"I received my staff from a better man than any of you! I have returned it to him. Take it from him if you can!"
At this distant period it would be impossible adequately to describe the effect produced on the assembled Normans by this scene. Had all the heroes, saints, and martyrs of that great regal House whose throne the son of Arlette so unworthily occupied come out of their graves, and walked in procession before the council, the bishops and barons could not have been more astonished. The air of Wulstan, his unexpected energy, and the circumstances under which it was displayed, produced a feeling of wonder mingled with superstitious awe. The king did not repeat his demand; but Lanfranc mustered voice to entreat Wulstan to put on his robes and remain in his bishopric.
But the effect produced on the bishops and barons within the church of Westminster was trifling compared with the impression produced throughout the country. According to popular report, something resembling a miracle had been wrought. It must be confessed, indeed, that the story lost nothing in the telling. The rumour ran, that when Wulstan struck the tomb his staff penetrated into the stone as into soft earth, and that no one was able to draw it but the bishop himself. The story spread far and wide, and was told by many an oppressed peasant at the cottage hearth, by many a bold outlaw under the greenwood tree, and by many a sad-hearted Saxon, driven from his country, dressed as a Varing, and guarding the palace of the Emperor of Constantinople.
Herdsman (from Strutt)
[XL.]
ROBERT CURTHOSE.
The conquest of England having been accomplished, and the Saxons completely reduced to submission, the Conqueror, instead of enjoying his triumph, became sad and uneasy. Doubts as to the fidelity of his barons, and dismal forebodings as to the fate of his sons, haunted him day and night; and he even went so far, in his intense anxiety, as to consult some "wise men," who were supposed to have the gift of divination, as to the future of his line. Had any magician really had the power of revealing to him the fortune of his descendants in an enchanted mirror, as conjurers in another age revealed to Catherine de Medici the fortunes of her posterity, his worst apprehensions would have been confirmed. As it was, the conduct of his son Robert filled his heart with sadness and his mind with gloom.
Robert was the eldest son of William and Matilda. He drew his first breath about the year 1053; and his appearance was hailed with delight by his parents. Both William and Matilda appear to have indulged young Robert in such a way as utterly to spoil him; and when he passed from childhood to boyhood he acquired most dangerous notions of his importance.