun de mer;
Il prent et devoure le ymage sur le auter,
La Marye et le fiz, saunz rens là lesser.
Al matyn, kaunt il leve, le eveske fet maunder,
Ode de Wyncestre, et ly va counter
Tut cum ly avynt en sun somoyller.
Le eveske ly dist, ‘Sir rays, Deus est rays saunz per;
Tu l’as coroucez, te covent amender
Par penaunce, et desore plus sovent amer.
Par Vendredy en boys ne devez mes chacer,
Ne à la ryvere of faucoun chuvaucher;
Tel est ta penaunce, et tu le days garder.’
Le eveske ad pris congé, et vait à sun maner;
Après la messe oye, ala le rays juer,
Sa penaunce oblye, fet maunder ly archer,
Walter Tirel i fust, ke set del mister,
Ad sun tristre vayt, la beste va wayter,
Un cerf hors de l’herd comença launcer;
Et ly Frauncays Tyrel se pressayt à seter,
Quide ferir la beste, et fert le rays al quer
Kaunt le eveske l’oyt dire, fist trop mourne cher.
Le cors à, Wyncestre fist le eveske porter,
Et mettre en toumbe al mouster saynt Per.
[Prioms qe sire Dieu pardoun li voile doner.]”
This last line, fittingly according to the belief of William’s own time, is wanting in some manuscripts.
From the writer known as Bromton we might have looked for some new form of the legend, but he gives us (X Scriptt. 996) only the usual story about Walter Tirel, with a rhetorical character of William and an account of his evil doings. One or two expressions however are remarkable;
“In quodam loco ubi priscis temporibus ecclesia fuerat constructa, et tempore patris sui cum multis aliis ecclesiis, et quatuor domibus religiosis, et tota illa patria in solitudinem redacta, vitam crudelem fine miserrimo terminavit. Jure autem in medio injustitiæ suæ inter feras occiditur, qui ultra modum inter homines ferus erat. Nam stabilitis contra malefactores silvarum, forestarum, et venationis, legibus duris, zelotepia sua agente, custos boscorum et ferarum pastor communiter vocabatur.”
To Knighton’s curious account I have referred already (see [p. 333]). But he tells the story twice. His first version (X Scriptt. 2372) contains nothing remarkable; the second (2373) is quite worth notice. He attributes to Rufus the making of the New Forest, which he describes in words which are not, as far as one can see, copied from any of the usual sources. He enforced the forest laws with great harshness, “quod pro dama hominem suspenderet, pro lepore xx.s. plecteretur, pro cuniculo x.s. daret.” Then the last scene is brought in with some solemnity; but the age which he assigns to the Red King is quite impossible;
“Igitur, ut ante dictum est, iii. nonarum Augusti, per Cistrensem [sic] anno gratiæ MC. regni sui xiii. ætatis liii. venit in novum herbarium suum, scilicet novam forestam, cum multa familia stipatus, venandi gratia set sibi gratia dura. Cum arcubus et canibus stetit in loco suo, et quidam miles sibi nimis familiaris Walterus Tyrel nomine, prope eum ex opposito loco, ut moris est venantium, cæterique sparsim unusquisque cum arcu et sagitta in manu expecteoli [sic] pro præda capienda. Interea accidit miræ magnitudinis cervum præ cæteris præstantiorem regi appropinquare, videlicet inter regem et dictum militem, at rex tetendit arcum volens emittere sagittam, credens se interficere cervum, set, fracta corda in arcu regis, cervus, de sonitu quasi attonitus, restitit circumcirca respiciens, et inde rex aliqualiter motus dixit militi ut cervum sagittaret. Miles vero se sustinuit. At rex objurganter cum magno impetu præcepit ei, dicens, ‘Trahe, trahe, arcum ex parte diaboli, et extendas sagittam, alias te pœnitebit,’ At ille emisit sagittam, volens interficere cervum, percussit regem per medium cordis, et occidit eum, ibidemque expiravit. Walterus evasit, nemine insequente. Rex vero vehitur apud Wyntoniam super redam caballariam impositus. In cujus sepultura luctus defuit. Omnes gaudium de ejus morte arripiunt, adeo quod vix erat quispiam qui lacrimam emiserit, sed omnes de morte ejus lætati sunt.”
This is well told; but how much more men knew about the matter at the end of the fourteenth century than they did in the last year of the eleventh.
To turn to foreign writers, the Annales Cambriæ say simply that “Willelmus rex Angliæ, a quodam milite suo cervum petente sagitta percussus, interiit”—or, in another manuscript, “Willelmus rex Anglorum, improviso ictu sagittæ a quodam milite in venatu occubuit.” The difference is to be noted. The Brut records the death of William the Red, King of the Saxons (Gẃilim Goch, brenhin y Saeson), and says that “as he was on a certain day hunting, along with Henry, his youngest brother, accompanied by some of his knights, he was wounded with an arrow by Walter Tyrell, a knight of his own, who, unwittingly, as he was shooting at a stag, hit the king and killed him.”
The Annales Blandinienses in Pertz, v. 27, record how “secundus Willelmus rex Anglorum in venatione ab uno milite suo ex improvisu sagitta vulneratus obiit; cui successit Henricus frater suus.” The Saint Denis History (Pertz, ix. 405) has a further touch; “Willelmus Rufus, rex Anglorum, venationi intentus sagitta incaute emissa occiditur. Cui Henricus frater ejus velocissime successit, ne impediretur a Roberto fratre suo, jam de Hierosolimitana expeditione reverso.” Another writer in the same volume (ix. 392), Hugh of Fleury, has a remarkable account, quite in the spirit of the English writers, but seemingly not directly copied from any of them;
“Rex Anglorum Guillelmus, magnifici regis Guillelmi successor et filius, dum venationem exercet in silva quæ adjacet Vindoniæ urbi, a quodam milite sagitta percussus interiit. Ille tamen miles qui sagittam jecit illum inscientem percussit. Cervam quippe sagittare parabat, sed sagitta retrorsum acta regem insperate percussit, et illum inopinabiliter interemit. Quod divino nutu contigisse non dubium est. Erat enim rex ille armis quidem strenuus atque munificus, sed nimis lasciviens et flagitiosus. Verum antequam interiret, magnis sibi signis præostensis, si voluisset, corrigi debuisset. Nam dum sibi subitus, peccatis suis exigentibus, immineret interitus, in eadem insula in qua manebat sanguinis unda fœtida per spatium unius diei emanavit, ipso præsente, quod dicebatur ejus portendere mortem. Ipso etiam tempore apparuerunt alia signa stupenda in eadem insula, quibus, sicut jam dictum est, terreri et vitam suam corrigere debuisset. Quæ juventa stolidus et honore superbus contempsit, et semper incorrigibilis mansit. Unde Dei justo judicio subite et intempestiva morte preventus occubuit. Cui successit frater ejus junior Henricus, vir sapiens atque modestus.”
