t-;*. n'A 4% ti;i ^'c-. 
 
 ti% o!i (j'.s 
 
 i::i 4'U i.:i •* S 4^,J, «f:«r lyi e’;, t 
 

 ♦ .1 
 
 
 
 4 ^ 
 
 t 
 
 4 - ' 
 
 
 
 4 - 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2018 with funding from 
 Boston Library Consortium Member Libraries 
 
 https://archive.org/details/threearchbishopsOOwilk 
 
THE THREE 
 
 ARCHBISHOPS 
 
 LANFEANC-ANSELM-A’BECKET. 
 
 BY 
 
 WASHINGTON AND MARK WILKS. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 ALFRED WILLIAM BENNETT, 
 
 5 , BISHOPSGATE WITHOUT. 
 EDITsBUTIGH: john menzies. 
 
 DOSTON aOLLlCGii 
 CHB^Ti^HT BILXi, N ■ 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In one of those eloquent passages which mark 
 the Introduction to his History of England, Lord 
 Macaulay observes:—The sources of the noblest 
 rivers which spread fertility over continents, and 
 bear richly-laden fleets to the sea, are to be sought 
 in wild and barren mountain tracts, incorrectly laid 
 down in maps, and rarely explored by travellers. 
 To such a tract the history of our country during 
 the thirteenth century may not unaptly be com¬ 
 pared. Sterile and obscure as is that portion of our 
 annals, it is there that we must seek for the origin 
 of our freedom, our prosperity, and our glory.” In 
 the following pages is an attempt to relieve the 
 sterility, and unravel the obscurity, that hangs over 
 the church history of the period immediately pre¬ 
 ceding that referred to by Macaulay, but bearing 
 
IV 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 the same general characteristics. And the history 
 of the Churcli in England during the reign of the 
 first five Norman kings, is summed up in the history 
 
 of the Three Archbishops,” Lanfranc, Anselm, and 
 A’Becket. 
 
 From the time of the battle of Hastings to the 
 reign of Henry the Second, the amalgamation of 
 the two races, conquered and conquerors, Saxon and 
 Norman, was gradually progressing; and in the 
 three great churchmen of the period we have an 
 illustration of the union that was going forward; 
 Lanfranc and Anselm belonging, in character and 
 sympathies, if not literally in birth, to the Norman 
 race, while A’Becket was more allied to the Saxons 
 in birth, and partook more also of their character. 
 In the Christian church at large, without the limits 
 of England, stirring events were also in progress. 
 The times of Gregory the Sixth and Hildebrand, of 
 Urban the First and Urban the Second, of the 
 Pope and Antipope, of the Council of Clermont, were 
 times of great importance in the history of the 
 growing power of the Roman bishops. At periods 
 like these our island always rose into importance. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 V 
 
 as a prey for which it was worth while for both 
 parties to make some efforts; and the contest of 
 which England was often the scene between the 
 power of the church and the power of the crown, 
 was Avatched with no small interest by crowned and 
 mitred heads throughout Christendom. Anselm 
 and A’Becket both openly upheld the privileges of 
 the church and of the bishop of Rome, in opposition 
 to that of the king, and both with varying success. 
 A record of the incidents of these contests Avill be 
 found to occupy a considerable space in the volume. 
 
 The name of Thomas A’Becket is especially one 
 of interest to every English reader. The romantic 
 stories of his birth and parentage, his sudden eleva¬ 
 tion to the highest civil dignity in the country, 
 his power over the young and impetuous king, his 
 sudden change when raised to the archiepiscopal 
 dignity, the reluctance with which he signed the 
 famous Constitutions of Clarendon,” so hostile to 
 the interests of his church, his subsequent bitter 
 humiliation, the dislike and jealousy felt towards 
 him by Henry, his tragical death, and the remorse 
 of the king,—are facts Avhich have made a strong 
 
\’l 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 impression on the mind of every child when first 
 initiated into the rudiments of English History. 
 It has been thought, therefore, that an attempt to 
 present the Life of A’Becket, combined with those 
 of his great predecessors, may not he unacceptable 
 to many English readers. 
 
. CONTENTS. 
 
 LANFEANC. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. Night and Morning.1 
 
 II. Payia and Avranches.4 
 
 III. Bec .12 
 
 IV. Literature and Schools of the Middle Ages 21 
 
 V. Matilda of Flanders and William of Nor¬ 
 mandy .31 
 
 VI. The Charge d’affaires, and the Monk of 
 
 Cluni.39 
 
 VII. The Champion of Orthodoxy . . . .53 
 
 VIII. The Norman Conquest.69 
 
 IX. The Pope and the English Prelates . . 85 
 
 X. The Primate in Council.94 
 
 XL Incidents of Norman Rule . . . .112 
 
 XII. The Primate’s Last Acts and Death . .137 
 
 ANSELM. 
 
 I. 
 
 Aoust and Avranches 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 
 . 151 
 
 11 . 
 
 Cloister Life . 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 
 . 156 
 
 III. 
 
 Nolo Episcopari 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 
 . 163 
 
Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 IV. Anselm becomes Abchbishop . . . .175 
 
 V. Anselm’s Quabbel with the King . . 196 
 
 VI. An Illustbative Episode .... 219 
 
 VII. Anselm in Exile.240 
 
 VIII. Investitubes.272 
 
 IX. The last yeabs of Anselm .... 295 
 
 THOMAS A’BECKET. 
 
 I. Disputed Pedigbee and Romantic Pabentage 313 
 
 II. The London of Gilbebt a’Becket . . . 326 
 
 III. Education and Advancement .... 336 
 
 IV. The Chancellob and Coubtieb . . . 342 
 
 V. The Envoy and Soldieb.354 
 
 VI. Elevation to the Pbimacy .... 360 
 
 VII. Pbivilege and Pbebogative .... 367 
 
 VIII. Constitutions of Clabendon .... 385 
 
 IX. Council of Nobthampton .... 395 
 
 X. Plight and Exile.412 
 
 XI. Retubn and Death.436 
 
L A N F R A N C. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 NIGHT AND MORNING. 
 
 Towards tlie close of a clay in tlie year 1042, a yonng 
 man was descending a slope of country lying between 
 A^Tanclies and tlie Norman city of Ronen. It was 
 bounded on tbe sontii and most elevated part by 
 a wood, and on tlie north by a valley, tlirongli which 
 ran a small stream, giving its name to the neighbour¬ 
 hood. He had not long left the wood, and was 
 nearly two miles from the valley before him, when he 
 was suddenly attaeked by robbers, who violently 
 lionnd his hands behind him, and tied his capnce, or 
 loose cloak, before his eyes; then, having taken all he 
 liad about him, they led him back to the Avood, where 
 they left him to bemoan his fate. 
 
 In a condition so nnemiable and hopeless, nothing 
 was left him but patient endiirance^^ or fretful 
 
 B 
 
2 
 
 THE TEAVELLEK. 
 
 complaint. At first lie indulged in tlie latter_, lamenting 
 witli loud cries Ms unfortunate situation; but at 
 length^ as tlie silent niglit closed around bim^ he 
 turned his thoughts in the direction of Heaven^ de¬ 
 siring rather to ask for help than doubt of its coining. 
 But when he attempted to do so^ he found he could 
 not—-that he was acquainted with no form of prayer. 
 He was not an ignorant man^ but on the contrary 
 was possessed of all the science and learning of his 
 age; and yet he had so neglected religion and religious 
 exercises^ that now he was destitute even of the solace 
 they could have afforded him. ^^Now he saw with 
 
 t/ 
 
 Ecclesiastes^ though he had not as yet learnt the use 
 of ecclesiastical writings^ that the things of this 
 world are but vanity.-’'’ * Thus^ captive and weary_, in 
 the darkness of the nighty and in the midst of a wood, 
 he made a vow, that if he lived to recover liberty and 
 strength he would become a monk in some poor 
 monastery, and there devote himself to a religious 
 life. 
 
 Consoled and strengthened by this resolution, he 
 Avaited for the daivn; and about the morning tivilight 
 hearing the footsteps of approaching travellers, he 
 called out loudly for their assistance; and they, after 
 some hesitation, came to him, and, releasing him, led 
 liim back to the road. In ansAver to his inquiries for 
 a poor monastery, they directed him to one, than 
 which a poorer or more abjeet could not be found, 
 “ built by a man of God,^-’ not far from Avhere they 
 stood j and sheAAnng him the Avay, they departed. 
 
 * Ord. Vit., yol. ii, p. 40. 
 
HIS ARRIVAL AT EEC. 
 
 3 
 
 He turned liis steps in tlie direction tliey had 
 pointed, went in search of the abbey they had de¬ 
 scribed, and found it upon the side of the stream, 
 in the valley at the end of the road along which he 
 had been journeying the previous night. 
 
 Arrived at the house, he found that the poverty of 
 the place was its chief characteristic. The abbot 
 was engaged in a manual and servile occupation, 
 working with his own hands, and surrounded by a 
 few monks. The traveller, addressing the abbot, 
 said, * God save thee; and the abbot replying, 
 “ God bless thee,^'* asked, Art thou a Lombard 
 He said, I am.'*’’ Art thou a monk ? ” asked the 
 abbot. I wish to be,^^ he answered. The abbot 
 then ealled a monk named Roger, and directed him 
 to lay before the young man the book of the rules 
 appointed by St. Benedict, the founder of their order. 
 The book liaGng been brought and read through, the 
 stranger desired to be admitted to the brotherhood of 
 the monastery. The abbot, hearing this, and feeling 
 the stranger might be of standing and importanec, 
 Rorreed to his desire ; and Lanfrane of Pavia entered 
 as a tyro in the abbey he was destined to render 
 famous. 
 
 ^ Vit. : Lanfr. : : Crisp.: D’Acher)', Paris. 
 
 B 
 
 
A 
 
 t ; 
 
 i 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PAVIA AND AVRANCHES. 
 
 S ucH is tlie legend connected^ by nearly all tire monkish 
 biographers of LanfranC; with his determination to 
 take the monastic vow. We have placed it in the 
 first chapter of this history^ not because we regard it 
 as truthful^ but because it introduces him to the 
 reader^s notice at its first important period—and if 
 its results be regarded^ the most important—besides 
 which^ it gives^ in a graphic and lively manner^ and 
 nearly in the words of his contemporaries^, the esti¬ 
 mate they formed of his previous life and studies^ 
 looked at from their points of view_, and through the 
 media of their prejudices. 
 
 The accounts of Lanfranc^s early life are not very 
 full in detail, but such as we have will enable us to 
 trace with tolerable certainty the path that he fol¬ 
 lowed till it issued in Bee. We propose doing this in 
 the present chapter. 
 
 Lanfranc was not a native of France; he first 
 travelled thither about 1036. He was born at Pavia, 
 the capital of Lombardy, in the year 1005, and was 
 destined by his parents for the profession of the 
 
lANFRAXc’s BIRTH AND FAMILY. 5 
 
 law.* His family was of senatorial rank ; liis fatlier, 
 Hambald_, being one of tlie principal magistrates of 
 the city, and keeper of tire pnblic arcliives. f While 
 lie M"as yet yonng, he lost his. parents by death; but, 
 continuing his studies, he soon exhausted the edu¬ 
 cational resources of his native place, which he quitted 
 for Bologna, then celebrated for its schools of civil 
 law. Ilis love of knowledge is also said to have led 
 him to Cologne. J Soon after, he returned to PaHa, 
 stored with not only all the learning proper to his 
 profession, but also of all the arts and sciences then 
 known and cultivated. He at once commenced 
 pleading in the courts of laAv, and soon became dis¬ 
 tinguished for the easy flow of his eloquence, as well 
 as his legal skill. The latter was in such request, that 
 his opinions were sought by the most experienced juris¬ 
 consults of his time. § And as to the former, one of 
 his biographers speaks of him as the ^‘’youthful orator, 
 who, when pleading a cause, frequently triumphed 
 over his veteran opponents, and by a torrent of elo¬ 
 quence 'won the prize from men long in the habit of J 
 eloquent speaking.'’^ || 
 
 It is not knoMui,^^ says Berington, why, when 
 thus prosperously engaged, he again left Pavia, crossed 
 the Alps, and traversed France, and about the year 
 1036, fixed his residence at Avranches in Normandy, 
 surrounded by many scholars.'’^ ^ 
 
 The reason ^ye conceive to be this :—The naturally 
 lofty and spiritual mind of Lanfranc had grown weary 
 
 * f ]\rilo Ciispin in Vita. Lanf., 1. J Biograph. Univ. 
 
 ^ jj Ord. Vital. 11 Ilistor. Liter., Book iy. 
 
6 
 
 SCHOOL AT AYllANCHES. 
 
 of tlie low and barren paths in which the jurisconsult 
 of Bologna or the advocate of Pavia was condemned 
 to walk. Large and expansive ideas had begun to 
 occupy liis thoughts^ and ill comported with the 
 employments of a life whose every expression was- 
 artificial and monotonous. Questions had arisen 
 within him^ questions of a metaphysical or philo¬ 
 sophic character, to which he could find no solu¬ 
 tion in the studies or practice of civil law. It was 
 only natm’al, therefore, that he should turn his eyes 
 across the Alps, to a country where mind had more 
 activity and freedom, and where these questions had 
 been debated for two or three preceding centuries. 
 
 Whatever were his motives, however, Lanfranc iip- 
 peared at Avranches, at the date already given, as a 
 teacher in one of the schools that were then open to 
 the younger branches of the French nobility. We 
 shall have occasion to speak of the subjects of instruc¬ 
 tion, and the methods employed in these schools, 
 when we come to his more famous one of Bee; it 
 will, therefore, only be necessary to say now, that his 
 fiime chiefly rested on Ins acute and refined dialec¬ 
 tical skill. He was a perfect master of logic, and is 
 said to have trained scholars who were prone, at every 
 opportunity, to engage in controversy.* The study 
 of logic was in accordance w\th the spirit of the age,, 
 although what was then called by that name was 
 rather a system of words and rules than a method 
 based upon the observation of natural and mental 
 phenomena. This dialectical tendency had been 
 
 ^ Berington, Book iv.. 
 
THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 
 y 
 
 created under the influence of Arabian teaching and 
 literatiH’e. It was during the ninth century that the 
 scholars of France and G-ermany began to travel to 
 the cities of Cordova and Seville—the seats of 
 Arabian learning—^for the purpose of receiving in¬ 
 struction in the science of geometry^ or such ele¬ 
 mentary matters as passed under that nam.e; and it 
 Mas by this means that the n^orks of Aristotle came to 
 be known, and his system of logic to be cultivated. 
 
 For a considerable period, these studies were known 
 only to a few, and were pursued simply for themselves; 
 but afterwards their influence could be seen in the 
 spirit of theological controversy, in the desire of many 
 minds for a/inore exact and definite expression of the 
 doctrines of the church, and in an evident bias towards 
 metaphysical inquiries. 
 
 It must not be supposed that this condition of 
 things was universal at the time of Lanfranc^s arrival 
 at Awanches. So far from this being the case, there 
 were but a few men whose minds were intent upon the 
 pursuit and acquisition of knowledge. The general 
 aspect presented to the eye of the observer, was sad 
 and discouraging. The clergy w^ere ignorant and idle ; 
 the language and literature of ancient Rome, which 
 should have been especially cultivated by them, w'ere 
 greatly neglected; and the Latin wdiich they com¬ 
 monly used is said to have become almost barbarous.! 
 
 It must be eAdent, these things being so, that 
 an immense w^ork had to be accomplished by Lan- 
 
 * Berington, iii & iv. 
 
 f Sec Berington, Git;ssler, and others quoted by them. 
 
8 
 
 LEGEND OF DE KNYGHTON. 
 
 franc^ or for liim^ before lie could find an audience 
 prepared to sliare bis desires, or receive tbe speculations 
 of bis daring mind. Tbe subjects wbicb be taugbt 
 in bis lectures be would doubtless regard merely as 
 tbe means by wbicb truth might ultimately be reached, 
 Imt certainly not as themselves^tbe end—methods 
 that could be applied to tbe solution of tbe problems 
 arising either from bis own nature or tbe necessities 
 of tbe age. 
 
 But tbe line that marked tbe boundary of popu-. 
 lar inquny, did not exist in bis case and in that 
 of others of bis time: and consequently we find him 
 engaged in wide and expansive fields of thought ; 
 pushing bis investigations to tbe utmost verge of all 
 reliable data, and inquiring into subjects which bis 
 contemporaries must have regarded as certain and 
 conclusive. An incident is related of him at this 
 time, which tbroivs a strong and clear light upon 
 tbe course of thought which he ordinarily followed. 
 He is reported to have retired to a solitary spot, 
 beside the river Seine, to meditate on the mysterious 
 essence of the Infinite, when he saw a boy ladling out 
 the waters of the river that ran before him into a 
 little well. His curiosity arrested, he asked the boy 
 what he proposed to do. To empty yon deep 
 into this well,^-’ was the answer. “ That thou canst 
 never do,^^ said the scholar. ^^Nor canst thou exhaust 
 the deep on which thou dost meditate, into the well 
 of thy reason,^^ replied the boy, as he vanished from 
 sight. 
 
 It is supposed by the translator of the above that 
 
ITS MEANING. 
 
 9 
 
 Lanfranc liad explained in a parable tlie proeess 
 tlirongli wliicli liis mind was passing at this time^ and 
 that his biographers^ understanding him literally, 
 have produced the legend as a fact.* "Whether this 
 be the case or not, avc may fairly deduce from it the 
 opinion, that the mind of Lanfranc was struggling to 
 break those huge mysteries which lie round about 
 every form of religious faith, and which must lie 
 passed ere a man can find himself within the sacred 
 enclosure. We have supposed him lea\dng the law 
 courts of liis native city, that he might devote his 
 energies to the cultivation of the pm^er sciences; we 
 have seen that his intellectual nature grew weary of 
 the pursuit of those objects which were merely 
 limited and temporary; and now we behold him still 
 unsatisfied. There is still a longing to which nothing 
 answers, a void that no science can fill; the spirit 
 within him asserts its right to be heard ; and therefore 
 he brings his speculations to a pause at the threshold 
 of the churcb. Ileason bears her gains, to lay them 
 at the feet and service of Faith, and becomes hence¬ 
 forth her patient handmaid. 
 
 This, we take it, is the true theory of Lanfranc’s 
 sudden removal from Pavia to Normandy, and of his 
 as suddenly closing his school and disappearing from 
 A\Tanches. The story related in the first chapter 
 must be regarded merely as a fable, invented probably 
 in after years by the monkish historians, to bring into 
 disrepute secidar learning in comparison vnih religious 
 knowledge and exercises. His contemporaries of the 
 
 * See notes to Bulwer’s Harold. 
 
 B 3 
 
10 
 
 LANFRAXC^S SUPPOSED AlIBITIOiV. 
 
 cell were not generally remarkable for tliat wliieb they 
 bave disparaged^ and wliieli universal fame bas ascribed 
 to Lanfranc; and it is not a matter for wonder, tbat 
 they should have endeavoured, even by fable', to 
 exaggerate the value of tbat religious feeling which 
 they did possess, at the expense of that intellectual 
 culture which they did not possess, though found in 
 one who, by giving the spoils of his scholarship to 
 their cause, became its brightest ornament in that 
 age. 
 
 It has been supposed, however, that Lanfranc^s 
 chief motive to take this step was his ambition—that 
 however famous he might be as a teacher, he felt he 
 was still only a layman, and as such he could never 
 rise to those eminent positions in the state which the 
 clergy and nobility everywhere divided.* To a certain 
 extent this may be true ; indications of ambition are 
 scattered through his after life, but none appear earlier 
 than this. Ambition is more frequently the flower 
 than the root of success : and besides, an ambitious 
 man would hardly have chosen the monastery of Bee 
 as the stepping-stone to power; there were others in 
 which his talents would have found instant recog¬ 
 nition, and his sacrifice of secular honour a quick 
 reward; but Bee was poor, unknown, and nnvisited, 
 in every way unfitted to be the home of a man ^vith 
 such a purpose. No; it is far more natural and 
 more grateful to suppose that his mind lacked the 
 repose and satisfaction that can be found only in 
 certainty of belief, and congeniality of occupation ; 
 
 * Wright’s Biog'. Liter. Brit. 
 
HE ENTERS THE -iXKDNASTERY OP EEC 
 
 11 
 
 and tliat^ becanse the cliiu’cli offered him botli^ he 
 devoted himself to her service. 
 
 However this mav have been, Lanfranc entered the 
 monastery of Bee in the year 1042; being thirty-seven 
 years of age. 
 
r 
 
 12 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 EEC. 
 
 When Lanfranc entered the abbey of Bee it was 
 neither venerable for its antiquity nor beantifiil in 
 its structnre; what there is of glory belonging to it 
 has been since acquired^ it being then chiefly remark¬ 
 able for the poverty of its inmates and the piety of 
 its abbot. 
 
 From him it is nsnally called Bee Herlnin, or 
 Hellouin, be being its founder and flrst abbot. In 
 the early part of bis life be had been a knight^ and in 
 one of the skirmishes incident to bis condition, bad 
 l)een worsted by Gislebcrt, Connt of Pontbien. 
 Seing most of bis companions either dead or 
 prisoners, be attempted to save himself by flight; but 
 fearing be might fall into the bands of bis enemies, 
 be made a vow, that if God would deliver him from 
 this danger, be would build a monastery to bis 
 honour. The safety be desired be obtained, and, in 
 conformity with his promise, he retired from the 
 world, and received the sacred dress of a monk. Soon 
 
 * Orel. Yit., Yol. i., p. 383. + AYillel. Gem. 
 
BEC AND ITS FOUNDERS. 
 
 13 
 
 after, being joined by others, he was consecrated 
 abbot of his little establishment. The place he had 
 chosen for its site did not prove very suitable to such 
 an edifice, it being a large open plain, with only a 
 limited supply of water—no fountain nearer than two 
 miles. After some little time, therefore, he removed 
 with his companions to his own estate, which, from 
 a little stream fioudng there, w'as called Bee. Situ¬ 
 ated at the bottom of a valley, its surrounding hills 
 covered by a thick wood, it was in every way fitted 
 to be the retreat of a community of recluses.* 
 
 Their mode of life was extremely simple and un¬ 
 ostentatious—their time being generally divided 
 between the exercises prescribed by the church and 
 the employments of the field. 
 
 We have a lively picture from the pen of an old 
 chronicler, himself a monk, of the w^ay in which time 
 passed with Herluin and his followers in their first 
 convent, f In the fields about their dwelling, at seed 
 time, the abbot might be seen carrying in his hand 
 a spade or a rake, helping or directing others; around 
 him Avas his little company of monks, employing 
 themselves until the close of day in a variety of ways; 
 some clear the ground of briars and thorns; others, , 
 carrying manime upon their shoulders, scatter it 
 abroad; these rake the soil, those cast in the seed; 
 no one eats the liread of idleness. At the hour for 
 performing the offices of the chiu’ch, all assemble. 
 The daily meal is frugal and primitive : bread of the 
 finest flour, vegetables Avith salt, and Avater — not 
 
 t Ibid. 
 
 * AVillel. Gem. 
 
14 HABITS AND MANNERS OP THE MONNS. 
 
 abvays tlie clearest—forming tlieir limited dietary. 
 The chronicler who relates Lanfranc^s entrance to 
 Bec^ describes the abbot as being employed with his 
 OMTL hands in repairing a furnace^ or oven^ one of the 
 necessary adjuncts of every monastery.* 
 
 In manners and mind the inmates of Bee were not 
 so worthy of our admiration^ being extremely igno¬ 
 rant and not remarkable for any large amount of 
 piety. The abbot, who was probably not far in 
 advance of his monks in respect of learning, but was, 
 however, very superior to them in what should have 
 lieen their chief characteristic—religious principles— 
 was occasionally in great trouble and grief through 
 the quarrels in which they engaged, f t 
 
 The knowledge of a few such facts as these, scattered 
 through the records of the middle ages, may go far to 
 cool the envy we are inclined to indulge, when we 
 hear of the fraternal peace and perpetual content¬ 
 ment of monastic institutions, and to abate our regret 
 that they are ' no longer the common property of 
 Christendom. Even without sueh notices, a little 
 reflection might show us that the natural tendency of 
 these communities must be ever towards the degrada¬ 
 tion, rather than the elevation, of the mind and 
 character of their members. It would surelv have 
 been as marvellous as satisfaetory if no perplexities 
 of the kind recorded had ever arisen to disturb the 
 tranquillity of Abbot Herluin, when we consider what 
 different tempers, manners, and constitutions were 
 
 * Milo Crispinns., cap. i: Yit. Lanfr., D’Achcry. 
 t Milo Crisp. Yit. Lanfr., cap. ii. j MML'l. Gem. 
 
RULES OF THE BENEDICTIXE ORDER. 
 
 15 
 
 shut up in liis narrow house. What feelings must 
 there have been forced back upon the liearh that in a 
 more natural home would have flowed forth in love 
 and joy; what affections must there have been wasted 
 for want of objects on which to bestow themselves ; 
 what a prison must that have been where no female 
 face ever shed its sunny smile^ and no child ever 
 gambolled in guileless glee ! 
 
 But, besides the abbot, there was now another at 
 Bee, who would look with anything but satisfaction 
 upon the behavioru’ of his companions, and who might 
 possibly feel some little disappointment at the reality 
 of monastic life, compared to the expectations he had 
 entertained of it. As a notice, too, his influence 
 would be confined to example, though that might not 
 be the least potent he could exert. 
 
 We hear little of Lanfranc during the early part of 
 his stay at Bee, except that for three years after his 
 admission he lived the ordinary and quiet life of a monk. 
 He had been regularly admitted, at the end of his 
 yearns probation, a member of the Benedictine order; 
 and he does not seem to have disgraced its founder 
 by any want of fervour as a rigid and pious brother. 
 
 If he were—as has been represented—simply an 
 ambitious Italian, whose keen eye had detected that 
 the road to preferment and honour lay through the 
 cloister, his proud spirit would here find enough to 
 humble and chafe it. Everything that could abase 
 the heart, and teach practical humility, was enjoined 
 1)y the rules of the order. The junior was to pay 
 constant respect to his senior, to rise from table when 
 
16 
 
 OBEDIENCE OF LANFRANC. 
 
 lie passed_, and not to sit till bidden; both juniors and 
 seniors were to maintain perfect silence^ except at 
 certain hours^ and to obey the order of the abbot 
 without question or scruple. 
 
 The employments were of a servile and^ to a man 
 of cultivated mind^ of a vexatious nature. Each monk 
 took his turn in the kitchen^ and for one week pre¬ 
 pared the food of the others^ recemng for this service 
 an extra allowance of wine^ and at the end of the 
 week delivered the platters clean to his successor. 
 But the two most important and distinguishing 
 characteristics of the order were silence and obe¬ 
 dience. To such a ludicrous extent was the one 
 carried_, that when the monks were employed in the 
 
 Scriptorium/'’ or writing-room, they were not 
 allowed to ask for anything they might require, but 
 to make signs for it. Thus, for a book, in general, 
 they were to extend their hand, and nuove it, as if 
 turning over the leaf of a book.'’^ For a particular 
 book a particular sign was used; for example, to dis¬ 
 tinguish a book written by a heathen, the monk was 
 to scratch his ear like a dog. f And as an instance of 
 the obedience which the monks were accustomed to 
 pay their superiors, we give the following anecdote, 
 which we find recorded of Lanfranc, and which occinred 
 during the early part of his cloister life.* It was 
 customary for the monks to assemble after supper, 
 or even-song, on fast-days, to listen to the reading of 
 the brothers, in the Collations of Cassian, or one of 
 the fathers. The post of reader had been assigned to- 
 
 * Mil. Crisp. : Vit, Lanfr., cap. ii. f Maitland’s Dark Age&. 
 
EFFECTS OF MONASTIC LIFE. 
 
 if 
 
 liim; and while pronouncing’ tlie word docere^ lie was 
 stopped by tlie presiding prior^ wbo desired liim to 
 say doc&’e^ the very reverse of correct. So well, 
 however, had Lanfranc learned to submit himself and 
 his opinion to those above him, that he made no 
 scruple to falsify the quantity and obey the senior, 
 and immediately complied. It must not he sup¬ 
 posed, because we see here the obedience of the 
 monk, that necessarily there was the acquiescence of 
 the man, or that the scholar would feel other than 
 contempt; though it is only reasonable to suppose 
 he would not be so unprepared as many a modern 
 reader might be for such a display of ignorance. 
 
 The results that we have seen arising from the 
 influence of the monastic life upon the disposition 
 and habits of the monks, may be expected from the 
 mind and intellect. The tendency was a downward, 
 deteriorating one. The original intention of the 
 founders of the system was neither to make students, 
 nor multiply manuscripts ; and if in after years 
 manuscripts were executed, homilies and commen¬ 
 taries written, or chronicles composed in the stillness 
 of the cloister, we are not to consider these as results 
 of the profession, Avhich belong rather to the industry 
 of individuals. If scholars made the monastery their 
 home, and in its retirement cultivated their minds, 
 and enlarged their acquaintance with trutli, we must 
 not regard them as other than types of a small though 
 distinguished class. It was possible to be a devout 
 follower of St. Benedict, a punctilious performer of 
 religious services, a rigid exactor of personal sacrifices, 
 
18 
 
 DESIRES TO LEA^T5 BEC. 
 
 and yet liave a most unintelligent niincl_, and a perfeet 
 horror of intellectual pursuits. The gTeat majority 
 of men >vho adopted the cowl and tunic did so with 
 the vain hope of compelling themselves to yield 
 obedience to moral precept; but with intellectual 
 pursuits they had little or no sympathy. Of this ,we 
 have an instance in the Abbey of St. Evronlb during 
 the abbacy of Father Tlieodoric. lie was an intelli¬ 
 gent and industrious man^ whose convent library wus 
 filled with the manuscripts executed by its inmates. 
 But for his admonitions to labour_, and injunctions to 
 diligence^ he was hated by some of the monks^ who 
 preferred secular concerns to their religious duties. 
 
 Alas ! they censured him for that which merited the 
 highest respect^ while they muttered^ ^ This man is 
 not fit to be an abbots for he undervalues and neglects 
 all worldly thrift. But how are the ‘men of prayer 
 to subsist^ if the men of the plough are not forth¬ 
 coming ? He must be a fool who is more anxious 
 about reading and writing in his monastery than 
 about the means of procuring subistence for the 
 brethren.^ Some of the monks indulged in insolent 
 talk of this description^ wronging the man of God 
 ■with more of the same sort.^^* 
 
 Owing to the depravity of manners_, the ignorance of 
 the brothers^ and to an increasing austerity of feeling 
 in himself^ Lanfranc soon began to grow weary of 
 the society of Bec_, and desirous of quitting the cloister 
 altogether^ that he might betake himself to the soli¬ 
 tude of a hermit^s life.* To prepare himself for this^ 
 
 * Ord. Yit., vol. 1., p. 408. 
 
IS MADE PRIOR. 
 
 19 
 
 lie refrained from tire ordinary food of tlie convent, 
 and begged to be supplied 'vvitb roots of tliistles and 
 otlier vegetables, feigning a weakness of tlie stomacli, 
 for wliicli tliese would be a remedy. Wlien lie bad 
 accustomed bimself to this diet for a sufficient time, 
 he intended to escape by night, but was suddenly 
 stopped by the grief and persuasion of Herluin ; who 
 having been made acquainted with the fact (by an 
 apparition, we are told) called Lanfranc to him, and 
 with many tears, and much distress of mind, begged 
 him to remain. He pointed out to him the condition 
 of his monks, confessed his own inability to govern 
 them, and avowed that his hope had always been to 
 transfer the biuden of rule to him. 
 
 Lanfranc was at first greatly astonished at the 
 abbot’s knowledge of his intention; but assiued that 
 God had revealed it to him, for the purpose of retaining 
 him at Bee, he readily acquiesced in his superior’s 
 desire, and determined to relinquish the uish for a 
 solitary life. Herluin shortly after raised him to the 
 rank of prior of the monastery, putting under his care 
 all things relating to its internal affairs. The position 
 of prior was only one step l^elow the abbot, and was 
 therefore a post of great honour and authority. We 
 are not aware that Lanfranc made any immediate use 
 of liis promotion to reform the habits of the monks ; 
 but he soon after prevailed upon the abbot to allow a 
 school to be opened, similar to the one he had presided 
 over at Avranches. His pretext for this was the 
 poverty of the monastery ; and proiiably this v as one 
 
 * Mil. Crisp, ii. 
 
ESTABLISHES A SCHOOL. 
 
 ^^0 
 
 reason_, liut not the only one^ or the greatest. Ho 
 always showed a contempt for ignorance^ not only in 
 his brethren^ hnt in others of a more exalted station^ 
 and was not insensible to fame. But whether he 
 were or not, fame attended; and in this new position 
 he became even more favonrably known as a teacher 
 than he had been while at A^Tanches. His old pnpils 
 retnimed to him, and new ones joined them in crowds > 
 clerks, sons of dnkes, scholars of high renown, 
 masters, powerfid chiefs, and noblemen of high birth, 
 hurried to his school, and enrolled themselves as his 
 pupils» 
 
21 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 LITERATURE AND SCHOOLS OE THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 
 How cold and desolate is tlie aspeet of a country just 
 recoyering from a violent inundation! No verdure 
 clotlies the untilled earth vuth beauty—no fields look 
 glad with smRing crops—no groups of dwellings speak 
 of wedded love and peaceful labour; but instead thereof 
 are seen the scattered fragments of what were lately 
 the abodes of happiness^ or the implements of industry^ 
 or the materials of wealth. Everywhere are men 
 beginning life anew—their fortunes all to create or to 
 recover. All is impaired_, save nature^ and the 
 strength of the labourer. 
 
 Such a scene may be conceived to represent the 
 appearance of Em^ope dmdng the early part of the 
 middle ages. Across every bomidary^ dovm every 
 fair slgpe^ over every pleasant plain^ had rolled flood 
 after flood of barbarian conquest. No power was 
 sufficient to give it cheeky no barrier to stop its pro¬ 
 gress ; but as it rushed onward, it swept before it all 
 that was venerable with age, or blooming with youth. 
 Even Rome, the centre of civilization, was over¬ 
 whelmed. It was not till all the old land-marks had 
 
CHARLEMAGNE. 
 
 \ 
 
 been obliterated that the waters began to subside. 
 Little by little^ they settled in fresh channels^ and 
 revealed the scattered wrecks of ancient institutions. 
 Of law^ and literatui’e_, and commerce^ scarce a vestige 
 remained; even the necessary arts of life were barely 
 known. But destruction had developed fresh forces ; 
 the tide that brought with it desolation^ had also 
 borne upon its wave new strength. A bold and 
 hardy race of men had settled in Europe^ who_, besides 
 strong physical natures^, were possessed of warm and 
 glowing imaginations ; and they, under a proper 
 culture, gave promise that, if they had destroyed her 
 ancient civilization, they would give to her^a more 
 enduring and vigorous life. The aspect of Europe at 
 this hour, shows the fulfilment of that promise; but 
 between the brightness of to-day, and the thick night 
 that then wrapped the mind of Europe in its sable 
 folds, stretches a gloomy and sometimes unpropitious 
 morning. We are accustomed to speak of that period 
 as the Dark Ages, though the name can only properly 
 be applied to its earlier portion. As a whole, it can 
 scarcely deserve that epithet, when we remember 
 what bright though evanescent beams shot athwart 
 it, and in how mild and peaceful a dawn it finally 
 issued. 
 
 The middle ages may be said to have commenced a 
 few years prior to the time of Charlemagne. It was 
 he who gave‘a fixity and temporary limit to the 
 possessions of the different races, and who, ha\dng 
 consolidated his own power, found leisure to attend 
 to the social and intellectual interests of his subjects. 
 
Ills SUCCESSORS. 
 
 23 
 
 He invited from various parts of Europe siicli men of 
 learning and intelligence as were knowm, and by tlieir 
 advice and assistance founded schools for the promo¬ 
 tion of the arts and sciences. A^diile he lived^ learning 
 was encouraged and fostered; but his successors, 
 unable to retain the splendid kingdom he had be¬ 
 queathed to them, w^ere totally incapable, how^ever 
 much they might have desired it, of supporting 
 educational establishments. The consequence w^as, 
 science and art everjwvhere decayed; and the morning 
 that looked so fair and bright w^as once more over¬ 
 cast and clouded. Even in Rome, where religion 
 held her seat, literature was neglected and for¬ 
 gotten. 
 
 In attempting to obtain some acquaintance with 
 the schools and methods of instruction there pm’sued, 
 dmdng that portion of the middle ages about which 
 we are now engaged, w^e are unfortunately not able 
 to confine our attention to that particular period, 
 as few accounts are preserved of it, more than of 
 others. 
 
 A modern reader, and especially one engaged in 
 education, w'ould be interested to know wdiat forms 
 the instructions of such a teacher as Lanfranc would 
 take, what books he would expound, wdiat subjects he 
 would teach, wdicther his pupils w^ere dependent 
 solely on their memories for the retention of his 
 discourses, or Avhether there were text books to wdiich 
 they could refer. It is to be lamented that no pupil 
 or disciple of such a man has left us a record of these 
 things, or that no student at Bee had also been its 
 
^^4 
 
 SCHOOLS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 
 clironicler. But^ failing sucli information^ we must 
 content ourselves Tvitli the general descriptions and 
 accidental notices which occur in the pages of the 
 ordinary histories of ancient and modern writers; 
 remembering that they extend over a period of two 
 or three centuries^ hut one in which neither the 
 schools nor books underwent any considerable 
 change. 
 
 The schools of the middle ages were of tliree 
 kinds. Birst: Those established in connexion with 
 cathedrals. Second: Conventual^ or those annexed 
 to monasteries. And third: Secular^ national^ or 
 municipal schools_, independent of religious insti¬ 
 tutions. Of these last^ such men as Charlemagne 
 and our own Alfred were the originators and most 
 prominent supporters. Charlemagne especially devoted 
 himself to the establishment of seminaries^ and was 
 greatly assisted by the learned of his time. The 
 Bishop of Orleans^ under his direction^ opened parish 
 schools^ in which the education offered was gratuitous. 
 
 To Alcuin/^ we are told^ the universities of Paris^ 
 Tours^ Fulden, Soissons^ and many others owe then* 
 origin and increase.^^ * The schools of Paris, that 
 became so celebrated in the twelfth, date their birth as 
 far back as the ninth century; and it will be remem¬ 
 bered, Lanfranc himself held one of the schools at 
 Avranches, prior to his entrance at Bee. 
 
 But a more important and more numerous class of 
 schools were the conventual, or monastie seminaries, 
 which the younger members of soeiety were free to 
 
 * Henry, Hist. Eng., Bk. ii, yol. iv. 
 
LEARNING IN THE TENTH CENTURY. 
 
 25 
 
 S-ttend. The originators, and most of the supporters 
 of monastic institutions, enjoined upon their followers 
 the necessity of opening schools in connection with 
 their fonndatioHs, and the result Was that, during the 
 seventh century for example, many monasteries were 
 founded, both in England and on the continent, in 
 each of which schools were opened. But, as it was 
 showTL in the last chapter, the monks were not an 
 intellectual class of men, and the labour of teaching 
 w^as not generally in favour with them. Owung to 
 this circumstance, and the universal decay of learning 
 during the tenth century, schools were .badly sup*- 
 ported, and the cause of education progressed slowly. 
 But towards the close of that period a more vigorous 
 and intelligent spirit was apparent, and the desire for 
 instruction again took possession of the minds of men. 
 
 We have already seen what wus the condition of 
 Normandy on the arrival of Lanfranc at Avranche^ 
 ^—that at that time the learning, and love of learning, 
 which characterised him, were very uncommon. Still, 
 even then, there were schools in existence; and it is 
 probable that at no time were they totally extinct. 
 
 Before attempting any description of these schools 
 in the eleventh century, it will be advisable to look at 
 the more ancient institutions of the kind, and then 
 observe what changes had taken place at the period 
 under consideration, as by such a comparison the 
 tendency which the studies of the middle ages took 
 wnll be very perceptible. 
 
 The most common arrangement of the sulijects of 
 instruction between the eighth and twelfth centuries 
 
 c 
 
26 
 
 METHODS OF STUDY. 
 
 was that known as the Trivinm and Qnadrivinm^ the 
 first of which included grammar^ dialectics, and 
 rhetoric; the second,—music, arithmetic, geometry, 
 and astronomy. At no time in the middle ages 
 does the whole of this course appear to have been 
 studied. The laity were proverbially ignorant, and 
 the clergy almost invariably idle. That most illus¬ 
 trious patron of learning, Charlemagne, was incapable 
 of writing; and one of the most industrious of the 
 clergy speaks of the long and intricate calculations 
 of arithmetic, as sufficient to overwhelm the mind, 
 and throw it into despair.^^ * 
 
 A better idea may be formed of the nature of the 
 instruction imparted by the teachers of the ancient 
 schools by the two following quotations than by any 
 description compiled from later authors. The first is 
 from a letter addressed by Alcuin to his friend and 
 patron Charlemagne, from his abbey of St. Martin 
 of Tours, whither he had retired : — 
 
 ^^As you advised me, and as my own inclinations 
 lead, I am sedulously employed within these walls in 
 imparting to some instruction from the pot of the 
 Holy Scriptures, while I labour to inebriate others 
 with the old wine of the ancient schools; feed others 
 with the apples of grammatical subtilty ; and illumine 
 others with the arrangement of the stars, placed as in 
 the painted ceiling of some great edifice.^^ f 
 
 The next is an account of Fulda, very celebrated in 
 
 * Henry, bk. ii. ch. iv. 
 
 f Bei’ington, bk. iii. The whole letter is given in Dr. Henry’s 
 
 History, vol. iv., bk. ii. 
 
BOSTON COLLEGE LIBKAHT 
 CHi^Ti^UT HILL,^2<ASS. 
 
 SUBJECTS OF STUDY. 27 
 
 its day^ and conducted by a pnpil of Alenin^ Rabanns 
 IMaurus : — As the age of liis pnpils permitted, 
 or their abilities seemed to require, he instructed 
 some in the rules of grammar, others in those of 
 rhetoric; while he conducted the more advanced into 
 the deeper researches of human and divine pliilosophy, 
 freely communicating whatever they vrished to learn. 
 At the same time, they were expected to commit 
 to writing, in prose or verse, the occurrences of the 
 day.^^ * 
 
 The changes in the course of study that had taken 
 j^lace at the beginning of the eleventh century do not 
 appear to have been very great. The division of sub¬ 
 jects remained the same as in the eighth century, but 
 was not more strictly attended to than then. The 
 only part of the Trivium that received much attention 
 was the Latin language, taught from the little treatise 
 bv Donatus, and from the extracts of Priscian. A 
 growing importance attached to the art of reason¬ 
 ing. In the next centmy this subject, or dialectics, as 
 it was called, received more than its due share of 
 attention; but in this age it was regarded rather as an 
 abstract science than as one to be applied to the solu¬ 
 tion of theological and ethical questions; and even 
 Lanfranc himself denies that he makes use of it, when 
 arguing with Berengarius the doctrine of the real pre¬ 
 sence, although his fame as a teacher rests almost 
 entirely upon the success with which he taught this 
 most intellectual of the arts. 
 
