Curthose did as he was advised. Excited and discontented, he went to William, and demanded to be put in possession of either part of the kingdom of England or the duchy of Normandy. William, instead of complying, exhorted Curthose, in a paternal tone, to amend his life, and to behave in a manner more worthy of the position he was destined to occupy.
"Return to your duty as a son," said the Conqueror, "and then make choice of better counsellors than you now have. Make choice of wise and grave persons of mature age to guide you—such a man, for instance, as Archbishop Lanfranc."
"Sir King!" replied Curthose, so sharply that William started, "I came here to claim my right, and not to listen to sermons. I heard enough of them, and wearisome enough they were, when I was at my grammar. Answer me, therefore, distinctly, so that I may know what I have to do; for I am firmly resolved not to live on the bread of others, and not to receive the wages of any man."
"Know, then," exclaimed William, angrily, "that I will not divest myself of Normandy, to which I was born, nor share England, which I have acquired with so much labour."
"Well," said Curthose, "I will go and serve strangers, and perhaps obtain from them what is refused me in my own country."
Without further ceremony, Curthose summoned his adherents, mounted his horse, and, with a soul glowing with pride and a spirit swelling with indignation, rode out from Rouen and away towards Flanders. Passing from country to country, from castle to castle, and from court to court, Curthose travelled over Europe, publishing his grievances and demanding aid. Nor was his story, told in eloquent language, without influence on the magnates whom he visited. Counts, dukes, and princes testified their sympathy, and drew their purses. Their liberality, however, had no beneficial influence on the wanderer's circumstances. In fact, Curthose was one of those men who can give the most sapient advice as to the affairs of their friends, while their own affairs are going to ruin as rapidly as their enemies could wish. All that he received to support his cause slipped through his fingers. Mountebanks, parasites, and women of equivocal reputation perpetually preyed upon him. All that Curthose obtained from barons and princes to buy arms and equip men passed into the hands of those who ministered to his amusement or contributed to his pleasure. Hard pressed for money, inconvenienced by poverty and all its concomitant evils, compelled to beg afresh, but, probably, with less success than on the first occasion, he found himself under the necessity of going to the usurers, and borrowing gold at exorbitant interest. Such were the steps by which Curthose entered upon that fatal path which finally, notwithstanding his great fame as a prince and soldier, and as a champion of the Cross, conducted him to disaster and defeat, and to a long and dismal captivity in the dungeons of Cardiff.
[XLI.]
THE CONQUEROR AND HIS HEIR.
While Robert Curthose was journeying from castle to castle and from court to court, Philip, King of France, now in his twenty-seventh year, and William the Conqueror's sworn foe, was offering bribes and protection to all the discontented Normans. After wandering about Flanders, Lorraine, and Aquitaine, Curthose at length turned his horse's head towards France, made for St. Germain, and craved sympathy and support from the great grandson of Hugh Capet.