Hugh of Flavigny, whom we have already had often to quote, adds (Pertz, viii. 495) one detail which I do not think appears elsewhere. The King goes to see the well which sent up blood (the event is wrongly put under 1099);
“Anno inc. dom. 1099 obiit Urbanus papa, successit Paschalis. Obiit etiam Willelmus junior rex Anglorum. Quo etiam anno in Anglia fons verum sanguinem olidum et putentem manare visus est. Ad quod spectaculum cum fere tota insula cucurrisset, insolita rei novitate stupefacta, rex præfatus advenit et vidit, nec tamen ei profuit vidisse. Autumabat vulgus promiscuum portentum istud mortem regis portendere, quod etiam ei dicebatur a referentibus; sed homo secularis et in quem timor Dei non ceciderat, voluptatibus carnis et superbiæ deditus, divinorum præceptorum contemptor et adversarius, qui tamen satis regii fuisset animi, si non Deum postposuisset fastu regni inflatus, nec cogitabat se moriturum.”
He carries on this vein a little further, and then gives the account of his death;
“Quia Deum deseruit, sanctam ecclesiam opprimens et eam sibi ancillari constituens, a Deo quoque derelictus est; in silva quæ adjacet Wintoniæ civitati, dum venationem exercet, sagitta a quodam percussus, quo lethali vulnere decidit et exanimatus est, pœnitentia et communione carens, et apud eamdem urbem sepultus.”
The Angevin chroniclers record the death of Rufus without comment or detail. The Biographer of the Bishops of Le Mans (Vet. An. 309), who looks at the matter chiefly with reference to Bishop Hildebert, moralizes at some length; but his statement of fact is no more than this;
“Dum quadam die in silvam venandi gratia perrexisset, ab uno ex militibus qui secum ierant sagitta percussus, interiit.”
This is really hardly more than the few words of the English Chronicler. Alberic of Trois Fontaines, from whom we might have looked for something, merely copies William of Malmesbury and others. Gervase of Tilbury (ii. 20, Leibnitz, i. 945) mentions another agent in the death-blow;
“Defuncto patre successit Guillelmus primogenius in regnum, vir impius, ecclesiarum persecutor, immisericors circa imbelles, qui archiepiscopum Cantuariensem plurimum persecutus, ab angelo percutiente peremtus, Guintoniæ sepultus est, sub infamiæ perpetuo monumento.”
As for Walter Tirel, he has his place in ordinary memory so thoroughly as the slayer of William Rufus and as nothing else, that it is rather hard to take in that his position as the slayer of William Rufus is very doubtful, while there are undoubted, though meagre, notices of him in other characters. We have already seen him entertaining Anselm in one of his Picard dwellings. The fullest account of his family comes from Orderic, who, when he is commenting on the laxity of the Norman clergy and bishops in his time, gives us the story of Walter’s father (574 D). Dean Fulk was a pupil of Bishop Ivo of Chartres, and inherited a knight’s fee from his father. Then we read how “illius temporis ritu, nobilem sociam nomine Orieldem habuit, ex qua copiosam prolem generavit.” Walter was one of a family of ten, seemingly the youngest of eight sons. He was “cognomento Tirellus,” clearly a personal and not a hereditary or local surname.
If the Dean of Evreux kept proper residence, his son would be Norman natione, whatever he was genere; but most accounts of Walter connect him with France rather than with Normandy. Abbot Suger, who knew him personally, speaks of him (Duchèsne, iv. 283 C) as “nobilissimus vir Galterius Tirellus.” In Florence (1100) he is simply “quidam Francus, Walterus cognomento Tirellus.” William of Malmesbury (iv. 333) says that, on the day of the King’s death, he was “paucis comitatus, quorum familiarissimus erat Walterius cognomento Tirel, qui de Francia, liberalitate regis adductus, venerat.” His possession of Poix appears from Orderic, 782 A, where he is described as “de Francia miles generosus, Picis et Pontisariæ dives oppidanus, potens inter optimates et in armis acerrimus; ideo regi familiaris conviva et ubique comes assiduus.” Walter Map (De Nugis Cur. 222) calls him “miles Achaza juxta Pontissaram Franciæ,” which I suppose means Achères. (But in Orderic, 723 B, we have another Walter and also a Peter brought into connexion with Achères.) Walter’s connexion with that district suggests that the King had bought him over to his side, or had taken him prisoner during the campaign in the Vexin. Geoffrey Gaimar (Chron. Anglo-Norm. i. 51) dwells on his possession of Poix;
“Wauter estoit un riches hom,
De France ert per del région.
Piez estoit soen un fort chastel,
Assez avoir de son avel.
Au roi estoit venu servir
Douns et soudées recoverir,
Per grant cherté ert recuilliz,
Assez ert bien del roi chériz.
Pur ceo q’estranges homs estoit,
Le gentil roi le chérissoit.”
His marriage comes from Orderic (783 A); “Adelidam filiam Ricardi de sublimi prosapia Gifardorum conjugem habuit, quæ Hugonem de Pice, strenuissimum militem, marito suo peperit.”