 In concluding this part of our subject, it will not 
 
 * Berington, bk. iii. 
 
28 ORIGIN OF CAMBRIDGE UNlVERSll^r, 
 
 be irrelevant to insert an interesting description of a 
 scliool establislied at Cambridge in the twelfth cen¬ 
 tury^ and out of which arose the present nniversity. 
 It relates to a more advanced period than that of 
 which we have been speaking,—but it is so vivid an 
 illustration of student life, that it appeared no anachro¬ 
 nism to the writer of the life of Lanfranc prefixed to 
 his -works, who has inserted it in notes.* 
 
 Master Gislehert, with three other monks, went 
 e^nry day to Cambridge; and having hired a certain 
 public barn, taught the sciences openly, and in a little 
 time collected a great concourse of scholars. For in 
 the second year after their arrival, the number of their 
 scholars from town and country increased so much, 
 that there was no house, barn, nor church, capable of 
 containing them. For this reason they separated 
 into different parts of the town; and, imitating the plan 
 of Orleans, Brother Odo, a famous grammarian and 
 satirist of those times, read grammar, according to the 
 doctrine of Priscian, and Remigius upon him, to the 
 boys and younger students assigned to him, early in 
 the morning. At one o^clock Brother Terricus, an 
 acute sophist, read Aristotle^s logics, according to the 
 introductions and commentaries of Porphyry and 
 Averrois, to those who were further advanced. At three. 
 Brother William read lectures on Tully’s rhetoric and 
 Quintilian’s institutions. But Master Gislehert beinjr 
 
 o 
 
 ignorant of the English, but very expert in the Latin 
 and French languages, preached in the several chmuhes 
 to the people on Sundays and holidays.” -j* 
 
 * Lanf, Op.: D’Achery. f Henry’s England, bk. iii. ch. iv. s. 3. 
 
BOOKS USED IN THE SCHOOLS. 
 
 29 
 
 In the monastery and the monastic school, the 
 subject which held the first place was^ of course, the 
 service of the church; and as that was written in 
 Latin, the study of that language was necessitated. 
 Owing to the influence of Gregory the Great, who 
 lived at the close of the sixth century, the classics 
 ceased to be regarded as the proper models for 
 Christian students, and men were therefore left to 
 struggle on amid the perplexities and difficulties of a 
 language, without those most necessary of all guides, 
 its pm’est v/riters. Hence, for a considerable time, 
 the value of a book Avas estimated rather by its agree¬ 
 ment with the opinions of the church, than by the 
 elegance of its composition; and the moral uuitings 
 of Gregory himself, although they Avere compiled 
 without regard to the rules of grammar, soon held an 
 important place in the estimation of the age. The 
 Avorld, hoAvever, grew Aviser, and churchmen with it; 
 the oblmon that Gregory desired for Cicero and 
 Yirgil, yaAvned for himself; and by the close of tlie 
 tenth century, his writings, and the meagre intro¬ 
 ductions to rhetoric, were neglected by scholars for 
 the works of Cicero and Quintilian.* 
 
 In grammar, the Avork most esteemed Avas called a 
 Donat, OAAung to the fact of its having been compiled 
 by Donatus, a grammarian of the fourth century, 
 and, in connection Avith another by Priscian, Avas in 
 general use. As a scholar proceeded he Avas intro¬ 
 duced to the Cato,^^ and the Doctrinal,^^ Avritten 
 by Sauvage, and other books, which were used for 
 Berington, bk. ii. Uallam Introd. Lit. of Europe, p. G. 
 
30 
 
 CLASSICAL STUDIES. 
 
 construing^ and consisted of sentences, moralities^ 
 maxims of conduct, and even precepts of behavionr. 
 Some were composed of precepts and examples 
 united, as the “ Chastisement of a Father; but the 
 morals were very insipid. With regard to the clas¬ 
 sical authors read at this time, great diversity of 
 opinion exists; but it is certain that, shortly after the 
 Conquest, Virgil, Ovid, and others were daily studied 
 in the schools. * Ingulphus, speaking of the reign of 
 Edward the Confessor, says, I was educated in letters 
 in my tender years at Westminster; from whence I was 
 afterwards sent to the study of Oxford, where I made 
 greater progress in the Aristotelian philosophy than 
 any of my contemporaries, and became very well 
 acquainted with the rhetoric of Cicero.^^ f Lin- 
 
 gard, commenting upon this passage, while he admits 
 the doubt as to the date originally assigned to the 
 work of Ingulphus, asserts that the classical authors 
 mentioned in it were much more studied in the 
 eleventh century than is generally supposed. 
 
 * Fosbroke, British Monachism. 
 f History of Croyland Abbey, p. 147. Bohn’s ed.. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 MATILDA OF FLANDERS AND WILLIAM OF NORMANDY. 
 
 Nothing can be more certain than tbat tbe contem¬ 
 poraries and immediate followers of Lanfranc believed 
 tbat be was tbe scbolar to wbom tbe revival of tbe 
 study of classical literatnre was most indebted. It is 
 bardly possible to turn to a single passage in wbicb 
 be is mentioned, witbont finding some mark of the 
 writers glowing admiration conpled with bis name. 
 By one, he is spoken of as tbe student who bad re¬ 
 stored learning to its ancient condition; by another, 
 as a powerful expositor of ditficnlt questions in both 
 philosophy and divinity, under wbom tbe Normans 
 received the first rudiments of literature by a third, 
 as a man worthy to be compared to the ancients, in 
 knowledge and in religion ; of wRom it may be truly 
 said ^ Cato tbe third is descended from heaven: ^ so 
 much bad an heavenly savour tinctured his heart and 
 tongue; so much was tbe wdiole western world excited 
 to tbe knowledge of tbe liberal arts by his learning; 
 and so earnestly did tbe monastic profession labour in 
 the works of religion either from his example or 
 autbority.^^ * 
 
 * Wm. Malnies. Bohn’s ed. p. 300. 
 
32 
 
 FAME OF lAXFRAXC. 
 
 His learning is said to have been so remarlvable^ 
 that to understand the admirable genins and erudi¬ 
 tion of Lanfranc, one ought to be an Herodian in 
 grammar^ an Aristotle in dialectics^, a TuUy in rhe¬ 
 toric, an Augustine and Jerome, and other expositors 
 of the law and grace, in the sacred scriptures. Athens 
 itself, in its most flourishing state, renowned for the 
 excellency of its teachine;, would hare honoured Lan- 
 franc in every branch of eloquence and discipline, and 
 would have desii’ed to receive instruction from his 
 vise maxims.-’^ * His reputation was commensurate 
 with his learning, and spread tlnoughout all Eiu’ope; 
 and many hastened to receive lessons from him out 
 of France, Gascony, Brittany, and Flanders.-’^ Among 
 these were many who afterwards rose to hio^h and im- 
 portant offices, both in the chm’ch and state, and con¬ 
 siderably influenced the literature and after-histoiy of 
 Eiu’ope. Among the crowds of students who Hsited 
 Bee, there were some, however, wiio were more proud 
 of their master^s skill in argument than instructed by 
 his precepts or enriched by his philosophy. They 
 are represented as puffed-up and elated to such a de¬ 
 gree by the dialectical tact they had acquired under 
 his tuition, that wherever they went they carried his 
 principles, and displayed the utmost fervour of con¬ 
 troversy. They pelted all their opponents with syllo¬ 
 gisms ; and as school-boys make men and castles of 
 snow, that they may have the pleasure of demolishing 
 them w ith missiles of the same, so these disciples of 
 Lanfranc sought difficulties of logic that they might 
 * Ord. Vit. Bohn’s ed., yoI, ii. p. 40. 
 
INFLUENCE OF HIS TEACHING, 
 
 33 
 
 tXisperse them by its rules. Such popularity was the 
 penalty due for all that fame had bestowed, and was 
 of a kind, we should think, Lanfranc could hardly 
 liave desired; we should at least have expected he 
 would have striven as much as possible to diminish 
 tlie enthusiasm of his students, by giving their science 
 a more practical and private vent. Instances occur, 
 however, in which his own conduct appears to be far 
 from pmdent, and sometimes indeed arrogant in the 
 extreme. One of them had so important an influence 
 upon him, and the fortunes of those vdth whom he 
 lived, that it must be recorded, especially as it forms 
 an introduction, though a not very amiable one, to 
 the thu’d gi’eat epoch in his life, that in which he was 
 brought into constant communication with William 
 duke of Normandy. 
 
 The pai’tiality wdiich all the chroniclers of these 
 times evmce for Lanfranc, make it difficult to believe 
 they have not sometimes allowed their affection to 
 colour their narratives, and do scanty justice to such 
 of his contemporaries as were so unfortunate as to 
 oppose him. AU of them, however, agree in this, that 
 Herfast, chaplain to duke William, being, prior to 
 Lanfranc^s arrival, the most popular scholar of 
 Normandy, but now eclipsed by his fame, was moved 
 ])y envy at the praises so laidshly bestowed upon him, 
 and determined to judge for himself by attending one 
 of the lectures of this Lombard student. Accordingly, 
 followed by an immense retinue of seiwants and horse¬ 
 men, and with great pomp, he \dsited Bee. But Lan¬ 
 franc, we are told, perceived immediately he was only 
 
 c 3 
 
34 
 
 INTERVIEW WITH THE DtTKE, 
 
 an ignorant inan_, and therefore determined to humhie? 
 him_, which he did by placing before him an Italian 
 spelling book—thus intimating his want of knowledge 
 of that language. The poor ecclesiastic^ who had 
 naturally expected a more respectful reception^ was 
 greatly inflamed by such treatment^ and hurried back 
 to lay the story of his wrongs before his master. The 
 duke William^ who^ it would appear^ had a private 
 quarrel of his own with the monk^ and was therefore 
 already inclined to severity, took such measures as 
 were sufflcient to avenge the wrongs of a life-time. 
 He ordered the monastery to be destroyed, and a little 
 farm belonging to it to be burnt down, the monks to 
 be dispersed, and Lanfranc to quit the kingdom. * 
 Sad, indeed, were the hearts of the poor monks of 
 Bee when the terrible news came to them, and 
 grieved was the soul of venerable Herluin. What 
 could he now think of his beloved prior ? Surely, 
 far better had it been that he should have remained 
 at Avranches, teaching unsanctified rhetoric, than 
 that he should have brought fame to his house only 
 to be its ruin at last, f Lanfranc, leaving the abbot 
 and his monks to nurse their grief, or assuage it as 
 best they could, sallied forth upon a lame and jaded 
 horse to gain an audience of the duke, whom he met 
 on tlie road to his palace. The singular figm’e of the 
 monk, mounted upon his limping horse, drew an 
 involuntary smile from William, who nevertheless 
 demanded why his orders had not been attended to. 
 
 * Sciip, X., chi’on., J. Brompton, p. 968. Henry de Knigiiton, 236. 
 f Mil. Crisp, in vit. Lanf., cap. iy. 
 
ITS FAVOURABLE RESULT. 
 
 Laiifranc replied tliat it was impossible to obey tlie 
 command to leave tlie kingdom^ unless he were fur¬ 
 nished with a better horse. The duke was pleased 
 with the ready and facetious replies he obtained to all 
 liis questions, and Lanfranc soon gained pardon for 
 himself and release for his brethren. He was dis¬ 
 missed with the assm’ance of future favour; and in the 
 meanwhile, the restoration of the monastery, with the 
 return of the monks to their deserted abode, was 
 permitted. Once more Bee was in prosperity; the 
 tidings brought to the monks soon dissipated their 
 sorrows and diied their tears 3 they hurried back to 
 their old home, and made its walls resound for a 
 whole day with their joyous voices chanting Te Deum. 
 Those parts of their monastery which had been de¬ 
 stroyed were rebuilt; and their title to the lands 
 attached to the abbey was confirmed by William. * 
 
 In the foregoing narrative there are two things 
 which strike the mind as being very remarkable, and 
 which, if it were not supported by other evidence, 
 would go far to make us doubt the story altogether. 
 
 The first is the extraordinary severity of the duke, 
 for what seems, after all, but a slight offence. And the 
 second, the easy way in which Lanfranc dispersed his 
 VT:*ath, and avoided the punishment awarded him. 
 Both, however, are explained when the circumstances 
 in which William was placed at the time are known, 
 and the part Lanfranc had taken respecting them. 
 
 The event must have happened about the year 
 1053, when Normandy was suffering under the anger 
 * Mil. Crisp, vit. Lanf., cap iv. 
 
3G DUKE WILLIAM^S MARRIAGE. 
 
 of tlie pope^ caused by William^s disobedience to bii© 
 wishes. About a year pre\iously (1052), he had 
 espoused, at his castle of Angi, Matilda his cousin, 
 the daughter of Baldwin, fifth earl of Flanders-. 
 The marriage was effected more by the impetu¬ 
 osity of William than by the desire of Matilda 
 or her friends. For many years she had stoutly 
 refused the affection he often pressed upon her; at 
 first because she loved, or fancied she loved, a young 
 Saxon; and afterwards, when she could not obtain 
 his affection, on account of the strong antipathy her 
 parents had to the birth and parentage of MTlliam. 
 Seven years,however, of alternate hope and despair had 
 made MTlliam take a most decided way of bringing 
 the courtship to a close. He is said to have w^aited for 
 her in the streets of Bruges as she returned from 
 mass, to have rolled her in the mud, and after having 
 struck her, to have mounted his horse and ridden off. 
 This violent behaviour had the effect he probably 
 intended to produce, and convineed Matilda and her 
 friends that it were better to receive so impetuous a 
 man as a relative, than have to withstand him as an 
 enemy. They were accordingly married, three years 
 afterwards, with great splendom*. * 
 
 Unfortunately for their happiness, however, there was 
 one who was neither to be intimidated by William^s 
 passion nor placated by his bribes from denouncing 
 this marriage as an unrighteous and illegal affair. 
 This was Manger, uncle to William, and archbishop 
 of Bouen. He argued that the daughter of Bichard 
 * Lives of Queens—Matilda, Ag. Strickland. 
 
Clerical anger. 
 
 37 
 
 tlie Good having married a count of Flanders_, Baldwin 
 le Barbu, William and Matilda, being direct branehes 
 of this union, were cousins within the prohibited 
 degrees.^^ * In other words, that Elenora, the grand¬ 
 mother of Matilda, was likevdse the aunt of William, 
 Previous to the marriage, Mauger had contented him¬ 
 self by simply denouncing it as illegal, and warning 
 'William to desist from desiring it; but no sooner 
 had it taken place than he hurled the last bolt of 
 episcopal wrath, and excommunicated the offenders. 
 Besides Mauger, the pontiff had resolutely refused 
 to sanction the marriage, and we find that by the 
 authority of the pope, Normandy was deprived of all 
 the holy offices.'’^ f Whatever might have been the 
 opinion of the Norman clergy as to the policy of 
 irritating so powerful a chief as William, they could 
 not pretend to oppose the decision of their spiritual 
 rulers; and therefore it is not surprising to find so 
 zealous an ecclesiastic as Lanfranc entirely coinciding 
 with Mauger, and blaming M^illiam for the step he 
 had taken. 
 
 'Were we simply to follow the narrative given above 
 of the circumstances that brought Lanfranc into 
 collision ^vith 'William, we might infer that previously 
 thev had had no connection with each other, or at 
 least that they liad not been on terms of intimacy. 
 Judging from other sources, however, it appears more 
 than probable that Lanfranc had been the adviser and 
 councillor of the duke prior to his marriage with 
 Matilda, and that when it became necessary to make 
 * Roscoe’s Life of Wm. theConq,. f Mil. Crisp, in vit. Lanf,, cap. iii 
 
38 
 
 CUKE WILLIAM EMPLOYS LAI^FEANU. 
 
 a positive avowal of liis opinion^ he decided on the 
 side of the archbishop^ and was consequently dis¬ 
 missed from the favour of William. Another writer * 
 tells us^ that William esteemed him as one of his 
 ablest councillors^, but that he incurred that princess 
 displeasure by blaming his marriage with Baldwin's 
 daughter; and that being exiled from the court of his 
 former master^ he repaired to Nicholas at Rome. 
 This statement partly agrees Avith one made by the 
 AATiter of the life prefixed to his collected works, viz., 
 that he had been an adviser of the duke, but was 
 alienated from him by the slanderous representations 
 of others, f 
 
 Whether Lanfranc had or had not been in the 
 favour of William previous to the public insult offered 
 to Herfast, if it be certain that he had censured him 
 for an action which he had so long determined upon, 
 there is no cause for wonder at the severity with 
 which he Avas visited; nor need we be surprised at 
 the facility Avith Avhich he was reinstated in favour, 
 Avhen Ave learn that he shortly afterAvards became the 
 ambassador of the duke to Rome, to plead excuses for 
 the very marriage he had so lately condemned. 
 
 Surprising as it may appear, such nevertheless was 
 the case, the statement of which may form a fitting 
 close to this chapter; and in the next aaoII be seen 
 hoAV important was the journey then undertaken—not 
 only to William and Lanfranc, but probably to the 
 Avhole Roman church. 
 
 * Norm. Conq., Thierry, hk. hi. 
 
 t Mil. Crisp, D’Achery, cap. hi. 
 
so 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE CHARGE D^iEFAIRES^ AND THE MONK OF CLUNX, 
 
 Nearly ten years before Lanfranc set out upon his 
 journey to the court of Rome_, to negotiate conditions 
 for the indulgence of William^s marriage with Matilda^ 
 Bruno, bishop of Toul, had, attired as a prlgrim, crossed 
 the Alps, as the elect of the emperor to the papal see. 
 He was attended only by a monk, who was returning 
 to Rome after a voluntary exile of little more than two 
 years. This monk, of low stature and of lowly origin, 
 was the famous Hildebrand, prior of Cluni, afterwards 
 the more famous Gregory VII., whose life, up to that 
 time, had been principally passed in the retirement of 
 the monastic cell. He had been early educated in a 
 monastery at Rome, and the effect of the training he 
 received there was to develop within him a stern and 
 self-denying devotion to the principles and authority 
 of the church. In his relation to the clergy as a 
 class, he became attached to the party of Damiani, 
 bishop of Ostia, who was earnestly but ineffectually 
 struggling to stem the torrent of corruption, which 
 threatened to carry away the entire Romish priest- 
 
40 schemes of HILDEBRlNH. 
 
 hood. Hildebrand entered with entlmsiasm into the 
 plans and hopes of Damiani, and influenced the mind 
 of Gregory VI., one of three contemporary popes, in 
 favour of a more rigorous cliurch discipline. 
 
 The emperor Henry III., however, determined to 
 dethrone the rival pontiffs, and to place one of his own 
 election in the chair of St. Peter; so that Gregory VI. 
 was compelled to le'ave Rome, and the year 1046 saw 
 him depart an exile into Prance. He took with him 
 his friend Hildebrand, who, despairing for a time of 
 carrying his purposes of reformation into execution, 
 became prior in the monastery of Cluni. During 
 the two years he remained there two popes reigned 
 and died; and in 1048 we And him at Worms^ 
 assisting in the election of Bruno, bishop of Toul. 
 Bruno was the very man for the party and schemes 
 of Plildebrand. He was pious and well-meaning, 
 desirous of the purity and elevation of the clergy, and 
 the determined enemy of their simony and marriage. 
 Pie was a model of every ecclesiastical virtue, ascetic 
 in habits, severe in self-inflicted tortures, and earnest 
 in his love of the Benedictine rule. His desire for 
 the reform of the church amounted almost to a pas¬ 
 sion, but he lacked the inflexible determination, the 
 iron will, possessed by his humbler friend. He was 
 easily impressed by another mind (at times unfortu¬ 
 nately so, as his party learnt a few years later, to 
 their cost); and it was under the influence of Hilde¬ 
 brand he undertook the journey to Rome, resolved to 
 accept pontifical honours only from the Roman clergy 
 and people. This was a bold and hazardous step, and 
 
ELECTION OF LEO IXr 
 
 41 
 
 could only liave been accomplished by men who 
 covered their real policy by a show of humility^ as^ at 
 the council in which Clement was elected successor 
 to Gregory VI.^ Hemy had passed a law that the 
 election of the pontiff should rest with himself. The 
 arrival in Rome of Bruno—who took the title of Leo 
 IX.—and his friend was hailed with delight by the 
 people and clergy. It marked an epoch in the history 
 of the papacy^ and was an evidence that the reforming 
 party had gained an adherent in the head of the 
 chin’ch. 
 
 The existence of such a party in the church is the 
 most distinct fact in the ecclesiastical annals of the 
 eleventh century. Viewed as it must be_, from one 
 pointy as the organised attem];)t of the chui’ch to 
 reform itself—to cut away those props and pillars 
 with which the imperial party were anxious to sup¬ 
 port iL and above all to confine the election of pre¬ 
 lates and ministers to its own members—it presents 
 us with one of the most cheering and instructive 
 sights which history affords; but looked at from 
 another side_, it simply takes the form of a powerful 
 and politic struggle for supremacy. Both of these 
 views are unquestionably correct. To the mind of 
 the Italian clergy the desire of raising their order 
 into a dominant and superior class, and of establishing 
 their hierarchy as an independent political power, was 
 undoubtedly present; and it is not difficult to see 
 how the two ideas came to take such hold of them. 
 
 The chm’ch of the middle ages was essentially a 
 political institution. It was not merely sustained by 
 
 Jk 
 
42 the church OE the middle AUEg 
 
 tlie sanction of the various rulers of Europe, but its 
 chief officers were themselves often the virtual rulers 
 of the kingdoms where it was recognised, and they 
 invariably formed a part of the council of state. Not 
 merely so, hut in ail great national undertakings the 
 authority of the church was universally recognised 
 and respected. Not an expedition could be planned 
 but the blessing of the pope was invoked on its behalf; 
 not a victory of any worth was obtained but the 
 spoils of conquest paid him tithe. His power and in¬ 
 fluence extended to all the relations of life; the 
 haughtiest and most potent emperor felt it no degra¬ 
 dation to seek his advice or hold his stirrup ; and the 
 fiercest warrior would sheathe the sword at his bid¬ 
 ding. The lowest and the weakest could find a sanc¬ 
 tuary in the church that the proudest monarch dared 
 not violate; but no panoply could shield the man, 
 though his equal lived not, whom the church had 
 banned. 
 
 But to the Italian clergy there was, in addition to 
 this political character, a feeling of appropriateness in 
 the ascendancy and supremacy of Borne ; there was 
 an historical grandeur belonging to it, that elevated 
 it as by right into the highest position among the 
 states of Europe. And along with the records of its 
 past greatness, were associated the feelings of the 
 present. By the tombs of ancient heroes might be 
 seen the graves of modern saints ; upon the mounts 
 where the councils of the republic were held, reposed 
 the ashes of martyrs and confessors. In the names 
 of the gates by which consuls entered the city, or the 
 
IN RELATION TO THE STATE. 
 
 48 
 
 road by wliicli they left might be read tbe tri¬ 
 umphs of the cross. In the temples where once the 
 sacrifices of heathens were ofthred now arose the in¬ 
 cense of Christian priests; and even in the home of 
 the gods—the Pantheon of an ancient mythology— 
 was beheld the symbol of a milder but enduring 
 faith. To the mind of a mediseval thinker there 
 must have been something imposing and inspiring in 
 the reflection^ that all that remained of what was 
 stately^ artistic^ or venerable in paganism had been ap¬ 
 propriated to the ser\dce of the new religion; and such 
 a mind w'ould not be liable to that revulsion of feel¬ 
 ing which one educated in a more modern period 
 might experience^, as it remembered how often the 
 severity of the conqueror had been softened by the 
 graces of the conquered^ or beheld the victors arrayed 
 in the spoils of the vanquished. 
 
 Such being the relation of the church to the state, 
 and such being the views entertained of it by the 
 clergy, there must have been something anomalous to 
 the mind of Hildebrand and others, when he con¬ 
 sidered that this superiority was merely a name, so 
 long as there w'ere laymen who could direct the elec¬ 
 tions, or control the influences of the chief members of 
 the priesthood. It would only require a powerful com¬ 
 bination of families in the governing class, and the 
 authority of the church would be confined to the 
 passing of decrees, or the expulsion of offenders from 
 its communion. 
 
 The course necessary to be taken by the reforming 
 party under these circumstances w'as obvious, and was 
 
44 
 
 LANFRANC AT ROME. 
 
 diligently pursued by it. Pope Leo and liis adherents 
 made vigorous efforts to purify and elevate the clergy,, 
 declared that all prelates guilty of simony should be 
 suspended, and ordered that those who were married 
 should put away their wives. The encroachments of 
 the temporal powers were resisted by every means. 
 The life of Leo was, however, but of short duration, 
 and none of his attempted schemes proved successful. 
 From Leo^s death until the election of himself as pope,, 
 the constant struggle of Hildebrand was to secure 
 such of the clergy for the office of pontiff as were 
 favourable to his views. He succeeded in his purpose, 
 and each of the three popes who followed in quick 
 succession was devoted to the cause of the reforma¬ 
 tion. He waited patiently, in the hope of effectually 
 curbing the power of the emperor; and in the year 
 1059 he obtained a law, by which was forbidden the 
 recognition of any one as pope who had not been 
 elected by the chief bishops and priests, with the con¬ 
 sent of the Roman clergy and people. The name of 
 the reigning pontiff at that time was Nicholas II.; 
 and it was to his court that Lanfranc, the year before 
 the date just mentioned, had gone to appeal on behalf 
 of the duke of Normandy. Lanfranc was not a 
 stranger at the comd of Rome; the fame which had 
 helped to fill the school of Bee had travelled into 
 Italy; and he had, during the reign of two preceding 
 popes, gained ^‘'golden opinions for his eloquent 
 defence of orthodox principles before the councils of 
 Rome and Verceil. Lanfranc had, however, need of 
 all his eloquence and popularity to obtain a successful 
 
NEGOTIATIONS RESPECTING WlLLIAM^S MARRIAGE. 45 
 
 termination to liis mission^ as most of tlie circum¬ 
 stances Avliicli have been specified were opposed to the 
 easy settlement of William^s desire. There can be no 
 question that the marriage of the dnlce of Normandy 
 was a violation of canon law^ and that the pope had 
 reason for the anger he felt at the contempt with 
 which William had treated the opposition and 
 remonstrances of his uncle Mauger. If the chiu’cli 
 were the guardian of morality^ and had authority to 
 make laws respecting the marriage of princes_, it was 
 bound to see those laws respected_, or forfeit its pre¬ 
 tensions. And, further, there was the consideration 
 of union which might arise among the different 
 families in Europe, and ultimately destroy the hope 
 of the hierarchy. It was, therefore, always con¬ 
 sistently opposed to those close ties between the 
 reigning houses which were occasionally attempted 
 to be made. 
 
 William was, however, fortunate in being able to 
 commit his cause to one who, sympathising in the 
 policy of the papacy, and occupying a high position in 
 tlie church, saw, and could point out, the advantages 
 whicli would result if some conditions were made 
 by which the marriage could be recognised as legal. 
 Lanfranc knew the duke—was acquainted with his 
 strong and passionate will, and could therefore show 
 how impolitic and useless it would be to irritate such 
 a man. The history of the race in the north of 
 France woidd aptly illustrate his argument, and aid 
 liis persuasion. Not two centuries had elapsed since 
 “ Holloas robber brood had sailed up the Seine, 
 
46 
 
 THE NORMANS IN ITALY. 
 
 devastated the towns upon its banks, and seized even 
 the city of Paris. But the men whom arms could 
 not terrify, yielded to the influence of religion; and 
 from the day on which they first received the blessing 
 of the archbishop of Eouen, they had shown them¬ 
 selves devoted sons of the church—^orthodox, faithful, 
 and obedient. Such servants w'ere too valuable, 
 and too often needed, to be treated with harshness, 
 or to have their vflshes lightly refused. 
 
 But the Normans had not merely invaded and 
 settled in Prance; they had recently obtained posses¬ 
 sion of an important province in Italy, and had not 
 only been able to maintain themselves against the 
 arms of surrounding states, but had wrung from the 
 pope an acknowledgment of their right. Ever 
 romantic, imaginative, and enterprising, in search 
 after fresh sources of wealth or new fields of pleasure, 
 the Scandinavians had, impelled by this spirit or 
 influenced by religion, undertaken journeys and pil¬ 
 grimages into Italy. In a few years their numbers 
 had increased to a sufficient extent to render them of 
 seiudce to the soldierless chieftains of the south, and 
 their swords were employed to expel from Sicily the 
 Arabian conquerors of the Greek emperors. The 
 reward they earned by their successful valour they 
 never received; and thus a pretext for the invasion 
 of the province of Apulia was supplied to them. Leo 
 IX., on becoming pope, beheld them still possessed of 
 their booty, and the people groaning under their 
 oppression. He resolved to drive them out of Italy, 
 and collected a poor Italian army to assist him. The 
 
CONCLUSION OF THE NEGOTIATIONS. 
 
 47 
 
 Normans did homage to the pope, hut conquered his 
 troops ; and the pontiff, who had just passed a law 
 making it a sin for an ecclesiastic to engage in war, 
 was a prisoner in a martial camp. The inconsistent 
 hut repentant prelate made a hasty treaty with his 
 pious foes, and reti irned to Rome to hide his shame 
 in death. * 
 
 Such was the position that the Normans had 
 acquired in a few years in the south of Europe j and 
 none could prophesy what their future might he so 
 well as he who was the friend and counsellor of their 
 most ambitious chief: even the hope of one day wearing 
 an English crown in right of relationship to the weak 
 and imbecile Edward, if it had ever flitted across his 
 mind, Lanfranc had doubtless marked the pleasure it 
 gave, and calculated on the certainty of its realisation. 
 To the pope he urged the importance of such a man 
 as William being the friend and ally of the Romish 
 churclq and the necessity there was for conciliation. 
 The arguments and eloquence of Lanfranc prevailed; 
 his entreaties were successful. The pontiff acceded 
 to the request of William, and permitted him to retain 
 his wife. To sustain, however, the honour of the 
 chui’ch, and the authority of canon law, it was stipu¬ 
 lated as a condition, that the duke should build a 
 monastery at Caen, in Normandy, to be dedicated to 
 St. Stephen, the first martyr; and Matilda, the 
 duchess, should erect a convent for nuns in honour 
 of the Yii’gin. 
 
 These conditions were not hea\y enough to be 
 * Gibbon’s Dec. and Fall, ebap. 56, 
 
48 LANmANc’s RETURN TO NORMANDY. 
 
 regarded by William as any cause for disagreement. 
 He testified great joy at tlie conclusion of the negocia* 
 tions; lie bad already vented any ill-feeling be might 
 bave nurtured upon bis uncle Mauger^ wbom be bad 
 deposed from bis arcbbisbopric on tbe plea of bis im¬ 
 moral life; but it would appear from bis own state¬ 
 ment that it was ratber owing to tbe opposition 
 wbicb Manger bad displayed towards bim. 
 
 Lanfranc returned to iSTormandy to receive tbe 
 commendations of Wblliam^ and to be treated witb 
 increasing friendship. Henceforth bis name is often 
 mentioned as tbe adviser and attendant of tbe duke, 
 and as one whose opinion was sought on the affairs 
 of sm’rounding monasteries. One instance "will illus¬ 
 trate the condition of these bouses at tbe time, and 
 show us tbe state of discipline wbicb existed in some 
 of them. * 
 
 A neighbouring convent is governed by an abbot, 
 whose piety is irksome to his monks, who complain 
 that tbe much study wbicb be imposes upon them is 
 a weariness of tbe flesb.^^ Headed by their prior, 
 they rebel, and drive tbe abbot to seek tbe assistance 
 of the bishop. Lanfranc of Bee arrives with other 
 commissioners, and they, having celebrated a certain 
 feast, proceed to inquire into tbe cause of dissension. 
 Tbe spirituality of tbe abbot is commended, and tbe 
 prior with bis monks admonished to remember their 
 vows, and in all things submit to their superior. The 
 monks are, however, too resolute in their secularism 
 to be admonished into obedience; and their abbot 
 
 ♦ Ord. Vit. vol. ii., p. 406. 
 
A MONASTIC INTERIOR. 
 
 49 
 
 seeing no end to tlie domestic war they wage upon 
 him^ quits his charge and goes upon a pilgrimage to 
 Jernsalem. Another abbot is chosen^ hut he falls a 
 victim to the rapacity and cruelty of the nobles whose 
 estates lay around the convent. Again Lanfranc^s 
 advice is needed. The duke sends for him and the 
 bishop of Rouen to elect another abbots and to place 
 him over the monks, independently of their suffrages. 
 Lanfranc does not hesitate to \dolate the principle of 
 election generally pursued in monastic institutions, 
 but assists William in the inauguration of the prior 
 of a neighboming convent, while the bishop recom¬ 
 mends the sorrowing monks ” to submit, to save 
 their new abbey from the wrath of the imperious 
 Ruke.* 
 
 Such circumstances as these may seem trivial, if 
 looked at in contrast to others of vaster character, in¬ 
 voking more important interests, which were trans¬ 
 piring af the same time; but they are valuable, 
 because they help to demonstrate the little value of 
 monastic institutions and practices as aids to moral 
 culture. Envy, pride, and worldly feelings were as 
 active at the monastery of St. Evroult as they Avould 
 have been had the monks been following the standard 
 of Robert Guiscard in Italy, or pm’suing the avocation 
 of merchants at Rouen. But the relation of these 
 cireumstances is interesting as being conn .cted with 
 one of the largest and most famous convents of the 
 middle ages. When Lanfranc became prior of Bee, 
 it was not founded; but the spot of ground on which 
 * Ord. Vit., vol i., bk. iii., cb. v. 
 
 D 
 
50 
 
 ST. OUCHE. 
 
 it stood liad been jnst given to that abbey. Herlnin 
 sent Lanfranc to inspect the property, wlio found 
 an old clmrch, over whose mouldering walls the 
 
 mantling ivy had spread/'’ and the place deserted by 
 all, except two aged monks/-’ A little monastic colony 
 was soon established; and in a few years the original 
 owners of the estate determining to erect a monastery, 
 chose St. Ouche, as it was called, it being a situation 
 favoured by nature with a liberal supply of water, and 
 a large forest fitted for the pasturage of swine, and 
 yielding an abundance of fuel. The monks of Bee 
 relinquished their right to the property, on conside¬ 
 ration of receiving another vill called La Boussiere. 
 
 This was the v commencement of the famous abbey of 
 
 «/ 
 
 St. Evroult, to one of whose monks we are indebted 
 for the most fall and authentic accounts of the Nor¬ 
 man invasion, and the ecclesiastical history of the 
 middle ages. Lanfranc, who had watched the growth 
 of the abbey from the beginning, did not cease to take 
 an interest in its welfare after he had quitted Nor¬ 
 mandy j for we find the name of the archbishop of 
 Canterbury as contributor to the amount of “ twenty•r 
 four pounds English money, and two marks of gold /^ 
 and again, forty pounds sterling "" for the erection 
 of the new abbey, tower, and dormitory of St. 
 Evroult.* 
 
 About this time Lanfranc grew dissatisfied with the 
 abbey and church of Bee, and represented to Herlnin 
 that the house was too small for the accommodation 
 of the monks, the building unworthy of its fame, 
 
 * Ord. Vit., vol. i. p. 385. 
 
REBUILDING OF BEC. 
 
 51 
 
 and tlie soil upon wliicli it stood too humid for the 
 health of the inhabitants. He proposed that a new 
 one should be erected, upon another spot of ground, 
 and more elegant in its structure. The abbot was 
 too conservative in his tastes and opinions to listen to 
 this adHce. In vain Lanfranc pleaded the want of 
 comunience, and quoted from the prophets promises 
 by which the Hebrews had supported themselves in 
 adversity as applicable to the situation and condition 
 of the monastery. Herluin looked with feelings of 
 affection on the old house in which he had passed the 
 last five-and-twenty years of his life. It had been the 
 scene of his early struggles and privations, and these 
 had endeared it to him. The question, however, soon 
 rusolved itself; for while they discussed a part of the 
 chapel fell in; and the abbot, either looking upon that 
 as a supernatural argument on Lanfranc^s side, or the 
 place haHng really become too bad, gave permission 
 for the new abbey to be commenced. Accordingly, a 
 spot of ground was chosen more healthy than that on 
 which the existing convent stood, and a new building 
 was undertaken, upon a larger scale, and of a more 
 elegant structure; but the work did not proceed very 
 fast, not being completed till the year 1077.* 
 
 Bee had become comparatively affluent since Lan¬ 
 franc had opened his school; for not only were his 
 lectures a som’ce of wealth, but many of his pupils 
 had become its patrons, and had added to its domains. 
 The serHces which its prior had rendered the duke of 
 Koiunandy had also made him one of its most liberal 
 
 * Mil. Crisp, cap. iv. 
 
 u 2 
 
52 
 
 LANIIIANC, THE ABBOT. 
 
 friends. From tMs time it was known as one of tlie 
 most important abbeys of the provinee, and was re¬ 
 built many times. In the thirteenth centnry it was 
 destroyed by the falling of the great tower; and in the 
 year 1591 the nave fell in for want of repairs. It was^ 
 however^ again rebuilt in the seventeenth centnr}^ • 
 but at the revolution convents generally fell into 
 decay, and Bee among others became a ruin. A 
 solitary tower rising amid the trees of Brionne is all 
 that remains to remind the traveller, journeying from 
 Bouen to Caen, of the once beautiful and famous 
 abbey of Bee.^ 
 
 In the year 1063 the priorship and life of Lanfranc 
 at Bee was brought to a close by the partial comple¬ 
 tion of the new monastery at Caen. No one could 
 of course be more fitted, certainly not more entitled, 
 to be elected abbot of St. Stephens than he who had 
 been the cause of its foundation and the friend of its 
 founder. Lanfranc, notwithstanding the previous 
 certainty of his appointment, testified great reluctance 
 to leave his school; and Herliiin felt that his abbey 
 would lose its brightest ornament. But the command 
 of William had been laid upon him, and he submitted. 
 After twenty years of monastic discipline, the Lom¬ 
 bard student had gained the highest position which 
 the cloister had to offer.f 
 
 ^ Eemusat vie de St. Anselme, ch. vi. 
 
 f Mr. "Wright, in his Biographia Liter. Brit., has, following the 
 statement of Ordericus Vitalis, in hook iii., placed the appointment of 
 Lanfranc to Caen in the year 1066, contrary to all other writers, who 
 make it 1063. It is with some hesitation that we have ventured to 
 differ from such an authority as Mr. Wright, and to adhere to the 
 usual date; but we have done so from the two following considera- 
 
CHAPTER All. 
 
 THE CHAMPION OF ORTHODOXY. 
 
 The most prominent feature in Lanfranc's life at 
 Caen^ as abbot of St. SteplieiPs^ was the controversy 
 in wliicli he was engaged with a contemporary 
 ecclesiastic, on the doctrine of transubstantiation, or 
 the real presence.^"^ 
 
 We have reserved all mention of that controversy 
 until this time, "because, as it occupied many years of 
 Lanfranc^s life at Bee, and Avas continued for several 
 more after his remoA^al from Caen, any accounts of 
 it, supplied only at those points in ivhich Lanfranc 
 personally appeared in the discussion, would have 
 been of too straggling and desultory a nature to hai'e 
 afforded either interest or instruction. We shall 
 
 tions:—1st, Order!cus, thoagh. more likely to be correct tban any 
 other writer on the times of the conquest, is not always so. A very 
 important mistake occurs in the second chapter of his first book, 
 respecting Lanfranc’s journey to Rome. He may, therefore, be 
 wi’ong in his third book. 2nd, he is not consistent. In book v. ch. ii. 
 he says of Anselm, that ‘■‘he submitted to the monastic rule when he 
 was twenty-seven years old, and continued three years without being 
 preferred to any office. lie then succeeded Lanfranc as prior, which 
 rank he held for fifteen years.” Now Anselm was born in 1033, or 
 4, to which, if we add 27, his entrance at Bee will be 1060, and 
 his priorship 1063, which is the date contended foi*. But again 
 Ordericus says that “ he was prior for 1*5 years, and that on the death 
 of Herluin, in 1078, he became abbot.”—1078—15=1063, which 
 again gives the same result. 
 
54 
 
 BEREHGAR. 
 
 therefore devote this chapter to a history of the' 
 doctrine in dispnte_, and detail^ as far as we are able 
 to ascertain it^ the conduct Lanfranc pursued in 
 reference to it. 
 
 Contemporary with Lanfranc there was living at 
 the city of Angers, pui'suing a life very similar to his 
 owiij one whom he had known in earlier years^ but 
 whose previous education and mode of life had been 
 totally different. Berengar had been one of the pupils 
 of Fulberh the theological tutor of Chartres^ to whom 
 all writers accord the highest praise ; and during the 
 years he spent under the instructions of that master, 
 he distinguished himself for his knowledge in ail 
 branches of science, and especially for the boldness of 
 his \iews and the extent of his speculation. After 
 the death of his tutor, he retired to his native city 
 (Tours), and became master of the school there; but 
 he again removed to Angers, of the church of which 
 he was made archdeacon. 
 
 As lecturer and teacher his fame does not appear 
 to have been at all second-rate; for making allowance 
 for the prejudice his contemporary biographers may 
 naturally be supposed to feel against one whom they 
 could not but regard as a heretic, they award him a 
 very large meed of praise. His style of thought and 
 speaking was doubtless in advance of his time, 
 inasmuch as he showed a greater application of the 
 principles of reasoning to those subjects, which were 
 usually decided by an appeal to the works of the 
 fathers, or to the dogmatic assertions of a council. 
 
 It appears that one of the first subjects which 
 
HIS EARLY DOUBTS. 
 
 55 
 
 engaged Bereiigar^s attention^ was tlie popular notion 
 respecting tlie LoitVs Supper; and it formed one of 
 tlie principal topics of liis disconi’ses to Ms numerous 
 pupils. It is said tliat^ emious of tlie greater popu¬ 
 larity of Lanfranc, and vexed at tlie loss of some 
 students wlio left Mm to attend tlie school of Bec^ he 
 was incensed to attack the opinions of the church 
 respecting the presence of Christ in the Eucharist 
 and to place himself in opposition to his early friend. 
 But the statement does not accord with what is 
 known of the previous teachings of Berengar^ and 
 the prevailing tone of Ms mind. He did not begin 
 to publish his opinions^ till about the year 1049, but 
 his intimate friends had long known that he contended 
 for a merely spiritual preseiiee; and one of them in 
 particular wrote him two letters, earnestly entreating 
 him to restrain that prurient curiosity, which 
 would not be satisfied without explaining and com¬ 
 prehending everything.'’^ But there is direct proof 
 in an existing letter of Berengaris to Lanfranc, that 
 the eontroversy was due to the diseovery he made 
 that Lanfranc in his lectures maintained the Pascha- 
 sian doctrine, and charged John Scotus and others 
 with being heretics. Berengar had generally ex¬ 
 perienced great opposition from his friends, but seems 
 to have expected that Lanfranc would have given to 
 his opinions a calm and respectful hearing. In this 
 letter he expresses his surprise at the position Lanfranc 
 had chosen to assume respeeting this matter, begs 
 him to appoint a day for its consideration and dis¬ 
 cussion, and especially points out the necessity he 
 
56 
 
 LANFRANC AT ROME. 
 
 labours under of including in bis charge of lieresjr 
 most of the fathers, if he denies the truth of Johii 
 Scotus^ writings. Tlie fate of this letter is a doubt¬ 
 ful part of history; but upon it depended in a great 
 measure the remainder of Berengar^s life, and the 
 estimate to be formed of Lanfranc^s conduct in 
 relation to him. The only answer Berengar received 
 to his epistle reached him many months afterwards 
 in the shape of a summons to attend a synod to be 
 lield by the pope for the examination of his teachings 
 and writings. 
 