The question now comes whether Walter Tirel appears in Domesday. There is in Essex (41) an entry, “Laingaham tenet Walterus Tirelde. R. quod tenuit Phin dacus pro ii. hidis et dimidia et pro uno manerio.” This comes among the estates of Richard of Clare, and I suppose that “R.” in the entry should be “de R.” as in several others. If this be our Walter Tirel, his estate was not very great, and he did not hold as a tenant-in-chief. One cannot make much out of the extract from an East-Saxon county history in Ellis, ii. 394. Lappenberg (ii. 207) has more to say about this entry and other bearers of the name of Tirel. It cannot much matter that “der Name Tirrel ist in der Liste der Krieger zu Battle Abbey.” It is of more importance when he refers to the Pipe Roll of Henry (56), where we read, “Adeliz uxor Walteri Tirelli reddit compotum de x. marcis argenti de eisdem placitis de La Wingeham.” This comes in Essex, and I suppose that the “Laingaham” of Domesday and the “La Wingeham” of the Pipe Roll are the same place. If so, the two entries, combined with the notice in Orderic, look very much as if they all belong to one Walter and one Adelaide. If this be so, Walter Tirel was a landowner in England, though on no great scale; and whatever was his own case, his wife or widow was living and holding his land in 1131.
Walter’s denial of any share in the King’s death comes from the personal knowledge of Abbot Suger (Duchèsne, iv. 283); “Imponebatur a quibusdam cuidam nobilissimo viro Galterio Tirello, quod eum sagitta perfoderat. Quem cum nec timeret, nec speraret, jurejurando sæpius audivimus, et quasi sacrosanctum asserere, quod ea die nec in eam partem silvæ in qua rex venabatur, venerit, nec eum in silva omnino viderit.”
John of Salisbury in his Life of Anselm, c. xii (Giles, v. 341), refers to this denial on the part of Walter. He speaks of the fate of Julian, likening Anselm to Basil, and goes on; “Quis alterutrum miserit telum, adhuc incertum est quidem. Nam Walterus Tyrrellus ille, qui regiæ necis reus a plurimis dictus est, eo quod illi familiaris erat et tunc in indagine ferarum vicinus, et fere singulariter adhærebat, etiam quum ageret in extremis, se a cæde illius immunem esse, invocato in animam suam Dei judicio, protestatus est. Fuerunt plurimi, qui ipsum regem jaculum quo interemptus est misisse asserunt; et hoc Walterus ille, etsi non crederetur ei, constanter asserebat.” He adds a comment which might be taken in two senses; “Et profecto quisquis hoc fecerit, Dei ecclesiæ suæ calamitatibus compatientis dispositioni fideliter obedivit.”
The very confused story which makes William Rufus the maker of the New Forest, and Walter Tirel the adviser of the deed, comes from Walter Map’s account (De Nugis, 222) of the death of William Rufus, where a good many things are brought close together; “Willielmus secundus, rex Angliæ, regum pessimus, Anselmo pulso a sede Cantiæ, justo Dei judicio a sagitta volante pulsus, quia dæmonio meridiano deditus, cujus ad nutum vixerat, onere pessimo levavit orbem. Notandum autem quod in silva Novæ Forestæ [cf. N. C. vol. iv. p. 841], quam ipse Deo et hominibus abstulerat, ut eam dicaret feris et canum lusibus, a qua triginta sex matrices ecclesias extirpaverat, et populum earum dederat exterminio. Consiliarius autem hujus ineptiæ Walterus Tyrell, miles Achaza juxta Pontissaram Franciæ, qui, non sponte sua sed Domini, de medio fecit eum ictu sagittæ, quæ feram penetrans cecidit in belluam Deo odibilem.” “Exterminium” must of course be taken, not of a massacre, but of a mere driving out. Giraldus too (De Inst. Princ. 173) attributes the making of the New Forest and the driving out of the people to William Rufus;
“Hic Novam in australibus Angliæ partibus Forestam, quæ usque hodie durat, primus instituit; multis ibidem ecclesiis, in quibus divina ab antiquo celebrari obsequia et ipsius præconia sublimari, desertis omnino et destitutis multisque ruricolis et glebæ ascriptis a paternis laribus et agris avitis miserabiliter profugatis et proscriptis.”
We have seen already (see [p. 337]) how this confusion was further improved in the thirteenth century at the hands of Thomas Wykes, and what rhetorical use of it was made later still by Henry Knighton.
As usual, so-called local tradition knows a vast deal about the matter. The exact place where Rufus fell is known, and is marked by a stone. The tree from which, in some versions, the arrow is said to have glanced, is also known, and its site, or a successor, may be seen. It is of course impossible to say that these things are not so; but one knows too much of the utter worthlessness of the modern guesses which commonly pass for local tradition to attach much value to such stories. I have been on the spot; but, when there is no real evidence to fix the event to one spot rather than another of a large district, it is another matter from tracing out the signs of real history at Le Mans and at Rochester, at Bamburgh and at Saint Cenery. There is also a wild story about a payment made by some neighbouring manor as a penalty, because some one shod Walter’s horse instead of stopping him. The payment is doubtless real enough; the alleged cause for it shows a knowledge of details beyond that of Knighton or Geoffrey Gaimar. The critical historian, after making his way through all these tales, can only come back to the safe statement of the English Chronicler with which he set out.
APPENDIX TT. [Vol. ii. p. 338]
The Burial of William Rufus.
Some of the accounts of William’s burial have been already mentioned in the text, or in the last Note. It may have been noticed that some of them seem anxious to claim for Henry a share in the burial of his brother. The singular narrative of Geoffrey Gaimar (i. 56), where he follows up his attempt to make out a late repentance for Rufus by giving him a specially solemn and Christian burial, has been given in brief in the text. The barons and the rest are mourning, when Gilbert of Laigle bids them stop (“Taisez, seigneurs, pur Jhésu Xpist”) and turn to burying their master. Then the story goes on;
“Donc véissez valez descendre
Et venéours lur haches tendre.
Tost furent trenche li fussel
De quai firent li mainel.
Deus blertrons troevent trenchez;
Bien sont léger et ensechez,
Ne sont trop gros, mès longs estoient;
Tut à mesure les conreient,
De lur ceintures e de peitrels
Lient estreit les mainels,
Puis firent lit en la bière.
De beles flours et de feugère,
Ij palefreis ont amenez,
Od riches freinz, bien enseelez;
Sur ceus ij. couchent la bière;
N’ert pas pesante mès légère;
Puis i estendent un mantel
Qui ert de paille tut novel.
Le fiz Aimon le défoubla,
Robert, qi son seignur ama,
Sur la bière cuchent le roi,
Qe portoient le palefroi.
Enséveli fu en un tiret,
Dont Willam de Montfichet.
Le jour devant ert adubbé,
N’avoit esté k’un jor porté,
Le mantel gris donc il osta.”
After some more lamentations, they set out on their journey and reach Winchester;
“Tresque Wincestre n’ont finé,
Iloeques ont le roi posé
Enz el mouster Seint-Swithun.
Là s’assemblèrent li baron.
Et la clergié de la cité
Et li évesque et li abbé.
Li bons évesques Walkelin
Gaita le roi tresq’au matin.
O lui, moigne, clerc et abbé,
Bien ont léu et bien chanté
Leudemain font cele départie.
Tiele ne vit homme de vie,
Ne tant messes ne tiel servise
N’ert fet tresq’au jour de juise
Pur un roi, come pur li firent.
Tut autrement l’ensévelirent
Qe li baron n’avoient fet.
Là où Wauter out à lui tret.
Qui ceo ne creit aut à Wincestre,
Oïr porra si voir pœt estre.”
This is a pretty story enough; but we may be sure that all its other details are as mythical as the part assigned to the dead Bishop Walkelin. The only question of any importance is whether there is any contradiction between the two more important narratives, that of Orderic and that of William of Malmesbury in the place where he is directly telling the story. The Chronicler and Florence simply mention the burial without detail or comment. The account of William of Malmesbury is the shorter of the two. The King has been shot, and Walter Tirel has fled. Then the story goes on (iv. 333);
“Nec vero fuit qui persequeretur, illis conniventibus, istis miserantibus, omnibus postremo alia molientibus; pars receptacula sua munire, pars furtivas prædas agere, pars regem novum jamjamque circumspicere. Pauci rusticanorum cadaver, in rheda caballaria compositum, Wintoniam in episcopatum devexere, cruore undatim per totam viam stillante. Ibi infra ambitum turris, multorum procerum conventu, paucorum planctu, terræ traditum.”
Orderic (782 D) tells very much the same story;
“Mortuo rege, plures optimatum ad lares suos de saltu manicaverunt, et contra futuras motiones quas timebant res suas ordinaverunt. Clientuli quidem cruentatum regem vilibus utcunque pannis operuerunt, et veluti ferocem aprum, venabulis confossum, de saltu ad urbem Guentanam detulerunt. Clerici autem et monachi atque cives, duntaxat egeni, cum viduis et mendicis, obviam processerunt, et pro reverentia regiæ dignitatis in veteri monasterio Sancti Petri celeriter tumulaverunt.”
The words of William of Malmesbury, it will be noticed, are quite general. They do not assert the usual religious ceremony, but neither do they exclude it. It is Orderic who in a marked way asserts the popular excommunication. His words are;
“Porro ecclesiastici doctores et prælati, sordidam ejus vitam et tetrum finem considerantes, tunc judicare ausi sunt, et ecclesiastica, veluti biothanatum, absolutione indignum censuerunt, quem vitales auras carpentem salubriter a nequitiis castigare nequiverunt. Signa etiam pro illo in quibusdam ecclesiis non sonuerunt, quæ pro infimis pauperibus et mulierculis crebro diutissime pulsata sunt. De ingenti ærario, ubi plures nummorum acervi de laboribus miserorum congesti sunt, eleemosynæ pro anima cupidi quondam possessoris nullæ inopibus erogatæ sunt.”
Here is no contradiction; only Orderic asserts a very remarkable feature in the case of which William takes no notice. To me it seems more likely that William of Malmesbury, whose business it clearly was (see above, [p. 491]) to make out as good a case for William Rufus as he could without asserting anything positively false, should leave out a circumstance which told so much against the King, than that Orderic, or those from whom he heard the story, should invent or imagine it. On the other hand, the very fact that the story of the popular excommunication is so very striking and solemn and in every way befitting does make us tremble the least bit in admitting it as a piece of authentic history.
We must not however forget that William of Malmesbury in a later passage (v. 393) does seem to imply that the burial of Rufus was accompanied by the ordinary ceremonies. In recording the election of Henry, he says that it happened “post justa funeri regio persoluta.” But it may fairly be doubted whether an obiter dictum of this kind is entitled to the same weight which would undoubtedly have belonged to a direct statement in his regular narrative. The words are, after all, somewhat vague, and if we compare this passage in William of Malmesbury with the entry in the Chronicle, it sounds very much as if it were merely a translation in a grander style of the simple words “syðþan he bebyrged wæs.” The same feeling as that which is expressed in Orderic’s account comes out in a singular passage of the Saxon Annalist (Pertz, vi. 733); “Willehelmus rex de Anglia sagitta interfectus est. Heinricus vero frater ejus in eodem loco pro remedio animi sui volens monasterium constituere, prohibitus est. Apparuit enim ei, et duo dracones ferentes eum, dicens, nichil sibi prodesse, eo quod suis temporibus omnia destructa essent, quæ antecessores sui in honorem Domini construxerant.”
I suppose that there need be no difficulty about the “clientuli” of Orderic as compared with the “rusticani” of William, though the word “clientuli” by itself might rather have suggested some of the King’s inferior followers. But one is amazed to find Sir Francis Palgrave (iv. 686, 687) telling us the name of the churl who brought in the body, “a neighbouring charcoal-burner, Purkis.” And he goes on to say;
“We are not told that Purkis received any reward or thanks for his care. His family still subsists in the neighbourhood, nor have they risen above their original station, poor craftsmen or cottagers. They followed the calling of coal-burners until a recent period; and they tell us that the wheel of the Cart which conveyed the neglected corpse was shown by them until the last century.”
I have often heard of this local legend about Purkis, but really so palpable a fiction ought not to have found its way into the pages of a scholar like Sir Francis Palgrave. There are some stories which need no argument against them, but which the evidence of nomenclature at once upsets. Purkis is on the face of him as mythical as Crocker and Crewis and Copleston—I am not sure whether I have remembered the first two names right, and it is not worth turning to any book to see. By the way in which the story is told, one would fancy that Purkis is meant for a surname, and it may be that those who believe in him think that he was baptized John or Thomas. In inventing legends it is at least better to invent legends which are possible. If any one chooses to say that the cart was driven by Godwine or Æthelstan, we cannot say that it was not.