 To account for these circumstances Lanfranc 
 states, in his reply to Berengar^s accusation of unfair 
 dealing, that the letter that had been addressed to 
 him at Bee arrived at its destination while he was 
 absent on business at Borne—that it was opened by 
 friends of his remaining in Normandy, and l3y them 
 forwarded to Borne, where it was read by the pope 
 before he received it—and that, finding himself sus¬ 
 pected of sharing Berengar^s heresy, he was compelled 
 to clear himself before a council held for the purpose. 
 Two most important considerations deserve notice 
 liere. First, that Lanfranc does not pretend to say 
 what the nature of the business was which had called 
 him to Borne; nor does he show how any one could 
 possibly suspect him of leaning towards the spiritual 
 theory from the contents of that letter. 
 
 These omissions are sufficient to warrant a doubt 
 respecting Lanfrancf s veracity, and more especially as 
 one of his biographers unequivocally says, that he 
 went to Borne on the affairs of one, who taught other- 
 
DOCTRINAL HISTORY. 
 
 57 
 
 wise tlian the church directed. Attempts have been 
 made to prove that this statement respecting his 
 journey to Rome was not true ; hut we believe they 
 have been hitherto unsuccessful. At present_, so far as 
 we know, the imputation lies upon the fame of Lan- 
 franc, that from motives of personal ambition, or 
 unholy zeal for his opinions, he sacrificed his own 
 honour and the liberty of an early friend. This is 
 remarkable, considering the general, boldness and up¬ 
 rightness of his conduct; but still more so when we 
 remember that, had he brought his influence to co¬ 
 operate with Berengar, the doctrine in dispute might 
 then have been dispassionately examined, instead of 
 becoming the cause of ecclesiastical prosecutions and 
 clerical excitement. 
 
 Up to the year 1050, when the first council was 
 held respecting the opinions of Berengar, the church 
 had nowhere authoritatively pronounced upon the 
 doctrine of transubstantiation, but had left it to 
 the pens of monks and bishops, who had, after the 
 manner of those times, • buried their meaning, as 
 Prospero his wand, “ full fifty fathom deep.^'’ But 
 before this stage of discussion and literary war¬ 
 fare there must have been a long period wherein 
 the dogma lay an undefined and indefinable im¬ 
 pression on the mind of the multitude. It is that 
 period we desire to penetrate—to go back step by step, 
 and notice the influences that stamped it there, the 
 education that deepened it. But we are obliged to 
 pause, for that period is beyond the domain of history. 
 We cannot deal with a religious doctrine as witli a 
 
 n 3 
 
58 
 
 PASCHASIUS llADBERT, 
 
 scientific fact. Its connection with other doctrines 
 is not the same as the connection of one fact in science 
 with another. The history of science can really never be 
 lost; so long as the phenomena of which the science 
 is the exponent remain^ so lon^ must its history be 
 known. Eit by bit^ men have struck out from, nature 
 the laws of its existence; and the relation which one 
 fact occupies to another suggests the order of their 
 birth. Eut in the hopes and fearSj the yearnings 
 and affections of man^s hearty which make the reli¬ 
 gion of humanity^ there is nothing inductive. Of the 
 influences that gave them beings of the eircumstances 
 that fostered them, we are aenerallv as ignorant as of 
 the breeze that yesterday fanned the air, or the rain- 
 cloud that refreshed the earth. Historv can tell us 
 nothing of the world within men; it records nothing 
 of the thoughts and ideas of the soul until they find 
 an expression in the forms and definitions of logic, 
 and the institutions of social life. 
 
 The first distinct utterance of the clergy upon the 
 doctrince of transubstantiation was made by one 
 Paschasius Eadbert, towards the middle of the ninth 
 century. The proposition, which he undertook to 
 prove, was enunciated as follows :—That by virtue 
 of consecration, by a miracle of Almighty power, the 
 substance of the bread and wine became converted 
 into the substance of the body and blood of Christ; 
 so that beneath the sensible outward emblem of the 
 bread and wine, another substance was still present. 
 
 Eadbert was certainly not a positivist. He did not 
 * Neander’s, Ch. Hist., vol. vi., p. 210. Bohn’s cd. 
 
RATRAMNITS, SCOTUS, 
 
 59 
 
 understand liow tilings could be regulated by laws 
 wliicli arose from tlieir nature and constitution. He 
 held the opinion^ that as there was a personal absolute 
 deity_, which presided over the creation of all things, 
 so that same power presided over ail the changes that 
 took place in them, and, consequently, that no change, 
 liowcA^er foreign it might seem to the natm*e of the 
 thing changed, should be considered contrary to the 
 course of nature, because the very essence of nature con¬ 
 sists in the obedience of all things to the divine iaw's.^^ 
 Radbert was abbot of the monasterv of Corbie ; but 
 one of his monks, at the suggestion of Charles the Bald, 
 undertook to reply to his Avork—thus indicating that 
 at that time perfect freedom of opinion was permitted 
 on the question. The work of tliis monk, Avho Avas 
 named Batramnus, approaehed more nearly to what 
 would now be called the evangelical side of the argu¬ 
 ment, and was the one Avhich Berengar adopted as 
 the exponent of his OAim opinions. John Scotus 
 Erigena, of .Avhom mention Avas made in the letter to 
 Lanfranc, was also an opponent of Badbert; but his 
 Avas rather the opposition of a metaphysician—if such 
 a term can be applied to a winter of the ninth century 
 —than of a divine. 
 
 Whatever the Auews of Lanfranc had been on this 
 question prior to his journey to Borne, once there, 
 and before the council summoned by Leo, he stood 
 fiillv committed to the Avhole argument, and must 
 henceforth be regarded by us as the main support of 
 the Badbert pliilosophy. Of course Berengar Avas not 
 present at the council, but he was condemned un- 
 
6G 
 
 COUNCILS AT ROME, 
 
 heard as a heretic ^ and shortly afterwards received a 
 summons to appear at the council of Yercelli. It was 
 unfortunate for Berengar that he was not able to 
 attend this spiod^ owing to the customs of the French 
 churchy which allowed such cases to be brought before 
 the pope only as appeals. Berengar would have 
 neglected these ecclesiastical laws^ so anxious was he 
 to gain a hearing for his cause; and even waited on 
 the king^ who was patron of his abbey at Tours^ for 
 the purpose of obtaining his consent^ but was thrown 
 into prison^ in conformity with the verdict of the first 
 council. He Avas therefore obliged to commit his cause 
 to the hands of two proxies^ who^ however^ gained 
 no advantage; for Berengar was condemned^ and the 
 works of Batramnus and Scotus ordered to be burnt. 
 
 Berengar AVas not long confined in prison, for his 
 poAverful friend the bishop of Angers procured liis 
 liberation, and he returned to his avocation as a 
 teacher. But the character of Berengar unfitted him 
 to a great extent for the work of a reformer. He 
 had found himself, at the close of the councils of 
 Rome and Vercelli, opposed to a croAvd of illiterate 
 clergy, Avho, totally unacquainted Avith the vrritings 
 of either Radbert or his opponents, Avere nevertheless 
 ardent in their assertion of transubstantiation. So 
 great had been their fury at Vercelli, that Leo Avas 
 obliged to commit the friends of Berengar to prison 
 to preserve their lives. He, however, continued to 
 urge his opinions and excite the hatred of his 
 opponents, totally reckless of the consequences to 
 himself, and of the damage the cause suffered at his 
 
BESiENGAU BEFORE ttlLBEBRANl). 
 
 61 
 
 hands. Many of his friends^ who sympathised to a 
 large extent in his ideas, but were more prudent in 
 their discourse, m’ged him to mildness of manner, 
 and temperance in expression. He yielded, but con¬ 
 tinued to demand a council in which he might defend 
 his theory and have a fair hearing from the chm*ch. 
 It was the policy of the worst class of Berengar^s 
 foes to maintain that he was a heretic, condemned 
 but unpunished j and that therefore he could not 
 be heard in his own defence, but that if ever 
 he appeared before a council, it should be for the 
 purpose of receiving punishment. In this they 
 would probably have succeeded, had not Hildebrand 
 arrived at Tom's during the year 1054. To him the 
 majority of the clergy complained of the heresy of 
 Berengar. But Hildebrand, more generous than the 
 bishops, at once promised Berengar an impartial 
 enquir^^ It is not kno\vn whether Lanfranc was at 
 this council; but through the influence of the papal 
 legate the outcry against his opponent was stayed for' 
 a short time. Nothing, however, could long repress 
 the horror of those who, accustomed to sustain them¬ 
 selves bv a belief in a constant and virtual sacrifice 
 for sin, found their chief support struck from under 
 them. As a final resort Berengar dcteimined to go 
 to Rome, and appeal to the clemency and good sense 
 of the pope, Nicholas II. But he had underrated 
 the strength of his enemies, and overrated the justice 
 of the pope, and probably the protection that Hilde- 
 1)rand could afford him. In a council in which a 
 liundred and thirteen bishops were present, Berengar 
 
62 
 
 RECANTATION OF BERENGAR. 
 
 found liimself and Ms friends overwhelmed by the 
 opposition of the zealots. There was present one 
 cardinal Humbert^ a furious and vulgar man_, who 
 determined that he should not have the same chance 
 of escape as had been afforded him at Tours. A 
 wwitten confession of faith was produced^ which Be- 
 rengar was required to sign. He objected; but the 
 alternative of submission or death was presented to 
 liim^ and he yielded—-not only signing the confession^ 
 but committing his writings to the flames. 
 
 It might be imagined^ w"ere we to leave the subject 
 here, that after this avowal on the part of Berengar 
 he retired into private life, and yielded at least tacit 
 assent to the popular belief. Such, however, was not 
 the case. No sooner had he escaped the danger than 
 he lost the fear of death; and, in his correspondence 
 with Lanfranc and others, he again maintained the 
 doctrine of Batramnus. Naturally enough, Lan¬ 
 franc charged him with dishonesty and perjury; but 
 he replied by denying that he had ever taken an 
 oath, and ‘^^even if I had taken it,^^ said he, ‘^^yet, 
 under the compunctions of repentance, I should not 
 have considered myself bound by it. To take an oath 
 which never ought to have been taken, is to estrange 
 oneself from God; but to retract that which has been 
 wrongfully sworn to, is to return back to God. Peter 
 once swore that he knew not Christ. Had he perse¬ 
 vered in that wicked oath he must have ceased to be 
 an apostle. By what just title wouldst thou be a 
 priest and a monk, if thou must always thus refuse 
 I)ity to human weakness ? Thou, priest, coldly passcst 
 
CLOSE OE THE CONTROVERSY. 
 
 63 
 
 bv liim vboni robbers liave left half dead: but God 
 has already provided for me^ so that I shall not be 
 left alone.^^* 
 
 Although Bcrengar continued to propagate his opi¬ 
 nions^ both by teaching and writings after his re¬ 
 cantation at Rome^ he was not again attacked for 
 fifteen years, but pursued the life of a successful and 
 popular lecturer. Alexander, during his popedom, 
 had confined himself to advising him to drop any 
 further discussion; but on the elevation of Hilde¬ 
 brand to the popedom the subject was again brought 
 into dispute, and a synod was held at Poictiers. No¬ 
 thing resulted from it except a deeper antipathy to 
 Berengar^s opinions; and Gregory therefore convened 
 a council at Borne, and cited him to appear before it. 
 Here for a length of time he was protected by the 
 kindly sympathy of the pope; but nothing could save 
 him from the careful and guardedly-expressed lan¬ 
 guage of the confession they now required him to 
 subscribe. Again the clergy demanded that there 
 should be only the alternative of subscription or 
 death; and to turn away all suspicion from himselP^ 
 the pope yielded to the zealots. He ordered that 
 Berengar should prostrate himself on the gromid and 
 confess that he had hitherto been in error. Once 
 more he stands for an instant face to face with death. 
 Decide, O Berengar ! whether is it better to purchase 
 safety by shameful perjury, or maintain l)y suffering 
 the right to doubt ? Poor Berengar hesitates, quib¬ 
 bles, shudders, takes the oath, and by that act com- 
 
 * Neander, vol. vi, 238. 
 
64 . IIEVIEW Of THE CONTItOVEES¥. 
 
 mitted many a wise and temperate thinker to the 
 compulsory confession of a doctrine worthy only of 
 paganism. 
 
 Henceforth Berengar was silent. He retired to an 
 island near Tours^ and spent the remaining portion 
 of his life as a hermit. In these times he is claimed 
 by both those who believe and those who doubt the 
 doctrine which he opposed; but neither will gain 
 much by attaching him to their party. It may be 
 safely said that if he ever conscientiously denied the 
 dogma he died a disbeliever in it, unless some more 
 pow'erful arguments were used against him than the 
 fear of death could suggest. 
 
 This discussion, w hich extended over so many years, 
 was the cause of Lanfranc^s greatest work being pub¬ 
 lished, and is that by which he is best knowm. Its 
 argum.ents have been examined by Jeremy Collyer, 
 who pronounces them defective, though he praises 
 the style in which they are written. His manner 
 of w’riting was neither figurative nor florid, but plain 
 and proper for dogmatical tracts. His reasonings 
 are commonly close and well arranged. He ^vas 
 thoroughly acquainted with the ancient fathers and 
 the canons of the church; and there were not many 
 in that age who wrote with that exactness or made 
 so good a judgment upon things.^^* 
 
 It is worthy of notice, as showing the horror with 
 which the theologians of that age regarded any 
 attempt to settle their disputes by an appeal to reason, 
 that Lanfranc Avas directed by one of the synods to 
 
 * Yol. ii., p. 57. 
 
OPINIONS OF THE FATHERS. 
 
 65 
 
 neglect dialectics and appeal to the ancient writers. 
 He does so; but the antlior just named has brought 
 two quotations from Chrysostom and Theodoret wliicli 
 unquestionably settle tlie controversy^' so far as they 
 are concerned_, against Lanfranc. The argument to 
 be drawn from these quotations is the stronger as it 
 is unintentional in its author — 
 
 St. Chrysostom, in his epistle to Ccesarias, dis¬ 
 puting about the heresy of Apollinarius^ brings an 
 instance by way of illustration from the holy Eucha¬ 
 rist : ^ The bread, before consecrated, is called bread; 
 but after it has passed through the force of the so¬ 
 lemnity, and been consecrated by the priest, it is then 
 discharged from the name of bread, and dignified by 
 the name of the Lord^s body, though the nature of 
 bread still remains in it."’ 
 
 Again, Theodoret says, in his second dialogue* 
 between Orthodoxus andEranistes (anEutychian—one 
 who believed our Saviour^s human nature was absorbed 
 by the divine), ^As the symbols of our Saviour^s. 
 body and blood are one thing before the invocation 
 of the priest, but after the prayer of consecration has 
 passed upon them they are changed, and become 
 another, so our Lord^s body, after his ascension, is 
 transformed into the divine substance.^ ^You are 
 caught in your ovm nct,^ says Orthodoxus—who 
 stands for Theodoret;—^tlie mysterious symbols do 
 not lose their nature upon consecration, but continue 
 in their former substance.^ 
 
 Secondly, Lanfranc proceeds and argues from the 
 absurdity of Ids adversary's opinions, that if the- 
 
66 
 
 POPULAR NOTIONS. 
 
 Eucharist was called the flesh of Jesus Christ only 
 heeause it is the figure of it^ it would follow that the 
 sacraments of the Old Testament were preferable to 
 those of the New_, because it is a greater mark of 
 exeellenee to be the type of things future than the 
 figure or representation of things past. To this it 
 may be answered^ that the dignity of a type or repre¬ 
 sentation does not consist in the respeets of time^ but 
 in the advantage of the signifieation. Now as to 
 the benefits^ the saeraments of the Gospel_, or new law^ 
 are very much preferable to those of the old^ there 
 being greater proportions of graee and divine as- 
 sistanee annexed to them ; and therefore^, though the 
 holy Eucharist represents our Saviour^s sufferings as 
 a thing which is past^ yet the invaluable blessings^ the 
 pardon of sins^ and the eonveyanee of graee are all pre¬ 
 sent^ and aetually conferred in that holy saerament.^'’* 
 In coneluding this ehapter one refleetion forces 
 itself upon our minds^—How prostrate must have 
 been the intellectual life of a people among whom 
 this dogma could not only have been taught but 
 beloved ! With the populace the Eucharist was a 
 veritable sacrifiee^ offered up week after week as an 
 atonement for their sins. There was somethinsr 
 whieh the most ignorant could appreciate^ on which 
 the vilest could found hope^ in the belief that Christ 
 became incarnate as often as the priest blessed the 
 liread and wine. From the universality of the saeri- 
 heial idea in religion^ \Ye should infer that it is 
 natm’al to humanity^ when conseious of guilb to seek 
 * Collyer’a En. Ilistory, vol ii., p. 57. 
 
MiRxVCLES. 
 
 67 
 
 for an object which may stand in its stead—that 
 there is some consolation in the thought that an 
 inferior being may receive the punishment incurred 
 by the violation of law. But looking at those in¬ 
 stances in which this idea has most constantly pre¬ 
 dominated, we should say that its prevalence denotes 
 a low stage of intellectual development, and an utter 
 ignorance of the relation in Avhich the soul stands to 
 God. Now, the Eucharist of the middle ages was 
 rather a reproduction of pagan forms, than a repetition 
 of the solemn death of Christ. The overwhelming 
 necessities of those who undertook to prove that 
 Christ was incarnate in the sacrament, gave rise to 
 legends of a growTli so monstrous, that none but an 
 age in which superstition had destroyed religion, and 
 mere feeling had repressed the intellect, could have 
 received them. The question naturally arose, if the 
 bread really becomes the body of Jesus Christ, how is 
 it that no one has yet perceived the change from the 
 one substance to the other in progress, nor is able to 
 detect it afterv^ards To this it was replied, that 
 there were instances, “ where, for the removal of 
 doubts, or to satisfy the earnest longing of individuals, 
 instead of the bread and Avine, the body and blood 
 of Christ Avere presented perceptibly to the sense, 
 but afterwards, at the distribution by the priest, 
 again resumed their preAuous covering.'’^* But it 
 Avas asserted, and believed among the people, that 
 miracles Averc repeatedly performed, as Ave learn from 
 the folloAving extract from an English chronicler: — 
 
 * Neander, vol. vi., p. 211. 
 
68 
 
 LEGENDS. 
 
 indeed believe^ that after ecclesiastical bene¬ 
 diction, those mysteries are the very body and blood 
 of the Saioonr: induced to such an opinion by the 
 authority of the ancient churchy and by many miracles 
 recently manifested. Such as that which St. Gregory 
 exhibited at Rome; and such as Paschasins relates to 
 have- taken place in Germany; that the priest Plegild 
 visibly touched the form of a boy upon the altar^ and 
 that^ after kissing him_, he partook of him^ tmuied into 
 the similitude of breads after the custom of the church ^ 
 which^ they relate^ Berengar used arrogantly to cavil at^ 
 and to say that, ^ it was the treacherous covenant of a 
 scoundrel, to destroy vdth his teeth him whom he had 
 kissed with his mouth.^ Such, too, is that concern¬ 
 ing the Jewish boy, who by chance running playfully 
 into a church, with a Christian of the same age, saw 
 a child torn to pieces on the altar, and severally 
 divided to the people; which when, with childish in¬ 
 nocence, he related as truth to his parents, they 
 placed him in a furnace, where the fire was burning 
 and the door closed; whence, after many hours, he 
 was snatched by the Christians, without injury to his 
 person, clothes, or hair; and being asked how he 
 could escape the devouring flames, he replied, that 
 ]:)eautiful woman whom I saw sitting in the chair, 
 whose son was divided among the people, always stood 
 at my right hand in the furnace, keeping off the 
 threatening flames and fiery volumes with her 
 garments.-’ 
 
 * Malmsbury,, bk. iii., p, 314, 
 
69 
 
 CHAPTER YIII, 
 
 THE NORMAN CONQUEST. 
 
 While Lanfranc was thus quietly occupying himself 
 with the affairs of his convent^ or maintaining the 
 orthodoxy of his doctrines against the attacks of 
 Berengar, important political events were transacting 
 —events, in the consequences of which he was 
 destined to participate. In England, the last of those 
 great invasions which form the epochs of our early 
 history had taken place. The Saxons, conquerors of 
 the fairest and largest portion of this island, had in 
 their turn been conquered; and the descendant of the 
 aboriginal Briton felt that his race was avenged as 
 the cry of the newly vanquished floated to the moun¬ 
 tains of Wales. In Normandy castles were unte¬ 
 nanted, or lonely ladies sighed for the return of their 
 lords, who were reaping the spoils of their \ictory, or 
 securing the lands allotted by their chief.* 
 
 These changes, that had given to William a crown 
 and to the last of the Saxon kings an unknown grave, 
 had been neither unwatched nor unassisted by Lan¬ 
 franc. Among the aspiring bishops, the worldly 
 
 * Ord. Yit, vol ii., p. 20. 
 
70 
 
 VALUE OF LANFRANC^S SERVICES. 
 
 abbots_, aud tlie unruly warriors who assembled in 
 the stormy eonclaves of Bonneville and Bouen_, we 
 are not told that he was present; but it was his genius 
 that had^ nearly ten years before^ prophesied the 
 ascendancy of the Norman race ; and it was his inter¬ 
 course with Borne that had .opened the way for 
 negociations other than ecclesiastical^ into which 
 William was now anxious to enter. Had no such 
 adviser as he been in the councils and friendship of 
 the duke_, the great expedition of 1066 would either 
 never have been undertaken^ or would have been un¬ 
 dertaken without the express sanction of the churchy 
 and therefore with a greatly diminished chance of 
 success. And to whom can we so safely impute 
 the direction of the policy that William followed as* 
 to Lanfranc ? Had not those personal differences of 
 the duke^s with the clergy been healed by such an 
 agency as liis^ William would have become either the 
 proud conqueror or the sullen foe of the see of Borne ; 
 but being arranged as they were^ so that concession 
 was avoided on the one hand, and no galling condition 
 submitted to on the other, he was preserved not only 
 a faithful son of the church, but was assured that his 
 success as a ruler would be assisted by the sanction 
 and the blessing of the pope. It is often said that, 
 prior to the invasion of England, William despatched 
 Lanfranc to Borne to seek the advice and obtain the 
 influence of the church upon his undertaking. This, 
 however, is doubtful, and is probably the result of 
 regarding the invasion itself, instead of the policy 
 that characterized it, as the direct result of his nego- 
 
WILLIAM^S DESIGNS. 
 
 71 
 
 ciations. There is no contemporary evidence of his 
 ha’sdng gone to Rome on this business ; while we are 
 distinctly told that the duke sent Giselbert^ arch¬ 
 deacon of Lisieux^ to ask for adGce from Pope Alex¬ 
 ander on the state of affairs.'’"’* Failing a positive 
 statement^ this absence of Lanfranc^s name is perhaps 
 the strongest evidence we could have that he was not 
 employed in this instance. 
 
 The history of the battle of Hastings^ and of the 
 civil and military transactions directly attendant upon 
 it^ does not belong to this biography; but it will be 
 necessary to take a rapid glance at the changes 
 William effected in the social and ecclesiastical insti¬ 
 tutions of this country to imderstand what follows^ 
 and to estimate the services rendered by Lanfranc 
 when he was once more called to take a part in the 
 active duties of political and civil life. 
 
 It is generally allowed that for some months follow¬ 
 ing his great victory_, the duke of Normandy displayed 
 a laudable wish to economise as much as possible the 
 sufferings of the vanquished people_, and to repress^ as 
 far as he was able^ the rapacity of his followers.! He 
 showed no dislike to Saxon institutions^ and gave no 
 encouragement to the wanton destruction of Saxon 
 property. It was clearly not his policy to do so; the 
 difficulties of his position had not revealed themselves; 
 the barons and their vassals were as yet too intoxicated 
 with the pride of victory to clamour for a division 
 of the prey. The evident intention of the Conqueror 
 was to reconcile the English to him as then sovereign, 
 * Ord, Vit., vol. i., p. 463. f Dr. Lingard’s History, chap. viii. 
 
72 
 
 POPULAR FEARS. 
 
 and by preserving to tliem tbe forms of tbeir ancient 
 liberty, to persuade them they still possessed its 
 substance. No event tliat happened before the spring 
 of 1067 was of a character likely to destroy the hope 
 of this result in his mind. His march from the coast 
 to London had been interrupted by several surrenders 
 on the part of the English nobility. At Berkham- 
 stead, the archbishops of Canterbury and York, two 
 bishops, several of the principal citizens of London, 
 and even Edgar Atheling, made their submissions to 
 him ; and immediately after his coronation Edwin and 
 Morcar, with many noblemen, waited upon him for 
 the same purpose. All these he received with a 
 kindness of speech that invited confidence, and con¬ 
 firmed them in the possessions of their titles and estates. 
 To all he promised security and freedom, the safety 
 of their property, and the laws of Edward the 
 Confessor. 
 
 But the promises of the sagacious king were broken 
 by the followers of the successful soldier; and the 
 Saxon naturally forecast his future rather from the 
 oppressions of the barons than from the oaths of 
 William. The thane whom age had not permitted 
 to bear arms in the war of patriotism, felt that the 
 English were indeed a conquered people, as he beheld 
 the lands of those who had fallen at Hastings parcelled 
 among the Normans, and heard the warriors who had 
 fought around the standard of Harold declared to be 
 traitors. The farmer who had been left to reap the 
 harvest, which was ripe when the sails of the Norman 
 fluttered in the breeze of the channel, had fled ere his 
 
THE JUSTICIARIES. 
 
 graiii had been stored, and now wandered around his 
 desolate fields, sighing for the days when the G odwins 
 were strong in the land. * The rieh traders of London 
 groaned under the yoke they had accepted with such 
 nimble grace, as they saw their shops despoiled to 
 em’ich the greedy foreigners, or their articles of value 
 and ciniosity sent to adorn the castles of Normandy. 
 
 In the month of March, 1067, William departed 
 for Normandy, leaving the kingdom in the care of 
 Odo his brother and Litzosborne his vassal. The 
 first of these was gifted with a spirit so mean, and an 
 avarice so large, that his government alone would 
 have been sufficient to drive the people to revolt; and 
 the more subordinate chiefs, freed from the restraint 
 imposed upon them by their stern master, improved 
 upon the example of his deputy. To all complaints 
 the justiciaries turned a deaf ear, so that in a few 
 weeks one half of England was ripe for revolt, and 
 wanted only a man fit to be its leader to commence 
 a general attack upon the invaders. Kent and Here¬ 
 fordshire were the first counties where the insurrection 
 broke out, but Devonshire and Cornwall soon showed 
 a disposition to follow. The justiciaries made a show 
 of resistance, and tried to intimidate the people, but 
 sent messages pressing William to return speedily. 
 He saw the necessity for doing so, if England was to 
 be preserved; and, therefore, hastily arranging the 
 affairs of Normandy, he crossed the channel and 
 landed at Winchelsea. 
 
 The circumstances in which he now found himself^ 
 * Ord. Yit., bk. iv. passim. 
 
 E 
 
74 
 
 THE NORTHERN CAMPAIGN. 
 
 or the despair he felt of being able to reconeile the 
 two races_, induced the Conqueror to abandon his 
 policy of clemency. He spent the Christmas festi¬ 
 vities at London^ retaining apparently as guests_, but 
 really as prisoners^ the Anglo-Saxon chiefs. He re¬ 
 mained a few months maturing his plans and impo¬ 
 verishing the people. He was_, however, very careful 
 to persuade the city of London that his intentions 
 were of the most pacific and honour-able nature. Be 
 it known to sll,” said he, ^Svhat is my will. It is, 
 that you should all enjoy your national laws as in 
 the days of King Edward; that every son should in¬ 
 herit from his father, on the demise of his father; 
 and that none of my followers should do you any 
 wrong.^^ * By such promises as these the metropolis 
 was kept in a state of quiet; but the preparations he 
 was making showed his determination to tread out 
 the last sparks of Anglo-Saxon liberty. He probably 
 saw that, although the army of Harold was conquered 
 at Hastings, the land was not destitute of forces suffi¬ 
 cient to overcome his followers, and that, under judi¬ 
 cious guidance, the English might yet prove victorious. 
 Once more he assembled his forces, summoned his 
 barons with their vassals to attend him, and in the 
 spring of 1068 commenced a campaign which lasted 
 till the spring of 1070. But these two years he swept 
 through the island with the fmy of a storm and the 
 remorselessness of a pestilence. Wherever he ap¬ 
 peared he carried fire and sword, and when he left, 
 the blackened fields and deserted to^vns told how ter- 
 
 ^ Thierry, bk. iv. 
 
MONKISH IMMIGRANTS. 
 
 7o 
 
 rible had been his coming. Well might the monk of 
 Malmsbnry exclaim^ ‘^‘^This was a fatal day to En¬ 
 gland ! a melancholy havoc of onr dear country 
 throngh its change of masters! Devonshire and 
 the west were the first objects of his resentment; 
 Northnmbria felt his last and heaviest stroke. He 
 had been irritated by the rising of the northern conn- 
 ties_, and by the assassination of some of his adherents^ 
 and he marched thither determined to raze to the 
 ground all the dwellings between York and Durham^ 
 to drive out the inhabitants or put them to the sword. 
 He accomplished his purpose. Within a few months 
 a hundred thousand persons had perished by famine 
 or the sword; and a large portion of the land north 
 of the Humber had become a solitary waste. 
 
 Having thus subdued the people^ and weakened 
 them beyond the possibility of revolt^ he turned his 
 attention to the civil and ecclesiastical institutions of 
 the country, determined to place, in all posts of honour 
 and power, men upon whom he could depend. Scarcely 
 had Normandy received the intelligence of the duke^s 
 Hctory, than numerous bodies of monks crossed the 
 channel, and settled themselves in the tovms or vil¬ 
 lages. * Each fresh levy of armed soldiers was es¬ 
 corted by a new troop of tonsured clergy, who landed 
 on the shores of England to gaaingner, as it was then 
 expressed. In 1068 the abbot of St. Riquier, in 
 Ponthieu, embarking for England at the port of 
 Wissant, met with upAvards of a hundred monks of 
 all orders, with a croAvd of warriors and traders, Avho 
 
 * Thierry's Nor. Con., bk, iv. 
 
 E 2 
 
76 
 
 SERVICES AND HOPES OF THE CLERGY. 
 
 ' were all waiting, like himself, to pass the strait.’^ 
 But besides these, there were many bishops and ab¬ 
 bots in Normandy, who had been expecting with 
 impatience from William the fulfilment of his pro¬ 
 mises or the payment of their claims; for in the 
 excitement that had prevailed vfhile the expedition 
 was fitting out, and supplies were being collected for 
 the invasion, the clergy had shown themselves zealous 
 ill the good work of contribution. Among the 
 quota (of ships) supplied by ecclesiastics, we find 
 Bemi, afterwards made bishop of Lincoln, on the list, 
 with the modest contribution of one ship and twenty 
 knights; while Nicholas, abbot of St. Ouen, a cousin- 
 german of the duke^s, contributed twenty ships and 
 one hundred knights; and Odo, bishop of Bayeux, 
 the duke^s uterine brother, no less than one hundred 
 ships.* Although many ecclesiastical offices were 
 vacant, either through the death or banishment of 
 the churchmen who had filled them, William had 
 not appointed his own countrymen to them. He 
 preferred in this instance, as in many others, to wait 
 for the sanction and assistance of the pope. To solicit 
 these he sent rich presents to Borne, composed of the 
 banner of Harold, ‘^^gold vessels and ornaments of 
 the churches, and everything rare and precious that 
 could be found in the shops.^^ Early in 1070 an em¬ 
 bassy arrived from Alexander, consisting of Ermenfrid, 
 bishop of Sion, and two cardinals, Peter and John. 
 They remained with the king for a year, and during 
 that time he consulted them on all the ecclesiastical 
 * Ord. Vit., Bohn. Note by Ed., vol. i., p. 465. 
 
ECCLESIASTICAL SYNOD. 
 
 77 
 
 affairs of liis kingdom^ distinguisliing tliose districts 
 that needed eanonical examination and orders.^^ * At 
 the feast of Easter^ William was again solemnly 
 crowned—this time by the legate of Alexander; and 
 shortly‘after he proceeded to hold a synod at Win¬ 
 chester, in whieh the special business of his mission 
 was to be transacted; in other words, all the Anglo- 
 Saxon prelates against whom the slightest charge 
 could be brought were to be deposed, in order to 
 make room for the friends and relations of William. 
 The first prelate who was summoned to appear before 
 the council was Stigand, the archbishop of Canter- 
 bmy, whose character and attainments would certainly 
 not bear a very severe scrutiny. According to a 
 writer whom we should not snspeet of partiality in 
 this instance, Stigand ^^was a prelate of notorious 
 ambition, who sought after honours too keenly.-’^ f But 
 independent of any charge that could be alleged 
 against his moral character, or to his scholastic at¬ 
 tainments—which appear to have been very scanty— 
 he had incurred the displeasure of the pope, for 
 having irregularly possessed himself of the see of 
 Canterbury. J The facts of the case are these :— 
 Edward the Confessor had appointed to the me¬ 
 tropolitan see a Norman, one Robert de Jumieges, 
 who soon brought upon himself the hatred of 
 the English people, and especially of the powerful 
 family of the Godwins. On the appearance of the 
 earl and and his sons in the Thames after the tem- 
 
 * Ord. Vit., vol. ii., p. 31. f Wm. Malms . Enlm’s ed,, p. 221. 
 
 X Wm. Malms., p. 221—253. 
 
78 
 
 STTGAND. 
 
 porary exile tliey liad suffered^ tlie Norman favourites 
 of Edward strongly advised that they should not be 
 allowed to re-enter the kingdom; hut the earnestness 
 of Stigand^ who was at that time bishop of Win¬ 
 chester, prevailed, and the great thane with his sons 
 w'as invited to court. Immediately the Normans fled, 
 Robert the archbishop, and William bishop of London, 
 attended by armed men, hastened to the coast, and 
 embarking in a small boat, crossed the channel. In 
 the hurry and confusion of flight the archbishop had 
 neglected to take with him the pallium, with which 
 Stigand, who was promoted to his place, forthwith 
 invested himself. Feeling, however, that his position 
 was insecure, unless he gained the sanction of Rome, 
 he wrote to the pope, and begged that his election 
 might he recognised. This the pope refused, on the 
 plea that the archbishopric had not been vacated, and 
 that he had unlawfully seized the pallium. In a 
 short time Leo died, and the papal chair was filled 
 by Benedict, who is usually styled the anti-pope. He, 
 anxious to secure adherents, under any circumstances, 
 cordially replied to the application of Stigand, and 
 consecrated him archbishop of Canterbury. But 
 Benedict himself was soon dethroned, and his suc¬ 
 cessor annulled all the acts of his time. Stigand was 
 then again placed in opposition to the pope; hut he 
 refused to vacate the see, which, on the arrival of 
 William, he still occupied. It has been seen that he 
 very early made peace with the Conqueror—even on 
 his march towards London; and, if the estimate 
 formed of his character by the historian already 
 
REMOVAL OF SAXON BISHOPS. 
 
 79 
 
 quoted be eorreet^ he would not have scrupled to 
 sacrifice liis country to his own interest by still far¬ 
 ther concessions. William kept him at his palace, 
 and treated him with marked respect, bat did not 
 allow him to officiate at his coronation, choosing’ 
 instead Aldred of York to perform that cere¬ 
 mony. 
 
 The charges brought against Stigand, in the 
 council summoned by the legates of Alexander, were 
 such as arose from the circumstances under which he 
 had obtained the archbishopric, and for ha’^dng offi¬ 
 ciated in the pallium of his predecessor. They were 
 found of sufficient weight to condemn him, and he 
 was accordingly deprived of his office and his lands; 
 the latter being dmded between William and his 
 brother Odo. Stigand did not fall alone. In the 
 same council, and on various pretexts, the bishops of 
 Norwich, Lincoln, and Chichester were all deprived 
 of their sees, and many abbots of monasteries were 
 deposed. The dethroned ecclesiastics were either 
 exiled, imprisoned, or, if they had previously been 
 monks, sent back to their cells. 
 
 This treatment does certainly appear extremely 
 harsh and unjustifiable; for even if the charges 
 brought against the Saxon churchmen were true, 
 there could be no reason for doing more than depose 
 them. The most obvious cause for their deprivation 
 was a political one, though we are not warranted in 
 regarding it as the only one. If it were the case, as 
 several contemporary writers allege, that so unintel¬ 
 ligent, and so little imbued with the spirit of their 
 
80 
 
 CONDITION^ OF THE SAXON CLERGY. 
 
 ministiy^ were many Saxon prelates^ that they saw 
 no guilt in openly sellings for the highest price they 
 could obtain^ ecclesiastical and civil offices; * ^Hhat 
 the desire after literature and religion had decayed^ 
 for several years before the arrival of the Normans; 
 that the clergy, contented with a very slight degree of 
 learning, could scarcely stammer out the words of the 
 sacraments; and a person who understood grammar 
 was an object of wonder and astonishment —there 
 Avas certainly a necessity for the inquiry instituted by 
 the representatives of the pope, or, as they expressed it 
 in the letter by which they convened the council at 
 Winchester—that we may inform ourselves of the 
 bad things Avhich have sprung up in the vineyard of 
 the Lord, and may plant in it things profitable both 
 for the body and for the soul.^^ f 
 
 It would be a satisfaction to feel that in place of those 
 Avho were deposed by the bishop of Sion and his 
 councillors at Winchester, men of undoubted worth 
 and intelligence were elected; such, however, Avas not 
 the case in every instance, although the Conqueror 
 exhibited a laudable desire generally to choose only 
 such as were likely to advance the interests of his 
 kingdom. Remi, of whom mention has before been 
 made, gained the return of his contribution to the 
 Avar by being made bishop of Dorchester, thus afford¬ 
 ing an instance of the violence suffered by the English 
 church. Walkelin became bishop of Winchester; 
 and other Normans were promoted to the sees of 
 Durham, Norv/ich^ Chichester, and Salisbury; while 
 "Win. Malms., p. 2,79. f Ord. Vit., vol. ii., p. 40—42.. 
 
APPOINTMENT OF LANFRANC. 
 
 81 
 
 at the same time a petition was presented by the 
 bishops and abbots present at the synod to the lord 
 Lanfranc, that he wonld take npon himself the arch¬ 
 bishopric of Canterbniy. No one felt so strongly 
 desirous for the preferment of Lanfranc as the king^ 
 for none so well knew the weight of his moral influ¬ 
 ence^ and the acuteness of his intelleet. We are 
 not therefore surprised to And that the primacy was 
 committed to Lanfranc_, abbot of Caen^ by the choice 
 of the king and all his council/^ * 
 
 Lanfranc_, however^ begged for time to consider the 
 matter, as he trembled to take upon himself the eharge ' 
 of so great a see and at so turbulent a period. He 
 also feared the changeful and tyrannical humours of 
 William, as he probably saw that William desired 
 his presence most that he might be, what he really 
 afterwards became, a check on the haughty and ra¬ 
 pacious barons; that he might bring the power of the 
 church to aid the king^s schemes for national unity ; 
 and that, under such circumstances, he would be in 
 danger of often incurring the anger of his master, and 
 could scarcely hope, under any circumstances, to gain 
 the confldence of the nobility. Besides, he was now 
 an old man, and felt a repugnance to leaving the 
 retirement of the monastery for the active, and, in a 
 measure, politieal life of an arehbishop. Four years 
 before, he had been invited to aceept the archbishopric - 
 of Bouen, to which he had been elected by the chureh, 
 but he resolutely refused, and put himself to great 
 trouble to procure the election of John, bishop of 
 * Ord. Vit: Bohn: vol. ii., p. 39. f Ord. vit., vol. ii., p, 7. 
 
 E 3 
 
82 
 
 CONSECRATION OF THE ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 A\Tanc]ies, even journeying to Rome to obtain a 
 license and bring back the pallium. 
 
 —" His dislike to take upon himself the burden of the 
 English primacy arose^ he alleged^ from the fact that 
 the people over whom he was called to rule were bar¬ 
 barous^ and their language unknown to him. These 
 objections were, however, met by the earnest entreaties 
 of the church and of William. The Queen Matilda, 
 it is said, and her son, also urged him to accept the 
 proffered dignity, and, finally, the abbot Herluin laid 
 his command upon him. Desired thus, by all who 
 were most fitted to judge of his abilities, Lanfranc 
 accepted the office, and in August, 1070, he mourn¬ 
 fully crossed the sea to make his excuses, hoping for 
 a happy return.^^ * As the old man entered the city 
 of Canterbury, his sadness increased upon him, for he 
 beheld the church destroyed by fire, and robbed of 
 its ornaments and serHce for the altar, f 
 
 Lanfranc did not remain in England many days 
 before the ceremony of his consecration was appointed 
 to take place, and on the 29th of August the metro¬ 
 politan church was opened for the occasion. 
 
 The inauguration of the first Norman archbishop 
 was celebrated with remarkable solemnity and pomp. 
 As if to blind the native clergy to the manifest in¬ 
 justice of his appointment, the church of Canterbury 
 was permitted to go through the forms of choosing its 
 head, and its election was ratified by the higher clergy 
 and nobility. To his consecration all the bishops 
 were summoned, and required, if from any cause they 
 * Ord. Yit., vol, ii., p. 42. f Thierry, hk. v. 
 
MOTIVES OF LANFRAXC. 
 
 83 
 
 were necessarily absent, to specify tlie same in writing. 
 Giso, bisliop of Wells, and Walter of Hereford, offi¬ 
 ciated at the ceremony, the arclibisliopric of York being 
 vacant. Eight other bishops were present, and an 
 immense concom’se of abbots, clergy and laymen. 
 