It is after this that Orderic goes on to speak of the classes of people who did mourn for the Red King, and how gladly they would have done summary vengeance on his slayer, if he had not been far out of their reach;
“Stipendiarii milites et nebulones ac vulgaria scorta quæstus suos in occasu mœchi principis perdiderunt, ejusque miserabilem obitum, non tam pro pietate quam pro detestabili flagitiorum cupiditate, planxerunt, Gualteriumque Tirellum, ut pro lapsu sui defensoris membratim discerperent, summopere quæsierunt. Porro ille, perpetrato facinore, ad pontum propere confugit, pelagoque transito, munitiones quas in Gallia possidebat expetiit, ibique minas et maledictiones malevolentium tutus irrisit.”
NOTE UU. [Vol. ii. p. 347.]
The Election of Henry the First.
The details of the accession of Henry come chiefly from Orderic (782 D), though, oddly enough, he does not record the election in so many words. But there can be no doubt as to the fact of a regular, though necessarily a very hasty, election. The words of the Chronicle are distinct; “And syðþan he bebyrged wæs þa witan þe þa neh handa wæron, his broðer Heanrig to cynge gecuran.” So Henry of Huntingdon; “Henricus, ibidem in regem electus.” Florence strangely slurs over the election, saying only, “successit junior frater suus Heinricus.” William of Malmesbury (v. 393) is quite distinct;
“In regem electus est, aliquantis tamen ante controversiis inter proceres agitatis atque sopitis, annitente maxime comite Warwicensi Henrico, viro integro et sancto, cujus familiari jamdudum usus fuerat contubernio.”
Here we hear only of “proceres;” but we get the important facts of the division among the electors, and of the special agency of the Earl of Warwick, which falls in with the notice of Orderic (783 B) that the Count of Meulan accompanied the King-elect to London. The Beaumont brothers act together. But Orderic, in his zeal to describe the picturesque scene between Henry and William of Breteuil, leaves out any distinct record of the election. It is however implied in the words which follow the passage quoted in [p. 347;]
“Tandem, convenientibus amicis et sapientibus consiliariis, hinc et inde lis mitigata est, et saniori consultu, ne pejor scissura fieret, arx cum regalibus gazis filio regis Henrico reddita est.”
The assembly which settled the matter, and which gave up the royal treasury to Henry, was beyond all doubt the assembly which, according to William of Malmesbury, elected Henry king. It was only to a king or king-elect that they would decree the surrender of the treasure. Indeed one might be tempted to make a slight change in the order of events as told by Orderic. One is tempted to suspect that the assembly voted the election of Henry, that he went, armed with this vote, to demand the treasure, and that it was then that William of Breteuil withstood him. This however is simply conjecture. But there can be no doubt as to the election of Henry by such an assembly as could be got together at the moment. Nor do I see any reason to doubt Orderic’s story as to the scene between Henry and William of Breteuil. At all events, Orderic has made it the occasion of putting forward some very sound constitutional doctrine, which is just as valuable, even if any severe critic should reject the story as a fact.
I have spoken elsewhere (see N. C. vol. v. p. 845) of two tales in Matthew Paris with regard to Henry’s accession, of which Thierry made a characteristic use. I have nothing to add to what I said then.
There can, I think, be no doubt that the celebrant at Henry’s coronation was Maurice Bishop of London. The Chronicler, Florence, Orderic, and Henry of Huntingdon, all mention Maurice and no other prelate, though of course some other bishops would take a secondary part in the ceremony. The Archbishop of York would have been the regular celebrant during the vacancy of Canterbury; but, as Thomas died so soon afterwards, the natural inference is that he was too sick to come. And indeed, if he was in his own province, he could not, even if he had been in the best of health, have come to Westminster at such short notice. Even Thomas Stubbs does not claim the consecration of Henry for his namesake, unless indeed he means (X Scriptt. 1707) to insinuate it in a very dark way. He mentions the vacancy of Canterbury after the death of Lanfranc, and adds;
“Ex antiquo tamen extitit consuetudo inter duos Angliæ metropolitanos, ut altero defuncto alter in provincia defuncti archiepiscopalia faceret, utpote episcopos consecrare, regem coronare, coronato rege natalis domini, paschæ et pentecostes majorem missam cantare. Hæc interim fecit Thomas archiepiscopus, nec quisquam episcoporum erat qui hæc in sua ipsius diocesi præsente archiepiscopo præsumeret.”
He then mentions the bishops whom Thomas consecrated, Hervey of Norwich—that is, Herbert of Thetford—Ralph of Chichester, and Hervey of Bangor. If he had really thought that Thomas had crowned a king, he would surely have said so distinctly. I can therefore attach no importance to the strange statement of the two Ely writers (Anglia Sacra, i. 613; Stewart, Liber Eliensis, 284) that Henry was consecrated by Maurice, but crowned by Thomas (“a Mauritio Lundoniensi episcopo in regem est consecratus, sed a Thoma Eboracensi coronatus”). But the distinction between consecration and coronation may be worth the attention of ritual students.
It was an easy mistake of a Welsh writer (see the Brut, 1098, that is 1100) to transfer the election from Winchester to London; “From thence [Winchester] he went to London, and took possession of it, which is the chiefest and crown of the whole kingdom of England [Lloeger]. Then the French and Saxons [Ffreinc a Saeson] all flocked together to him, and by royal council appointed him king in England [vrenhin yn Lloeger].”
APPENDIX WW. [Vol. ii. p. 384]
The Objections to the Marriage of Henry and Matilda.
Our two fullest accounts of this matter are those of Eadmer and of Hermann of Tournay (D’Achery, ii. 894, see above, [p. 600]). Eadmer’s is the account, not only of a contemporary, but, we cannot doubt, of an eye-witness. Hermann wrote in another land, long afterwards, when the wars of Stephen and Matilda and the pleadings in the papal court (see N. C. vol. v. p. 857) had called men’s minds back to the story of the marriage of Matilda’s parents. His memory, as we see, failed him as to details. He did not remember either of the names of Eadgyth-Matilda; he mistakes her brother David for her father; he makes her (D’Achery, ii. 894) the mother of both the sons of Henry who were drowned in the White Ship. It is quite plain that his remembrance of what he had heard from Anselm forty or fifty years before was coloured by later ways of looking at things.
It is quite plain from Eadmer’s account that Eadgyth herself had not the slightest feeling against the marriage, but that she was eager for it; she disliked neither King Henry nor his crown. Nor has Anselm any objection, as soon as the evidence shows that no rule of the Church would be broken by the marriage. That he was strict in requiring such evidence was only natural and right; “Affirmabat nulla se unquam ratione in hoc declinandum ut suam Deo sponsam tollat et eam terreno homini in matrimonium jungat” (Eadmer, Hist. Nov. 56). But when the evidence shows that Eadgyth was not “Dei sponsa,” he makes no further objection. Nothing is proved by his use of a negative form, “judicium vestrum non abjicio” (Hist. Nov. 58). The sentimental objection which Hermann puts into his mouth seems quite out of character. Anselm takes the common-sense view; If she is a nun, she must not marry; if she is not a nun, she may. One can believe that Anselm would in his heart have preferred that any virgin should abide in the state which he deemed the higher. But he would hardly have stooped to say; “This marriage is perfectly lawful; but the veil has touched her head; so you had better marry somebody else.” In this and in the prophecy we surely see the beginning of the growth of a legend. Some legends of Anselm seem to have arisen in his life-time. This one could not, as no ill-luck happened to the children of the marriage till after Anselm was dead.
I am not sure that a very slight touch in the same direction may not be seen in the account of William of Malmesbury, v. 418; the words follow the passage quoted above, [p. 603]; “Cum rex suscipere vellet eam thalamo, res in disceptationem venit; nec nisi legitimis productis testibus, qui eam jurarent sine professione causa procorum velum gessisse, archiepiscopus adduci potuit ad consentiendum.”
William, it is to be noticed, does not repeat the English pedigree, on which in his former notice (v. 393) he was less emphatic than Eadmer. I do not know what can be meant by “ignobiles nuptiæ.” Hardly Count Alan; hardly Earl William of Warren or Surrey, who is also spoken of.
Thierry (ii. 152) has an elaborate romance, in which the father of Western theology comes in casually as “un moine du Bec, nommé Anselme.” Here Eadgyth dislikes the marriage, but sacrifices herself for the good of her people. All this comes from Matthew Paris, who has two amazing stories. In one (Hist. Angl. i. 188), though Malcolm and Margaret have been killed off at the proper time, they appear again in full life when King Henry seeks their daughter—“filia elegantissimæ speciei, et, quod pluris erat, vitæ sanctissimæ.” She was brought up in a monastery, perhaps as a nun (“in sanctimonialium claustro propter honestatem educata, et, ut dicitur, velo sacro Deo dicato ac jam professa”). King Henry woos her with much fervour of passion (“ipsam propter ipsius mores et faciei venustatem sitienter adoptavit, et instanter petiit in uxorem”). The parents dare not withstand such a lover; they go to ask their daughter’s own wishes. She rebukes them in fearful and mysterious words for speaking of any such matter (“increpans patrem et matrem de zelotipiæ præsumptione, nec ipsos debere de corpore suo fructum mortalitatis exposcere, vel fructum posteritatis infructuosum”). At this the father is sad; the mother is pleased by the decision of her daughter (“matri propositum puellare complacuit”). The King’s passion only waxes warmer; like Balak, he sends more honourable messengers; he commands, prays, promises, till he stumbles into a hexameter “missis sollemnioribus nuntiis, urgentius adolescentulam in reginam expostulans, imperium, promissa, preces, confudit in unum”). Malcolm, knowing that his wife will never agree to the marriage, turns, without her knowledge, to the abbess by whom his daughter had been brought up. The reverend mother is prevailed on to argue the point at length, and to set forth every possible argument, personal and political, on behalf of the marriage;
“Proponens utilitatem inde proventuram, scilicet regnorum fœdera, regum mutuam dilectionem, pacis tranquillitatem, propagationis posteritatem, reginalem dignitatem, honoris magnificentiam, divitiarum affluentiam, amoris desiderium, amatoris pulcritudinem.”
Father and abbess together are too much for the “beata virgo Matilda.” She yields, but only “maledicens fructui sui ventris affuturo.” Anselm marries them, “nuptiis sollemniter, ut decuit, celebratis;” but a contemporary note in the margin is added, “Nota nuptias illicitas.” And we are told that the disturbances which presently followed, the invasion of Robert and anything else, were all judgements on this unlawful marriage;
“Facta est commotio magna in regno, quasi Deo irato, quoniam rex Henricus zelotipaverat, et, sicut fratrem Robertum de regno supplantando alienaverat, sic Christum de sponsa sua defraudaverat.”
It is to be noticed that the writer who brings in all this action of Malcolm under the year 1101 had long before (i. 43) recorded his death in its proper place, or rather before its proper place, as he puts it in 1092 instead of 1093.
The other account comes in the Chronica Majora, ii. 121. It is chiefly remarkable for two speeches, the second of which is put into the mouth of Matilda herself. Matthew had just copied a business-like bit from Roger of Wendover (ii. 169), recording the marriage without comment; he then goes on to say that Matilda was married against her will, being won over by the importunity of kinsfolk and friends. The words are, “parentum et amicorum consiliis vix adquiescens; tandem tædio affecta, adquievit.” (“Parentes” may be taken by the charitably disposed in the wider French sense, but it must be remembered that in the other version Malcolm and Margaret are brought in as living in the year 1100.) This version is quite certain that Matilda had made a vow, but leaves it open whether she had actually taken the veil (“Cum Christiana matertera sancta sanctissime in claustro religionis educata fuerat, et votum virginitatis Deo spoponderat, et, ut multi perhibent, velum susceperat professæ religionis”). The kinsfolk and friends make a solemn appeal on patriotic grounds;
“O mulierum generosissima ac gratissima, per te reparabitur Anglorum genialis nobilitas, quæ diu degeneravit, et fœdus magnorum principum redintegrabitur, si matrimonio prælocuto consentias. Quod si non feceris, causa eris perennis inimicitiæ gentium diversarum, et sanguinis humani effusionis irrestaurabilis.”