 The inhabitants of the whole of England,^^ says the 
 historian, whether present or absent, were raised to 
 the highest pitch of joy, and would indeed have offered 
 boundless thanks to God if they had known how much 
 good heaven was bestowing on them.^^ * Lanfranc, 
 however, was not so enthusiastic in his praise of this 
 appointment as his chronicler; he could not be per¬ 
 suaded that it was for his advantage or the benefit of 
 the English nation. He still begged the king to allow 
 him to retire to his monastery. To this request of 
 course William was deaf, and the importunity of Lan¬ 
 franc has only served to bring upon himself the charge 
 of having concealed his ambitious designs beneath 
 the garb of humility. On this point let us hear what 
 says Jeremy Collier.—^‘To do Lanfranc justice, though 
 he acted with great vigour and constancy in wffiat he 
 undertook, yet ambition cannot be laid to his charge ; 
 for soon after liis promotion he wrote a letter to pope 
 Alexander II., to desire leave to quit the see and retire 
 to a private life. Amongst other things he tells the 
 pope that, notwithstanding he was strongly solicited 
 by king William, yet he had never accepted the see 
 of Canterbury, had not the bishop of Sitten (Sion), 
 and Hubert, the cardinal legate, laid his holiness^ 
 commands upon him. That he endeavoured to excuse 
 
 * Ord. Vit., vol. ii., p. 42, 
 
84 LANFRANC’S OPINION OF THE ENGLISH CHURCH. 
 
 liimself upon tlie score of his insufficiency, and of his 
 being unacquainted with the temper and language of 
 the English; that these excuses being refused, he was 
 perfectly overruled by the authority of the apostolic 
 see; that being thus forced into the archbishopric, he 
 found his strength so disproportioned to his business, 
 and met with so much disturbance from the avarice, 
 obstinacy, and libertinism of the people he had to deal 
 with, that he was quite weary of his life, and was ex¬ 
 tremely affiicted to see himself reserved to such un¬ 
 fortunate times. Besides, so far as he could conjecture, 
 the mischief was hkely to improve and grow more 
 intolerable, and, therefore, he proceeds to entreat his 
 holiness, by all that is sacred and solemn, to send him 
 a discharge, and give him leave to retire to a cloister; 
 and to persuade the pope further to grant his request, 
 he puts him in mind of the services he had formerly 
 done his holiness and his relations ; that he did not 
 refresh his memory with these things to upbraid him, 
 but only to procure his own dismission. He goes on 
 and takes the freedom to say, that in case the pope 
 refused to" disentangle him, in prospect of the public 
 service he was likely to do the church, his holiness 
 would be disappointed, and run in great hazard by 
 making himself answerable for the event. For to 
 speak clearly,^^ says he, “ the English are so untrac- 
 table, that the advantage the province receives by my 
 government is not so great as the disservice I do 
 myself.^^ * 
 
 * Jeremy Collier, vol. ii. p. 12. 
 
85 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE POPE AND THE ENGLISH PRELATES. 
 
 The answer wliicli Lanfranc received from the pope 
 convinced him that there was no longer fo be enter¬ 
 tained any hope that he could be freed from his arch¬ 
 bishopric. He therefore wrote once more to Rome^ 
 but this time to beg that his holiness would be pleased 
 to send him the pallium. To tliis letter Hildebrand 
 replied by another^ in which he took the opportunity 
 of flattering the archbishop, assuring him of the 
 favour in which he was held, and telling him how 
 well his messengers had been received and so on, but 
 excusing the pope from sending the pallium, as it had 
 always been the custom for his predecessors of Canter- 
 burv to fetch it from Rome themselves. Hildebrand 
 might have knoum, and probably did know, that his 
 statement respecting the custom of going to Rome 
 required to be qualified by several exceptions; for, 
 not to mention the first primate, Augustine, to whom 
 the pallium was sent by Gregory, * there were two 
 popes, Boniface and Honorius, who had not required 
 the attendance of the archbishops Justus and Hono- 
 
 * Bede, p. 81. 
 
86 
 
 RELATION OF ENGLAND TO ROME. 
 
 rius ; but even supposing these were remembered^ the 
 reason why Hildebrand required the presence of Lan- 
 franc is rendered more evident. His appointment to 
 the see of Canterbury was an epoch in the ecclesiastical 
 history of England; it was the commencement of a new 
 era; and it was thus a convenient time for collecting 
 into one bond the scattered threads that united the 
 church of this country to that of Rome. The geographi¬ 
 cal position of England in relation to Italy was unfa¬ 
 vourable to the growth or sustenance of a close eccle¬ 
 siastical union; and previous to the Conquest many 
 of its church forms^ and probably modes of belief^ 
 differed widely from those existing on the continent. 
 If there had been archbishops of Canterbury who 
 had not received directly from the pope the sign of 
 delegated power^ there was in the exception only an 
 additional reason why the first Norman primate 
 should show his submission^ and admit that to 
 Rome the church of England owed obedience. To 
 Rome therefore Lanfranc determined to go; and 
 in 1071 he set out^ accompanied by Thomas, the 
 new archbishop of York, and Remi, the bishop of 
 Dorchester. * 
 
 Arrived at Rome, the prelates of England were 
 received with every distinction and honour; but this 
 they owed not so much to the fame of their sovereign, 
 or the nobility of their own characters, as to the mu¬ 
 nificence they displayed and the presents they dis¬ 
 tributed.! The message of king William, accompanied 
 by profuse gifts which the wealth of England had 
 * Ang. Sax. Chron., p. 447. f Ord. Vit., bk. iv. 
 
LANFRANC AT ROME. 
 
 87 
 
 supplied to him, was received with great favour by 
 the people and clergy; and Lanfranc with his com¬ 
 panions were admitted to the presence of his holiness, 
 pope Alexander. Their reception by the pontiff was 
 a whimsical compromise between the dignity of his 
 office and his affection for Lanfranc. * He had been a 
 pupil in the gymnasium of Bee, and felt for its teacher 
 all the respect which his genius and character were 
 calculated to inspire; but he could not exhibit his 
 respect without descending from his character as 
 pope. Nevertheless, as Lanfranc entered his pre¬ 
 sence, he rose from his seat and paid him especial 
 honom’, at the same time assuring the spectators that 
 what they saw was not the pontiff greeting an arch¬ 
 bishop, but a pupil honouring his teacher. He then 
 presented him with his own pall, that in which he 
 had been in the habit of performing mass, and another 
 Lanfranc received from the altar in the ordinary 
 manner. After the other bishops had received their 
 palls, and the business for which they had gone to 
 Rome had been disposed of, Thomas inquired of the 
 pope whether his province were inferior in rank to 
 that of Canterbmy; and he complained that the sees 
 of Worcester and Dorchester, which belonged to him, 
 were regarded by Lanfranc as a part of his diocese. 
 Lanfranc, it would appear, was not prepared for this 
 public demand for investigation in a matter that he 
 probably regarded as settled, and could not help be¬ 
 traying by his countenance the emotion within him, 
 though he refrained from speaking, f The facts of the 
 * Ang. Sax. Chron., p. 447. f W. Malms., p. 324. 
 
88 
 
 THOMAS OF YORK. 
 
 case were briefly gone over; but Alexander refused 
 to decide upon it_, referring it to tlie adjudication of 
 an English council_, to be held on tlie return of the 
 prelates to tlieir own country. If the respect before 
 felt for Lanfranc bad at all diminisbed by this busi¬ 
 ness^ it was soon again revived by a scene of great 
 pomp and ceremony^ in wbicb he took part. The 
 two prelates_, who attended him to Home, were charged 
 by Alexander with being unfit for their offices—the 
 first for being the son of a priesE the other for having 
 purchased his bishopric. They were required to ad¬ 
 mit the truth of the accusation by delivering their 
 croziers into the hands of the pope^ but upon Lan¬ 
 franc pleading on their behalf, and showing how 
 necessary they were to William in his work of re¬ 
 formation^ the croziers were placed at his disposal, 
 and he returned them to Thomas and Eemi. This 
 terminated the proceedings; and Lanfranc left Home 
 to return to it no more. In after years, as we shall 
 have occasion to see, he had many pressing messages 
 requhing his attendance there, but the visit in 1071 
 to obtain his pall was the last he made. 
 
 The complaint of the archbishop of York, that 
 Lanfranc regarded his see as inferior to that of Can¬ 
 terbury, arose from the fact, that Avhen Thomas went 
 to be consecrated by the primate soon after his elec¬ 
 tion, Lanfranc refused to perform the ceremony, unless 
 he received from him an oath, in sign of subjection. 
 Thomas denied the right of the archbishop to claim 
 such an oath, and testified a determination not to 
 submit to it; whereupon Lanfranc, in great anger. 
 
THE RIVAL SEES. 
 
 89 
 
 commanded tlie bishops^ abbots^ and others who were 
 present^ to unrobe themselves^ and Thomas to retirnn 
 to York without being eonseerated. * The dispute 
 being afterwards brought before the king^ he was 
 comdneed by the arguments of Lanfrane that the 
 arehbishop of York was bound to make profession 
 with an oath to him of Canterbury; but he deeided 
 that in this case the oath should be dispensed with, 
 and that Thomas should, upon delivering a written 
 profession, be consecrated, but without reference to 
 his successors. This was aceordingly done, and the 
 matter settled until the visit to Rome again brought 
 it into notiee. The council to which it was referred 
 by Alexander was held at Easter 1072, in the city of 
 Winchester. 
 
 There were three modes of argument that might 
 be followed, and by whieh this question of preeedency 
 might be settled:—first, to inquire whether, in the 
 original constitution of the English chm’di, the see 
 of Canterbury was superior to that of York; secondly, 
 whether, in the history of the two sees, any instances 
 could be found in whieh the arehbishop of York had 
 sworn eanonieal obedienee to the archbishoji of Can- 
 terbmy; thirdly, to determine if any spiritual or 
 soeial benefit, any politieal consisteney, eould be ob¬ 
 tained by the recognition of one head to the whole 
 English ehureh. 
 
 The introduetion of Christianity among the Saxon 
 population of England took plaee at the elose of the 
 sixth century, and the first Christian chinch was 
 
 * Ang. Sax. Chron., p. 449. 
 
90 
 
 LITIGATION. 
 
 erected in Canterbury. Angnstine^ wbo was conse¬ 
 crated by the pope as archbishop^ had power given 
 him to elect a bishop for the see of York, who should, 
 as the necessities of the province required, create 
 twelve bishoprics, to be subject to his successors j but 
 that he, having been chosen by Augustine, should be 
 subject to him. “ But fpr the future,^^ said Gregory, 
 in his epistle of instructions, ^det this distinction be be¬ 
 tween the bishops of the cities of London and York, that 
 he may have the precedence who shall be first ordained. 
 But let them unanimously dispose, by common advice 
 and uniform conduct, whatsoever is to be done for the 
 
 zeal of Christ.But to you, my brethren, shall, by 
 
 the authority of our God and Lord Jesus Christ, be 
 subject not only those bishops you shall ordain, and 
 those that shall be ordained by the bishop of York, 
 but also all the priests in Britain.^'’ * This would seem 
 to be tolerably clear, considering that portion of the 
 quotation which directs the equality of the bishops to 
 be the general direetion, but the superiority of Augus¬ 
 tine the exception, made as a tribute to his personal 
 services, and not intended to apply to his successors. 
 Lanfrane, however, contended that, as Kent was subject 
 to Borne, beeause from her it had received Christianity, 
 so York should be subject to Canterbury, because 
 from her it had accepted the same faith. He also 
 produced a second letter, written by a later pope than 
 Gregory, and which might be regarded as a commen¬ 
 tary on the former epistle; it ran:—Boniface to 
 Justus, arehbishop of Canterbury:—Far be it from 
 
 * Bede, p. 55 . 
 
THE APPEAL TO AUTHORITY. 
 
 91 
 
 every Christian that anything concerning the city of 
 Canterbury be diminished or changed in present or 
 fntm’e times_, which was appointed by onr predecessor, 
 pope Gregory; however human circumstances may be 
 changed, but more especially by the authority of 
 St. Peter, the prince of apostles, we command and 
 ordain that the city of Canterbury shall ever here¬ 
 after be esteemed the metropolitan see of all Britain; 
 and we decree and appoint, immutably, that all the 
 provinces of the kingdom of England shall be subject 
 to the metropolitan church of the aforesaid see.^^ ^ 
 
 In respect to the second consideration, viz., whether 
 there were any instances of archbishops of York 
 having made professions of obedience to those of 
 Canterbmy ? Lanfrane was enabled to show that 
 his predecessors had exercised many prerogatives in 
 the province of York, by the consent and acquiesence 
 of the bishops of that diocese, and that Eadulph, a 
 bishop of the eighth century, had made, in very full 
 and comprehensive terms, a profession to Ethelard of 
 Canterbury. But Lanfrane contended that many 
 instances and authentic dates might doubtless have 
 ])een produced, but that they had been consumed in 
 the fire that four years before had destroyed the 
 church. 
 
 There was, however, to put against these ancient 
 and perhaps doubtful authorities, the opinions of men 
 who had lived for many years in connection with eccle¬ 
 siastical offices and ecclesiastical men, and who had 
 always considered that the metropolitan were equal, 
 
 * Malms., p. 319. 
 
93 
 
 EXPEDIENCY. 
 
 not only in power^ dignity, and offices, but in tlie num¬ 
 ber of tlieir suffragans.’’^ * These men had ceased, how¬ 
 ever, to have any power in the church of England; and 
 those who now ruled her would not have scrupled to 
 violate the most ancient and constitutional of her 
 usages, could any advantage have accrued to the 
 social and political interest of the kingdom there¬ 
 from. It is not surprising, therefore, to find Lanfranc 
 p— showing William the necessity of placing the church, 
 v as the nation, under one head, and especially requisite 
 1 that the archbishop of York should not have the 
 I power of crowning kings, lest he might, under some 
 strong influence, lend his aid to a sovereign elected 
 by the revolutionary counties of the north; nor to 
 find William acquiescing in such opinion, and re¬ 
 commending Thomas that it would be a safer and 
 wiser course for him to adopt at once the opinion of 
 his colleague, and consult the peace and union of the 
 ^kingdom by taking^the necessary oaths, f 
 
 This brought the dispute to a termination; and, in 
 a second council held at Windsor during the feast of 
 Pentecost, Thomas made his submission to Lanfranc 
 in a document which received the signatures of Wil¬ 
 liam the king, and Matilda his queen, of Hubert; the 
 legate of pope Alexander, and the two archbishops, 
 followed by the assent of thirteen bishops and twelve 
 abbots. J The submission of Thomas was not confined 
 to his subscription of this writing, but was afterwards 
 shown in several councils which he attended, and several 
 official acts which he performed at the desire of Lan- 
 
 *- Thierry, bk. iv. f Thierry. J Malms., p. 321. 
 
YORK SUBMITS TO CANTERBURY. 93 
 
 franc. In the seventh year of Lanfranc^s primacy^ he 
 wrote to Canterbury to request that two bishops 
 might be sent to assist him at the consecration of a 
 priest who had arrived in York from the Orkneys_, 
 that he might be made bishop of those islands. 
 Lanfranc gave his permission, and ordered Walstan, 
 bishop of Worcester, and Peter of Chester, to proceed 
 to York for this purpose. Four years later, Thomas 
 himself was present at a council held in the city of 
 Gloucester, at which he had the consent of Lanfranc to 
 consecrate a bishop of Durham, and was assisted by 
 four English prelates, at the command of the primate, 
 his own suffragans being in the north. * 
 
 * Aug. Sax. Cliron., p. 447. 
 
94 
 
 \ 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE PRIMATE IN COUNCIL. 
 
 The fears wMcli Lanfranc entertained for liis own 
 happiness and quiet on entering upon the duties of 
 his arehhishopric^ were eertainly not unfounded; and 
 any one who looks at the position in whieh the English 
 church was placed by the Norman conquest must he 
 aware^ that he would have been a bold man who dared^ 
 in so evil a time^ to be honest in the maintenance of 
 his own principles. Wherever his eyes fell they be¬ 
 held ruin and depredation—a licentious nobility and 
 a depraved people—justice withheld from the op¬ 
 pressed^ and impunity sold to the oppressor—the 
 church ruledj for the most part_, by men who had 
 shamelessly purchased preferment and were anxious 
 only to enjoy the profits of their bargains—the lower 
 ecclesiastical offices crowded by an undisciplined and 
 immoral clergy—church property seized by men whose 
 lately obtained estates lay contiguous—clmrch archi¬ 
 tecture destroyed by ruthless soldiers, and the sacred 
 vessels stolen by a not less ruthless aristocracy. These 
 were evils which Lanfranc must necessarily meet 
 almost alone. The king had done what he consistently 
 
GUITMOND. 
 
 95 
 
 could by appointing a sort of police force to guard 
 public property^ but be instituted no inquiries into 
 the means by which many of his nobles had become 
 possessed of their wealthy and did not scruple himself 
 to sell or give the estates of English noblemen to his 
 favourites. Among the higher ranks of the clergy 
 there were none who could honourably come forward 
 to demand restitution of church lands^ for many a 
 priestly cassock hid the wedge of gold^ that_, unco- 
 veredj Avould have shown that there were more Achans 
 in the Norman than in the Israelitish camp. Out of 
 all the soldiers who followed William to the war^ 
 only one could be found who nobly refused to share 
 the spoil and the plunder; and among the clergy of 
 Normandy only one disdained to accept investitm’e to 
 a benefice from the Conquerors stained hand, and 
 dared to charge him with homicide and tyranny. 
 
 How can that/^ said Guitmond, “ which you have 
 wrung from the people by war and bloodshed be in¬ 
 nocently conferred on myself and others, who despise 
 the world, and have voluntarily stripped ourselves of 
 
 our own substance for Christas sake ?. I look 
 
 upon England as altogether one vast heap of booty, 
 and I am afraid to touch it and its treasures as if it 
 were a burning fire.^^ * Such bold unwelcome truths 
 were not lost upon the king; but they brought only 
 a tardy repentance and a meagre restitution of popular 
 rights. The course which Lanfranc pursued was far 
 more eflective, and showed him to be as great a states¬ 
 man as he was acknowledged to be a priest. 
 
 * Ord. Vit., Yol ii., p. 54. 
 
96 
 
 SYNODS. 
 
 We have just seen that the evils which afflicted 
 England arose from the disparity and suffering of the 
 three classes that then constituted the English nation. 
 There were^ firsts the ignorant and secular habits of 
 the clergy.; secondly_, the plunder and pillage of the 
 invaders; and lastly, the vices of the native popula¬ 
 tion, and the crimes they perpetrated in retmm for 
 the evils they were made to endure. With these 
 things Lanfranc determined to deal in a series of 
 synods, the first of which he appointed to meet in 
 the year 1071, and the last of which was held in 
 1076. Instead of going through these synods in the 
 order of time, we shall group together the canons they 
 passed, referring to each of the circumstances just 
 noted. 
 
 Synods had been, previous to the Conquest, of rare 
 occurrence; so that their constitution and order had 
 to be determined before the business for which they . 
 were called could he gone into. * Besides this, many, 
 indeed most of the bishops who were summoned to 
 attend, were foreigners, and therefore unused to the 
 English modes of arrangement. Lanfranc found some 
 difficulty in determining the rank of the bishops, and 
 the position they should occupy at the council. At 
 the first sitting, he applies to such of the bishops as 
 were of English birth and education to inform him 
 which was the order as originally appointed. They 
 took some time to consider the question, and after¬ 
 wards assigned to the archbishop of Canterbury the 
 first plea, York the second, and the bishop of London 
 
 * Wm. of Malms., p. 323. 
 
BUSINESS OF THE SYNODS. 
 
 97 
 
 tlie tMrdj the next to Winchester^ the other bishops 
 
 % 
 
 following in the order of their appointment. * 
 
 The synods thns inaugurated proceeded to legislate 
 upon a matter which required the utmost delicacy of 
 treatment, considering the persons who formed the 
 council, and the way they had become possessed of 
 their offices in the church. In all these synods, at 
 most, with one exception, we shall find that Lanfranc 
 very wisely contented himself with passing prospec¬ 
 tive canons, and did not irritate the minds or excite 
 the opposition of those who would have been deprived 
 of property or office by retrospective acts. Thus, in 
 the first synod, he ordered that henceforth “ no one 
 should be ordained by means of simoniacal heresy, 
 and forbad any one to preside in two bishoprics. 
 Touching plurality, we find no later canons ; but upon 
 the evils of simony many laws were passed, and many 
 attempts made to repress them, t In the synod of 
 1075, it was again ordered that no one should buj^ 
 or sell orders, or any ecclesiastical office;^'’ and in the 
 next year an effort was made to grapple with that 
 temporal power which v/as seeking to reduce the 
 church to a mere feudal institution, subject to the^ 
 same imposition and fiscal burden as the estates of 
 earls and barons. It was the commencement of 
 that long struggle which, carried on between the last 
 of William^s sons and the successor of Lanfranc, was 
 not even concluded when the ambitious Becket fell a 
 victim to the rage of the first Plantagenet. The 
 church had unquestionably received great privileges 
 * Wm. of Malms., p. 323, f Johnson’s Ecc. Canons, voL ii. 
 
98 
 
 DOMESDAY BOOK. 
 
 from William the Conqueror^ and the authority of 
 Rome had been fully acknowledged, at least until 
 within ten years of his death; but at the same time 
 no king ever did so much to reduce it below the 
 secular power, and to make it yield a revenue to him 
 in return for what he had bestowed upon it. While 
 Stigand was still the primate, and before the foreign 
 bishops had been appointed, the king took advantage 
 of the weakness of the church, and placed its tenures 
 under the terms of knights^ service. The lands were 
 inspected, among others, and the number of soldiers 
 they were to find was set down upon the coui’t 
 roll. * During the reign of Edward they had been 
 perfectly free from all payments to the crown, and 
 this tax was therefore regarded as a great exaction by 
 churchmen, many of whom were banished for refusing 
 to submit j but the evil did not stop there. By the 
 nature of the feudal system, what the king did with 
 the nation, the earl or baron did with the tenants 
 dwelling upon his lands, or situated in his county. 
 The tallage which the king raised upon royal towns, 
 without the consent of his great council, the 
 lords often raised upon their towns, with the consent 
 of the king, obtained for a consideration. And thus 
 when, in 1070, William demanded escuage from his 
 spiritual tenants, inferior lords thought themselves 
 justified by his example in raising money for men and 
 arms from the clergy of their districts. With all his 
 submission to the king, even Lanfranc resisted these 
 encroachments, and passed the canon which orders, 
 * Eoger of Wend. vol. i., p. 338. 
 
MONASTIC CHARTER. 
 
 99 
 
 that no clergyman^ either in town or eonntry, pay 
 any service for his ecclesiastical benefice but what he 
 paid in the time of Edward.^^ 
 
 Another canon which was passed at the same synod, 
 though remarkable for its brevity, is not less so for 
 the subject to which it refers. * It is as follows :— 
 forbid the supplantation of churches,^^ the ex¬ 
 planation of which the following extract will supply. 
 
 William the Conqueror and his minions endea¬ 
 voured to strip churches and monasteries of their 
 estates by inquiring into the titles by which they 
 held them. The clergy and monks were destitute of 
 witten deeds and charters, whereby to give such evi¬ 
 dence of their right as the Normans demanded. In 
 some eases the old English barons conveyed their 
 lands by instruments in writing, yet for the most part 
 by word of mouth, and by delivering a wand or stafi*, 
 or the like. But for want of charters, they lost a 
 great share of their endowments. This is what the 
 synod here calls a supplantation of churches; and there 
 is reason to think that the third canon (that respect¬ 
 ing feudal service), and this, made little impression 
 upon the consciences of the Normans. Ingulph was 
 made abbot of Croyland this very year (1076), and 
 was the king^s great favourite. Though of English 
 extraction, yet he found occasion to forge a set of 
 eharters, whereby to secure the lands of his abbey 
 against these harpies;—for the monks made no con¬ 
 science of supplanting these supplanters, and this was 
 the cause of so many false deeds and charters, as 
 * Johnson’s Ecc. Canons, vol. ii, 
 
 E 2 
 
100 
 
 MEASURES AGAINST ODO. 
 
 are everywhere to be found in tbe repositories of tlie 
 antiquaries/^ 
 
 LanfranCj doubtless_, also tbougbt bis canons would 
 not affect tbe consciences of tbe Normans to any 
 great extent—certainly, not to tbe giving up of any 
 estates tbey bad seized—and be tberefore set bis suf¬ 
 fragans an example of tbe conduct wbicb tbey should 
 pursue^ in order to secure the property of their 
 churches. He found that Odo^ the brother of William, 
 bishop of Bayeux, and also earl palatine, had taken 
 possession of several estates belonging to tbe church 
 of Canterbury, while Stigand was in disgrace, and 
 refused to restore them on tbe election of Lanfranc. 
 The archbishop determined to bring tbe matter before 
 tbe tribunals, and to maintain bis right to the lands 
 against Odo, as be had asserted bis authority over 
 York against Thomas. At that time the Anglo- 
 Saxon county courts had not fallen into decay, nor 
 bad bishops ceased to attend their sittings ; tbey 
 were, next to tbe king^s, the highest courts in tbe 
 kingdom, and were usually held twice a year. To 
 tbe inquest of the county of Kent, Lanfranc appealed 
 against tbe pillage of Odo. The court was held on 
 Pinenden Heath, near Maidstone, and was presided 
 over by Geoffrey, bishop of Coutances, besides whom, 
 ‘‘ there were present one archbishop, two bishops, tbe 
 earl of tbe county, tbe vice-earl, or sheriff, a great 
 number of the king^s barons, besides a still greater 
 multitude of knights and freeholders.^^ * The case took 
 three days to go into it, at tbe end of which time the 
 
 * Henry, yol. vi., p. 23. 
 
CONDITION OF NORMAN CLERGY. 
 
 101 
 
 manors were adjudged to belong to Lanfrane^s elini’cli, 
 and restitution ordered to be made. This was a great 
 victory over a bad man—a victory of which Lanfranc V 
 might justly be proud, and one for which Odo never 
 ceased to hate him. 
 
 Such were the enactments of the synod with 
 respect to the appointment of bishops to their sees, 
 and the security of the lands of the churches. To 
 stop the plunder of meaner and more numerous 
 depredators, other canons were passed, as we shall 
 presently see. At present we shall confine our at¬ 
 tention to those made with reference to the conduct 
 and habits of monks, and others of the clergy. 
 
 The number of priests and monks of all orders, who 
 hinried from Normandy to England so soon as the 
 news of the Conquest crossed the channel, were not 
 remarkable for the cultivation and practice of virtue, 
 for the possession of which their class was usually 
 anxious to be distinguished. * Many of them, upon 
 arrival, finding that their modes of life, and the rules 
 by which they were bound, were a hindrance to them 
 in the acquisition of wealth, cast aAvay the cowl and 
 tunic, and applied themselves to secular pursuits. 
 Others, retaining their habits as clergymen, main¬ 
 tained all the state, and supported the followers of 
 temporal lords, surrounded themselves with men-at- 
 arms, and engaged in disputes which they summoned 
 their retainers to assist them in settling bv the sword. 
 Many more were guilty of breaking their vows of 
 chastity, and entering the marriage state ; some were 
 
 * Thierry’s Xor. Con., bk. v. 
 
102 
 
 MORALITY OF THE CLERGY. 
 
 the sons of priests^ and others_, though priests^ were 
 fathers. One of their number was killed by the 
 hand of a woman to whom he intended violence. 
 Others made themselves infamous by their debauches 
 and gluttony. Hobert de Limoges, bishop of Lich¬ 
 field, plundered the monastery of Coventry, took the 
 horses and furniture belonging to the monks who 
 inhabited it, entered the dormitory by force, and 
 broke open their coffers, pulled down their buildings, 
 and used the materials in erecting an episcopal palace 
 for himself, the furniture of which was paid for by 
 melting down the gold and silver ornaments that had 
 decorated the church. Even Lanfranc has not es¬ 
 caped the charge of infidelity to the most irksome of 
 vows. A young man named Paul, whom he ap¬ 
 pointed to the abbey of St. Albans, is said to have 
 been his son. There is, however, no contemporary 
 evidence to support this statement, and as it is only 
 mentioned by an author who was unfavourable to the 
 Norman invasion, it may be probably regarded as the 
 scandal of the time, embodied in a fiction of later date. 
 
 In reference to these circumstances the following 
 canons were passed:— 
 
 That monks who have thrown off their habits be 
 neither admitted into the army, nor any convent of 
 clerks, but be esteemed excommunicate. 
 
 That clergymen live chastely, or desist from 
 office. 
 
 ^‘^That no canon be allowed to marry, but those 
 who are already married may retain their wives. * 
 
 Johnson’s Ecc. Canous, vol. ii. 
 
SECULAR CANONS. 
 
 103 
 
 This last canon shows that the married clerks were 
 a large class at that time; and that the number of laws 
 which had been passed at various intervals to restrain 
 their marriages had taken but little effect. Canons were 
 a slightly different order of men from monks, though in 
 many of their habits they closely resembled them. Like 
 monks, they were supposed to live under some re¬ 
 ligious rule, and to observe a particular mode of life; 
 but unlike monks, they were not confined to houses. 
 Regular canons were closely allied to the members of 
 monastic orders, abstaining from certain kinds of 
 food—at times from all kinds—praying at fixed hours 
 of the day and night, and were collected into orders, 
 such as St. Augustine^s and others. On the other 
 hand, the secular canons were persons who, though 
 devoted to the duties of a religious life, were supposed 
 to practise the virtues they professed, by mixing with 
 society, and to assist the bishops by penetrating into 
 those parts of the country where churches were rare. 
 William, and many of those whom he had appointed 
 to the English sees, suspecting the fidelity of the 
 native monks, who dwelt upon the lands attached to 
 the episcopal churches, determined to dispossess them, 
 and to place secular canons in their stead. Theking^s 
 motive was probably an unmixed political one, but 
 the bishops objected that the monks confined to 
 cloisters were incapable of influencing society, being 
 ignorant of its manners and its wants. The bishops 
 at first attempted to remove the monks from the 
 church at Canterbury, but were opposed by Lanfranc, 
 wl)ose sympathies were all in favour of monastic insti- 
 
104 
 
 INSTITUTION OF PENANCE. 
 
 tiitions. Aided by tlie king, they still persisted in their 
 endeavours, and one of them is said to have had as 
 many as forty canons ready to bring over. Lanfranc^s 
 influence was, however, stronger than that of all the 
 bishops together, and he managed to delay the matter, 
 until a bull from the pope set it at rest.* 
 
 The next, and the best known of all Lanfranc^s 
 canons, are those collected under the title of ^‘^The 
 institution of penance according to the decrees of 
 the Norman prelates.^^ They are the only acts that 
 can be called retrospective, of all that were passed at 
 these synods, and were directed against those who 
 bore arms in the great battle, either by the command 
 foi William, or those “^^who were in arms without his 
 command, and did of right owe him military service 
 The most important w^ere as follows ;— 
 
 Let every one who killed a man in the great 
 battle do penance, one year for every man, according 
 to the number he slew. 
 
 Let the archers who are ignorant of the number 
 slain, do penance three Lents. 
 
 Let all who have run up and down to get \dctuals, 
 before the king^s consecration, and have killed a man, 
 do penance one year; but if, instead of gaining food, 
 the object was plunder, let the penance be increased 
 to tlnee years. 
 
 He who hath killed a man since the consecration 
 of the king do penance for murder. 
 
 If any one has stolen the property of the chinch, 
 he must return it, either to the same, or any other 
 
 * Jer, Collier, yol. ii., chap. xi. 
 
RETROSPECTIVE ACTS. 
 
 105 
 
 cliurcli; but if lie refuse to restore it, be must not 
 sell it/^ 
 
 * These penances could all be redeemed by endowing 
 and building a church, or by perpetual alms. 
 
 It is surprising that so many writers on this period 
 have in the first place supposed that these canons 
 were directed against the English as well as the Nor¬ 
 man soldiers, and then objected to them on the 
 ground of their tyrannical ’ character. We do not 
 think they will bear that construction, but we do 
 think they had the most salutary effect. It w'as 
 impossible to deal with the class of offenders contem¬ 
 plated in these enactments so summarily or so effec¬ 
 tually as through the church. In the case of great 
 oflPenders such as Odo, it was easy to bring them to 
 justice when their pillage was capable of being proved; 
 but it was not so with a host of soldiers, whose time 
 was divided betw^een acts of petty plunder and licen¬ 
 tious revelry. There were certainly two great advan¬ 
 tages resulting from these canons : first, acts of cruelty 
 towards the conquered Saxons, and the destruction 
 of public property would be repressed more readily 
 by the voice of the church than by the terrors of law; 
 and secondlv, bv means of the two last canons, which 
 enjoined the return of all stolen articles, and allowed 
 the commutation of the penance by a law, much of 
 the evil that had been perpetrated would be redressed. 
 There was, however, a comparative injustice about 
 these acts, Avhen we consider Avho determined them, 
 and how largely many of them had profited by the 
 spoils of war. 
 
 E 3 
 
106 
 
 BISHOPS^ SEES'. 
 
 That these penances were directed against the 
 Saxon population, as well as the Norman, does not 
 appear probable, either from the form of the preamble 
 or the nature of the crimes specified. They are 
 rather the first instance of a Norman extending his 
 protection to the oppressed and ruined English. 
 
 One very important measure that was proposed 
 and determined upon at the third synod was, that 
 such of the sees of the bishops as were situated in 
 thinly peopled parts of the country should be removed 
 to more inhabited parts. The positions of the English 
 bishoprics, in the middle of the eleventh century, 
 were very much as they had been appointed by the 
 founders of the church in the seventh: but the popu¬ 
 lation had not remained stationary; it had ebbed 
 and flowed around certain spots before the Conquest; 
 and after the wars and selfishness of the conquerors 
 had destroyed so many parishes, several cathedral 
 churches appeared as solitary as if they had been the 
 remains of a pest region. This was an evil, ecclesi¬ 
 astically and socially considered, and was greatly in¬ 
 creased by the fact that the bishops would not live 
 upon their estates, but held baronies and possessions 
 in more profitable situations. One of these, more 
 enterprising and ambitious than the rest, who has 
 already appeared in these pages as the busy little 
 monk of Eescamp, who furnished William with the 
 one ship and twenty knights, was owner of the largest 
 bishopric in England, being the whole of the counties 
 lying between the rivers Humber and Thames. Eemi 
 was not satisfied with the seat of his palace; it was 
 
ENGLISH SLAVES. 
 
 107 
 
 tlie worst part of tlie estate_, and there were many 
 
 more eligible and pleasant spots. He fixed upon the 
 
 north-eastern eorner of his see: and, ha\dng bought 
 
 \ 
 
 some fields on the top of a hill at the foot of whieh 
 ran the river Witham, he began to ereet a building, 
 half ehurch half fortress, or one whieh, though having 
 the appearanee of a ehurch, might combine its uses 
 with the strength of a castle. In such dread of their 
 flocks did these spiritual shepherds live, that they 
 were obliged to protect themselves from the attacks 
 of the natives by bodies of armed retainers; indeed, 
 one abbot owed his appointment to the convent of 
 Peterborough to the talent he displayed in punishing 
 refractory monks by the swords of his men-at-arms. * 
 The archbishop of York, seeing an episcopal church 
 and palace rising so near to his diocese, claimed the 
 land around Lincoln as his own; but Remi disre¬ 
 garded the remonstrances of Thomas, and hurried 
 forward the building, which, as soon as he had com¬ 
 pleted, ^^he furnished with priests of learning and 
 most correct morals.^^ t 
 
 It is not easy to determine the number or the 
 nature of the services rendered by Lanfranc to the 
 English people during the years he occupied the see 
 of Canterbury. The fame which attaches to the abo¬ 
 lition of the slave trade with Ireland he must share 
 with, and perhaps yield, to Wulstan of Worcester; 
 but it is a matter for just pride that so heinous a 
 crime as the sale of men by their countrymen should 
 liave been discontinued through the influence of the 
 * Thierry, hit. y, f Rog. of Wend., yol. i., p. 351. 
 
108 
 
 EDUCATIONAL PROJECTS. 
 
 clmrcli, and tliat^ unaided to a great extent by tbe 
 state. Lanfranc^s part in tbe work was probably 
 confined to persuading the king to give up the profits 
 that arose from so profitable a trade as that carried 
 on by the merchants and ships of Bristol; while the 
 piety and zeal of Wulstan led him to preach for many 
 years to those engaged in the traffic^ until he had 
 convinced them of the evil. * 
 
 It is somewhat remarkable that no provision, so 
 far as we are aware, was made by Lanfranc for the 
 education of the people of England, nor that any 
 school similar to the Norman establishments were 
 founded by him; but it may with some probability 
 be attributed to the turbulent eondition in which he 
 found the country on his arrival, and to the continual 
 occupation of his time in the afiPairs of the chinch 
 and clergy. Besides this, he was an old man when 
 he gained his appointment, and his literary labours 
 were great: for, in addition to his work on the Lord^s 
 supper, he wrote an account of the synod of 1075, 
 and collected all the copies of the Old and New Tes¬ 
 taments, the text of which he revised. By some this 
 editorial labour is spoken of in the highest terms, 
 and the benefits arising from it are said to have been 
 felt as much by the church of France as of England. 
 Others, however, have not scrupled to attribute to 
 Lanfranc motives far below those springing from the 
 desire for truth. It is needless to point out that it 
 behoves such to show the purpose Lanfranc could 
 liave had to answer in the violation of the sacred 
 * Rog. of Wend., yoI. i., p. 360. 
 
SAXON MARTYRS. 
 
 i09 
 
 writings, since tliere is notliing unnatural in the sup- 
 position that the manuscripts had, by repeated copy¬ 
 ings, become corrupt; nor, indeed, was it contrary to 
 what we know to have been then taking place at many 
 a monastic scriptorium. Certainly, there was no one 
 then living who was so likely to have detected any 
 errors that might have crept into the manuscripts as 
 he who is distinguished as a commentator on the 
 epistles of Paul and the psalms of David. The author 
 of the ‘^Norman Conquest places so much reliance 
 upon this charge as to consider that it, in connection 
 with the eontempt expressed by Lanfranc for the 
 saints and patriotic martyrs of the Saxons, was suffi¬ 
 cient to stir up many of the nobles and prelates to a 
 fresh rebellion. 
 
 t 
 
 The church of the Anglo-Saxons was remarkable 
 for the number of its saints and the extent of its 
 martyrology; but its saints were not those which 
 filled the niches of continental churches, nor were its 
 martyrs those whom Pome would have delighted to 
 honour. The conversion of nations to Christendom 
 in the middle ages rarely involved a change of any¬ 
 thing but forms. To be able to throw down the 
 statues of heathenism and to set up the cmcifix was 
 in most cases the maximum of missionary hope; and 
 thus the Saxons ceased to worship, but not to love 
 their old gods, when they saw the incense of a new 
 faith rise in their temples. The priest of Rome did 
 little violence to their feelings; if he destroyed their 
 idols he left their fanes still standing. They imported 
 into their new religion all the feelings cherished by 
 
110 
 
 HUMANITY OF LANFllANC. 
 
 the old; and the wild hero worship which they ad¬ 
 dressed to Woden they transferred to the defenders 
 of their country or the teachers of their faith. In 
 the course of time many a spot of ground was ren¬ 
 dered sacred by the grave of some saint_, or the 
 memory of some brave deed. He who had fallen by 
 the sword of the savage Penda^ or perished in resisting 
 the inroads of the Danes^ was alike a martyr, and the 
 day of his death became holy. But all this, to the 
 severe and lettered ecclesiastic of Bee, was mere 
 idolatry; he could conceive of no saintship apart 
 from him who had forgotten his comitry in the 
 solitude of a hermitage; he would grant no apo¬ 
 theosis to the champions of liberty, but sneeringly 
 said, It would be easy to be a martyr, if, to 
 be constituted such, it were sufficient that a man 
 should be slain by pagans for refusing to pay a 
 ransom."’^ * 
 
 With all this the Anglo-Saxon people owed very 
 much to the boldness and humanity of the Norman 
 archbishop. There were few save him who had the 
 inclination, none the courage, to remonstrate with 
 tlie king upon his cruelties and the suflPerings of the 
 ^people. But he had both; and when William, burn¬ 
 ing with rage, determined to raze the ancient abbey 
 of St. Albaffis to the ground, Lanfranc stepped be¬ 
 tween him and the object of his wxath, and begged 
 that, for its sacred character, it might be spared. He 
 was successful; and at such times the people could 
 learn how much better their condition was under his 
 
 * Thierry, bk. v. 
 
iELFRIC. 
 
 Ill 
 
 rule than it would have been had Odo been primate, 
 or had some rapacious and warlike abbot filled the see. 
 
 * In connection with the charge against Lanfranc, respecting the 
 alteration of the Scriptures, it may he proper to mention the general 
 opinion of the writers of the English church that the doctrine of 
 transubstantiation was introduced as an article of belief during his 
 primacy. The author of the book of the church says, “ The prodigious 
 dogma had hardly been heard of in this island before his time and 
 other writers are equally strong in their expressions respecting the 
 matter. Them arguments are sustained for the most part by one of 
 the homilies of -dilfric, who lived at the close of the ninth century, 
 and who evidently showed that he accepted the more moderate 
 doctrine of the monk of Corbie. Dr. Lingard has, however, with his 
 usual acuteness, examined the question in his antiquities of the Anglo- 
 Saxon church. The following are the principal points of the 
 argument:— 
 
 “ 1st. ^Ifric was not the highest authority in the church, therefore 
 his opinions should not be exclusively regarded. 
 
 “ 2nd. His expressions do not agree with the authorized doctrine 
 of the four preceding centuries. 
 
 “ 3rd. It may be proved from the writings of Bede, Alcuin, and 
 others, that they believed in the doctrine. 
 
 “ 4th. In the council held at Eome in 1050, at which Berengar 
 was condemned as a heretic, the Anglo Saxon church was represented 
 by two of its most distinguished prelates, Heriman of Sherbourne and 
 Aldred of Worcester.” 
 
 These arguments might seem like a settlement of the question in 
 favour of the ancient theory, if it were not for the consideration that 
 England was probably not so far advanced towards a fixed theology 
 as the other nations of Europe, and that, less under the influence of 
 councils, a more liberal spirit of inquiry prevailed and a greater 
 freedom was used in the exercise of the private judgment. 
 
112 
 
 t 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 INCIDENTS OF NORMAN RULE. 
 
 \ 
 
 Some time in tlie year 1074^ tlie king lost his early 
 friend and companion in arms, William Fitzosberne. 
 He was the first in rank and the most trusted of all 
 those hold and enterprising men who accompanied 
 Wilham on his expedition to England. He was the 
 chief adviser of the duke in forming the plan of the 
 Conquest; and when the other barons were unwilling 
 to fall into the scheme, and to undertake so great a 
 risk, he is said to have beguiled them into concession, 
 by a manoeuvre less honest than witty. In general, 
 however, he was frank and open in his manners. * He 
 was generous to his soldiers, to whom he gave sums 
 so extravagant, that though his popularity was thereby 
 increased, his treasures were often exhausted. The 
 imprudence m Inch characterised his life was the cause 
 of his death. Engaged in a love affair Mith the 
 countess of Flanders, he entered her territory at the 
 head of his troops, and, flattered with the reception he 
 received from his partisans, he dismissed all fear of his 
 * nenry of Huntingdon, p. 208. 
 
PITZOSBEKNE. 
 
 113 
 
 enemies; but tbey^ seizing an opportunity when he 
 was less attended than usual_, fell upon him and de¬ 
 spatched himj though fighting bravely. 
 
 His death was severely felt by the Conqueror_, who, 
 when Fitzosberne perished, lost the main support of 
 his government, and became subject to the difficulty 
 and anxieties arising from ruling young and ambitious 
 men, who, not having shared his early difficulties, 
 were envious at his prosperity. The property of the 
 deceased baron was inherited by his son Roger, who 
 thus became earl of Hereford. Emma, the sister of 
 Roger, had been betrothed to Ralph, the earl of Nor¬ 
 folk and Suffolk, who by liis father^s side was a 
 Breton, on his mother^s a Welshman. It is not very 
 clear whether the Idng approved of this marriage, the 
 statements on the one side being distinct in their 
 assertion that William gave Emma to Ralph, while 
 on the other it is said that he sent over from Nor¬ 
 mandy expressly to forbid the marriage. From cir¬ 
 cumstances that afterwards transpired, we should 
 judge the latter to be the correct account. However, 
 whether the king approved or disapproved of the 
 union, the ceremony was arranged for celebration, at 
 Ralplds castle of Norwich, where a splendid banquet 
 was prepared, and to which many bishops, barons, 
 earls, and abbots were invited. Among others who 
 were present was Waltheof the son of Siward, a “ tali 
 robust Saxon, brawny in the chest, muscular in the 
 arms/^ * He was one of the few natives who had been 
 able to retain their estates, without forfeiting the 
 
 * Wm. of Malms., p. 28^, 
 
114 
 
 NORMAN DISCONTENT. 
 
 afFection of their countrymen. He had surrendered 
 himself to William, after the expedition to the north, 
 and had been honoured by the Conqueror with the 
 hand of his niece Judith, and the earldom of three 
 counties. 
 
 Ralph the Breton and Roger the Norman had, 
 either through vexation at William or their own 
 ambition, determined to raise a conspiracy among the 
 nobles and dethrone the king; and the presence of so 
 many influential persons at the banquet emboldened 
 them to discuss their plans and display their grievances. 
 As the feast progressed, they became heated with wine, 
 and having, as the chronicle says, * 
 
 Quaffed bride ale, 
 
 Source of man’s bale, 
 
 they rose up to revile the tyranny under which they 
 lived, and to form wild schemes for personal freedom 
 and greatness. Each one remembered all the wrongs 
 he and his race had received from William, and the 
 two earls addressing their guests, recounted his crimes 
 and his conquests. The Saxons were stirred up by 
 the memory of the invasion and their sufferings, the 
 Bretons by the treachery with which he slew their 
 duke Conan, the soldiers by being told how barren 
 were the farms which he had allotted to them : and 
 all were exhorted to arm themselves at once—the 
 absence of the king beyond sea, and the domestic 
 troubles in which he was engaged, rendering the time 
 auspicious for rebellion. Every inducement was held 
 
 * Aiig. Sax. Cbron., p. 454. 
 
WALTIIEOF. 
 
 115 
 
 out to Waltlieof to persuade Mm to join the conspi¬ 
 racy. Brave sir/^ said they^ now is your time for 
 recovering your forfeited honours. Join our party, 
 support it without faltering, and a thirdpart of England 
 shall be yours.But, to their grief and vexation, 
 Waltheof refused to take part in their enterprise—- 
 ^‘^Never,^^ said he, ‘^‘^was there song so sweet as to 
 charm away the disgrace of treason * hut in the ex¬ 
 citement that prevailed he bound himself by an oath 
 to maintain inviolate their plans. 
 
 The banquet was broken up; Boger hurried to his 
 estates to assemble his friends and muster his soldiers) 
 castles were fortified by both the earls, and mes¬ 
 sengers sent round the kingdom to obtain auxiliaries. 
 Waltheof, however, could not reconcile his conscienee 
 to the part he had taken in the conspiracy; and having 
 communicated it to his wife, he determined, by her 
 advice, to confess the whole transaction to Lanfranc. 
 The archbishop recommended him to set sail for 
 Normandy, and having sought the king, to obtain his 
 pardon. Lanfranc, being by this means informed of 
 the threatened insurrection, wrote to Boger, earl of 
 Hereford, begging him to desist from any schemes of 
 rebellion he might have formed. He told him how 
 great a regard he personally entertained for him, re¬ 
 minded him of the loyalty of his father, and requested 
 him, if he had any cause for complaint, to wait until 
 William^s return, who had ordered that any pleas 
 relating to the earks lands should be referred for his 
 own adjudication. The primate closed the letter by 
 
 * Ord. Vit., vol, ii., p. 80, 81. 
 
116 
 
 ROGER^S REBELLION. 
 
 desiring Roger to name some plaee for eonferenee on 
 his own and the king^s affairs_, and to see justiee done 
 to the bearer of the letter^ who eomplained that a 
 horse had been stolen from him. It wonld appear 
 from tliis that Roger had other canses of qnarrel with 
 the king besides his interference in the marriage of 
 his sister Emma. Those pleas respecting his land may 
 have been before the sheriff^ when William left England, 
 and probably referred to property left by his father. 
 
 The only effect of Lanfranc^s letter was to make 
 the rebels push forward their plans with greater 
 rapidity; and in a few days they were in arms, sur¬ 
 rounded by their followers. As soon as the report 
 reached the primate he again wrote to the earl, and 
 imploring him, by all that he held sacred, to return to 
 his aUegiance and to retract any error into which he 
 might have fallen. But the die was cast, and the stake 
 must be played out. Persuasion failed to influence 
 the feelings of Roger, and the threatened return of the 
 king did not intimidate him. Having assembled his 
 forces, he marched out of Hereford, intending to push 
 towards the east, that he might join his forces to 
 those of Ralph Guader in Norfolk. But when, having 
 marched his troops to Worcester, he attempted to 
 cross the Severn, he found his course stopped by the 
 Viscount of Worcester and Wulstan the bishop, who 
 had summoned their men to oppose his progress. In 
 the meantime Lanfranc had taken measures to check 
 any further advance of Roger by despatching forces 
 under Walter de Lacy to the assistance of Wulstan 
 and the viscount, 
 
CIVIL WAR. 
 
 117 
 
 In tlie east of England the king^s forces were snc- 
 cessfully led by WiUiam de Warenne and Eichard 
 de Bienfaits^ against the army of Ralph de Gnader. 
 A battle or skirmish took place on a field near Swafi- 
 ham^ in which Ralph was defeated^ and fied in haste 
 to his castle at Norwich. Thither his enemies pnr- 
 sned him; and he^ not daring to await the resnlt of a 
 siege^ left his castle in the care of his ’wife, and de¬ 
 parted to gain the assistance of Denmark. 
 
 Once more Lanfranc wrote to Roger, this time not 
 inviting his confidence, or oflPering his mediation, bnt 
 informing him that he and his followers were excom¬ 
 municated, and that the sentence was proclaimed 
 thronghont England. At the same time he vTote to 
 the king in Normandy, telling him of the revolt, but 
 assuring him that his assistance was not needed to 
 quell it. Be not, however, in haste to cross the 
 sea; for it would be disgraceful to us that you should 
 have to come to assist us in putting to flight a hand¬ 
 ful of traitors and robbers.^^ * 
 
 Three months after the flight of Ralph the king 
 received another * letter from his military primate, 
 informing him of the complete defeat of his enemies, 
 and the success of the siege of Norwich. This letter 
 is interesting, as it is supposed to be the earliest 
 specimen wdiich English history can produce of a 
 military despatch, f 
 
 To the most glorious king, William, lord of the 
 English, his faithful Lanfranc offers his loyal service, 
 with these letters. 
 
 • Thierry, bli. v. f Original letters by Sir H. EUis, toI, . 
 
118 
 
 SUPPRESSION OP REVOLT. 
 
 Glory to God on liigh^ by whose mercy yonr 
 kingdom is purged from the filth of these Bretons. 
 
 The castle at Norwich has yielded^ and the 
 Bretons who were in it^ and possessed land in Eng¬ 
 land^ their lives and limbs being spared ; have sworn 
 to depart from yonr realm within forty days^ and to 
 return no more without your leave. Those who^ with¬ 
 out land^ served the traitor Balph and his allies for hire, 
 obtained with much entreaty the space of one month. 
 
 The bishop, William de Warenne, Bobert Malet, 
 and three hundred soldiers, with engines, and many 
 makers of engines of war, hold the castle. All the 
 tumidt of war is stilled in England by the pity of 
 God.—May God Almighty bless you.^-’ 
 
 On the return of William to England he sum¬ 
 moned his rebellious subjects to appear before him. 
 Guader, who was already in Brittany, was not 
 allowed to return from banishment, and Roger of 
 Hereford was cast into prison for the king^s pleasure. 
 Too proud to accept the smallest appearance of 
 favour from the king, he never regained his liberty, 
 but spent a life in gloomy contrast to the prosperity 
 of his father. Still more terrible was the lot of ' 
 Waltheof, the Saxon guest at the wedding breakfast. 
 The story of his fate is the most melancholy of all the 
 Saxon annals, and even in that age of faithlessness 
 and cruelty, stands out prominent with guilt. The 
 brave and once powerful earl was summoned to appear 
 before the great council, and was there accused, on the 
 testimony of his wife, Judith, of having been party to 
 the conspiracy against the life of the king. In reply. 
 
EXECUTION OF WALTHEOF. 
 
 119 
 
 he admitted that he had been made aeqnainted with 
 the plans of the conspu"ators_, but pleaded the in¬ 
 violability of his oath, and the fact that when ab¬ 
 solved from that by the primate, he had communi¬ 
 cated with the king. At the first hearing the 
 council feared to put to death so popular a man; 
 but, unwilling to pronounce him innocent, he was 
 committed to prison, and kept in close custody at 
 Winchester for a year. It was in vain that Lanfranc 
 exerted himself in his behalf, * and that the abbots and 
 bishops who visited him pleaded for him; the intrigues 
 of his wife, who had fixed her worthless afiectious 
 upon another, and the arguments of those who were 
 greedy to obtain his domains, prevailed. Waltheof 
 was condemned to die. The Normans hastened to 
 execute a sentence so much in accordance with their 
 wishes ; and at the dawn of the last morning in May, 
 while the people of Winchester still slept, they 
 hurried the weeping, earl to a hill without the city. 
 The executioners, fearing that the townsmen would 
 learn the business on which they were engaged, and 
 might make an attempt to save their countryman, 
 called on him as he lay prostrate with grief,—"" Eise, 
 sir, that we may execute our lord^s command.^^ He 
 besrered them to allow him to offer, for the last time, 
 the Lord’s prayer. They gave their consent; but 
 his emotion increased so much, that when he came to 
 the clause lead us not into temptation,” his tears 
 fell so fast, and his sobbings were so violent, that he 
 was unable to conclude the prayer he had begun. 
 
 * Ingulph’s Abbey of Croyland, p, 145. 
 
120 
 
 WULSTAN. 
 
 The executioner could wait no longer_, hut drawing 
 his sword^ he severed the earhs head from his body 
 at a single stroke. 
 
 A hole was dug on the hill where the wicked deed 
 was done^ and the Normans hoped that_, as they 
 covered up the body^ so they might conceal all traces 
 of their cruelty; but the news soon spread that 
 Waltheof was dead^ and the mournful tidings sunk 
 into the hearts of the oppressed Saxons. Men and 
 women filled the air with their lamentations_, but 
 none had the strength for vengeance. Sullenly the 
 people bore this new act of cruelty; and as they 
 waited for the judgments of heaven to fall on their 
 behalf, they marked with secret joy that the faithless 
 Judith ended her life in remorse^ unmitigated by 
 sympathy, and that for the remaining thirteen years 
 of William^s reign he gained no pitched battle, he 
 conquered no town. * 
 
 Waltheof was the last of the Saxon earls ; but 
 there still remained one high in office who belonged 
 to the hated race. Wulstan, bishop of Worcester, 
 had passed through many vicissitudes of fortune, and 
 had often been in danger of exile, but, by timely sub¬ 
 servience, or such services as those rendered on the 
 banks of the Severn, he had placated the conquerors 
 of his country. But in 1075, or •’6, a synod was held, 
 at which Lanfranc presided, and to which Wulstan 
 was summoned to answer the charge of ignorance 
 and unfitness for his office. He was a simple and 
 pious man, but being unacquainted with the French 
 
 * Ord. Vit., yol. ii., p. 82—86. 
 
A MIRACLE. 
 
 121 
 
 ianguage_, was unable to assist in tlie king^s councils. 
 On this account Lanfranc demancled the pastoral 
 staff at the hands of the bishop. Wulstan rose^ and 
 •approaching the primate^ said^ Truly, my lord arch¬ 
 bishop, I know that I am not worthy of this high 
 honour, nor sufficient for the discharge of its laboms 
 and duties. You claim from me the pastoral staff^ 
 which it was not you who gave me ; yet, in deference 
 to your judgment, I resign it, though not to you, but 
 rather to St. Edward, by wdiose authority I received 
 it.^^ Having said this, he rose, and, followed by his 
 attendants, left the assembly to visit the tomb of their 
 beloved king. There he addressed the deceased Ed¬ 
 ward, telling him how reluctantly he had accepted 
 the ofhce, how' unworthy he had shown himself of it, 
 and, striking the staff upon the tomb, exclaimed,— 
 I therefore resign my pastoral staff, not to those 
 who demand back what they did not give, but to thee 
 who didst give it to me, and resign the charge 
 of those whom thou didst entrust to-my care.^^ To 
 the astonishment of the spectators, the staff thus 
 struck upon the stone, remained imbedded as if in 
 clay, and no efforts that were used could take it from 
 its position. The news of the miracle w^ere carried 
 into the synod, and Lanfranc ordered one of his 
 suffragans to fetch the staff, but his attempts to draw 
 it out were fruitless; then the archbishop, accom¬ 
 panied by the king, hastened to the church, wdiere 
 they beheld Wulstan divested of his episcopal robes, 
 sitting among his attendants as a simple monk. 
 They w^ere soon convinced that the sainted king had 
 
 A' 
 
 G 
 
122 
 
 A VISIT TO EEC. 
 
 invisibly interfered on belialf of tlie bishop; and 
 beseeching him to forgive their unjust suspicions of 
 liis worthiness^ begged him to accept investitm’e at 
 the shrine of the Confessor. * 
 
 How much truth there is in this acount it is im¬ 
 possible to say; but certainly a very- large portion of 
 it is fabulous^ and is now only useful as suggesting 
 the mental and moral condition of the people^ that 
 could have received such fables as facts. 
 
 The next tr\vo or three years of Lanfranc’s life were 
 occupied in matters that, while they were of the 
 highest importance in his own time, have little of 
 interest to us, who live at the distance of eight 
 centuries. The monastery is not an institution of 
 our age, and therefore we see little that is worthy of 
 notice in the consecration of a new abbey for monks. 
 iNFor does Ireland stand to England in the same rela¬ 
 tion as it did in the time of William the Conqueror^, 
 when one of the most memorable of the transactions 
 of Lanfranc^s life was that of sending letters to two 
 successive bishops of Dublin, both of whom had been 
 consecrated by him, and one of whom had been a 
 monk trained under his care. 
 
 In 1078 Lanfranc returned the visit which he had 
 received from Herluin, the abbot of Bee, soon after 
 his elevation to the primacy; and throwing off the 
 insignia of his office, he became once more the prior 
 of Bee. t He remained among the monks, his old 
 pupils, for three days, and during that time he conse- 
 
 * Rog. de "NVend., vol. i., p. 371, 372. 
 t Milo. C.isp. Remusat.- Roger of Wend. 
 
herluin’s death. 
 
 123 
 
 crated tlie new abbey, tlie foundation of was 
 
 owing to Ms efforts and industry. The dedication 
 took place in the presence of five archbishops, and 
 was attended by crowds of priests and infiuential lay¬ 
 men, On his departure Herluin accompanied the 
 primate two miles upon his journey; and Lanfranc, 
 bidding farewell to liis abbot for the last time, re¬ 
 turned to England. Herluin returned to Bee to die. 
 In a few months, he whose early life had been spent 
 amid the profligacy and disorder of camps, but whose 
 later age had been ennobled by a persevering spirit of 
 goodness, gained am answer to his oft-repeated prayer, 
 ^^Nunc dimittis, Domine, servum tuum.^'’ His 
 monks raised a chapel to his memory, and enrolled 
 Mm in their calendar of saints. 
 
 The period at which we have now arrived in the 
 life of Lanfranc, again brings up for notice the con¬ 
 nection of the English church and crown with the 
 bishop of Borne. We have already attempted to 
 show that the distinction between the forms and 
 creeds of England and Borne was not very marked, 
 —that in general the chm-ch of this country was 
 orthodox in its faith and practices, and that its pre¬ 
 lates have always enjoyed a high reputation among 
 their continental brethren. It is evident that the 
 policy of William was a purely selfish one; he had no 
 love to the church as a religious institution; but re¬ 
 garded it merely as a means whereby he might obtain 
 more power, or consolidate what he had aBeady 
 acquired. The position which he occupied in relation 
 to the clergy enabled Mm to accomplish pm’poses 
 
 G 2 
 
124 
 
 THE ANGLO-NORMAN CHURCH. 
 
 wliicli no otlier king of that age would have dared to 
 have attempted. The bishops had all received their 
 appointments directly from him^ and^ besides feeling 
 their dependence upon his favour^ were too intent 
 upon their own schemes of worldly ambition to be 
 greatly disturbed by the changes taking place in the 
 constitution of their church. The silence of Lanfranc 
 respecting the innovations of William upon the rights 
 of the clergy may be easily accounted for^ when we 
 remember that liis policy was a conservative one— 
 that he was too anxious- to allay the stormy passions 
 of the invaders and invaded_, to engage in such a war 
 as was afterwards waged bv Anselm and Becket. He 
 must_, besides^ have been aware that William felt too 
 secure in his new possession to fear any opposition 
 from those Arho OAved all to liis favour^ and who would, 
 if he Avere uncroAvned, be themselves unmitred. The 
 king^ hoAvever^ did not trust solely to the fears of his 
 clergy; he deceived them by his policy, and blinded 
 them by favours which cost him nothing. It is, per¬ 
 haps, hardly a matter for surprise, that the men, avIio 
 had seen the respect Avhich Avas paid to the bishop of 
 Sion and the Italian cardinals, Avho had beheld the rich 
 presents and the costly flattery AAdiich William had 
 lavished upon their spiritual chief, who saAv every day 
 new churches rising around them, built in a style of 
 enduring magniflcence, and endoAved with sumptuous 
 gifts, should have been careless, or apparently ignorant 
 of the fact, that within ten years their property, and 
 that of ecclesiastical institutions generally, had be¬ 
 come mere feudal possessions; that their OAAm liberty 
 
DEMANDS OF HILDEBRAND. 
 
 125 
 
 was less than that of their predecessors; that 
 though synods were revived, yet no canon could 
 be passed without the leave of the king; no letter 
 or bull coidd he received from Rome without the 
 sanction of the crown; and that the power of 
 excommunicating nobles had virtually passed from 
 their hands. 
 
 In 1073, Hildebrand obtained the aim of his life, 
 and became, by the death of Alexander, tlie pope of 
 Rome. He had been one of the principal supporters 
 of William^s claim to the crown of England in oppo¬ 
 sition to Harold, and therefore considered that the 
 gratitude of the king for his success should not be 
 allowed to exhaust it^'clf in the offering of tributes. 
 Gregory YII. was Hildebrand, with piu-poses that 
 liad increased as the hopes of read sing them had 
 become stronger, with a view which had enlarged as 
 his position had become higlier, and with a deter¬ 
 mination as fixed as ever on the ultimate supremacy of 
 the church. He therefore sent letters through Hubert, 
 his legate in England, to William and Lanfranc, 
 requiring from the first submission, and from the 
 latter attendance at Rome. Lanfranc replied in a 
 very respectful manner to the pope^^s letter addressed 
 to himself. He attempted to excuse himself from 
 journeying so far as Rome, pleading that his sub¬ 
 mission and affection to Gregory were not the less 
 because he was absent from him. He declined offer¬ 
 ing any opinion on the subject of Huberts commu¬ 
 nication to William, as the king would himself reply. 
 Gregory^’s letter to William consisted in a request 
 
126 WILLIAM^S REPLY TO HILDEBEATO, 
 
 that the tax of Peter^s pence, which had not heen 
 paid since the Conquest, shotdd he forwarded with as 
 little delay as possible^ and of a demand that, in con¬ 
 sideration of the eminent services rendered hy the 
 church to William in the invasion of England, he 
 should do homage for his crown. The king was some¬ 
 what startled and embarrassed by the latter clause of 
 this epistle. And there was certainly cause for his 
 astonishment. Previous to the Conquest, and for 
 many years after, England never showed any grovel¬ 
 ling submission to the hierarchy. Ko king had re¬ 
 ceived his sceptre fi.v>m a pope, nor yielded his crown 
 to a legate. It was reserved for Rome to obtain a 
 solitary triumph over the most worthless sovereign 
 that ever sat upon a tTirone; and then because the ' 
 people whom he gnvemed felt, in their contempt for 
 his character, that the degradation was his alone. 
 The reply of the king* was brief hut decisive. I will 
 not swear fidelity to thee, for I never promised it | 
 nor did any of my predecessors ever swear fidelity to 
 thine/^ He apologised for the arrears that had arisen 
 in the tax, and promised to forward a moiety at once, 
 and the remainder he empowered Lanfranc to send 
 at his convenience. * 
 
 It has heen considered that justice lay on the side 
 of Gregory, and that William, haHng made himself 
 secure in his possessions, refused to comply with the 
 conditions he had made through the canon of Lisienx. 
 
 It is, however, impossible to say whetlier William 
 ever entered into anv conditions, and indeed whether 
 
 * Collyer’s Ecc Tlis., vol. ii. 
 
Peter’s pence. 
 
 127 
 
 any vrere ever offered to him. The truth probably is, 
 that Hildebrand, remembering how anxious William 
 had been to secure the assistance of the church, 
 thought he would offer no opposition to a formal 
 submission. Doubtless also he believed that the tax 
 of Peter’s pence, which before the time of Canute had 
 been simply a voluntary contribution of the people, 
 but since his time had been regularly levied upon 
 every inhabitant, was a feudal prestation, and therefore 
 one that entitled him to the rank of superior lord. 
 W ith the reply of William he was naturally enraged ; 
 but being at the time en.gaged in a quarrel with 
 Henry, the emperor of Germany, he could spare 
 neither anathemas nor arms for any other monarch. 
 He was therefore prudent eiiouvh to sav no more at 
 
 J. C_- c. 
 
 that time; but, invoking the vengeance of St. Peter, 
 he awaited a more auspicious season. 
 
 This correspondence was followed by another letter 
 in the next year, in which Gregory had several grounds 
 of complaint, but principally that William did not 
 allow his bishops to leave the kingdom without his 
 consent. Hubert was instructed by this letter to 
 invite two bishops out of each proAnnce to be present 
 at a synod appointed for the following Easter at Pome. 
 William, Avho refused compliance with the suggestions 
 of the pope, did not, however, allow these circumstances 
 to disturb the union of England with Pome. Gregory 
 did not recal his legate, nor treat William with less 
 respect; Avhile, on the other side, the spiritual supre¬ 
 macy of Pome Avas still supported, aod the functions 
 of tlie l^nglish church enlarged. 
 
128 
 
 POSITION OF THE PONTIFF. 
 
 And certainly tixero never was a time when Greg^ory 
 VII. more needed the aid of European princes in the 
 support of his authority than in the year J 080. Then^ 
 the man whO) three years before, had crossed the 
 Alps, covered with the snows of January—^^vho had 
 knelt humbled and crushed before the pope; to re¬ 
 ceive' his tardy and almost hitter absolution, was 
 master of the v^hole of Germany, and the north of 
 Italy—^liad left his consecrated rival dead upon the 
 lianks of the Elster, and was marching against Rome 
 itself. In the Tyrol, and in Milan, the anti-papal 
 party had elected Guibart pope under the title of 
 Clement III., and had sent legates into the chief 
 European kingdoms to obtain adherents. Cardinal 
 Hugo wrote to Lanfranc, to biing him over to his 
 side; and an embassy wnited upon William for the 
 same purpose. William refused an audience, and in¬ 
 structed the primate to discourage the letters of 
 Hugo. Lanfranc accordingly wrote the following 
 reply — 
 
 I received your letter, but am not pleased with 
 some part of its contents. Your falling hard upon, 
 Gregory, calling him Hildebrand, and giving his 
 legate an odd name, is more than I understand; and 
 then your flourishing so much upon Clementes cha¬ 
 racter, seems going too far on the other hand : for it 
 is written, we are not to pronounce a man happy, or 
 to commend him, as the Vulgate has it, ^before his 
 death,^ neither are we to detract from our neighbour; 
 the good qualities and merits of men are somewhat 
 mysterious, and lie out of sight at present j neither is 
 
ANGLO-SAXON COURTS. 
 
 129 
 
 it possible to pronounce with truth upon their future 
 condition. However, I believe the illustrious emperor 
 would not embark in so great an undertaking without 
 being founded upon good reason. Neither do I 
 imagine would he have prospered so far without the 
 signal blessing of God Almighty. I cannot concur 
 with you in yoim taking a voyage to England, unless 
 the king^s leave can first be procured, for as yet our 
 island has not disclaimed Gregory, nor, indeed, 
 declared for either of the competitors ; but when the 
 cause shall' ])e thoroughly examined, and the pre¬ 
 tences of both sides come upon the board, we shall 
 then be better qualified to come to a resolution in 
 your case.'’-’ * 
 
 But besides this service rendered by William to 
 Gregory in his adversity, the English chiu*ch obtained 
 an accession of power at this time, which marks the 
 latter part of this king^s reign as one of the most 
 eventful periods in our constitutional history. We 
 shall be better able to appreciate the extent of this 
 change in our modes of administering of justice, if 
 we first take a rapid glance at the ancient couids of 
 the axons. 
 
 Amon" tlie AnHo-Saxons there were three courts, 
 in which all causes, either of a civil or ecclesiastical 
 nature, could be determined. The first and lowest 
 was the Hall-mote, so called from its being often held 
 in the hall of the thane wlio presided. In this court 
 all small and relatively unimportant causes were 
 heard, to relieve the higher tribunals. Next to the 
 
 * Collyer, vol. ii. 
 
130 
 
 THE COUNTY COURT. 
 
 Hall-mote came tlie Hundred court, wliich was sup¬ 
 posed to include in its jurisdiction a large part of tlie 
 county. Tlie magistrate wlio presided was termed a 
 liundredary, and received one tliird of all tlie fines 
 imposed in liis court. The meeting of the hundred, 
 or ten tithings, took place once a month, though a 
 special assembly of all the males over twelve years of 
 age was com^ened once a year. Besides the hun¬ 
 dredary, the arclideacon, and sometimes the bishop 
 of the district, presided. Superior to the court of the 
 hundred, was the Shire-mote, or county court. It 
 has been described as a little parliament, in which 
 a great variety of business, civil, military, and 
 ecclesiastical, w^as transacted.^^ * Its meetings were of 
 two kinds :—^first, the lesser motes, wdiich were held 
 every month, and the general shire mote, which took 
 place in the spring and autumn only. To these latter 
 gatherings all the wealthy and influential men of the 
 county were invited. At a stated time and place, 
 the bishop of the diocese, the aldermen of the shire, 
 the shiregrieve, lawmen, magistrates, thanes, abbots, 
 with all the clergy and landholders of the county, 
 w ere obliged to be present.^^ f If any of these w^ere 
 prevented from attending by illness, or their business, 
 they wure to excuse themselves by writing, or by a 
 deputy. This is showm in an interesting letter of 
 Lanfranc^s, written to Odo, while justiciary of the 
 kingdom. The primate was in an ill state of health 
 at the time, and had been advised by the king to 
 repair to Takenham, where he would be near abbot 
 * iJr. Henry, yol. vi., p. 339. f Dr. Henry, vol. vi., p. 348. 
 
 1 
 
THE WITENAGEMOT. 
 
 131 
 
 Baldwin^ of St. Edmonsbnry, and might profit by bis 
 knowledge of medieine. Lanfranc did so^ and as be 
 detained Baldwin from tbe plea, wliicb be was other¬ 
 wise, bound to attend, he wrote tbe letter just men¬ 
 tioned to the bishop of Bayeux. 
 
 From the decisions of these courts there was an 
 appeal to the parliament of Anglo-Saxon times, or, as 
 it was called, the Witenagemot. This bore the same 
 relation to the counties into which the nation was 
 dmded, as the county court bore to the hundreds 
 which composed the shire. Its functions were to a 
 great extent undefined and unlimited; but in relation 
 to the judicature of the country, it had the power of 
 annulling or altering the decisions of the other courts. 
 'It could also call before it great criminals, or men 
 who, from their station and wealth, would be able to 
 tamper with inferior tribunals. Its meetings were 
 generally three in number during the year, being held 
 at Christmas, Easter, and Whitsuntide j but sometimes 
 there were special gatherings to consider some national 
 emergency. 
 
 Such, then, was the constitution of the Anglo- 
 Saxon courts, or tribunals of justice; let us now 
 examine the changes they underwent from the in- 
 fiuence of Norman manners and customs. 
 
 The difference which existed between the courts of 
 Norman and S axon England arose from two sources : 
 —first, from the modification of the feudal system, 
 which took place at the Conquest, and secondly from 
 the extraordinary privileges granted to the chiu’cli in 
 the last three years of William^s life. 
 
132 
 
 ORDINANCE OF 1085 . 
 
 Owing to tlie first canse^ tlie jnrisdictionfin tlie lesser 
 coni'ts—such as the hall-motes—became more sum¬ 
 mary and arbitrary. These were presided over by 
 men who^ being the tenants-in-chief of the king, in¬ 
 herited from him the right to dispense justice to those 
 who stood in that relation to them which they bore to ^ 
 the king. All who held baronies of the crown, 
 whether lay or clerical, had this right of judicature, 
 and could even inflict capital punishment upon of¬ 
 fenders. Still further, a baron could delegate the 
 power to a lesser baron, or one who held land of him, 
 but without the privilege of inflicting death. * 
 
 It will be seen from what has now been said, that 
 it was the custom in England previous to, and some 
 time after the Conquest, to try all causes before one 
 or more of the four courts—no matter whether the 
 causes referred to secular or ecclesiastical affairs. In 
 the year 1085, however, William published an ordi¬ 
 nance, by v/hich he separated, with one stroke, all 
 connection between the two classes of judges. ‘‘1 
 have thought fit,^^ said he, to amend the episcopal 
 law^s, which improperly, and in contradiction to the 
 canons, were, until the time of my conquest, in force 
 in this country. I ordain that henceforward no 
 bishop nor archdeacon shall resort to the tribunals of 
 justice to plead episcopal causes, nor henceforth sub¬ 
 mit to the judgment of secular men suits relating to 
 the government of souls. I will that whosoever 
 shall be summoned for whatever cause by the epis¬ 
 copal judicature, shall repair to the bishop^s house, 
 
 * Dr. Henry, yol. yi., p. 348. 
 
THE bishops’ court. 
 
 133 
 
 or to such other place as the bishop himself shall 
 choose and appointj that he shall there plead his 
 cause_, and render what is right to God and to the 
 bishop,—not according to the laws of the country, 
 but according to the canons and episcopal decrees;— 
 that if any one, through an excess of pride, refused to 
 repair to the bishop’s eourt, he shall receive notice once, 
 twice, or thrice; and if, after three successive notices, 
 he does not appear, he shall be excommunicated, and 
 if need be, the strength and justice of the king, or 
 of the viscount, shall be employed against him.” * f 
 
 Owing to this ordinance there arose in England 
 an entirely new species of law and of court, and in 
 course of time the once famous shire-mote, deprived 
 of the authority of the bishop, dwindled down to a 
 very unimportant affair. The number of comds that 
 sprang into existence corresponded to those whieh had 
 previously existed. Thus the archdeacon, who had 
 previously oecupied a seat in the hundred-court, now 
 held a court of his own, and the bishop, who formerly 
 presided with the earl of the county, erected his con¬ 
 sistory ; and above these was the archbishop’s court, 
 which received appeals from the consistory, and had 
 authority over the bishops of all the dioceses in the 
 province. 
 
 It is somewhat remarkable that a sovereign who 
 had violated the laws in so many ways, and sported 
 so carelessly with the liberties of the church, should 
 have been the author of an ordinance, that tended, 
 more than any enactment of any age, to weaken the 
 * Thierry, bk. vi. f Johnson’s Eco. Canons: CoUyer. 
 
134 
 
 ECCLESIASTICAL COURTS. 
 
 power of the crown. But it is an evidence of the 
 great mastery William possessed over the clergy of 
 his time; had he held them by a looser rein_, he would 
 have felt their intractable spirits^ and feared to have 
 given this power. A variety of motives has been con¬ 
 ceived why the king should have made this separation—• 
 the barons and the clergy having been variously supposed 
 the originators of the plan; but there is no reason to 
 doubt the preamble of the act_, which states the object 
 to have been the amendment of the laws according to 
 the canons. Dr. Lingard^ in his account of ecclesi¬ 
 astical courts^ says that^ from the earliest times^ the 
 laity were permitted by the imperial law^ and the 
 clergy compelled by the canon law^ to accept of the 
 bishop as the judge of civil controversies. He fm’ther 
 states that on the continent the spiritual courts were 
 continued after the imperial government had ceased^ 
 and that the natives preserved many institutions 
 which their conqueror incorporated with their own 
 laws ; but our barbarian ancestors eradicated every 
 prior establishment^ and transplanted the manners of 
 the wilds of Germany into the new solitude which 
 they had made. After their conversion^ they asso¬ 
 ciated the heads of the clergy with their nobles_, and 
 both equally exercised the functions of civil magis¬ 
 trates. It is plain that the bishop was the sole judge 
 of the clergy in criminal cases; that he alone decided 
 their differences, and that to him appertained the 
 cognizance of certain offences against the rights of the 
 church, and the sanctions of religion; but as it was 
 his duty to sit with the sheriff in the court of the 
 
WILLIAM LAITS SIEGE TO MANTES. 
 
 135 
 
 county, liis ecclesiastical became blended witli bis 
 seeiilar jurisdiction, and many causes, wbicli in other 
 countries bad been reserved to the spiritual judge, 
 ■were decided in England before a mixed tribunal. 
 This disposition continued in force till the Norman 
 Conquest, wdientbe t^^'o jurisdictions were complete]y 
 separated by the new sovereign; and in every diocese 
 ^ courts Cbristian,^ that is, of the bishop and bis arch¬ 
 deacons, ■were established after the model, and ■with 
 the authority, of similar courts in all other parts of 
 the ■western church.’^ * 
 
 Tlie establishment of the ecclesiastical comets is the 
 last act of ■ftdiich w^e have to give any account in the 
 life of William I. In the following year he left 
 England for Normandy, and while there, incited by 
 anger at a jest, or from some equally trifling cause, 
 he made w^ar upon Philip of France. Having taken 
 the to^wn of ]Mantes, he rode through its bmming 
 streets. In doing so, his horse started, and threw its 
 rider upon the pummel of the saddle. The king 
 received a bruise from wliich he never recovered. 
 Inflammation and fever set in, and in a fe^w weeks he 
 lay upon his death-bed. By his side stand his two 
 younger sons, in w hose eyes the expectancy of coming 
 wealth restrains the tears for which aflection asks. 
 Prelates and barons aw ait his orders, and watch for 
 the moment w hen they shall hail his second son as 
 kino;. But Rufus does not sta-\'^ for their obeisanee or 
 his father’s death; he receives the letters wliich the 
 dying king gives him to carry to Lanfranc, hears that 
 * Dr. Lingard’s Hist. Eng., chap. iii. 
 
136 
 
 DEATH OF THE KING. 
 
 England is for and ISTormandy for tlie vagrant 
 Eobert_, and hurries to the coast^ that he may be 
 ready to set sail when the news of death shall reach 
 him. And in that hour the power of the church is 
 visible^ and conscience has a voice. The Conqueror 
 remembers the wrongs he has perpetrated, the violence 
 of which he has been guilty. He orders writs to be 
 given to Lanfranc, by which he can obtain restitution 
 of church lands, and he commands those Saxons who 
 still remain in prison to be liberated. And thus on 
 the 9th September, 1087, murmuring the name of the 
 goddess of his church, died William duke of Normandy, 
 king of England. * 
 
 * W. Malms. 
 
137 
 
 CHAPTEH XII. 
 
 THE PRIMATE^S LAST ACTS AND DEATH. 
 
 At tlie time of Willianr’s deatli^, Robei’E liis eldest 
 son, was leading a vagrant and irregular life, support¬ 
 ing himself chiefly by making inroads into the pro¬ 
 vinces of his neighbours. He had never been a 
 favourite with his father, but had often disagreed and 
 indeed fought with him. It was on this account that 
 he did not inherit the kingdom of England, but re¬ 
 ceived only the duchy of Normandy. Nevertheless, 
 William his brother felt that his crown would be very 
 insecure if Robert should be able to gain partisans 
 on the north of the channel. He tlierefore made all 
 liaste to put himself under the protection of Lanfranc, 
 who had educated him, and introduced him to the 
 honour of knighthood. He delivered his fathers 
 letters to the primate, and obtained possession of the 
 royal treasury at Winchester, in which he is said to 
 liave found a sum equal to .€60,000 of silver, besides 
 gold and jewels, and his plate and wardrobe. * This 
 wealth he distributed according to the late king’s be¬ 
 quest, and courted popularity by sending €100 to 
 
 * Henry of Hunt. p. 219. 
 
138 
 
 ODO. 
 
 eacli countyand various sums to tlie cliurclies and 
 monasteries^, to be distributed as alms. * He was 
 crowned by tbe archbishop of Canterbury on the 27th 
 of September, and passed the winter in tranquillity. 
 But to have secured the friendship and assistance of 
 Lanfranc was to have incurred the hatred and oppo¬ 
 sition of Odoj and William had soon to contend 
 against a powerful faction, led by that turbulent 
 ecclesiastic. 
 
 Odo had, for the three years previous to the death 
 of W^illiam, been a prisoner in a Norman fortress; 
 but through the entreaties of his friends and par¬ 
 tisans, he had been liberated by his brother on his 
 death-bed. The old animosity which he bore to Lan¬ 
 franc for having taken from him the manors belonging 
 to Canterbury was now intensified to hatred, as he 
 believed that his imprisonment had been owing to 
 the advice of the primate. Nor was this assertion 
 false; for v/hen Wrilliam the elder complained to 
 Lanfranc that he was deserted by his brother, ^ Seize 
 and cast him into chains,^ said he. ^ W"hat,^ replied 
 the king, ^ he is a clergyman ! ^ Then the archbishop, 
 with playful archness, as Persius says, ^ balancing the 
 objection with nice antithesis, rejoined, ^You wfill 
 not seize the bishop of Bayeux, but confine the earl 
 of Kent.’’ t 
 
 W^illiam had soon 'cause to fear the league which 
 was being formed against him, especially as his cold 
 and severe manners had estranged nearly all the 
 barons in England from him. In this emergency, he 
 * Hoger of 'Wend, voli., p. 355. f W. Malms,, p. 328. 
 
.CIVIL WAR. 
 
 139 
 
 was supported by the voluntary services of thirty 
 thousand of the Saxon population^ who felt that in 
 supporting the standard of William against Normans, 
 they were aiding him to avenge the wrongs they 
 suffered. * The king, in return for these services, pro¬ 
 mised them the repeal of many taxes, and the enact¬ 
 ment of laws in accordance with their wishes. He 
 then took the field at the head of his untried troops, 
 and marched against Odo, whom he found in Kent, 
 ravaging the lands belonging to the archbishop. 
 Upon the approach of the king he shut himself up in 
 llochester, determined to try the effects of a siege 
 upon the castle, while he awaited reinforcements from 
 duke Robert in Normandy, f These reinforcements, 
 however, never reached Rochester, but were destroved 
 on the sea shore. Odo, finding no relief come to his 
 aid, gave up the castle. As he passed from under its 
 walls, amid a triumphant flourish of trumpets, the 
 English called upon the king, Halters, bring halters 
 to hang this traitor bishop ! J but he was allowed to 
 depart the kingdom; and he retired, never to return. 
 Soon after this, the brothers William and Robert 
 patched up their differences by a treaty, which, though 
 not destined to be binding long, allowed an oppor¬ 
 tunity for the rebellious barons to get back their 
 estates. The promises which the king had made with 
 the English were never kept; the laws respecting 
 game and the odious taxes were as oppressive as be¬ 
 fore ; and many of those S axons who had been libe- 
 
 * Ord. Yit,, vol. ii., p. 435. f Mams, and Eoger of Wend, 
 j Ord. Yit., vol ii., p. 436. 
 
140 
 
 DEATH or LANPRANC. 
 
 rated by the order of his father he again imprisoned. 
 This conduct brought upon him the remonstrances of 
 Lanfranc^ but they had little effect. His measures 
 were so oppressive that England/^ it is said^ could 
 not take breath under the burdens which he laid 
 upon it.^^ * 
 
 In the nineteenth year of his prelacy, eighteen 
 months after the death of William I., and in the 
 eighty-fourth year of his age, died the venerable 
 Lanfranc. His death was a loss to the country, for 
 even the Saxons had learnt to love the man wdio had 
 so often warded from them the stroke of the op¬ 
 pressor ; and to the church it was an irreparable mis¬ 
 fortune. No man then living was so well able as he 
 to promote the cause of peace, and to heal the ani¬ 
 mosities of the royal brothers. After his death we 
 are told that the king showed himself so variable, that 
 the balance hung between vices and virtues, but it soon 
 preponderated on the side of evil, till at last all men 
 rejoiced at his untimely end. f 
 
 The character of Lanfranc has been shown in the 
 actions we have recorded of him, and needs neither 
 criticism to expose its weakness, nor eulogium to 
 extol its merits. It is sufficient to say of him, that if 
 he was ambitious, it was the ambition of lofty attain¬ 
 ments, and that he never sacrificed to itself the 
 interests of others; that if he was haughty, it was 
 the pride of a man who felt himself superior in 
 nature and in pursuits to the creatures around him, 
 who squandered or dreamed away their lives. In a 
 * Eoger of Weiic!., yoI. i., p. 445. f W. Malms., bk. iv., chap. i. 
 
CANTERBURY. 
 
 141 
 
 period of tranquillity and order^ when merit nsnally 
 receives its appreeiation^ and industry its reward^ it 
 woidd be small praise to say of a public man^ that lie 
 bad kept bis bands unstained by bribes_, bad taken no 
 advantage of bis position to benefit bimself. But in 
 an age wben plunder and rapaeity were general^ wben 
 offices in tbe cbui’cb w'ere obtained by purchase^ and 
 property in tbe state amassed by tlieft—to be able to 
 say of one whose opportunities were great for self- 
 aggrandisement^ that in bis time no sinister means 
 could profit a bishop^ nor could an abbot obtain 
 advancement by purchase^ * that though be amassed 
 wealth, yet no voice was raised to denounee its owner, 
 while many blessed bis benevolence—is to indicate a 
 character of high moral worth. And all this may be 
 said of Lanfranc. 
 
 Tbe property of tbe church of Canterbury is said to 
 have been very great in bis time; and it must have 
 been, if we are to credit tbe statement, that tbe 
 primate was in tbe habit of dispensing in charity five 
 hundred pounds a year—equal to at least seven thou¬ 
 sand five hundred pounds of our money j f pTO- 
 bably, in that is included the expenses of rebuilding 
 the church at Canterbury, which, on his arrival, he 
 found in ruins. The services which Lanfranc rendered 
 to the ehurch and neighbomdiood of Canterbury were 
 very great, and obtained for him a well-deserved 
 reputation. The present cathedral of Canterbmy, 
 though a very ancient building, was not in existence 
 in the eleventh century. At the time of the Conquest 
 * Malms., bk. iii. f Henry, vol. vi. 
 