Matilda, “virgo clementissima,” gets angry, and, in the bitterness of her soul, uses yet stronger language than she does in the other version;
“Ex quo sic oportet fieri, utcunque consentio, sed fructum ventris mei, quod est horribile dictu, diabolo commendo. Me enim Deo vovi, quod non sinistis, immo sponsum meum, quem elegi, ausu temerario, immemores causæ sancti Matthæi apostoli, zelotipatis.”
We are then told of the vehement love of the King for the wife whom he had thus wrongfully married;
“Sic igitur nuptiæ magnifice, ut decuit, celebrabantur, et tanto ardentius exarsit rex in ipsius amorem, quanto scelestius adamavit. Secundum illud poeticum
“Nitimur in vetitum semper.”
Peccato igitur exigente, facta est commotio subito in regno.”
From this point Matthew goes on copying Roger of Wendover’s account of Robert’s invasion, but putting in bits of colouring of his own. When Henry sends his fleet to meet that of Robert, we are told that he does it “conscientiam habens multipliciter cauteriatam.” And when some of the sailors (see [p. 404])—who are enlarged by Robert of Wendover into “pars major exercitus”—go over to Robert, the reason for their so doing is said to be “quia rex jam tyrannizaverat.”
There is something very strange in this echo at so late a time of objections which one would have thought that both common sense and the authority of Anselm would have set aside for ever. Was there any lurking wish in the thirteenth century to weaken the title of the Angevin kings, even on so stale a ground as the doubtful validity of the marriage of so distant an ancestress? We must remember that something of the kind really happened in Scotland long after. The right of the Stewarts was murmured against at a very late time on the ground of the doubtful marriage of Robert the Second. And we have seen that in an intermediate time, during the reign of Stephen, the validity of the elder Matilda’s marriage, and the consequent legitimacy of the younger Matilda, were called in question by Stephen’s supporters in arguments before the papal court. See N. C. vol. v. p. 857.
There is something singular in the way in which the marriage is entered in the Winchester Annals (1100), among a crowd of other facts not put in exact chronological order; “Matildis, Malcolmi regis filia Scotiæ, de monacha Wiltoniæ non tamen professa, regina Angliæ facta est.” One almost thinks of the wild story about Eadgyth of Wilton which I have spoken of in N. C. vol. i. p. 267. But the words have a parallel in the language of the Brut (1098, that is 1110), which, after the account of Henry’s election, adds,
“And immediately he took for his wife Mahalt, daughter of Malcolm, king of Prydyn, by Queen Margaret her mother [‘Vahalt uerch y Moel Cólóm, brenhin Prydein’—another manuscript more reasonably has ‘y Pictieit’—‘o Vargaret urenhines y mam’]. And she, by his marrying her, was raised to the rank of queen; for William Rufus [Gúilim Goch] his brother, in his lifetime, had consorted with concubines, and on that account had died without an heir.” Cf. [p. 503.]
I have said, what is perfectly true, that Orderic is the only writer who directly mentions that Matilda had once borne the name of Eadgyth. But I think that I have lighted on a most curious trace of the fact in a later writer. Peter Langtoft (i. 448) mentions the return of Robert, and adds;
“La femme le duk Robert fu en proteccioun
Le counte de Cornewaylle, fillye [fu] Charloun
Seygnur de Cecylle, Egyth la dame ad noun;
Robert la prent e mene à sa possessioun.”
The name appears in various spellings in different manuscripts, Edgith, Egdith, and what not. It was perhaps not very wonderful that, in Peter Langtoft’s day, a Count of Conversana should grow into a lord of Sicily, and that a lord of Sicily should be thought to be of necessity called Charles. But why should Sibyl be turned into Edith? I can think of no reason except that the next lines are;
“Cel houre en Escoce un damoysele estait,
Fillye al ray Malcolme, de ky maynt hom parlayt.
Taunt fu bone et bele, ke Henry le esposayt,
Ray de Engleterre, Malde home l’appelayt.”
Surely the poet had read somewhere that Matilda had been called Edith, and then mixed up her and Sibyl together. But why Sibyl should be in the protection of the “Count of Cornwall”—meaning, if anybody, William of Mortain—it is not easy to see. Had he read in Orderic (784 B, C) that Robert and Sibyl went together to “mons sancti Michaelis archangeli de periculo maris,” and took it for the Cornish mount? Robert of Brunne (i. 95, Hearne) translates;
“Noþeles þe erle of Cornwaile kept his wife þat while
Charles douhter scho lord of Cezile,
Dame Edith bright as glas: Roberd þouht no gile,
Bot com on gode manere tille his broþer Henry,
He wife þat soiorned here he led to Normundie.”
NOTE XX. [Vol. ii. p. 412.]
The Treaty of 1101.
I do not know that there is any necessary contradiction between the detailed narrative of Orderic (788), who alone speaks of the personal interview between the brothers, and the shorter accounts of the other writers, who have more to say about the action of the wise men on each side. Nothing is more likely than that the terms of the treaty should be discussed by commissioners on both sides, and then finally agreed on in a personal meeting of the two princes. The only point of difficulty is that Orderic seems to imply that nobody on either side could be trusted, except the princes themselves. He begins with Henry’s message to ask why Robert had entered his kingdom (“cur Angliæ fines cum armato exercitu intrare præsumpserit”). Robert’s answer reminds one of the answer of Edward son of Henry the Sixth to Edward the Fourth (Hall, 301; Lingard, iv. 189). His words are; “Regnum patris mei cum proceribus meis ingressus sum, et illud reposco debitum mihi jure primogenitorum.”
The armies are now face to face, and the negotiations begin. In the Chronicle the reconcilation clearly seems to be the work of the head men; “Ac þa heafod men heom betwenan foran and þa broðra gesehtodan.” So Florence; “Sapientiores utriusque partis, habito inter se salubri consilio, pacem inter fratres composuere.” William of Malmesbury (v. 395) adds a special reason for peace; “Satagentibus sanioris consilii hominibus, qui dicerent pietatis jus violandum si fraterna necessitudo prælio concurreret, paci animos accommodavere; reputantes quod, si alter occumberet, alter infirmior remaneret, cum nullus fratrum præter ipsos superesset.” There is here nothing to throw any doubt on the good faith of anybody, and no negotiators are mentioned by name. It is Wace (15508 Pluquet, 10423 Andresen) who mentions negotiators on Robert’s side whom we certainly should not have looked for;
“Conseillie out comunement
Qu’il le feront tot altrement;
Les dous freres acorderont,
Ia por els ne se combatront.
Robert, qui Belesme teneit
E qui del duc s’entremeteit,
E cil qui Moretoig aueit,
Qui a s’enor aparteneit
—Will, co dient, out non—
E Robert, qui fu filz Haimon,
Ouoc altres riches barons,
Donc io ne sai dire les nons,
Qui del rei e del duc teneient
E amedous seruir deueient,
De l’accorder s’entremeteient,
Por la bataille qu’il cremeient.
Del rei al duc souent aloent
E la parole entre els portoent;
La pais aloent porchacant
E la concorde porparlant.”
It is Orderic alone who implies that Henry asked for a personal interview, and gives his reason;
“Seditiosi proditores magis bellum quam pacem optabant. Et quia plus privatæ quam publicæ commoditati insistebant, versipelles veredarii verba pervertebant, et magis jurgia quam concordiam inter fratres serebant. Porro sagax Henricus istud advertit, unde fratris colloquium ore ad os petiit; et convenientes fraterni amoris dulcedo ambos implevit.”
He then goes on to describe the meeting of the brothers;
“Soli duo germani spectantis in medio populi collocuti sunt, et ore quod corde ruminabant sine dolo protulerunt. Denique post pauca verba mutuo amplexati sunt, datisque dulcibus basiis, sine sequestro concordes effecti sunt. Verba quidem hujus colloquii nequeo hic inserere, quia non interfui, sed opus, quod de tantorum consilio fratrum processit, auditu didici.”
He then gives the terms of the treaty, and adds;
“Remotis omnibus arbitris soli fratres scita sua sanxerunt, et, cunctis in circumitu eos cum admiratione spectantibus, decreverunt quod sese, ut decet fratres, invicem adjuvarent, et omnia patris sui dominia resumerent, scelestosque litium satores pariter utrinque punirent.”
The colouring of Orderic in these passages can hardly be reconciled with the other accounts. They clearly speak of the terms as agreed upon between the chief men of both sides, while Orderic implies that, on account of their untrustworthiness, the princes met and settled matters for themselves. But it is possible to accept Orderic’s fact without accepting his colouring. Or we may suppose that there were among the negotiators some who wished to hinder peace, but that those who laboured for it got the better in the end. Then, we may suppose, they agreed upon terms, and the King and the Duke met to ratify the treaty. As for the terms of the treaty, they are, as usual, given in the best and most formal way in the Chronicle. The brothers agree,
“On þa gerád þet se cyng forlet eall þæt he mid streangðe innan Normandig togeanes þam eorle heold, and þæt ealle þa on Englelande heora land ongean heafdon, þe hit ær þurh þone eorl forluron, and Eustaties eorl eac eall his fæderland her on lande, and þet se eorl Rotbert ælce geare sceolde of Englalande þreo þusend marc seolfres habban, and loc hweðer þæra gebroðra oðerne oferbide wære yrfeweard ealles Englalandes and eac Normandiges, buton se forðfarena yrfenuman heafde be rihtre æwe.”
Florence says nothing about the mutual succession of the two brothers, nor does he mention Eustace by name. He also leaves out the cession of Henry’s Norman dominions;
“Pacem inter fratres ea ratione composuere ut iii. mille marcas, id est MM. libras argenti, singulis annis rex persolveret comiti, et omnibus suos pristinos honores quos in Anglia pro comitis fidelitate perdiderant, restitueret gratuito, et cunctis quibus honores in Normannia causa regis fuerant ablati, comes redderet absque pretio.”
Nothing in the treaty seems to have struck William of Malmesbury, except the yearly payment of three thousand marks by the King to the Duke. And even that he brings in quite incidentally, as if to account for its being very shortly given up;
“Sed et trium millium marcarum promissio lenem comitis fallebat credulitatem, ut, procinctu soluto, de tanta pecunia menti blandiretur suæ, quam ille posteriori statim anno voluntati reginæ libens, quod illa peteret, condonavit.”
One is reminded of the story which William elsewhere (iii. 251) tells, without any date, of Robert’s friend Eadgar; “Quantula simplicitas ut libram argenti, quam quotidie in stipendio accipiebat, regi pro uno equo perdonaret.” No doubt in both cases the horse and the gift to the Queen were mere decent pretences for stopping the payment; but the gift to Matilda is quite of a piece with Robert’s conduct to her at Winchester (see [p. 406]). The Chronicler two years later (1103) records Robert’s surrender of his pension;
“Ðises geares eac com se eorl Rotbert of Normandig to sprecene wið þone cyng [the common Domesday form in English] her on lande, and ær he heonne ferde he forgeaf þa þreo þusend marc þe him seo cyng Heanrig be foreweard ælce geare gifan sceolde.”
Here we have no mention of Matilda, unless she anyhow lurks in the feminine article so oddly assigned to her husband.
Orderic helps us to the more distinct resignation by Robert of his claims on the English crown, which is however implied in all the other accounts—to the release of Henry from his homage to Robert—and to the stipulation about Domfront, which was naturally more interesting to him than it was to those who wrote in England. He does not mention the mutual heirship of the brothers. He also confounds marks and pounds;
“In primis Rodbertus dux calumniam quam in regno Angliæ ingesserat fratri dimisit, ipsumque de homagio, quod sibi jamdudum fecerat, pro regali dignitate absolvit. Henricus autem rex tria milia librarum sterilensium sese duci redditurum per singulos annos spopondit, totumque Constantinum pagum et quidquid in Neustria possidebat, præter Danfrontem, reliquit. Solum Danfrontem castrum sibi retinuit, quia Danfrontanis, quando illum intromiserunt, jurejurando pepigerat quod nunquam eos de manu sua projiceret, nec leges eorum vel consuetudines mutaret.”
I am glad to end with the mention of one of the noblest spots of which I have had to speak in my story, and with one of the most honourable features in the history of King Henry.