142 
 
 LANFRANC^S SERVICES 
 
 tliere stood a cliiircli wliicli had been probably bnilt 
 before the conversion of the Anglo-Saxons, and vrbicb 
 Angnstine, on bis arrival, consecrated to the service of 
 Christ, and dignified by bis name. In 1067 it was 
 destroyed by fire, and for some time after Lanfranc^s 
 appointment it remained in ruins. But be ordered 
 the foundations of the old structure to be dug up, 
 and an entirely new building to be raised, which 
 should surpass the former one both in strength and 
 beauty. Before the arrival of the Normans in this 
 country, nearly all the monasteries and churches were 
 made of wood, which, besides their unsightly ap¬ 
 pearance, were liable to be destroyed by fire. ‘^^All 
 the monasteries of my realm, to the outward sight, 
 are nothing but worm-eaten and rotten timber and 
 boards,^^ said king Edgar in 974. * With the Conquest 
 a new style of architecture was introduced, and more 
 enduring materials were employed. The Normans, 
 who excelled in the erection of splendid monasteries, 
 obtained a great part of their stone from Caen in 
 Normandy, and thither Lanfranc sent to procure 
 materials for his work. The erection of the church 
 occupied seven years of his primacy, but when com¬ 
 pleted, was probably the most magnificent structure 
 the English had ever seen. From the accounts that 
 are preserved of it, it is difficult to obtain any vivid 
 perception of its beauty as a whole, but we may form 
 some idea from the following description ;—The nave 
 was supported by eight pairs of pillars, at the east 
 end of which was an oratory, built in lieu of a chapel 
 
 * Somncr’s Canterbury. 
 
TO CANTEBBUEY. 
 
 143 
 
 tliat had formerly been dedicated to the Virsrin. The 
 west end was adorned with two stately towers^ on the 
 top of which were gilded pinnacles. Between the 
 nave and qnire was built a great steeple. Over a 
 partition which separated the tower of this steeple 
 from the nave^ was laid a beam^ upon the middle of 
 which was erected a great cross^ supported by images 
 of the Virgin, St. John, and two cherubim. The 
 pinnacle above was surmounted by a gilded cherub, 
 whence this tower was called Angel steeple. * 
 
 Besides the erection of this church, Canterbury is 
 indebted to Lanfranc for two hospices which he built 
 just outside the west-gate of the city; the one called 
 St. Nicholas of Herbaldown, the other St. John^s. He 
 endowed them with funds to the amount of seven- 
 score pounds per annum, arising from his manors of 
 Beculver and Bacton. 
 
 Situated on the east side of the city was a monastery, 
 dedicated to the service of the monks of St. Augustine, 
 and bearing the name of their founder. This convent 
 Lanfranc enlarged and beautified; he erected a wall 
 around the court, and built all the offices within 
 the wall. On the north gate of the city he established 
 a priory in honour of St. Gregory, and on most of 
 his estates he built palaces for his own convenience. * 
 
 Such, then, was the benevolence and spirit of Lan¬ 
 franc, as we find displayed in his public capacity. 
 Let us, before closing this account of his life, illus¬ 
 trate one other aspect of his character, viewed in its 
 relation to the monks under his charge. 
 
 * Somner’s Canterbu’ V. 
 
THE MONKS OF ST. AUGUSTINE. 
 
 He seems to have been a man of stern and severe 
 deportment_, as we should judge from his unpopularity 
 among the brethren at Bee j and the rules he made 
 for the regulation of monastic institutions^ show 
 that he was a strict disciplinarian. But if the fol¬ 
 lowing story be true^ he was a.rbitrary and unjust. 
 —The same year in which he placed the crown on the 
 head of William Bufus_, he consecrated two bishops, 
 and ordained one Guy, or Wydo, abbot of the 
 monastery of St. Augustine, which, as has been 
 already stated, stood on the outside of Canterbury. 
 The day follovring, Lanfranc introduced the abbot he 
 had chosen to the monks, but they all refused to 
 accept him, owing to his Norman birth, and the 
 wTongs they had suffered under the previous abbot, 
 who had also been a foreigner. * They complained 
 that their ancient privileges had been taken from 
 them, and maintained that they were amenable only 
 to their own abbot, f Lanfranc ordered all those who 
 opposed his orders to come out one by one, and they 
 having done so, he led in the abbot, and installed him 
 with all due ceremonies. The prior he ordered to be 
 confined in the cloister, and others he committed to 
 prison. Still the refractory monks did not return to 
 their obedience, but assembled around St. Mildred^s 
 church, or sat under the walls of the castle. The 
 archbishop sent to them, and threatened them that if 
 they did not submit to the government of their abbot, 
 and show their submission by returning to their 
 monastery within a few hours, he should treat them 
 * Ang, Sax. Chron.: Notes, Bohn, f Thierry’s, Nor. Con. 
 
THE MONKS OF ST. AUGUSTINE. 
 
 145 
 
 as vagabonds. Hunger compelled a few of tliein to 
 capitulate; but they were not permitted to return to 
 their duties, or to partake of their food, until they 
 had sworn, upon the relics of St. Augustine, to obey 
 their superior. The rest, remaining obstinate, were 
 put in irons and confined in the archbishop’s palace. 
 These severe measures prevented any further outward 
 expression of hostility to the foreign abbot; but a 
 conspiracy was privately formed to put him to death. 
 By some means this plot was discovered, and one 
 of the conspirators was seized. Being brought before 
 Lanfranc, he was questioned, and confessed that had 
 opportunity been favourable he would certainly have 
 killed the abbot. The primate thereupon sentenced 
 him to be publicly disgraced, by having his cowl 
 torn off, and after having been tied naked to the gate 
 of his monastery, to be flogged. 
 
 This was the end of the disturbance, and so long 
 as Lanfranc lived, its recurrence was prevented by 
 fear: but no sooner Avas he dead than the abbot Avas 
 compelled to flee; for the tOAvnsmen, stirred up by 
 the monks, attacked his house and threatened his 
 life. His dependents defended themselves, and Avere 
 at last supported by a detachment of troops sent 
 doAvn to Canterbury by the king. Tavo neighbouring 
 bishops brought the monks to trial, sentenced them 
 to the punishment of the scourge, and afterAvards to 
 be distributed in different monasteries. 
 
 The injustice of Avhich the primate Avas guilty in 
 this transaction Avas rather in the cause he had o:iven 
 the monks for resistance, than in the manner in 
 
 H 
 
146 
 
 THE MONKS OF ST. AUGUSTINE. 
 
 which he subdued it when excited. He manifestly 
 outraged the popular sense of right, by taking away 
 one of the most ancient privileges of the monastery; 
 and the readiness with which the people of the city 
 sympathized with the ecclesiastics shows that they 
 regarded the introduction of the foreign abbot as 
 only a part of the political tyranny under which 
 they groaned. The treatment of the recusants was 
 indeed severe; but it was in accordance with the 
 spirit of their rules, and, so far as the worst of them 
 were concerned, it was richly deserved. Looked at 
 from the religious point of view, we must certainly 
 feel that some writers have expended too much 
 sympathy upon men who, though they were native 
 monks, were very bad Christians. A Norman adven¬ 
 turer could have been hardly less tit for the office 
 of abbot, than were they for that of ministers to 
 the people. But admitting that in this instance 
 Lanfranc was guilty of infringing the liberties of 
 the English church, and of acting with injustice 
 towards the monks, we can still prove that, considered 
 generally, the monastic institutions of this country 
 owed much to his care. He reformed their orders, 
 and increased their numbers ; he protected them 
 from the avarice of foreigners, and saved their most 
 ancient abbey from the destructive wrath of the king; 
 he incited them to the pursuit of knowledge, and 
 encouraged them by his example; he edited their 
 sacred literature, and gave them a uniform liturgy; 
 he re-established many monasteries which had fallen 
 into decay, and built others in a style totally unknown 
 
THE MONKS OF ST. AUGUSTINE. 
 
 14T 
 
 in England before. For these things he was beloved 
 by many; and an historian of the following century, 
 speaking of the monks of his own time, says, “ Their 
 minds are still formed on the model of Lanfranc; his 
 memory is dear to them: a warm devotion to God, 
 to strangers a pleasing affability, still remain; nor 
 shall ages see extinguished what in him was a 
 benevolence of heart, comprising the human race, 
 and felt by each one that approached him.” 
 
M'r- 
 
 
 
 % ' 
 
 .<V .f 
 
 Va-J 
 
 .(;r -^r ,.>' 
 
 L’f'' 
 
 
 t • / 
 
 » .• • 
 
 Wf V-/ . . ^ 
 
 -. •; . ■ 
 
 r , V • **■ ,11, 
 
 f ’ * *-1' * - ' *1 ^ ^ • 
 
 ■ •'■' /'*■ i. i 1 ■■_, Kt '■ ■ ) .''A'y ' . V', » 
 
 ' \ i*' ^ ' i'^'T ■ !, ^ • : ' 
 
 ‘ 'U Jt J !'•» ,l: 
 
 ^» I'lj iVuiT ,•'*■ ’: ;•■>' 
 
 ' ‘ r I . '■' < . ■ ; 
 
 ' ' ''v|j *':> .v,*?/',' .i ruT-'). .'?■ .'■ •:*><; ’jl-i''*/.. m 
 
 ^'1.^ I V, ’ .’ •.. .'!*> f I -'i'A.i* 
 
 i\ I * ••* ‘ 
 
 'i \ ■ 
 
 r • \ ♦ 
 
 
 • ^ 
 
 ♦ *' I' , * 
 
 
 V 
 
 I ♦ , 
 
 ly .. 
 
 i‘,r < 
 
 ,\ 
 
 I 1.: 
 
 * 1% »^tT ^ 
 
 7'i ' . 
 
 ', r-'v . 
 
 
 1- V 
 
 
 '\ 
 
 ■ ' ' ■ 
 
 ; \. 
 
 , ■ I 
 
 
 • , -•.;... 
 
 ''' ■ c 
 
 . i '• • ’ ! ” 'Tv 
 
 S ' . ■ ■ > ., -''' 
 
 ;i, 
 
 « i! 
 
 : 
 
 
 ATiWI 
 
 r , 1 ■ : • • '- 
 
 . A 
 •>® 
 
 'iM 
 
 . i 
 
 : I'- 
 
 ..i- 
 
 \ ■ 
 
 tliA 
 
LIFE OF ANSELM. 
 
LIFE OF ANSELM. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AOUST AND AVRANCHES. 
 
 f 
 
 The successor of Lanfranc to the see of Canterbury 
 Avas Anselm; many of the circumstances of Avhose 
 life, and the character of Avhose mind, bore a 
 striking similarity to those of his predecessor and 
 master. Like Lanfranc, he was by birth an Italian, 
 and descended from a respectable family; like him, 
 too, he was in early life a student of no mean pre¬ 
 tensions : for the love of knowledge he left his native 
 country, and travelling into France folloAved closely 
 the steps that Lanfranc had previously trodden, until 
 he became a monk, and finally the abbot of the 
 monastery of Bee. Very little is known respecting 
 his family or early life, and what is generally related 
 of him partakes more largely than could be desired 
 of the marvellous and legendary. It is supposed 
 that he was born in the year 1033 or 1034, and in the 
 
152 
 
 PARENTAGE OF ANSELM. 
 
 city of Aoust; which, in its name and its archi¬ 
 tectural remains, shows the relation it once bore 
 to the empire of Augustus. He was the only son 
 of parents who do not appear to have been especially 
 adapted for each other; his father being boisterous, 
 selfish, and passionate, while his mother was mild, 
 retiring, and religious. 
 
 It was her espedal delight to train him and his 
 only sister in the love and practice of the religion 
 for which she was so eminent; she doubtless early 
 detected the germ of that devotional spirit which 
 afterwards made him famous as a monk, and ulti¬ 
 mately honoured as a saint. She strove hard, and 
 it would appear not unsuccesfully, to develop it; 
 and circumstances assisted her. Gondulf, his father, 
 was morose and forbidding; he spent his life in 
 the neglect of home, and the indulgence of self. 
 This left the mother the full control and education 
 of her children, and in the prosecution of her work 
 she employed all the innocent artifices that her affec¬ 
 tion could suggest, or her knowledge dictate. The boy 
 listened to her instructions so reverently that he would 
 seem to have occasionally taken literally what she in¬ 
 tended as a figure. She often illustrated her lesson 
 by the scenery of his native valley, and told him that 
 the mountains which shut in the home of his child¬ 
 hood were the pillars upon which rested the heaven 
 of her hopes. His friend and biographer, Eadmer, 
 has given us an anecdote which shows the effect 
 such teaching had upon him. He dreamt that the 
 hills about him were the stairs by which he could 
 
HIS CHILDHOOD. 
 
 153 
 
 climb to God; that upon their summits he should 
 find all that his mother taught him to love and 
 that she desired for him. He essayed to climh, and 
 was successful; upon the fields around^ he saw the 
 servants of the King, and chid them because he 
 thought them idling in their labour; he penetrated 
 into the palace itself, spoke to its King, and was 
 refreshed with heavenly food. 
 
 It would have been a matter for surprise to us, 
 and certainly of disappointment to his mother, had 
 so much sentiment and feeling been allowed to 
 evaporate outside the walls of a monastery. Chivalry 
 had not then arisen to employ at once the devotion 
 of the religious, and the courage of the daring ad¬ 
 venturers,—literature was unknown as a profession, 
 and hardly practised as an art, except by a few in 
 the cloister. In the eleventh century the monastery 
 alone offered a school for the studious, and seclusion 
 for the retiring. To that Anselm, as early as fifteen 
 years of age, turned and sought admission. The 
 application was refused, owing to the opposition of 
 his father and his own youth; but the refusal sunk 
 deep into the heart of the applicant, who Avent home 
 to mourn OA^er his disappointment, and to pray 
 that a serious illness Avould fall upon him, AA^hich 
 Avould thaAV the resolve of his father and give him 
 some claim to the sympathy of the abbot. The 
 illness came; but the father would not consent. 
 This second disappointment Avas more than Anselm 
 could bear. ThroAAung aAvay his books, his studies 
 
 and his hopes, he neglected the companionship of 
 
 H 3 
 
154 
 
 HIS CHILDHOOD. 
 
 his mother and sister, and sought to forget his 
 grief in selfish and dissolute pleasures. Suddenly 
 his mother died. The effect upon Anselm is not 
 recorded; but upon Gondulf it was serious and 
 permanent. The positions of the father and son 
 singularly changed. Gondulf entered a monastery, 
 and now looked with a stern eye upon vices so lately 
 his own, hut which now disgraced his son. The 
 anomaly, however, did not long exist. For some 
 reasons not clearly known, but most probably the 
 return of his natural tastes and former hopes, and 
 also to the influence of one who might be called 
 a family chaplain, Anselm set out from Aoust, in 
 company with his friend, determined to penetrate 
 across the range of mountains which divides France 
 from Italy. He accomplished his purpose, though 
 not without hardship and danger. In crossing 
 Mount Cenis they were overcome with fatigue, and 
 so exhausted for want of food, that they supported 
 themselves by melting snow in their mouths. By 
 accident they discovered in the sack carried by an 
 attendant ass a loaf which they had previously over¬ 
 looked, and which revived their hopes and their 
 strength. Anselm regarded it as a miraculous pre¬ 
 servation, and connected it in some mysterious way 
 with the bread of his boyish dream. 
 
 We are not told how the next three years were 
 passed, we only know the fact that they were spent 
 partly in Burgundy and partly in France. At the 
 end of that time we hear of his going into Normandy, 
 and of his being at Avranches, where he probably 
 
HE BECOMES A MONK. 
 
 155 
 
 heard of Lanfranc, the then famous teacher of Bee. 
 Thither he travelled, and was immediately introduced 
 into the school of the Lombard. His love of learn¬ 
 ing and capacity for teaching were soon discovered 
 by Lanfranc, who employed him as his assistant, 
 and remarked wdth pleasure upon the long nights 
 of study and devotion passed by his new pupil. 
 The circumstances in which he was now placed, 
 and the example of Lanfranc acting upon a mind 
 already inclined towards the cell, once more awoke 
 in Anselm the desire of becoming a monk. He 
 applied to his friend and teacher for his advice. 
 The responsibility was not accepted; hut Lanfranc 
 proposed that they should wait upon the archbishop 
 of Rouen, his nearest friend and spiritual adviser. 
 They did so. The conference gave to Bee another 
 distinguished scholar, and to the church a son who 
 was destined to fill in a few years one of its highest 
 posts. 
 
156 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 CLOISTEU LIFE. 
 
 Anselm did not remain long at Bee in the humble 
 position of an ordinary monk; opportunity soon 
 occurred for his promotion to the office held by 
 his friend Lanfranc, who was then at the top of 
 his popularity as a teacher, in the highest esteem 
 with the tihurch for the triumphs he had achieved 
 on the side of orthodoxy, and greatly in favour wdth 
 the duke for the services he had rendered him at 
 Rome. The price demanded from William for liberty 
 to violate canonical rules had been partly paid, and 
 the abbey was in course of erection which was to do 
 honour to St. Stephen, and vindicate the authority 
 of the church. After three years of Anselm’s cloister 
 life had elapsed, the new monastery was fit for 
 habitation, and Lanfranc received the call to its 
 government. Some of his monks and pupils ac¬ 
 companied him to Caen, but Anselm was not of 
 the number; at the desire and through the infiuence 
 of his friend and master, he was elected to the 
 vacant office of prior, and at the same time promoted 
 to the chair of the teacher. He was only thirty 
 years of age, when this double honour was conferred 
 
ANSELM AND OSBERN. 
 
 15T 
 
 upon him; and this fact, conjointly with the short 
 time he had heen an inmate of the monastery, was 
 the cause of much disatfection among the brethren. 
 Little opposition parties were formed against him, 
 and, headed by a young, mischievous monk named 
 Oshern, they carried on a system of annoyance and 
 irritation. 
 
 Anselm saw all this without apparent concern. 
 He was prudent enough to repress his resentment, 
 and determined to conquer his enemy by heaping 
 coals of fire on his head,’^ in the shape of warm 
 and glowing kindnesses. By a course of constant 
 but dignified attentions, he succeeded in gaining 
 enough of the respect of Oshern to overcome his 
 enmity, and by degrees obtained his esteem, and 
 finally his confidence and affection. Oshern, who 
 really possessed some good qualities, became Anselm’s 
 favourite monk and pupil. He felt for him a real 
 affection, and began to look forward to the time 
 when the youth should be called to fill a higher 
 position in the house. His hopes, however, were 
 vain. Mortal disease laid its hand upon the favourite. 
 It is pleasant to observe, through the veil of super¬ 
 stitious but not unreliable legend, with what tender¬ 
 ness the prior watched the sick monk;—what loving 
 and supporting words he spoke to him,—how gently 
 he performed the offices of physician and nurse,—and 
 what affectionate reliance he inspires. But in spite 
 of all, Oshern dies; and Anselm consoles himself 
 with the promise of his friend to transmit to him 
 a knowledge of his then unknown destiny. \Yhile 
 
158 
 
 VISIONS AND MIRACLES. 
 
 the monks surrounded the body of their dead brother, 
 and chanted the service of the church, Anselm saw 
 a vision, which he interpreted, according to his 
 wishes, as the intelligence of his friend’s safety. 
 
 This is one of many circumstances which consti¬ 
 tute striking dissimilarity between the recorded life 
 of Lanfranc and that of Anselm. In the biography of 
 the former we were seldom brought into contact with 
 the supernatural agencies of the middle ages. Here 
 and there a vision appeared. A ghostly boy, for 
 example, was seen in company with Herluin, and 
 by spiritual intervention it was determined that 
 the abbey of Bee should be rebuilt. But these were 
 exceptions; as a rule, the natural order of things 
 was observed. But such is not the rule in the 
 life of Anselm. Its every page bears traces of belief 
 in active supernatural power. Every dream of a 
 disturbed mind is a vision,—every act of kindness 
 a prodigy. From the time of Osbern’s death, 
 Anselm rose higher and higher in the esteem of 
 his monks, and their former animosity was turned 
 into unbounded admiration. He was elevated into a 
 seer, a prophet, and a worker of miracles. Maniacs 
 were restored to reason by his presence. A dying 
 man beheld a flame of fire issue from his mouth. 
 His secretary saw him surrounded, when engaged 
 in his nocturnal meditations, by a halo of light, 
 lieturning from a visit to a Norman lord, he fell 
 into conversation with a monk, of whom he asked 
 a night’s lodging. The monk promised to provide 
 him with shelter, but apologetically informed him 
 
HE IS ELECTED ABBOT. 
 
 159 
 
 he must expect but meagre fare. The confident 
 smile with which Anselm begs him not to make 
 himself uneasy on that score, suggests the possible 
 resemblance of the monk’s larder to that of the 
 clerk of Copmanhurst, of whom the Black Knight 
 demanded a supper. Such, however, is not the 
 case; the virtue of the monk is sustained, and a 
 supper is provided by the miraculous power of 
 Anselm. It would perhaps be difficult to say whether 
 this difference in the lives of these too men is to 
 be accounted for by the superior acquaintance of 
 Lanfranc with the laws of nature,—or by the circum¬ 
 stance that, whereas we are chiefly indebted to the 
 ordinary chroniclers for the facts of Lanfranc’s life, 
 that of his disciple and successor was written by 
 one who was constantly near him, and whose deep 
 reverence may have led to a belief that Anselm was 
 possessed of attributes superior to his fellows. The 
 latter is probably the case,—for it is hard to believe 
 that the virtue of either of these philosophers was 
 so much greater than their science, that they could 
 refuse the homage of superstition. 
 
 In the autumn of the year 1078, the abbot 
 Herluin died, and the brethren were called to elect 
 another leader in his place. In the election of 
 this dignitary all the monks had the right of fran¬ 
 chise, and they used it unanimously in favour of 
 Anselm. He showed a great reluctance to accept 
 this honour. He even fell upon his knees, and 
 conjured the congregation to spare him from so 
 heavy a responsibility; while they in their turn 
 
160 
 
 ANSELM AS ABBOT. 
 
 prostrated themselves, and begged him to acquiesce. 
 After this serious comedy had been repeated several 
 times, a deputy was sent to obtain the approval 
 of William, the king of England, who happened to 
 he at the time in Normandy. He, finding that it 
 was really the desire of the convent Anselm should 
 be made abbot, gave his sanction. Anselm as¬ 
 sented,—and at the beginning of the year 1079 
 was consecrated to that high office, ‘‘^in the abbey 
 church at Bee by the Lord Gislehert, bishop of 
 Evreux, on the festival called ^ the chair of St. 
 Peter.’”* 
 
 The life of Anselm at Bee did not differ very 
 materially from that of his predecessor,—except that 
 the convulsions in Normandy and the kingdom on 
 the other side of the channel required him to pay 
 greater attention to the affairs of his monastery. 
 His disposition w'as extremely meditative and reli¬ 
 gious. He loved to spend nights in the con¬ 
 templation of mysteries, the meaning of which the 
 wisest rarely extract. His piety was eminently 
 moyen age in its character,— sombre, penitential, 
 grotesque, and yet at times sublime in its expression. 
 Severe as a prior and abbot, he seemed to feel both 
 for himself and his monks that heaven was only to 
 be reached by forced marches. He insisted that 
 daily privations and mortifications were the especial 
 glory of a monk. The inmates of Bee were, besides, 
 often robbed of their simple fare to supply the 
 necessities of strangers. Many years had passed 
 * Ord. Vit., vol. ii. p. 117. Bohn. 
 
ANSELM AS ABBOT. 
 
 161 
 
 since the little brotherhood had been obliged to 
 submit to the rigours of a limited dietary. With 
 the increase of Lanfranc’s pupils, the wealth of the 
 abbey and the number of monks had been greatly 
 augmented; but during the administration of Anselm, 
 owing probably to a failure in their crops, and cer¬ 
 tainly to the expenses incurred in making and putting 
 up a new bell, the convent table was supplied with 
 only beans and peas. A letter of the abbot remains, 
 in which he thanks Lanfranc for the gift of twenty 
 pounds sent by the archbishop to assist them in 
 their temporary difficulties. 
 
 The literary employments of Anselm during his 
 life at Bee partook of his devotional character. He 
 did not, as his predecessor had done, take much 
 part in the controversies that were raging about 
 him. No one who looked upon that mild and 
 scholarly man, could have supposed that in a few 
 years he was to be the forlorn hope of the ecclesias¬ 
 tical veterans who waged so terrible a war with 
 the civil power. At the time of his elevation to 
 the office of abbot, he was engaged upon several 
 learned works, which we shall have subsequent 
 occasion to notice. Four of these obtained great 
 popularity. They were devoted to theological and 
 scientific subjects, and were Avritten in the form 
 of a dialogue between a teacher and his pupils. 
 The most important of his compositions Avere sub¬ 
 mitted to the criticism of Lanfranc, to Avhom he 
 subscribed himself a son by affection, a disciple 
 by doctrine. Partly to converse Avith Lanfranc 
 
162 
 
 HE VISITS EXGLAND. 
 
 respecting his studies, and partly on affairs of his 
 convent, he determined in 1079 to leave Normandy 
 on a visit to England. 
 
 On arriving at Canterbury, he was received with 
 great honour by the clergy of that city, with 'many 
 of whom he was personally acquainted, to all of 
 whom he must have been well known, as several 
 of them had been monks of Bee. One of his pupils 
 was prior, another prsecentor, of St. Augustine’s. 
 He visited all the churches, and convents of monks 
 and of canons, during his stay in England; and 
 made himself extremely popular among the clergy 
 by his sermons on ’feast days, and his discourses 
 at all times on subjects sacred or profane. He 
 was entertained by the king at court with marked 
 respect, and even the courtiers vied with each other 
 in showing him honour. In his conversations with 
 the primate he combated those politic views which 
 Lanfranc had taken of the conquest of England, 
 and remonstrated with him against that dethrone¬ 
 ment of national heroes and saints which was then 
 going forward. 
 
 In the spring of 1080 Anselm returned to Bee, 
 having obtained from the king a confirmation of 
 the charter of his abbey, and having made for himself 
 a great number of friends, influential in the church 
 by their position, or in the state by their wealth, 
 and who were afterwards the cause of his succeeding 
 to the high office of his friend and master. 
 
163 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 NOLO EPISCOPAE,!. 
 
 At the time of Anselm^s second visit to England 
 (1092), the second William had been king about 
 five years; and had therefore had sufficient time to 
 manifest his disposition towards the different sections 
 of his subjects, and to develop all his qualities. He 
 had not succeeded in impressing the nation very 
 favourably; many who had been friendly to his 
 accession had been driven into hostility by his vices 
 and follies; and those who had questioned his claim 
 to the crown had become confirmed in their disaffec¬ 
 tion. But he had neither the Avisdom to conciliate, 
 nor the strength to intimidate his enemies. Unlike 
 his father, he enjoyed no respect; the hatred which 
 men felt for him Avas not that natural reAvard of 
 triumphant tyranny which all successful usurpers 
 receive; but scornful contempt for a mean and 
 vulgar despot, avIio abused the poAver he had not 
 seized, and insulted those over Avhom chance, not 
 valour, had made him lord. In every relation of life 
 his acts AA^ere unjust, his conduct untruthful. His 
 brother, his people, the church, alike found him 
 unnatural, oppressive, and dishonest. 
 
164 
 
 DEATH OF LANFRANC. 
 
 We have seen that while Lanfranc lived, his 
 influence over the royal mind, and the respect his 
 opinions commanded from all men, were suflicient 
 to preserve the church from acts of flagrant rapacity, 
 either on the part of the king or his barons ; although 
 even Lanfranc was powerless when he attempted to 
 shield the people from double oppression. But this 
 restraint, weak as it latterly became, altogether 
 ceased in the year 1089, when the primate died ; 
 leaving a people and clergy who had often found 
 him a severe master, to regret the loss of his dignL 
 fled intercession, or haughty remonstrance on their 
 behalf. 
 
 The immense revenues left by the conqueror at 
 his death were soon squandered by Bufus,—partly 
 in his expedition to Normandy, and partly by his 
 dissipated and luxurious habits. To replenish the 
 exchequer, William had recourse to various schemes, 
 all more or less unjust; and as his avarice and 
 requirements increased, his oppressive measures kept 
 pace with them. Like most bad kings, he was 
 hurried forward in his career of selfish wickedness, 
 and assisted in his tyrannical practices by a worth¬ 
 less favourite. Ralph Flambard, aided by a hand¬ 
 some exterior, a love of social pleasures, and a wit 
 that enlivened them, had risen from the lower ranks 
 of the clergy to the office of king’s chaplain. He 
 earned in his own day an odious notoriety by the 
 skill with which he planned, and the zeal with 
 which he applied himself to the execution of any 
 abominable scheme which was likely either to enrich 
 
william’s chaplain. 
 
 165 
 
 the king’s treasury or promote his own interests. 
 The writers of his own and later times have left a 
 full and unanimous testimony to his having been a 
 most cruel extortioner, the most avaricious and 
 most abandoned of all men in the land.”* He 
 ■was the son of one Thurstan, an obscure priest of 
 the diocese of Bayeux, and, having been brought up 
 from his earliest years among the vile parasites of 
 the court, was better skilled in crafty intrigues and 
 verbal subtleties, than in sound learning. Inflated 
 with ambition to raise himself above the eminent 
 men who adorned the court of the great king 
 William, he undertook many things without orders, 
 and of which that prince was ignorant, making 
 impertinent and vexatious accusations in the king’s 
 court, and arrogantly overawing his superiors as if 
 he was supported by the royal authority. In conse¬ 
 quence, Robert, the king’s steward, gave him the 
 surname of Flamhard, which, indeed, prophetically 
 suited his genius and conduct; for like a devouring 
 flame he tormented the people, and turned the daily 
 chants of the church into lamentations, by the new 
 practices he introduced into the country.” f 
 
 Each class in the state had reason to curse the 
 name of Ralph, and to desire his expulsion from the 
 country; for each felt the weight of his exactions, 
 and upon every one he made war. The Saxon 
 population regarded him as the chief cause of the 
 increased penalties attached to the violation of the 
 game laws,—the standing grievance of the Norman 
 * Peter of Blois, p. 229. t Ord. Vit., vol. ii. p. 466. 
 
166 
 
 OPPRESSION OF THE CLERGY. 
 
 period; and which Rufus, although he had given 
 his promise that they should he repealed as the 
 price of the native services against Odo, made more 
 severe than even those of his father. The hatred of 
 the nobles for the Flambard was owing to the exces* 
 sive fines levied upon them for the supply of needy 
 foreigners or base favourites; hut more especially to 
 his reducing the value of their estates by a remea¬ 
 surement of the lands granted by the Conqueror. 
 But of all those who deplored the reign of William 
 Rufus, and the elevation of his favourite, none had 
 so many just grounds for complaint, and could bring 
 so many charges against both the king and the 
 minister, as the clergy. It is no palliation of their 
 oppressor’s crimes to say that what they suffered they 
 had merited; nor to say that the degradation of the 
 church by Rufus was a natural result of its exalta¬ 
 tion by his father. Both statements are true. The 
 Normans, who were promoted to bishoprics and 
 abbacies at the time of the Conquest, cared little, 
 indeed nothing, for the Saxon constitution of the 
 church; whatever independence it possessed before 
 their accession to its places of wealth and honour, 
 they were willing to sacrifice as the payment for 
 their possession; and the Conqueror, who could 
 brook no power in the state equal to his own, did 
 not lose the opportunity then presented to him of 
 making the church a civil institution, and its chief 
 priests his spiritual barons. While, however, he 
 thus regarded the church and the clergy, he did not 
 violate the relation he had created; hut protected 
 
CHARACTER OF RUFUS. 
 
 167 
 
 the interests of the church, since they were con¬ 
 ducive to his own. So that though the Norman 
 clergy had sacrificed some of the highest prerogative 
 of the church with the independence of its ministers, 
 the care exercised by the king prevented the appear¬ 
 ance of the evils which came to be felt so seriously 
 in succeeding times. And there can be no doubt 
 that had the successors of William possessed his 
 prudence and sagacity, those evils—including that 
 war of classes which, commencing with the reign 
 of the second Norman, was handed down to the 
 Plantagenets—might have been staved off, and cer¬ 
 tainly would never have disturbed the repose of the 
 early Norman settlers. But Rufus was the very 
 last man to exercise either sagacity or prudence. 
 Whatever intellect he possessed was clouded by 
 passion; and his inordinate desire for personal 
 gratification led him to the most exorbitant expenses, 
 the means of meeting which w^ere dug, as it were, 
 from the very foundation of his throne. 
 
 Prior to the Conquest, the church had the power 
 of electing its own officers, whether bishops or 
 abbots; and when one such officer died, his superior 
 next in order took charge of the revenues of the 
 benefice, and appropriated them as he saw fit. As 
 the Conqueror constituted himself the patron of all 
 church offices, and determined that with him should 
 lay the power of appointment, it was natural that 
 the revenues of the vacant sees should also be at 
 his disposal; and accordingly we are told that he 
 appointed an agent of his own to superintend such 
 
168 
 
 STATE OF THE CHURCH. 
 
 property, and render an account of it to him. But 
 we are further informed that he scrupulously paid 
 to the next incumbent all moneys received during 
 the vacancy. Without either putting too much 
 reliance on his general integrity, or supposing him 
 flagrantly dishonest, it is easy to see that he provided 
 great opportunities for peculation. They were at 
 any rate too evident to escape the notice of Bufus 
 and his chancellor,— who contended that the 
 prelacies were fiefs, held of the king; the revenues 
 of which, on the death of the actual tenant, ought 
 to revert to the sovereign, till he, of his special 
 grace, bestowed them on a new abbot or bishop.” * 
 William acted on the suggestion of his minister, and 
 ordered that the incomes of vacant bishoprics and 
 abbacies arising from rents and other sources should 
 be paid into his treasury. This newly-acquired 
 wealth was perhaps found to be greater than was 
 expected. It was certainly too great to be easily 
 relinquished, and it was therefore pretended that 
 there were no candidates sufficiently qualified for 
 the largest and most lucrative posts; so that for 
 several years William kept many of them in his 
 possession. By a very natural progression the sale 
 of ecclesiastical property quickly became a species 
 of speculation, and was often put up to the highest 
 bidder,—so that there was no one rich except the 
 money changer; no clerk, unless he was a lawyer; 
 no priest, unless he was a farmer.” f 
 
 * Lingard. f Malmsbury, p. 336. Meaning of course by “ farmer” 
 one who “ farmed” church offices, not the lands around them. 
 
THE CHURCH UNDER WILLIAM II. 
 
 169 
 
 It is needless to point out that benefices filled by 
 these means could scarcely by any possibility have 
 become the property of men who were fitted for 
 them. The men of piety and knowledge would 
 generally be possessed of neither the wealth to 
 purchase nor the spirit to crave them; but courtiers, 
 parasites, soldiers, any who could obtain them either 
 by money or favour, regarded them as objects of 
 ambition; and, no matter how unfitted by habit, 
 or deficient in education, either filled them them¬ 
 selves, or placed as their substitutes idle and unscru¬ 
 pulous clerks. The reader,” says Lingard, may 
 easily conceive the extortions and dilapidations which 
 were the invariable consequences of so iniquitous a 
 system. The monks and the clergy belonging to 
 the church were often compelled to seek a precarious 
 subsistence from the charity of strangers; and the 
 men of the prelate, those who held their lands of 
 the church, were generally reduced to the lowest 
 degree of penury. Nor did the mischief end here. 
 Wealth so easily acquired was not easily surrendered. 
 William kept the vacant bishoprics and abbeys for 
 several years in his own possession; and, if he 
 consented at last to name a successor, it was pre¬ 
 viously understood that the new prelate should pay 
 a sum into the exchequer, proportionate to the 
 value of the benefice.” 
 
 The richest benefice that had fallen to the royal 
 treasury was unquestionably the archbishopric of 
 Canterbury, which had become vacant by the death 
 of Lanfranc, and which Ilufus could not be prevailed 
 
 I 
 
170 
 
 ATsSELM IN ENGLAND. 
 
 upon to fill up, alleging, in reply to every petition 
 or remonstrance from the clergy, that he was unable 
 to find a fitting successor to Lanfranc; but really 
 expressing thus his unwillingness to give back to 
 the church so valuable a source of w'ealth. The 
 clergy appeared to accept the king’s reason for his 
 conduct as a valid one, and occasionally irritated 
 him by recounting the virtues of those whom 
 they vainly hoped that he would promote to the 
 primacy. 
 
 In the autumn of 1092 the abbot of Bee came to 
 England, at the request of one of his numerous 
 friends in this country. His biographers are careful 
 to have it known that it was on private affairs solely 
 that he came here, and that it was only after much 
 hesitation, occasioned by the unsettled state of the 
 English church, and the fear that ambitious motives 
 might be attributed to him, that he was prevailed 
 upon to come. Undoubtedly the position of Anselm 
 in England was a difficult one. He was well known 
 to the clergy of Kent by the report of his pupils as 
 the accomplished teacher of Bee, and by his visit thir¬ 
 teen years before, and as the intimate friend of their 
 late primate. His character was so pure, his piety 
 so unquestioned, and his learning so profound, that 
 the clergy of the church of Canterbury felt the king 
 could by no possibility object to him on the score of 
 unworthiness or unfitness. When he entered Can¬ 
 terbury on the 7th of September, they saw that 
 
 the man and the hour had come.” Crowding 
 about him, they hailed him as their future arch- 
 
WILLIAM AND ANSELM. 
 
 171 
 
 bishop. The abbot was perplexed by this mani¬ 
 festation of affection, and sought to discourage their 
 enthusiasm. The day following his arrival was the 
 feast of the nativity of the Virgin, at which he was 
 expected to be present; but the exhibition of clerical 
 zeal he had witnessed on his entrance to the eccle¬ 
 siastical metropolis caused him to hurry away imme¬ 
 diately. Next day he reached the court of William. 
 The king paid him great honour, and the nobility 
 crowded about him to express their homage. In a 
 private conversation with William, he entered on 
 the delicate subject of the condition of the English 
 church, and thus laid himself open to the suspicion 
 of having suggested his own appointment. He 
 certainly may not have intended to do so, but it was 
 hardly possible for the king to think otherwise. 
 Undoubtedly William had his suspicions, for after 
 the abbot had left the court for the castle of the 
 count of Chester, one of his friends sought to enter¬ 
 tain the king with an account of his obvious and 
 unequalled piety. I know no one equal in piety 
 to the abbot of Bee,—he loves God only, and cares 
 for no temporal wealth,” said his friend. No,” 
 replied William, ‘‘ not even for the archbishopric of 
 Canterbury. But by the cross of Lucca, neither he 
 nor any one save me shall hold that office! ” On 
 another occasion the lords temporal and spiritual 
 waited upon the king, begging him to permit the 
 offering of prayers throughout all the kingdom for 
 the changing of his purposes respecting the appoint¬ 
 ment to the primaev- Pray what you like,” said 
 
 I 2 
 
172 APPOINTMENT OF ANSELM 
 
 Rufus, I shall do what I like.” William must 
 have been morally sure of the self-interested objects 
 of Anselm when he heard that it was he who had 
 prepared the form of prayer to he used, although it 
 appears the abbot was extremely unwilling to take 
 any part in the matter. He did, however, take 
 part in it, and a very active part; and this fact, 
 combined with many more which occurred after¬ 
 wards, has given rise to a supposition by no 
 means honourable to the character of the abbot, 
 and which was evidently fixed in the mind of the 
 king. 
 
 About Easter, 1093, Anselm was passing neur 
 Gloucester, on his way to the coast to embark for 
 Normandy, when he was summoned in great haste 
 to attend the king, who had fallen dangerously ill. 
 With all speed Anselm comes to the sick, and, as 
 Avas supposed, dying king; and exhibiting to him 
 the terrors of the future, implores him to make 
 reparation to the English church, and to do justice 
 to the English people. The stricken tyrant pro¬ 
 mises everything,—gives freedom to the prisoners 
 unjustly detained, and a bishop to the church at 
 Lincoln,—pays his debts, swears to respect the rights 
 of the people, and to enact only wise and good laws. 
 The happy courtiers Avho stand around thank heaven, 
 and pray for the salvation of so good a prince. But 
 the clergy do more. They gently ask him if he can 
 nominate no successor to Lanfranc, so long since 
 deceased. He listens to them and asks in reply 
 Avho among them is worthy of such an honour. In 
 
TO THE ARCHBISHOPRIC. 
 
 173 
 
 tremulous haste each bishop reckons up the clerical 
 virtues he thinks he once possessed, and half dares 
 to hope their sum will win the primacy. But Bufus 
 cuts short the hope and fear by himself naming 
 Anselm. It must have been with a severe internal 
 struggle he brought himself to designate, amid the 
 joy of the bishops, him who only a short time before 
 he had sworn should not receive the gift. Anselm 
 heard the news of his election with emotion, and 
 positively refused to be conducted before the king. 
 He represented that his age, habits of life, his 
 repugnance to political strife, the duties of his monas¬ 
 tery, his obedience to the duke of Normandy and 
 his metropolitan, unfitted him for the office ; and 
 demanded that he should remain an abbot. The 
 bishops, on their -part, urged him to accept it, on 
 account of the services he would be able to render 
 the church generally, and in consideration of the 
 unanimity with which he was invited. They did 
 not wait for his reply, but forcibly bore him into the 
 presence of the king; he protesting against the ille¬ 
 gality of the act. When the king heard that Anselm 
 refused to be inducted into the archbishopric, he 
 manifested the greatest grief; and conjured him by 
 his personal sufferings, by his eternal interests, by 
 the affection his family had always shown him, to 
 accept the staff. The scene that followed bordered 
 so closely on the ridiculous, that it will be better to 
 dismiss it in a few words. The attendant bishops 
 and courtiers, losing all patience with the abbot, 
 had passed from entreaties to reproaches; and now 
 
174 
 
 ANSELM PRIMATE. 
 
 seizing his right hand, they violently plucked it 
 from his bosom, and held it outstretched while the 
 king presented the crozier for his acceptance. That 
 it was forced upon him did not diminish the fervour 
 with which Te Deum ” was sung, nor did it 
 repress the joy of the episcopal clergy that England 
 once more had a primate. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ANSELM BECOMES ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 The song of clerical tliankfuliiess had scarcely died 
 away, when Anselm returned to the bedside of the 
 king, to urge upon him the necessity of calmly re¬ 
 considering the election he had just made. He 
 assured William he did not himself regard his ap¬ 
 pointment as of any validity, nor need he at any 
 future time feel scrupulous about recalling a pro¬ 
 mise which circumstances had forced him to make, 
 and which in all probability he would not have 
 made had he been free from the influence of the 
 clergy. He left the king, and returned with weeping 
 eyes to remonstrate with his friends for what they 
 had done, and to w'arn them that in a short time, 
 great as was then their joy, their sorrow would 
 he greater, as the recovery of the king would be 
 the recommencement of oppression and wrong. 
 
 ]Men less sanguine in their belief in amendment 
 than the clergy of the English church in the eleventh 
 century, miglit have been excused had they been 
 seduced at this time into accepting the promises of 
 William, so little was tliere to excite the suspicious. 
 Men seemed compelled to trust the assurance of the 
 
176 
 
 THE king’s illness 
 
 king, when they saw how eagerly he agreed to all 
 their proposals for the good of his church and people; 
 all saw in this election and the king’s promises the 
 beginning of a better time. The clergy looked 
 forward to the possession of their monastic land 
 and wealth in peace, to the time when men of learn¬ 
 ing, piety, and humility should obtain the preferments 
 which could then only be bought by wealth, or 
 secured by the wit of courtiers and the services of 
 the king’s creatures—to the time when the church 
 meeting in its synods should he able to correct social 
 enormities, control public violence, redress the wrongs 
 of the oppressed, and stay the hand of the oppressor. 
 The Saxon population that had been crushed even 
 lower by the tyranny and cruelty of the second 
 William than by the first, trusted that the doors 
 which had been opened to let out those who had 
 broken the harsh game laws, or turned in revenge 
 upon some Norman lord and his retainers, were an 
 omen of future freedom. 
 
 ^^It was a general jubilee.” The king hastened to 
 finish a work he had begun so well, ordained that 
 the new primate should be invested with all the 
 wealth of the archbishopric; and though the promise 
 was never fulfilled, we may give William credit for 
 his intention. His earnestness for the completion of 
 his purpose was shown by despatching letters to his 
 brother the duke of Normandy, to the archbishop of 
 Rouen, and to the monks of Bee, informing the 
 latter of their impending loss, and begging from the 
 former the dismissal of Anselm. 
 
AND RECOVERY. 
 
 1T7 
 
 Pending the replies to these letters, Anselm left 
 Gloucester, and celebrated Easter at Winchester. 
 He was joined there by his old friend Gondulf, whom 
 Lanfranc took from his society at Bee to invest with 
 the honours and wealth of the bishopric of Bochester. 
 The aifection of Gondulf was warmed with the antici¬ 
 pation of having him for his bishop whom he had 
 loved as his abbot; but he was too well acquainted 
 with the character of the king to insist upon Anselm’s 
 acceptance of an office which the returning health of 
 Ilufus might render not merely irksome, but dis¬ 
 honourable. Together they left Winchester, and 
 retired to a country mansion of Gondulf’s to consider 
 the pleas upon which this high office should be 
 refused, or the conditions upon which it might be 
 profitably accepted. While they discussed the matter 
 which lay so near their hearts, William Bufus 
 was recovering from his illness, and soon afforded 
 them materials to assist their deliberation, but such 
 as could only tell against himself. His illness had 
 happened at a time almost fortunate for his interests, 
 so far as they consisted in wronging others, and 
 delaying the fulfilment of treaties he had been com¬ 
 pelled to make. Those whose demands he had ac¬ 
 knowledged to be just had ceased to urge their claims 
 from pity for his troubles. Nothing could therefore 
 afford a better test of his sincerity than the manner 
 in which he would deal, upon returning health, with 
 these delayed obligations. Let us see. 
 
 To William the Second, Scotland and Normandy 
 
 were continual sources of annoyance and objects of 
 
 1 3 
 
1T8 
 
 NORMANDY. 
 
 ambition. The one geographically a part of his 
 dominion, but too far distant from the seat of his 
 government, and inhabited by a race too energetic in 
 their hostility, to be completely under his control, 
 was nevertheless divided by natural barriers too 
 slight to afford protection to contiguous territories, 
 or to prevent the periodical invasion of its restless 
 marauders. The other was the land which the sword 
 of his ancestors had earned, and the wisdom of his 
 father had enriched. It was the land of his birth 
 and his boyhood. Its castles were held by men of 
 his own blood, and with whom he had been reared and 
 had fought. It was there that the ashes of his father 
 reposed, and the very peasantry showed in their 
 limbs and features their descent from the Norsemen 
 of Hollo. Selfish as were the sons of William the 
 Conqueror, much as they loved Normandy for the 
 wealth and the honour it afforded, we yet believe 
 there was present in their strong desire to pos- 
 sess it, some of that poetry and feeling which 
 attached to a land surrounded by so many asso¬ 
 ciations. 
 
 Previous to his illness William had been engaged 
 at intervals during two years in repressing the in¬ 
 vasions of Malcolm king of Scotland, who, related 
 by marriage to the leading family of the Saxons, 
 had often espoused their cause and revenged their 
 wrongs. To his court 'had escaped, after the Con¬ 
 queror had destroyed the camp at Ely, all that was 
 left of Saxon nobility; and owing to the absence of 
 any distinguished man among them, he came to be 
 
SCOTLAND. 
 
 179 
 
 regarded as tlieir natural leader. Edgar Atlieling, 
 who, had he possessed the spirit as evidently as he 
 did the right, would have been the successor of 
 Harold, had accepted a grant of lands in Normandy 
 from its duke ; hut a treaty between the royal brothers, 
 that gave a short peace to Normandy, deprived 
 Edgar of his lands. He therefore crossed the channel, 
 and visited the court of his brother-in-law Malcolm. 
 To revenge the wrong done to the Atheling, the 
 Scots entered England and ravaged the northern 
 counties. They were repulsed by the inhabitants, 
 but continued to worry the borders. William and 
 Robert arrived about Michaelmas with only a small 
 force, the remnant of a considerable army with 
 which they had left Normandy, but which had been 
 wrecked on the passage. William’s circumstances 
 compelled him to trust to the diplomacy of Robert 
 rather than to the sw’ords of his soldiers, and in con¬ 
 sequence a truce was agreed upon in which it was 
 stipulated that William should pay to Malcolm 
 twelve marks of gold and restore to him twelve vills 
 held by him under his father, and that Malcolm on 
 his part should do fealty to William. 
 
 It was during the convalescence of William that 
 Malcolm sent to him, offering to fulfil his share of 
 the contract, and demanding the gold and towns. 
 AVilliam replied by summoning Malcolm to his court. 
 He was obeyed; but Avith unabated pride and arro¬ 
 gance, lie Avas refused an audience. Malcolm “ could 
 neither obtain a conference Avith our king, nor the 
 performance of the conditions formerly promised 
 
180 
 
 DEATH OF MALCOLM. 
 
 him/’ says the Saxon Chronicle.* Moreover the 
 king sought/’ says another, to compel him to do 
 him homage in his own court, and abide the judg¬ 
 ment of his own barons only; but Malcolm was by 
 no means disposed to do this, except on the borders 
 of his own kingdom, where the kings of Scotland were 
 wont to do homage to the kings of England, and ac¬ 
 cording to the judgment of the barons of both king¬ 
 doms.”t Such insolent conduct justly incensed Mal¬ 
 colm, who returned with rage to prepare his fifth, and, 
 as it proved, his last invasion. The expedition was a 
 most unfortunate one; for the Earl of Northumber¬ 
 land being aware of it, lay in ambush, and falling 
 unawares upon the Scot, killed both Malcolm and 
 his son Edward, heir to the throne. His queen 
 Margaret died a few days after of grief, leaving 
 three sons, who became successively kings of Scot¬ 
 land, and two daughters, one of whom married our 
 English king Henry the First. 
 
 This expedition, so disastrous to Malcolm’s family, 
 was of immense advantage to William. The Scots, dis¬ 
 gusted with those whom they believed to be the cause of 
 all their misfortunes, drove the Saxon exiles from their 
 country, and chose the brother of their late king for 
 sovereign ; but as Duncan the second son of Malcolm 
 remained at William’s court as hostage, he made the 
 required homage, and retired to claim and obtain 
 his father’s crown, on condition that neither English 
 nor French exiles should be harboured by him. 
 
 * Page 469. Bohn’s Ed. 
 
 t Florence of Worcester, page 169. Bohn’s Ed, 
 
STATE OF XORMANOY. 
 
 181 
 
 But it was not merely in his relation to the king 
 of Scotland that Bufus showed that the old spirit of 
 tyrannical pride and haughty selfishness was unsub¬ 
 dued. The treaty which had been made wdth 
 Robert in the spring of the previous year, and which 
 had caused the war with Scotland, was still un¬ 
 fulfilled. 
 
 By the will of the Conqueror, Normandy was the 
 inheritance of his eldest son, and nominally it re¬ 
 mained his until his expedition to the East; but 
 its real lords seem to have been those turbulent de 
 Breteuils and de Mellents, de Belesmes and de 
 Beaumonts, who fortified castles, seized the property 
 of their neighbours, some their neighbours themselves, 
 —who were ever ready for war, no matter in what 
 cause or under what leadership, so long as it yielded 
 them excitement and increased their wealth. Some¬ 
 times under the influence of William they quar¬ 
 relled with Robert; or at other times to maintain 
 the honour of their lord they fought beneath his 
 standard against the kings of France; but generally 
 their quarrels were of a more personal character,— 
 jealousy, avarice, and lust aroused their hostility 
 and unsheathed their swords. They had gained 
 strength upon the death of the Conqueror. During 
 his life their castles were watched by his soldiers; 
 but before Robert had time to take the government 
 upon himself, they had turned the wardens from 
 their castle keeps, and fortified them as the strong¬ 
 holds of petty princes. From these strongholds 
 they -would issue surrounded by their men-at-arms. 
 
1S2 
 
 TREATY BETWEEN 
 
 and attacking tlie castle of some offending neighbour, 
 would besiege it till compelled to raise the siege or 
 able to obtain their end. Travellers on the roads, 
 peasantry in their villages, even wives and daughters 
 of barons, were not safe from their molestation. 
 “ They only rejoice, and their triumph will be of 
 short ' duration, who can rob and thieve without 
 restraint.”* 
 
 Of all men, duke Robert was the least fitted to 
 govern such reckless spirits. Generally intent only 
 upon the indulgence of the moment, he was too 
 indolent to seek for those who concealed all but the 
 result of their crimes, and too lenient to punish 
 those who were obviously criminal. His leniency 
 proceeded more perhaps from his sympathy with the 
 crimes than from his tenderness for the criminals, for 
 he was himself hold, chivalrous, fond of romance 
 and excitement. He besieged his brother Henry in 
 the fortress of St. Michael, but finding that the 
 garrison was in want of water, he ordered his sentinels 
 not to watch too closely that side of the rock on 
 which supplies were obtained,—jauntily observing, 
 that it was a shame to kill his brother with thirst, 
 since if he lost him he could not find another.f No 
 one was more capable of gaining advantage over 
 a man of this sort than William Rufus. He had all 
 the qualities which Robert lacked. Cunning, selfish, 
 and secretive, he fomented quarrels among the 
 barons ; and alternately assisted to besiege Henry in 
 the Cotentin, and to drive Robert from Rouen, 
 
 * Ord. Vit., vol. ii. p. 503. f Malmsbury, p. 333. Bohn’s Ed. 
 
WILLIAM AND ROBERT. 
 
 188 
 
 knowing that, in the disunion of his brothers lay his 
 own strength. The treaty into which he had en¬ 
 tered with the duke in the spring of 1092, and which 
 has been already mentioned, was important for its 
 concessions on his part. It stipulated that the 
 earl should give up Feschamp, the earldom of Eu, 
 and Cherbourg, to William ; and withal that the 
 king’s men should be unmolested in those castles of 
 which they had possessed themselves in the earl’s 
 despite. And the king on his side promised to 
 reduce to their obedience the many castles conquered 
 by their father which had since revolted from the 
 earl, and also to establish him in the possession of 
 all their father’s territories abroad, excepting those 
 places which the earl had then given up to the king. 
 Moreover, all who had lost their lands in England on 
 account of the earl were to regain them by this 
 treaty, and the earl also was to receive certain estates 
 in England then specified. It was also agreed that 
 if the earl died, leaving no legitimate son, the king 
 should be heir of all Normandy ; and in like manner 
 if the king died, that the earl should be heir of all 
 England. Twelve of the chief men on the part of the 
 king, and twelve on that of the earl, guaranteed this 
 treaty by oath. Yet it was observed but a short 
 time.’^ * It may rather be said, the treaty was never 
 observed at all. William did not regard it as accord¬ 
 ant with his interests to bring the rebellious barons 
 of Normandy into the same obedience and order in 
 which they were during the reign of his father; and 
 
 * Ang. Sax. Chron., p. 467. 
 
184 
 
 INTERVIEW OF ANSELM 
 
 he therefore allowed month after month to elapse, 
 and messenger after messenger to arrive, without his 
 showing the least disposition to fulfil his promises. 
 
 Three months had elapsed since the nomination of 
 Anselm to the primacy, when William engaged with 
 his continental affairs, and returning to London 
 from a conference with the Earl of Flanders at Dover, 
 stayed at Rochester. Gondulf and his friend waited 
 upon him there; the former, to offer him congratu¬ 
 lations on his recovery to health,—the latter, to 
 obtain an audience upon business. Gondulf seems 
 to have added something of a hortative character to 
 his congratulations on the king’s health ,* and pro¬ 
 bably suggested some tangible way in which he 
 could manifest his gratitude, as the king’s reply was 
 characterized neither by liberality nor reverence. 
 “ I tell thee, O bishop, that never from me shall God 
 receive good in return for the evil with which he has 
 loaded me.” The private audience that Anselm 
 asked was granted, and he then repeated the re¬ 
 monstrances he expressed on the occasion of his 
 forcible nomination. He urged William to con¬ 
 sider that personally he was still unwilling to accept 
 the office; but that if in obedience to the wishes of 
 his friends, to the royal mandate, and to the calls of 
 duty, he should consent to fill it, there w^ere certain 
 concessions he should be compelled to demand. They 
 were as follows :—that the church of Canterbury be 
 allowed to recover, without an appeal to legal tri¬ 
 bunals, all the land it possessed in the time of Lan- 
 franc, and any that could fairly be proved to have 
 
WITH THE KING. 
 
 185 
 
 appertained to it before his primacy;—that the king 
 engage to follow his advice in all matters pertaining 
 to the religious and social institutions of the country; 
 —that he accept him as his spiritual guide and con¬ 
 fessor ;—and lastly, that he permit him to recognise 
 Urban as pope in opposition to Clement, in relation 
 to whom the English church had up to that time 
 been neutral. 
 
 In reply to these four propositions, the king, having 
 called before him his favourite bishop, William of 
 Durham, and his favourite courtier, Robert de Beau¬ 
 mont, distinctly stated that he would restore all 
 the lands of which the primate’s church stood seized 
 in the time of Lanfranc, that for any prior to his 
 time, since alienated, he could not promise; but that 
 upon this point, as well as upon the others, he would 
 act as became a king. It has been supposed that a 
 charter of William the Second, granting to Canter¬ 
 bury all the privileges and benefices pertaining to it, 
 may be referred to this period; the supposition 
 being strengthened by the fact, that the names of 
 the bishops of Durham and Rochester appear as 
 witnesses to the deed. Possibly so. This, however, 
 is more satisfactory,—that at some time or other in 
 the reign of Rufus, the privileges which Anselm con¬ 
 stantly demanded were admitted by the king to be 
 just and reasonable. Unquestionably, if the account 
 be accurate, Anselm, regarded either as an ambitious 
 churchman or unwilling nominee to the primacy, 
 gained much by this audience. If the first, he gave 
 the kinjr to understand he was one avIio knew how 
 
186 
 
 VACILLATING CONDUCT 
 
 to make conditions to his own advantage. If the 
 second, his conscience was clear. At all events, the 
 real contract which hound Anselm and Rufus was 
 not made in the hurry and riot of the sick chamber 
 at Gloucester, when the king was humbled by suffer¬ 
 ing, and terrified by the thought of death; hut at 
 Rochester, in the presence of the crafty bishop of 
 Durham, and ‘‘the provident and wily” Robert de 
 Beaumont, whose “prudence never failed,” and 
 whose “counsels were profound”*—at a time when 
 the king was in one of his least generous moods, and, 
 judging from his reply to’ Gondulf, not more likely 
 to show reverence to God than to do justice to 
 man. Rufus left Rochester for Windsor immediately 
 after this conference; but seems to have reconsidered 
 his arrangement, and to have regretted his conces¬ 
 sions,—for in the course of a few days he sent to 
 Anselm, begging him to except from the demanded 
 church lands those which he had given to his vassals 
 since Lanfranc’s death. Anselm refused,—and this 
 refusal probably made the king his enemy for life. 
 What the king did upon this refusal does not ap¬ 
 pear, hut that he remained satisfied cannot be con¬ 
 ceived for a moment. His subsequent conduct pre¬ 
 cludes the possibility of such an opinion. He never¬ 
 theless took no openly hostile step; and in a council 
 held at Winchester in the month of September, 
 1093, Anselm was induced by the promises he made 
 to do hgmage for the lands of his archbishopric. 
 
 A writer in the British Critic f has said that 
 * H. Huntingdon, p. 308. Bohn’s Ed. f 1820. 
 
OF THE KING. 
 
 187 
 
 Anselm waited seven months after his investiture 
 with the temporalities of his see before he did 
 homage for them ; and that during the delay the 
 king discovered his designs. The second part of 
 the statement is true, as we understand the word 
 designs.^’ Unquestionably the intentions of Anselm 
 were totally different to William’s, and as unques¬ 
 tionably the king discovered that difference before 
 the Winchester council. The first part of the state¬ 
 ment would be true, if instead of investiture” it had 
 been said promise of investiture.” Not only did 
 Anselm not gain possession of the wealth of the 
 archbishopric immediately upon his nomination,— 
 but we are told by Florence of Worcester that he 
 was only promised to be “ permitted to receive any¬ 
 thing from the archbishopric, beyond what the king 
 allowed, until the annual rent which he had received 
 from it since Lanfranc’s death was fully paid.”* 
 Lanfranc died at the end of the month of May. If, 
 therefore, the king kept his word, Anselm did not 
 receive investiture till June; and it may have been 
 later. But, in truth, the delay did not arise on 
 Anselm’s part, but from the insincere and pro¬ 
 crastinating character of the king, wUo, regretting 
 the promise he had made, sought to render his 
 gift less valuable by the conditions in which he 
 bound it. 
 
 In little more than tAvo months after the court at 
 AVinchester had Avitnessed the feudal homage of 
 Anselm for the lands of the primacy, the cathedral 
 
 * Page 195. Bohn’s Ed. 
 
188 
 
 INVESTITURE OF ANSELM 
 
 of Canterbury was adorned to receive its archbishop. 
 The slights of the king, and the insults received 
 from the chancellor during the last few months, were 
 more than compensated by the joy of the people and 
 clergy. The consecration was performed by Thomas, 
 archbishop of York, on the 4th of December, 1093. 
 Walkelin,the bishop of Winchester, reading aloud the 
 written form of election, came to the words, “ My 
 brother bishops, it is known to all of us how long it 
 is since the church of Canterbury, which is the 
 metropolitan of all Britain, has been deprived of a 
 pastor,” when Thomas of York, true to the dispute 
 which the authority, not the logic of Lanfranc had 
 ended, interrupted the reader by demanding, “ If 
 the church of Canterbury is the metropolitan of all 
 Britain, how can the church of York, which passes 
 for being metropolitan, be so ?” The dilemma was 
 evident. It was therefore agreed that metropolitan 
 church of all Britain ” should be altered to pri- 
 matial church of all Britain,” and so the controversy 
 ended; and Thomas consecrated Anselm to be 
 primate. Towards the close of the ceremony of con¬ 
 secration, the bishops stood around the kneeling 
 Anselm, and extended above him the Gospels, opened 
 by chance; when one, seeking, according to the 
 custom, for some prophetic meaning in the page, 
 read aloud the verse, ‘‘ He invited many, and sent 
 his servant, and they all began to make excuses.” 
 
 The application was not very apparent, either for its 
 prophetic or retrospective character. 
 
 Anselm soon after visited the court, and the wel- ^ 
 
WITH THE ARCHBISHOPRIC. 
 
 189 
 
 come he received from the king and nobility made 
 him look with confidence upon the future. 
 
 It is not surprising that, in an age when the 
 pleasures of scholarship were so little known, and 
 when honour and wealth were found combined in so 
 few positions, the contemporaries of Anselm should 
 consider his strong repugnance to accept of the 
 English primacy merely a veil under which he con¬ 
 cealed his ambition. Neither Eufus nor the bishops 
 who held otfice under him could conceive it possible 
 that a man should undertake the responsibilities and 
 duties belonging to the head of a great church from 
 any other motive than the love of gain. There was 
 scarcely a bishop in England who had not eagerly 
 purchased, by money or service, the bishopric that 
 had amply repaid the outlay. Such men readily 
 sympathized with the king,—who doubtless, even in 
 his most religious moods, believed what the circum¬ 
 stances preceding his illness had suggested, and 
 regarded Anselm as one who, having alwa 3 ^s 
 urged upon the nobility the importance of obtaining 
 a primate, used the influence which the accidental 
 illness of the king, and his authority as confessor 
 supplied to him, as a means of procuring his own 
 nomination;—that his entreaties to liis friends, his 
 remonstrances to the clergy, and his repeated refusal 
 to the king, were only the afiected opposition of a 
 man who was determined to obtain large concessions 
 by apparent indifference, and a character for humility 
 by its simulation. Such opinions are still largely held ; 
 indeed it is tlie exception to find an historian, willing 
 
190 
 
 HIS CONDUCT. 
 
 to believe that the Norman archbishops were ever 
 actuated by any other principle than that of self-love. 
 It is certainly remarkable that all the prelates who 
 have attained eminence in our history displayed 
 reluctance to accept the royal favour of nomination; 
 but the method of disposing of the difficulty by 
 classing them altogether as hypocritical and covetous^ 
 though obviously an easy one, is not so obviously 
 truthful or philosophical. In dealing with the cha¬ 
 racters of such men, we have no right to do what 
 is nearly always done,—to consider that they had 
 two sets of morals, two modes of life, two consciences; 
 that in the more retired relations of life they were 
 self-denying, liberal, and essentially upright; but 
 in the outer world they were hypocritical, grasping, 
 oppressive. Such a duality seems almost impossible 
 at all, but quite impossible for any length of time. 
 The one would certainly destroy the other. Either 
 the private life would become assimilated to the 
 outer, or the outer would become the expression of 
 the inner. So far as we are concerned with Anselm, 
 it does not appear possible that any man who has 
 read his Meditations, and who is at all acquainted 
 with his private life, can seriously charge him with 
 systematic hypocrisy. In every other relation of 
 life save the one that he sustained towards the 
 English church, he earned and has received the 
 praises of the writers of every party. As a monk, he 
 was diligent jn his studies, laborious in works of 
 benevolence, and constant in his religious exercises. 
 As a teacher, he was successful and renowmed. 
 
PURITY or HIS MOTIVES. 
 
 191 
 
 increased the wealth of his monastery^ added to its 
 fame, and trained men who occupied, in after years, 
 some of the highest positions in the church. As an 
 author he stood first in his age, and left works 
 which furnished a method of thought for one of the 
 Ablest thinkers of the seventeenth century. As a 
 prior and an abbot, he obtained authority over his 
 inferiors, and secured the order of his monastery, 
 and displayed a character of such transparent purity 
 that the rude courtiers of the Norman kings hushed 
 their ribaldry at his approach, and even those kings 
 themselves were proud to do him reverence. 
 
 Undoubtedly the circumstances attending the nomi¬ 
 nation of Anselm are well calculated to impair our 
 confidence in his prudence, hut they incidentally 
 confirm his integrity. No one who was anxious to 
 guard his honour from suspicion, would have been 
 induced to prepare the prayers that the church 
 ofiered for the king’s conversion to its desires; but 
 that he w^as induced, shows that he conceived no one 
 would question his motives. And surely even no 
 one can now regard such an act as anything more 
 than an imprudence; for if Anselm had been then 
 entering on a systematic course of hypocrisy, it 
 would have been fatal to his purpose to have done 
 that which would not merely have excited suspicion, 
 but taken from him the power of afterwards defend¬ 
 ing his integrity by supplying an instance of his lack 
 of it. Anselm, howfever, was called to defend himself 
 from the suspicions of his friends in Normandy; and 
 the letters that he wrote to them mav be used as his 
 
192 
 
 LETTER TO THE MONKS AT BEG. 
 
 present defence. He undertook to communicate to 
 his monks at Bee the fact of his forcible nomination, 
 and his probable separation from them; and he did 
 so in a letter of remarkable pathos and piety.* He 
 commences by speaking of the inexpressible affection 
 which has existed between them, now to be broken'. 
 He tells them of the bitterness of his heart since the 
 day on which he was nominated to the primacy,— 
 how time after time he has revolved and considered 
 the matter before God. Of his intense misery, he 
 says, no one could be ignorant who looked upon his 
 face the day on which he was nominated. He 
 describes how, more dead than alive, the clergy forced 
 the pastoral staff into his hand,—how affected he was 
 by his ineffectual struggles with them,—and how 
 so fearful were they of his fainting, that not only did 
 they sprinkle him with holy water, they even gave it 
 him to drink. Then, as if fearful that some might 
 judge him harshly, or as if he had heard of some 
 who suspected him, he refers to his confidence in 
 his own integrity. His conscience, he says, does 
 not accuse him before God,—and not with gladness, 
 but with deep sorrow, he had accepted the office 
 offered to him; that he saw not how he could flee 
 from it; that he had prayed that the cup might pass 
 from him; but that from henceforth he will say. 
 Not as I will, but as Thou wilt. And so he continues 
 and concludes his letter,—giving his monks counsel 
 and consolation, bidding them remember that he is 
 not theirs, nor are they his, but both are God’s. 
 
 * Epis. III. 1. 
 
HIS DEFENCE. 
 
 193 
 
 Touching as was this letter from its mournful 
 character, it did not save Anselm from the reproaches 
 of his friends, nor preserve him from their suspicions. 
 They hinted that he had shown extreme haste in his 
 acceptance of the office, and forgetfulness of their 
 interests in admiration of the preferment. He replied 
 to their accusation in another letter,* which showed 
 by its earnestness how bitterly he felt their Avant of 
 confidence. He describes Avith eloquence both the 
 mi|.sery he has suffered, and the principles which 
 have guided him. He OAvns his duties tOAvards them, 
 but demands a recognition of his higher duties. For 
 them he Avas made an abbot, but it was to God that 
 he gave himself on becoming a monk. He belongs 
 to them only by the Avill of God and for his service. 
 They did not enter Bee for him, hut for God, and 
 they must therefore submit to his dispensations. He 
 appeals to God to he his Avitness that he Avas not 
 attracted to the episcopacy by the desire of anything 
 that his servants ought to despise,—that if his duty 
 and his desire for the Avelfare of the church had 
 permitted him, he Avould much have preferred the 
 life of a monk under the superintendence of another, 
 than the command of others, and the possession of 
 Avealth. He asks that if his conscience has deceiA^ed 
 him, he may be instructed and corrected. He trusts 
 from that time, that God Avill take his defence into 
 his OAvn hands against any Avho may utter unAvorthy 
 suspicions of him; and he Avarns all such that the 
 sill Avill fall upon them. 
 
 * Epis. III. 7. 
 
 K 
 
194 
 
 HIS QUALIFICATIONS 
 
 Of the sincerity of Anselm, then, we have not the 
 slightest doubt. He was fitted by natural temper 
 and by education for retirement. I am,” said he of 
 himself,” like the owl; I am only pleased with 
 obscurity, and with the company of my little ones; 
 like him, too, when surrounded by others, I am 
 persecuted and worried.” He was fitted for those 
 quiet and scholarly pursuits which yielded so large 
 and rich a result; and it is impossible to doubt that 
 he would have preferred the solitude of Bee to tlj.e 
 busy primacy of England. That he did leave the 
 monastery which had been his home for so many 
 years, was because he felt that duty called him. 
 Had he refused, there was no one so well fitted to 
 take the office, and probably William would have 
 offered it to no one else. His acceptance relieved the 
 church of anxiety, and supplied the means of bring¬ 
 ing together the churches of Borne and England. 
 He had but one course to pursue, and he did pursue 
 it. To have at first accepted the appointment 
 gladly, would have been opposed to all his tastes, 
 habits, and professions ; but when forced upon him, 
 to have relinquished it, would have been traitorous 
 to the principles of his vocation. 
 
 But with all our admiration for Anselm, we cannot 
 but think he was unfitted for the office to which the 
 clergy of England had called him. Such of his con¬ 
 temporaries as knew him best, thought him better 
 qualified for the head of an abbey than the primacy 
 of an important church ; and we think so too. If 
 learning and piety had been the only requisites for a 
 
AND DEFICIENCIES. 
 
 195 
 
 candidate to the primacy, unquestionably Anselm 
 would have been the man of his time. In those 
 qualities he was probably superior to all of whom we 
 have any knowledge; but in those most required in 
 the head of the English church during the reign of 
 William the Second, he was singularly deficient. 
 His very piety was one of the causes of his failure. 
 Had his moral nature been less sensitive, kingly 
 habits which to him appeared absolute vices, courtly 
 manners which he regarded with horror, would simply 
 have excited his contempt, or produced a temporary 
 disgust; but Avould hardly have alloAved him to peril 
 his infiuence over the king and nobles by public 
 rebuke. For Anselm, however, to see an evil Avas 
 to protest against it, although it might have been 
 apparent to another man that his efibrts to overcome 
 it Avould be more successful if less evident and direct. 
 
 K 
 
 o 
 
196 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Anselm’s quareel with the king. 
 
 The circumstances under which Anselm had ac¬ 
 cepted the primacy, and the evident reluctance with 
 which William had installed him in that office, 
 were ominous of an infelicitous future. It was 
 obvious to all that the king regretted the election. 
 He had made it, he had almost been cajoled into 
 making it, during his illness; but he was now con¬ 
 valescent. William on a bed of sickness, pressed 
 upon by the ignorant fears of an incensed clergy, 
 was very different to William in good health, with 
 heavy debts and an exhausted^exchequer. It required 
 hut little penetration on Anselm’s part to discover 
 that it was William in weakness and adversity who 
 had called him to this office, and that now he 
 would recall his ["promises and revoke his acts. 
 Some of the primate’s friends thought differently. 
 They urged what the king had done, and what 
 he had promised to do; but Anselm saw deeper 
 than his friends, and therefore feared more. He 
 knew that there could be no real sympathy between 
 himself, an old and lettered ecclesiastic, and a man 
 full of passion, addicted to the lowest vices, and 
 
REGRET OF THE KING. 
 
 197 
 
 incapable of following a connected speech of a 
 quarter of an hour’s length. He had respected 
 Anselm when a stranger at his court, and had 
 done honour to the first scholar in Normandy, so 
 long as there seemed no possibility of the monk 
 becoming his confessor. His nature was so essen¬ 
 tially corrupt, and his selfishness so apparent in 
 all his dealings with the church property, that he 
 could have no sympathy wfith a man who appeared 
 only anxious to discharge his duty, independently 
 of the opinions of others, and to reform such abuses 
 as he encumbered. The plough of the church 
 of England,” said Anselm, should be drawn by 
 two oxen of equal strength,— the king and the 
 archbishop of Canterbury; but if you yoke me, 
 who am a weak old sheep, with this king, who is 
 a mad young bull, the plough will not go straight.”* 
 It can certainly no more be doubted that William 
 regretted the nomination into which he had been 
 forced, than it can be believed that he had kept 
 the archbishopric vacant from inability to find a 
 successor worthy of Lanfranc. He was was too 
 fond of ease to have risked the displeasure of his 
 nobility, and to have endured the reiterated complaints 
 of his clergy, upon a subject in which pertinacity 
 and obstinacy did not bring him wealth. William 
 never wanted an archbishop at all. It Avas his 
 intention to have kept the primacy in his OAvn 
 hands far longer than he did,—and if at last forced 
 to relinquish it, to have done so only on condition 
 
 * Henry’s England. 
 
198 
 
 AVARICE OF THE KING. 
 
 of receiving a compensation for the loss of revenue. 
 He had acted so with every othce in the church 
 save those which he filled up during his illness; 
 and even in one of those he had placed a man from 
 whom he afterwards extorted a large sum of money. 
 It was ever money that William Rufus desired. 
 His reign became noted for corrupt traffic of all 
 kinds;—ecclesiastical lands and offices,civil appoint¬ 
 ments, pardons to criminals, were sold to any who 
 could bring ready money for them. We are told 
 that the king even stipulated for money to convert 
 the unbelieving. Jewish youth imagined that 
 
 St. Stephen had appeared to him, and commanded 
 him to he baptized; this he obeyed. His father 
 immediately flew to the king, earnestly entreating 
 an order for his son to be restored to the faith 
 of his ancestors. The king not discovering any 
 advantage as likely to accrue to himself, remains 
 silent; on this the Jew offers him sixty marks, 
 on condition that he would restore his son to 
 .Judaism. William then orders the youth to be 
 brought before him; relates his father’s complaint, 
 and commands him to renounce his baptism. The 
 lad, astonished, replies—^‘^Your majesty is joking 
 surely.^’ I joke with thee !” exclaims the king; 
 “ begone, and obey my commands instantly, or by 
 the cross at Lucca I will have your eyes torn out.” 
 The young man remaining inflexible, he drove him 
 from his presence. The father was then ordered 
 before the king, who desired him to pay down the 
 money he had promised; but, on the Jew’s remon- 
 
POSITION OF ANSELM. 
 
 199 
 
 strating that he had not reconverted his son, and 
 the king’s declaring that his labour was not to go 
 unrewarded, it was agreed that he should receive 
 half the sum.”* 
 
 Had Anselm simply desired to lead a quiet, un¬ 
 molested life in this country, in entire forgetfulness 
 of the wants of the people about him, and the 
 interests of the church generally, his wisest course 
 in dealing with such a man would have been to 
 have collected a large sum of money, and bought 
 at once the favour of the king and his own freedom. 
 He probably saw this; but if he did not, he was 
 very early made aware of the fact by some of the 
 creatures of the court. His position was a difficult 
 one. As a feudatory, he had done homage to the king 
 as his temporal lord; and therefore, in offering him 
 a sum of money, he would be doing no more than 
 was the usual custom. But such a sum as he was 
 capable of giving would by no means come up to 
 the expectations of the king ; and it was probable 
 that William, ever ready to entrap him, would, 
 after he had received his present, hold him as a 
 participator in his habits of simony. He describes, 
 in a letter to which we shall have presently to refer, 
 the poverty to which he was reduced by the tyranny 
 of the king and the dishonesty of the chancellor; 
 and we know from other sources that even after 
 he had done submission, and received the investiture 
 of the pastoral ring and staff, his tenants continued 
 to 2 )ay their rents into the exchequer. So far from 
 * Note to Wm. Malms., p. 338. 
 
200 
 
 DISPUTE BETWEEN 
 
 the promises which he received at Rochester having 
 been fulfilled, the barons who had received lands 
 as gifts continued to hold them with the sanction 
 of William. His personal relations to the king 
 seem to have been very satisfactory; but such facts 
 as these almost compel us to believe that all the 
 insults heaped upon the primate were the direct 
 act of the king. On the very day that Anselm 
 entered Canterbury, prior to his consecration, he 
 was summoned by the Flambard to appear in 
 the king’s court to answer some imputed breach 
 of privilegeand though the action appeared 
 to come only from the chancellor, it may be fairly 
 regarded as the first of a long series of persecutions. 
 Notwithstanding this, Anselm collected five hundred 
 pounds, (Lingard says, he probably borrowed it,) 
 and offered it to the king, but it was scornfully 
 refused. The king treated the offer as niggardly, 
 hoping by that means to drive the primate to further 
 sacrifices; or by refusing so small a gift, to retain 
 the right of extortion. Anselm begged him to 
 accept it, promising him that at some future day he 
 should receive more, and telling him that it was 
 better to take a small sum from the hand of friend¬ 
 ship than to snatch a great one by violence. Keep 
 thy money and thy remonstrances,^’ said the king, 
 in his usual stuttering way, now increased by his 
 anger; I have sufficient of my own. Go.” Anselm 
 went, remembering that on his first entrance to 
 his metropolis, he had heard the words read from 
 the evangelist—No man can serve two masters.” 
 
ANSELM AND THE KING. 
 
 201 
 
 He had saved himself from the suspicion of having 
 bought his bishopric, but at the expense of his 
 friendship with the king, he refused to listen to 
 the suggestion of doubling the sum, and gave his 
 five hundred pounds to the poor. 
 
 The quarrel thus inaugurated would probably 
 have exhausted itself in the next few months, had 
 not Rufus been too busy with his continental affairs 
 to enter into further disputes. Robert, who, it will 
 be remembered, had retired from England in disgust 
 with the delays to which he had been continually 
 subjected by the king, discovered on his return 
 to Normandy so many acts of treachery and deceit 
 on the part of his brother, that he sent repeatedly 
 to him demanding the fulfilment of the treaty into 
 which they had entered a year and three quarters 
 before. Either William’s answers were unsatisfac¬ 
 tory, or his promises badly kept; for we find that 
 early in the year 1094, while holding his court 
 at Gloucester, he was waited on by messengers from 
 the duke of Normandy, who “said that his brother 
 renounced all peace and compact, if the king would 
 not perform all that they had stipulated in the 
 treaty; moreover, they called him perjured and 
 faithless, unless he would perform the* conditions, 
 or would go to the place where the treaty had 
 been concluded and sworn to, and there clear 
 himself.”* William, with his usual sagacity, ac¬ 
 cepted the last propositions of the heralds, and 
 determined to attend a council, trusting, not un- 
 
 K 3 
 
 * Ang. Sax. Chron., p. 470. 
 
202 
 
 DISPUTE BETWEEN 
 
 Avisely^ that diplomacy would either mitigate the 
 severity of an irksome treaty, or set him entirely 
 free from its demands. 
 
 In the month of February, therefore, he went 
 down to the coast, and while he waited for a favour¬ 
 able wind, he found time to attend to ecclesiastical 
 alfairs. He was detained at Hastings nearly a 
 month; and while there, Anselm and the bishops 
 paid their court to him, and transacted their various 
 business. The primate, with the assistance of the 
 king and court, consecrated the abbey which the 
 Conqueror had founded in commemoration of his 
 victory over the English, known then, and now, 
 by the name of Battle Abbey: and at the same time 
 he gave his benediction to Robert Bloet, bishop 
 of Lincoln, from whom the king had extorted the 
 enormous sum of five thousand pounds of silver. 
 That Anselm should have consecrated him, after he 
 had paid so large a price, supplied ample materials, 
 to those who desired the favour of the king, for 
 reflection upon the honour of the primate who had 
 then shared the guilt of simony. The satires were 
 repeated to the king, and gave him an opportunity 
 of displaying his personal feeling to Anselm, which 
 he did not lose. He exonerated the archbishop, but 
 ended by saying he would not disgrace the primacy 
 with the primate. The double-edged sharpness 
 of such an expression would have cut the ties 
 that united any other man than Anselm to the 
 king. Nothing but the heroic fortitude of a saint, 
 or the cringing selfishness of a parasite, could have 
 
ANSELM AND THE KING. 
 
 203 
 
 turned the keenness of its edge. But the object 
 of the satire was proof against it. He had demands 
 to make upon the king that would create an anger 
 it would need all his patience to endure, and he 
 was therefore silent then; hut so soon as opportu¬ 
 nity served, he urged upon the king the necessity 
 of considering the WTetched condition of society 
 and morals, and the need there was for calling 
 a synod for the repression of vice. Judging from 
 what Anselm then said, and from most of the 
 accounts that have come down to us, we should 
 say the morality of the people in the reign of William 
 the Second was of a very low order. Modern 
 historians generally tell us that the vices that 
 prevailed at that time were as remarkable for the 
 novelty of their practices as for the disgracefulness of 
 their character, and content themselves by specifying 
 in Latin notes the practices to which they refer.* 
 But the chroniclers of the time describe vividly 
 and broadly the manners of both the nobility and 
 liumbler classes. There is occasionally, it must be 
 confessed, both in the descriptions of the archbishop 
 and the historians, an odd mixture of the follies 
 of fashion and the immoralities of passion; causing 
 some doubt in the mind of the reader as to which 
 is the more detestable object of the two to the 
 mind of the writer. The following passage sets 
 before us an amusing as Avell as instructive picture 
 of the social evils which Anselm attempted in vain 
 to subdue:—‘Mn former times, shoes with round 
 
 * See Lingard and Henry. 
 
g04 
 
 DISSOLUTE HABITS 
 
 toes fitted to the form were in common use both 
 by rich and poor, clergy and laity. But now, men 
 of the world sought in their pride fashions of dress 
 which accorded with their perverse habits; and what 
 formerly honourable persons thought a mark’^of dis¬ 
 grace, and rejected as infamous, the men of this age 
 find to be sweet as honey to their taste, and parade 
 on their persons as a special distinction. ... A de¬ 
 bauched fellow named Robert, was the first about 
 the court of William Rufus who introduced the 
 practice of filling the long points of the shoes with 
 tow, and turning them up like a ram’s horn. 
 Hence he got the surname of Cornard; and this 
 absurd fashion was speedily adopted by great numbers 
 of the nobility as a proud distinction and sign of 
 merit. All this time effeminacy was the prevailing 
 vice throughout the world. Men revelled in vice 
 without remorse; and odious wretches, who ought 
 to have been food for the flames, shamefully abandoned 
 themselves to the foulest Sodomitical practices. The 
 habits of illustrious men were disregarded, the 
 admonitions of priests derided; and the customs 
 of barbarians adopted in dress and in the mode 
 of life. They parted their hair from the crown 
 of the head on each side of the forehead, and let 
 their locks grow like women, and wore long shirts, 
 and tunics, closely tied with points. They wasted 
 their time, spending it according to their own fancy, 
 and without regard to the law of God, or the 
 customs of their fathers. The night was devoted 
 to banqueting and drunkenness, to silly talk, dice 
 
OF THE TIMES. 
 
 205 
 
 tables, and other games. Thus, after the death 
 of Pope Gregory and William the Bastard, and 
 other religious princes, the simple habits of our 
 fathers were abandoned in all the west of Europe. 
 They used a modest dress, well fitted to the pro¬ 
 portions of their bodies, which was convenient for 
 walking and riding, and for all active employments, 
 as common sense dictated. But in our days ancient 
 customs are almost all changed for new fashions. 
 Our wanton youths are sunk in efieminacy, and the 
 courtiers study to make themselves agreeable to 
 the women by every sort of lasciviousness. They 
 insert their toes, the extremities of their bodies, 
 in things like serpents’ tails, which present to view 
 the shape of scorpions. Sweeping the dusty ground 
 with the prodigious trains of their robes and mantles, 
 they cover their hands with gloves too long and 
 wide for doing anything useful, and, encumbered 
 with these superfluities, lose the free use of their 
 limbs for active employment. The fore part of their 
 heads is bare after the manner of thieves, while 
 on the back they nourish long hair like harlots. 
 In former times penitents, captives, and pilgrims 
 usually went unshaved, and w^ore long beards as 
 an outward mark of their penance, or captivity, 
 or pilgrimage. Now almost all the world wear 
 crisped hair and beards, carrying on their faces the 
 tokens of their filthy lust, like slinking goats. Their 
 locks are curled with hot irons, and instead of 
 wearing caps, they bind their heads with fillets. 
 A knight seldom appears in public with his 
 
206 
 
 Anselm’s remonstrance. 
 
 \ 
 
 '•e 
 
 X 
 
 I u 
 
 y I 
 
 I 
 
 it 
 
 \'r 
 
 head uncovered and properly shaved, according to 
 the apostolic precept. Their exterior appearance 
 and dress thus exhibit what are their inward 
 thoughts, and how little reverence they have for 
 God.” 
 
 For the reformation of these abuses, Anselm begged 
 the king to give him his assistance by calling a 
 synod. The king refused to do so. He saw no 
 good that would arise from it, he said, and would 
 mear no more of the matter. Anselm represented to 
 / him that there were many more things he wished to 
 I speak to him about; he presented to him a bill 
 I of grievances, couched in language severe, and at 
 times hardly respectful. He gave the king to under¬ 
 stand that he was the patron, but not the proprietor, 
 of abbeys; that they were many of them without 
 abbots; that their revenues were expended by barons 
 and courtiers upon purposes foreign to the intention 
 of their founders ; that the monks lived without dis¬ 
 cipline ; and that the necessities of the poor were 
 unsupplied. Are not the abbeys mine ?” said 
 the king. “ You do what you please with your 
 estates, and I will do what 1 will with my abbeys. 
 I will do nothing you ask. It is not thus that your 
 predecessor would have spoken to my father, nor 
 shall you to me.” 
 
 Anselm retired; but, wishing it to be understood 
 that he had no personal enmity to the king, he 
 begged the bishops to mediate. They did so; but 
 to no purpose. The king’s personal hatred was 
 evident in all he said; but the love of money was 
 
ANGER OF THE KING. 
 
 207 
 
 greater, and he offered to forgive the insult he had 
 received, if Anselm would consent to pay five hun¬ 
 dred pounds at once, and promise to pay five hun¬ 
 dred more at a future time. The archbishop replied 
 that his estates were too poor to furnish him with 
 such a sum, nor would he renew an offer already 
 refused; besides, the favour of the king was too 
 great a thing to be so purchased. On his answer 
 being reported to William, he exclaimed, “ I hated 
 him yesterday; I hate him more to-day; and let 
 him know that I shall hate him still more the longer 
 I live. Never will I acknowledge him as my father 
 and my archbishop; I have no need of his prayers; 
 I reject them. Let him not wait here to give me 
 his blessing on my departure; let him go where 
 he will.^’ 
 
 “Upon this,” says Eadmer, “we withdrew from 
 court.” 
 
 William sailed for Normandy; and before the 
 four and twenty barons who had signed the treaty, 
 and sworn to see its fulfilment, he defended his 
 broken oath, but without success. The assembly 
 decided against him, declaring he had broken fiiith. 
 William was the last man to be coerced into active 
 right by the opinions of others. Failing in diplomacy, 
 he had recourse to violence; and, seizing the castle 
 of Bures, he gave the signal of civil war. The duke 
 retaliated by besieging and carrying Angences, with 
 seven hundred of the king’s soldiers; and victory, 
 which seemed at first to favour William, soon deserted 
 to Robert. In this emergency, the king sent orders 
 
^08 
 
 william’s return. 
 
 for the immediate embarcation of twenty thousand 
 soldiers; hut at the same time gave private instruc¬ 
 tions to his chancellor Ralph, that, upon their being 
 mustered at Hastings, he was to take from each 
 man the ten shillings he had received from his lord, 
 or w’as supposed to carry with him for his support 
 during the campaign, and to remit the same to 
 him; the men being dismissed to their homes. 
 The money proved of more service to him than the 
 men might have done; for Robert having obtained 
 the aid of the king of France, and their united forces 
 marching down upon William, threatened to shut 
 him up in Em, when he secretly opened negotiations 
 with Philip, who, probably influenced by the twenty 
 thousand contributions, returned to his own domi¬ 
 nions. His defection was shortly afterwards followed 
 in the dispersion of the whole army, and William’s 
 return to England. 
 
 On his road to London he was met by Anselm, 
 who had employed the time of the king’s absence 
 in correspondence with his bishops, inquiring into 
 the state of his diocese, and in further literary works. 
 He now sought the king to gain his permission 
 to leave England, for the purpose of obtaining the 
 pallium from the hands of the pope, as his pre¬ 
 decessor had done. “ From the hands of what 
 pope?” said William. Anselm named Urban. In 
 an excited manner, the king demanded how he 
 dared to acknowledge a pope whom he had not 
 recognised; he ought to have known that it was 
 not his custom, any more than his father’s, to allow 
 
THE TWO POPES. 
 
 209 
 
 any one to usurp his authority by recognising a 
 pope. It is impossible,” said the king, to main¬ 
 tain equal fidelity to your prince and the bishop 
 of Rome.” Anselm, unmoved by the threats of the 
 king, begged to he allowed an appeal to a convoca¬ 
 tion of the nobility and clergy. This, after much 
 angry altercation, was granted; and the 11th of 
 March, 1095, was appointed for the assembly. 
 
 Since the year 1084, there had been two sets of 
 popes reigning over Christendom, and dividing be¬ 
 tween them the allegiance of European churches. 
 In that year, the Romans, tired of a siege that had 
 lasted nearly two years, opened their gates to the 
 army of the imperial Henry; and Hildebrand, still 
 bold in his adversity, refusing either to negotiate 
 with the conqueror or to recognise him as emperor, 
 shut himself up in the fortress of St. Angelo. Henry, 
 however, obtained the election of Clement and the 
 deposition of Gregory. In a few months, Hildebrand 
 was liberated from his confinement by Robert Guis- 
 card, and retired to Cremona, where he died. The 
 party which he left, did not, upon his death, despair 
 of future success. They elected another pope, who, 
 liowever, soon died; upon which Otto, bishop of Ostia, 
 was elected at Terracina, under the title of Pope 
 P) rban II. He had, with a stream of alternating defeat 
 and success, for six years been recognised as head of 
 the church by those who were true to the policy and 
 schemes of Hildebrand, and denounced by the im- 
 ])erial party of Clement, when Anselm held his con¬ 
 ference with William on his return from Normandy. 
 
210 
 
 RELATIVE CLAIMS OF 
 
 Before his election to the primacy, and while simply 
 abbot of Bee, Anselm, in common with most of the 
 clergy of Normandy, had recognised in various ways 
 the right of Urban to the chair of St. Peter. It is 
 of little importance whether William was acquainted 
 with that fact prior to the nomination of the primate, 
 since it is unquestioned that Anselm told him of it 
 both at the time of his election and afterwards at 
 Rochester. It is not possible to believe that William’s 
 refusal to acknowledge Urban was based upon any 
 far-sighted policy, or any desire to weaken perma¬ 
 nently the power of the church in Europe. Had it 
 been so, he would have made the refusal earlier, and 
 made it a condition with Anselm prior to his conse¬ 
 cration. The immediate causes were doubtless his 
 personal hatred of Anselm, and the irritation of his 
 vanity by the decided tone in which the primate 
 spoke of Urban. But there was another, and to so 
 bad a king a very important one. To have permitted 
 the clergy of the English church to decide between 
 the contending claims of popes, would have been to 
 forfeit all the advantages that his father had secured; 
 to open a channel through which every complaint of 
 ecclesiastical misrule would have found its way to 
 Rome; to reinvest the clergy with the power of ex¬ 
 communicating offenders, accepting bulls from the 
 pope, and of quitting the kingdom without asking 
 leave of the king. Not one of these concessions would 
 Lanfranc, the personal friend of the first William, 
 and the most confidential adviser of his sovereign, 
 have been able to obtain. It cannot, therefore, be a 
 
THE KING AND POPE. 
 
 211 
 
 matter of surprise that William Rufus should refuse 
 Avhat seemed to him a part of his prerogative, to a 
 man whom he personally detested and suspected. 
 Unfortunately, Anselm was not a- politician, other¬ 
 wise he would neither have quarrelled with the 
 king nor have been compelled to submit to a rude 
 refusal. But he was an Italian by birth and by educa¬ 
 tion, skilled in all the rigid rules by which the church 
 of Rome attempted to hind to its papal chair the 
 thrones of Europe ; and he did not know how to 
 disguise his hatred of the laxity he discovered in 
 England. Between Normandy and Rome there was 
 a continual commerce; but here he found bishops 
 who had never seen Italy, who had held no sort of 
 communication with it, and who acknowledged no 
 pope. 
 
 Many of the clergy lacked neither instruction nor 
 piety,—but they were attached to the crown more 
 than to the church. From the king they had re¬ 
 ceived not merely their benefices, but the right to 
 dwell in the land where the benefices were situated. 
 To him also they were bound by all the ties of 
 the feudal system, and felt all the attachment to 
 a policy of resistance to foreign interference wUich 
 an interest in landed property can give. They had 
 not ceased to recognise in principle the supremacy 
 of the pontiff, but they would have been irritated by 
 the least assertion of his power. They regarded, 
 indeed, the very right to possess the papal chair 
 as a gift whicli only the political rulers of Europe 
 could confer. Even Rome itself had not always 
 
212 CONVOCATION OF 1095. 
 
 maintained that the legitimacy of the pope was inde¬ 
 pendent of the imperial recognition. It was that 
 question, among others, that had produced the long 
 quarrel between Henry and Hildebrand; and which 
 had ended in giving two popes to Christendom. It is 
 not, therefore, astonishing if in England the clergy 
 were indifferent to these questions, which interested 
 Anselm. The state of feeling he found here did 
 violence to his principles, and shocked his prejudices; 
 hut the intensity of those prejudices showed his 
 unfitness for the office he held. We must not for¬ 
 get, however, that his principles were as much greater 
 than his prejudices, as his love of the truth was greater 
 than his love of ease. He did not accept office from 
 a desire for wealth, nor did he retain it from obstinacy. 
 It was a sense of duty in the first case, and a love 
 of principle in the second. 
 
 On Sunday morning, the llth of March, 1095, 
 there came together at Rockingham, the king, his 
 chief barons, the archbishops, bishops, and abbots, to 
 decide the question that had sprung up between the 
 king and primate. Anselm opened the proceedings 
 in a short forcible speech. Certain words,” said 
 he, “ have arisen between the king and me, which 
 seem to have generated dissension; for when I lately 
 begged permission to go to Rome, after the manner 
 of my predecessor, to receive the pallium, I was 
 told the king had not yet accepted Urban as pontiff, 
 and that therefore he could not grant me permission; 
 and that if I went without his permissiou, I should 
 act contrary to the faith I had sworn to him, nor 
 
a^’selm’s speech. 
 
 213 
 
 should I less offend him, than if I attempted to take 
 the crown from his head; and further, that unless I 
 renounced all subjection to Urban I must look for no 
 authority in this kingdom. Such words astonished 
 me ; seeing that I was an abbot in another kingdom, 
 as you know, but by the providence of God, and to 
 the sorrow of my friends there, brought to the primacy. 
 It was by no ambition, by no desire,by no expectation 
 on my part; hut for certain reasons I could not 
 withstand, that I was compelled to this land.” He 
 then recounted the forcible manner of his election, 
 reminded them of the earnest manner in which he 
 refused the honour they thrust upon him; and 
 especially urged the fact that he then declared his 
 adhesion to Urban. He continued: But lest any 
 one, being ignorant of my feelings concerning this 
 thing, should defame my conscience, I now say, that 
 but for my reverence for the will of God, I would, 
 had I the choice, rather throw myself to be burnt upon 
 a funeral pile than rise to the dignity of the primacy. 
 But seeing your importunity, and the strength of 
 your desire, I gave myself to you, and undertook the 
 burden you imposed upon me, trusting to the help 
 which you promised me. And now the time has 
 come for you to lighten that burden by your counsel. 
 To obtain your counsel, this assembly was called; and 
 you are to inquire whether, with all fidelity due to 
 the king, 1 can observe my obedience to the Apostolic 
 chair.” He concluded by saying that he wished to 
 fulfil all his duties,—that it would be a serious 
 thing to deny his allegiance to the vicar of St. Peter, 
 
214 
 
 ANSELM DECLAKES HIS 
 
 —and it would be a serious thing to be wanting in 
 the faith he had sworn to the king; but it would be 
 a serious thing to find, as he had been told, that he 
 could not fulfil one of these duties without violating 
 the other. Of the eight prelates who sat in the 
 council, two alone were faithful to their faith and 
 their chief,—Gondulf of Rochester, and Ralph of 
 Chichester. Being Sunday, the assembly broke up 
 early; and on its return the following morning, 
 Anselm asked the bishops whether they held the 
 opinion of the previous day. They replied, that if 
 he would simply submit himself to the judgment of 
 the king, he should have their support and counsel; 
 but if this submission were not made promptly, they 
 would withdraw their allegiance. Upon this, Anselm, 
 standing erect, with animated countenance, an im¬ 
 posing voice, and eyes looking to heaven, said: Since 
 you, who are called pastors and princes of a Christian 
 people, will not give to me, your chief, your advice 
 and support, except according to the will of one man, 
 from you to the highest Pastor and Chief of all I turn, 
 to the Angel of the great council I go, and in this 
 matter, which belongs to Him and his church, I 
 shall receive that counsel which I ought to follow. 
 To the most blessed apostle Peter He said, ^ Thou 
 art Peter, and upon this rock will I build my church,’ 
 etc.; and to the apostles collectively He said, ^Who¬ 
 soever heareth you, heareth me; and whosoever 
 despiseth you, despiseth me.’ These words which 
 we believe to have been spoken to Peter, we regard 
 as said to his vicar, and through him to the other 
 
ADHESION TO URBAN. 
 
 215 
 
 bishops, who sustain the office of apostles, and not to 
 emperors, kings, dukes, nor counts, to whom we are 
 commanded to ‘ render the things which belong to 
 Csesar.’ These are the counsels of God ; to these I 
 subscribe, these I accept. Understand, therefore, 
 that in matters pertaining to God and his church 
 I shall obey the successor of St. Peter; in things 
 pertaining to the dignity of my lord the king, I 
 shall fulfil the duties of a counsellor and faithful 
 servant.” 
 
 This message the primate desired his bishops to 
 carry to the king; but they, terrified by the anger 
 they knew such words would produce, refused to 
 report them to him; whereupon Anselm, followed 
 by his suffragans, went himself, and there repeated 
 to William all he had before said. He then retired, 
 leaving the king too enraged to reply. The assembly 
 \vas in confusion and disorder. The bishops and 
 barons consulted in whispers upon the best advice to 
 offer. Groups of twos, threes, and fours were scattered 
 about, earnestly seeking some means which would, 
 without being an open violation of Anselm’s princi¬ 
 ples, reconcile him and the king. After a considerable 
 delay the bishops with some of the nobility returned 
 to the archbishop, whom they found reclining against 
 the wall, asleep. The message they brought from 
 the king differed in nowise from Avhat had been 
 before said to him; he w^as again charged with dis¬ 
 loyalty to his sovereign, and was urged to consider 
 that from Urban he should expect neither wealth 
 nor honour ; but that it became him, as primate of 
 
216 
 
 HIS FIRMNESS. 
 
 the kingdom, to act in conformity with the king’s 
 wishes. “1 hear what you say,” said Anselm, 
 hut on all other things I shall he silent, except 
 this, that I will never withhold my obedience from 
 the pope. The evening is drawing on; if it is agree¬ 
 able let us break up the assembly till to-morrow: 
 I will then reply in such words as God shall have 
 been pleased to inspire me with.” Owing to the 
 advice of the bishop of Durham, the adjournment 
 was not agreed to ; the bishop thinking he perceived 
 in Anselm’s desire for it a tendency to submission. 
 The bishop of Durham acted in the whole of this 
 business at Rockingham as the chief councillor and 
 prolocutor of the king. He had promised somewhat 
 rashly—as it afterwards appeared—that he would 
 compel Anselm to deny his allegiance to the pontiff, 
 or by returning the ring and staff to renounce all 
 claim to the primacy. The king now frankly ad¬ 
 mitted his anxiety for the dismission of Anselm, but 
 the archbishop was no more to be driven from his 
 office by threats than to he drawn from his allegiance 
 to the pope by promises. The bishop of Durham had 
 done his utmost, as he thought, to fulfil his promise 
 to the king; and, enraged with the obstinacy of the 
 primate, he declared that his conduct was treason to 
 the king, and ruin to all the clergy. He had perhaps 
 hardly expected to find one who had been so long 
 quiet, and unmoved alike by threats and bribes, 
 exhibit such a capacity for indignation and bravery. 
 Anselm rose and dared any one to prove him guilty 
 of treason to his king because he had refused to be 
 
217 
 
 vox POPULI, VOX DEI. 
 
 unfaithful to his bishop; such a man would find 
 him ready to answer such a charge in the appropriate 
 way and place,—sicut debeo et ubi deheo.”) 
 This, which fell upon the ear of William of Durham 
 as a mere personal taunt, carried to the king the fact 
 that his archbishop knew there was no one there 
 who had power to try him. It was like the appeal 
 of Paul to Cffisar. In a great rage he adjourned the 
 assembly till the morning; when the crowd of 
 clergy and nobles returned. The constitution of the 
 council was not of so exclusive a character as w^e 
 should have supposed; there being present a number 
 of inferior monks, clergy, and laity. It was partly 
 to the advantage of Anselm, as would appear from 
 the applause he occasionally received from the 
 laity. One instance is hardly worth much, hut we 
 are told that a knight, becoming excited, addressed 
 Anselm in the name of the people as their father, 
 and referred him to the happy example of Job. 
 A writer who was present says, “ All took courage 
 from the incident, placing confidence in this word— 
 ‘Vox populi, vox Dei:’ a most infelicitous re¬ 
 collection, if it be remembered how often the vox 
 populi has not proved vox Dei.” 
 
 The position of the king had now become most 
 serious. To attempt to depose Anselm would be to 
 deprive himself of the support of even the bishops, 
 and already his harshness had evoted for his oppo¬ 
 nent the sympathies of the nobility. Under these 
 circumstances he determined to isolate Anselm from 
 his sufiragans. “ If you cannot try him, at least you 
 
 L 
 
21S 
 
 THE NOBLES. 
 
 can refuse obedience to him.” All the bishops, with one 
 exception, agreed, but at the expense of their popu¬ 
 larity. The laity, as they passed through the hall, 
 murmured the names of Judas, Pilate, and Herod, 
 famous for infidelity and wrong; and the nobles, as 
 a body, refused to abjure fidelity to him who was 
 their pastor. 
 
 To these nobles the king was obliged to look as 
 mediators, finding that Anselm would not resign his 
 see, and determined that he would not give him a safe 
 conduct as primate. The king was induced to agree 
 to a truce until Whitsuntide; so this dispute found 
 a temporary solution. 
 
£19 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AX ILLUSTRATIVE EPISODE. 
 
 The quarrel between the king and his primate, 
 which we have just now brought to a temporary 
 conclusion, was not the only one in which William 
 was engaged during this year. For some months 
 he was obliged to take the field, and carry on a civil 
 war of considerable extent with a few powerful 
 barons of the north of England. Unfortunately 
 we have but a very meagre account of this quarrel; 
 and the causes of it are very variously stated^ by 
 contemporary writers. By some it has been said 
 to have arisen out of the king’s treatment of Anselm; 
 but that is more than doubtful. Not only is it 
 very unlikely that men who had permitted and 
 shared in the division of church property, should 
 take up arms to support an archbishop’s opinion on 
 ecclesiastical law; but the time at which the northern 
 quarrel commenced was much earlier than the public 
 dissensions of William and Anselm. The account of 
 William of Malmsbury is more probable. lie says 
 that the exclusive claim which William Rufus made 
 to the right of hunting, and the tyranny he exercised 
 
 in making it a capital offence to kill a stag, caused 
 
 L £ 
 
S20 ROBERT DE MOWBRAY. 
 
 many conspiracies among the nobility, one of which 
 issued in the rebellion of Robert de Mowbray. 
 Another cause is assigned by Ordericus, who enters 
 more largely into the details of this transaction; 
 and in doing so, gives us some remarkable traits of 
 the free-booting barons of the eleventh century. 
 From him we learn that a northern earl named 
 De Mowbray and his nephew, with their retainers, 
 had seized the ship and cargo of some Scandinavian 
 merchants; many of whom at this period traded 
 largely with our principal ports. The merchants, 
 powerless in the towns where the robbery had been 
 committed, carried their complaint to the king, who 
 ordered the barons to restore to the merchants all 
 they had taken from them. The order was not 
 obeyed; and William, having made an inquiry 
 into the amount of loss, paid the sum from the 
 exchequer.* 
 
 That year the king held his Easter court at 
 Winchester; but De Mowbray, disregarding the 
 obligations of his rank, did not appear. The king, 
 enraged that the earl should add to the injustice 
 done to the Danish merchants this insult to his 
 court, commanded that all who would remain in 
 peace” should attend his next court; but to Robert 
 de Mowbray he would neither give hostages nor 
 pledges of safety.” In consequence, Robert was 
 not there, and William prepared speedily to march 
 into Northumberland. The expedition was neither 
 too premature nor extensive, as the king found upon 
 
 * Ord. Yit. 
 
HIS REBELLION. 
 
 001 
 ¥V.‘V X 
 
 his arrival in the north. De Mowbray was not 
 alone in his opposition, several northern earls shared 
 his animosity, and assisted in his preparations for 
 resistance. The circumstances following the plunder 
 of the Danish vessel had served only as the occasion 
 for opposition to the king, and that which William 
 supposed was confined to De Mowbray, he found 
 to be a general rebellion. A plan had been formed 
 to seize the king, and probably to murder him— 
 certainly to dethrone him—and to place Stephen 
 d’Aumale, cousin of De Mowbray, on the throne. 
 William learned these facts from a repentant or 
 cowardly member of the league, who, meeting him 
 as he was about to enter a wood, warned him not 
 to pass through it, as an ambush was waiting to 
 carry out the purpose of the conspirators. Rufus 
 avoided the danger, and finally conquered his enemies. 
 
 Robert de Mowbray was the son of Roger de 
 Mowbray, and nephew of the wealthy but unclerical 
 bishop of Coutances, from whom he inherited two 
 liundred and eighty English manors. Such great 
 possessions would liave made any man prominent 
 in the reign of Rufus; but no one so much so as 
 Robert de ^lowbray. lie is described as being tall, 
 dark, and powerful; silent and moody in manner; 
 and as he seldom smiled when speaking, he was 
 regarded as melanclioly and harsh. The conspiracy 
 against William was his so far as its leadership 
 was concerned, and therefore against his castle and 
 property AVilliam directed liis attacks. Newcastle 
 
 and Tvnemouth were soon taken, and with them 
 
 •> 
 
222 
 
 SUPPRESSION OP" THE REBELLION. 
 
 Robert’s brother. The king left a garrison in 
 these forts, and proceeded to besiege Bamborough, 
 which was defended by De Mowbray. Owing to 
 the marshy land on which it stood, he found it 
 impossible to bring his men up to the walls; the 
 king was therefore obliged to content himself with 
 watching the besieged, and trusting to time to ac¬ 
 complish what he could not. To facilitate his 
 purpose, he built a fort opposite the castle, and with 
 a malicious playfulness worthy of his father called it 
 Malvoisin.” Trusting that it might prove so to 
 his enemy, he left the blockade to the care of his 
 soldiers, and set out to quell an insurrection in 
 Wales. 
 
 The conspiracy against the life of the king had 
 now returned to its original character, and had 
 become a quarrel with a single baron. The friends 
 who had pledged themselves to act with Robert, 
 had, on the arrival of William, either enlisted under 
 his standard, or had refrained from acting against 
 him. De Mow'bray called upon them to observe their 
 oaths; but no one attempted to raise the siege. The 
 wardens of Newcastle, however, during the king’s 
 absence, sent him a message promising to admit 
 him, if he could leave Bamborough by stealth. The 
 message itself may have been treacherous; it certainly 
 was unfavourable to Robert. He took it, however, 
 in good faith, and, accompanied by about thirty 
 men, he set out from his castle. His party was 
 intercepted, and was obliged to take refuge in a 
 monastery, where he defended himself gallantly for 
 
CRUELTY OF THE KING. 223 
 
 six days. Most of his men being killed and himself 
 wounded, he fled to the church from which he was 
 dragged forth a prisoner. Shortly after Michaelmas 
 William returned, and leading Robert before the 
 walls of his castle, he threatened to put out his 
 eyes, unless his wife should immediately open the 
 gates. She had only been married three months, 
 and to save her husband she complied; and thus 
 concluded one of the most serious rebellions in 
 the reign of William the Second. 
 
 Among the prisoners was Morcal, a kinsman of 
 De Mowbray; from him William learnt the magnitude 
 of the conspiracy which had just been suppressed. 
 Clergy and laity had shared the enterprise. The 
 revenge of Rufus surpassed the magnitude of the 
 treason. Robert de Mowbray he confined in Windsor 
 Castle, where he lived a prisoner thirty years. Roger 
 de Lacy he entirely disinherited and banished. 
 Hugo of Shrewsbury he rebuked and fined three 
 thousand pounds. William d’Eu was permitted to 
 prove his innocence by single combat; but the trial 
 going against him, he was condemned to lose his 
 eyesight; and if the evidence of a chronicler is 
 to be trusted, to gratify the jealousy of his enraged 
 wife, he was subjected to a punishment more dis¬ 
 graceful, and not less horrible. The other con¬ 
 spirators were wisely pardoned, lest despair should 
 exasperate to a further and more successful rebellion. 
 
 The debates which had been held during the 
 Rockimrham council made little real difference in 
 the relative positions of William and Anselm, though 
 
224c POSITION OF ANSELM 
 
 each appeared to slightly shift his ground. On the 
 one hand the king had kept his resolve; he had not 
 allowed the archbishop to acknowledge the rule of 
 Urban, nor had he given him permission to go to 
 Rome. So far he might he said to have gained, 
 but his losses were greater to the minds of all 
 reflecting men ; he had failed in making Anselm 
 either deny his allegiance to the pope, or quit his 
 see without permission; and he had rendered it 
 apparent to all that his determination and pertinacity 
 did not arise from a kingly sense of royal prerogative, 
 hut from a mean, unmanly desire to possess himself 
 of the wealth of the church. Anselm, on the other 
 liand, was primate in name only; his suffragans 
 had with a single exception deserted him; those 
 who admired his conscientiousness wondered at his 
 obstinacy, and recommended a slight concession; he 
 was sustained only by the voice of conscience and the 
 sense of duty ; he was without the power of holding 
 even a synod; and to have asked permission of 
 the king to he allowed to do so, would only have 
 subjected him to insult and refusal. As a man he was 
 without influence over the king, as a prelate wdthout 
 the power which should belong to his office; his 
 strength lay only in this, that he could he deposed 
 by none hut the pope, and that his voice could 
 pronounce the dreadful anathema of the church. 
 His perplexity at this time seems to have been very 
 great; there were none in England with whom he 
 could advise save Gondulf of Rochester, and the 
 two monks who so faithfullv attended him, and thev 
 
WITH THE KING. 
 
 225 
 
 were inspired with too much awe of him to allow 
 them to he fitting counsellors. He describes in a 
 long letter, which he wrote to the archbishop of 
 Lyons, all the difficulties which he had encountered, 
 and the unhappy position in which he was then 
 placed. In this letter we have his own word, that 
 before giving his consent, he openly declared that 
 he was in favour of pope Urban, and further that 
 for six months he did and said all he could say 
 and do blamelessly, to avoid the honour of the 
 primacy. It is of some importance to have the 
 assertion of Anselm on matters of this kind; as it 
 places the conduct of the king in the worst possible 
 light, and vindicates Anselm from the charges of 
 duplicity. We learn also from this letter, that in 
 the archbishop’s opinion, the enmity of the king 
 arose mainly from his ineffective efforts to procure 
 money for the gift of the primacy :—To force me 
 to give more, the king disdained what he thought 
 so niggardly a present, but I would not offer more, 
 * * * * and from that time he has seemed to seek 
 for opportunities of thwarting me.” This reason for 
 the royal hostility is certainly not contradicted by 
 the facts we have related. 
 
 The other matters enumerated in the letter are 
 substantially the same as are given by others. If 
 Anselm’s word be worth anything, and if it is not 
 it is useless to seek for fidelity in his age, the troubles 
 of William’s reign arose entirely through the faith¬ 
 lessness and coveteousness of the king, and that 
 the resoluteness of Anselm was owins* to his sense 
 
226 
 
 POSITION OF ANSELM 
 
 of the responsibility under which he lay to all future 
 primates and bishops. He says, The king pre¬ 
 sented me with the archbishopric under the promise 
 that I should receive it as held by Lanfranc to 
 the close of his life, and now he takes from the 
 church and its primate, what the church and its 
 primate have held without question, and w’'hat he 
 has himself pledged to me. For it is certain that 
 this archbishopric will not pass to any after me 
 except in the condition that I hold it at my death, 
 or if unexpectedly there be a new king during my 
 life, he will only grant me such property as I possessed 
 under his predecessor. If, then, I continue to hold 
 thus diminished the archbishopric of Canterbury to 
 my death, the church will suffer loss through my 
 fault. If violence were done, or permitted to be done 
 to the church by any who were not legally its guardians, 
 the church might afterwards recover its rights; but 
 when the king who is its patron, and the archbishop 
 who is its guardian, do and permit the wrong, 
 Avhat could be held in the future, but that what 
 the king had done, and the archbishop had permitted, 
 should stand as the rule ? It would be better, then, 
 for me not to hold the church lands upon such 
 conditions; but poor, as were the apostles, in protest 
 against the violence done me, to fill the episcopal 
 office. However, I think that if being consecrated 
 metropolitan bishop, I permit the first year to pass 
 entirely away, without going where I can to seek 
 the pallium from the pope, I am in the dilemma 
 of a legitimate deposition. If I cannot fulfil this 
 
WITH THE KING. 
 
 GG7 
 
 9 
 
 duty, without losing the archbishopric, it were 
 better that it were violently torn from me; it w'ere 
 better to abandon it than to deny the apostolic 
 allegiance. ****’’ 
 
 Anselm might have added in a few weeks a 
 postscript to this letter, containing another instance 
 of kingly infidelity; the truce sworn to at Rocking¬ 
 ham was broken shortly after it was made,—the 
 primate’s chamberlain was seized in his presence, 
 two of his friends were driven from the kingdom, 
 and several of his dependents were treated with 
 great harshness. It may be said that this was 
 not done by William’s order; it can hardly be said 
 that it was done in opposition to his wishes, or with 
 any expectation that those who did it would receive 
 a reproof for their zeal; he certainly showed no 
 open hostility to Anselm, but that may be accounted 
 for by considering that he had learnt how powerless 
 were threats when directed against such a man. 
 William had recourse to deceit and diplomacy; he 
 gained little by them but time. He sent two of his 
 chaplains on a secret mission to Rome, instructing 
 them to observe the state of parties there, and to 
 obtain by any means they thought advisable the 
 pallium, and the pope’s permission for its disposal 
 at the king’s pleasure. The chaplains w^ere well 
 received at Rome; Urban was overjoyed at the 
 expectation of numbering among his adherents the 
 kiiiir of Enyfland; but he was anxious to save 
 Anselm. Obedient, therefore, to the policy of Rome, 
 and the example just showed him by William, he 
 
228 
 
 DISSIMULATION OF URBAN. 
 
 dissembled,—promised to accede to the requests of 
 the chaplains, but through his legate, Walter the 
 bishop of Alba. Accompanied by this papal official, 
 who carried the pallium from the pope, the royal 
 messengers returned to England. They passed 
 through Canterbury without communicating with 
 any of the clergy, Anselm not excepted, and went 
 straight to the king. He was satisfied, suspected 
 nothing, believed, as he well might do, in the sincerity 
 of the pontiff, and accepted the presence of Walter 
 as its pledge. Accordingly he proclaimed throughout 
 England his acknowledgment of Urban as sovereign 
 pontiff; and then demanded from Walter the pallium, 
 but to this the legate would not consent; it could 
 not be expected, he said, that the pope would depose 
 one of his best servants; nor would the pope ever 
 have promised to do so. He was not to be moved 
 from this decision by anything that William could 
 do or say, not even by the annual present which 
 William promised; he had received orders from the 
 pope to present the pall to Anselm, his mission 
 ended when he had done so. William had the 
 prudence to hide the mortification he felt at this 
 deceit, and to submit to it; he could have recalled 
 his allegiance and driven the legate from his kingdom, 
 but for such open hostility he was not prepared; 
 he therefore took the other course, and permitted 
 AValter to fulfil his commission; he invited Anselm 
 to visit his court, and paid him marked respect. Sur¬ 
 rounded by the nobility, who were always anxious 
 to establish peace between these kings of the civil 
 
HE PRESENTS THE PALLIUM TO ANSELM. 
 
 229 
 
 and spiritual world, AVilliam and Anselm entered 
 into a familiar conversation; during which the legate, 
 with less good taste than a courtier would be sup¬ 
 posed to have shown, though not without a certain 
 jocose pertinence, repeated the opening verse of the 
 hundred and thirty-first psalm. 
 
 The clerical advisers of the king were not so 
 willing to lose all the advantage which the presence 
 of the pope’s legate seemed to offer; they hinted 
 to the primate that the renewed friendship of the 
 king was deserving of recognition by a present, and 
 that at least the expense of the journey to Rome 
 thus saved should be given to the king. Anselm 
 refused, and remained firm in his determination 
 to do nothing which should give the least appearance 
 of venality. He refused to accept the pall from 
 the hand of William; but demanded that since it 
 could be placed upon him by the pope, he should 
 be allowed to take it from the altar. His demands 
 were conceded, and on the Sunday, the 10th of 
 June, 1095, having presented the pallium to the 
 lips of his suffragans, he placed it upon his shoulders. 
 Thus, after two years and a quarter from his nomina¬ 
 tion, and nineteen months from his consecration, 
 tlie election of Anselm was completed. 
 
 The seven and twenty months which had elapsed 
 since William first called him to his bedside at 
 Gloucester, had been, so far as the interests of the 
 English church were concerned, wasted. The pro¬ 
 perty of church tenants under the nominal rule of 
 Anselm had not been safer than under the real 
 
2S0 
 
 URBAN AND ANSELM. 
 
 government of the Flambard. The primate respected 
 the interests of his vassals as far as he could, hut 
 they suffered notwithstanding ; large sums were con¬ 
 stantly demanded for buildings, expeditions, and 
 hunting grounds. The destitution during the year 
 of Anselm’s election was unusually great, owing to 
 the failure of the crops. His anxiety to relieve mere 
 temporal distress, and his quarrel with the king, left 
 him no leisure for those more special labours of the 
 archbishop. We read of no effort during his time to 
 provide the sons of the nobility and others wdth in¬ 
 struction ; nor any to improve the habits and mo¬ 
 rality of the people. The whole of his primatial 
 labours may he summed up in a fcAV sentences. He 
 consecrated some new bishops and abbeys, and 
 visited those monastic establishments which especially 
 needed his care; he carried on a correspondence 
 with Walstan, respecting the extent to which an- 
 tiquity sanctioned his official rights, and he also sent 
 letters to the princes of Ireland and the northern 
 islands, encouraging the latter to pursue their pious 
 labours of building a nunnery, and offering to one 
 O’Brien as king of Ireland some highly moral coun¬ 
 sels on the management of his kingdom, and shortly 
 afterwards he consecrated a monk of St. Alban’s to 
 be bishop of Dublin. 
 
 The means which Urban used to assist x4nselm 
 were certainly among the most ignoble to wdiich 
 ever a Christian bishop had descended; to us they 
 are an instance of that infidelity and untruthfulness 
 ■which characterized the rule of the papacy through 
 
URBAN AND ANSELM. 2Sl 
 
 SO many centuries; an indication of that moral 
 decay which lay hidden behind the gorgeous drapery 
 of ritualism and service ; to the rude, politic men of 
 the time they supplied an incentive to struggle and 
 strife; a pope employing stratagem and deceit to 
 compass his ends, was on a level with themselves ; he 
 had quitted the elevated station from which as 
 supreme pontiff he ruled their consciences by the 
 terror of the future, and had exchanged his almost 
 supernatural weapons for the wisdom which is 
 not from above.” In the reign of William Rufus, 
 however, the church was reduced by the factions 
 among its rulers, and the insubordination of the 
 princes of Europe, to take any means that offered 
 themselves to increase its strength. Urban contend¬ 
 ing with Guibert, — pope with antipope for the 
 possession of Rome—representing, almost unknown 
 to themselves, the two principles which under one 
 form or another were at war throughout the whole of 
 the middle ages,—these men were eager to find and 
 employ any means that would be likely to add to the 
 number of their adherents, or validity to their titles. 
 The position of Urban had never been very secure, 
 he had not been able even to enter the city of Rome 
 till 1089, and he obtained possession of the Lateran 
 only by purchase five years afterwards. Even 
 then he was not master of the city, the supporters of 
 his rival contested witli him every position; and so 
 successful were tlieir efforts, that in 1095 he 
 quitted Italy for the western side of the Alps, 
 trusting to the churches there to acknowledge 
 
232 
 
 PROPOSED EXPEDITION TO THE EAST. 
 
 him as pontiff and to provide for his security. If 
 we may trust to the conjectures of his contemporaries, 
 however, this movement was but an apparent retreat; 
 the confession of weakness only a part of his scheme. 
 William of Malmsbury says, His more secret inten¬ 
 tion was not so well known; this was, by Boamund’s 
 advice, to excite almost the whole of Europe to 
 undertake an expedition into Asia; that in such a 
 general commotion of all countries, auxiliaries might 
 easily he engaged by whose means both Urban might 
 obtain Rome, and Boamund, Illyria and Mace¬ 
 donia.”* This general commotion of all countries” 
 is known in history as the Crusades, in which Urban 
 gained the pre-eminence he desired, and which served 
 to knit the monarchs of Europe once more together 
 around the throne of the papacy. 
 
 The pretext, under which Urban and Boamund 
 were anxious to excite the eastern expedition, was 
 better than most of its kind. The Turks had gradu¬ 
 ally possessed themselves of Asia Minor, Syria, and 
 Jerusalem, and had inflicted on the Christians of 
 those places, and on the pilgrims to them, unparalleled 
 cruelties. Many of the defenceless and aged they 
 had butchered; strong men they had seized for 
 slaves, and used them as oxen hound to ploughs; 
 the churches they had destroyed, or used as stables. 
 The pope crossed the Alps in July, in September he 
 
 * Malmsbury, Bohn’s Ed. p. 356. Boamund was the eldest son of 
 Robert Guiscard, who, at his death ten years before, had, through the 
 iiifluence of his second wife, bestowed the largest share of his kingdom 
 on her son Roger, who then, became duke of Apulia and Calabria. 
 
COUNCIL OF CLERMONT. 233 
 
 Avas at Avignon, and early in November he was at 
 Clermont. To this place he summoned his clergy 
 from all parts to meet him in council, and gathered 
 around him those Avho had returned from the East, 
 and who could hear witness to the violence which 
 was perpetrated hy the followers of Mahomet. The 
 council opened on the IStli of November, and lasted 
 ten days. The number of ecclesiastics present is 
 variously stated, but the account given by the pope 
 was thirteen archbishops, two hundred and twenty- 
 five bishops, and a great crowd of abbots, with many 
 others of the clergy. It is not to be supposed that 
 Urban would lose sight of the opportunity which 
 such a gathering afforded him for striking a blow at 
 his enemies in the church; he managed to pass 
 several decrees which form a sort of manifesto against 
 the imperial party, and show a strong adherence on 
 Urban’s part to the policy and opinions of Hildebrand. 
 They declare generally that the church should be 
 catholic in faith and communion; pure from all con¬ 
 tagion of sin; and independent of all secular power.” 
 The most memorable record of the Clermont council 
 is the speech of Urban and the effect it produced. 
 Several accounts of it have been transmitted, only 
 three of which have the stamp of authenticity; none 
 of them are of sufficient interest to be transcribed. 
 The pope, we are told, delivered his address on a lofty 
 scaffold in the market-place of Clermont; to hearers 
 who sheltered themselves from an unusually cold 
 November, in tents hastily erected in the streets and 
 
 * Ord. Vit, iii. G4. 
 
234 
 
 COUNCIL OF CLERMONT. 
 
 fields. The duty of rescuing from pagan hands the 
 holy places of the sacred lands, was urged upon the 
 people by all the considerations that superstition can 
 supply; and the potent incentive was added, that all 
 who would bear arms in this enterprise should be 
 absolved from past sin and future obligation. The 
 bishop of Puy was the first convert ; on his knees 
 before the pope, in the presence of all the people, he 
 received permission to go; Count Raymond of Tou¬ 
 louse soon after assumed the cross with many of his 
 followers. Thus commenced, the desire to join the 
 Crusade soon became a frenzy in all ranks. The 
 superstition of the lower orders, the romantic love 
 of excitement among the higher, found in the war 
 of the church an object sufficient to gratify itself, an 
 object so holy in its character that under its name 
 robbery lost its odium, and even murder its horror. 
 
 The advantages of such an expedition were too 
 manifold to escape the attention of the unquiet and 
 imprudent duke of Normandy. His character as 
 a ruler was lost; he had lost nearly all that had been 
 given him to govern. His nobles were insubordinate 
 and fickle, and his brother more than shared his 
 territory with him. Plenry, owing to his possession 
 of the castle of Dampont, and his great prudence, was 
 enabled to maintain a sort of patronage over Robert; 
 and William had gained more than twenty castles, 
 and the support of some of the most powerful Nor¬ 
 man barons. But besides the helplessness of his 
 position, which almost compelled his absence, Robert 
 had a strong desire to become a pilgrim to the Holy 
 
ROBERT OF NORMANDY. 
 
 235 
 
 Land, arising partly from a promise he had made to 
 his father when dying, and partly from a superstitious 
 belief in its regenerative elFects. AVhatever necessity 
 there might have been for making the promise, the 
 time which had elapsed since it was made had cer¬ 
 tainly not diminished the necessity for its per¬ 
 formance ; and however slight may have been the 
 estimate he had formed of the penance he deserved, 
 we can hardly blame him for desiring to reduce its 
 austerity by the novelties of travel and the excite¬ 
 ment of numbers. Robert therefore immediately 
 made preparations for setting out; he applied first to 
 his brother William for a loan of money, which was 
 refused with a rude message bidding him go to his 
 friend the king of France. Robert, who was probably 
 a less sinner than William, and certainly was a more 
 generous one, went to the king of France and ob¬ 
 tained a thousand pounds; whereupon William, 
 uiiAvilling to be outdone in generosity, or more pro¬ 
 bably having perceived the advantages which would 
 arise to him from the absence of his brother, offered 
 the loan of ten thousand marks on the mortjrafre of 
 the duchy. 
 
 The means em])loyed by William to levy this sum 
 were worthy of his reign and character. lie gave 
 the order to his nobles and earls, leaving them to 
 find the means of raising so enormous a tax. ‘‘ These 
 were very hard times to all the English,” says the 
 Saxon writer; Avhich will be readily believed when 
 it is known, that added to it were tlie expenses 
 incurred in repelling the Welsh in the west, and 
 
236 
 
 WILLIAM IN NORMANDY. 
 
 throughout all England the crops were bad. The 
 bishops and abbots in great numbers went to court 
 to pray the king to lessen so great an impost, 
 but received for answer—Have you not shrines 
 adorned with gold and silver, full of dead men’s 
 hones ?” The petitioners took the hint, and sacrificed 
 the beauty of their churches to the rapacity of their 
 king. Crucifixes, chalices, shrines, were robbed of 
 their jewels and adornments, and the money was 
 raised. Anselm contributed to this tax the sum of 
 two hundred marks of silver; this he drew from the 
 treasury of the cathedral on the advice of two bishops, 
 as the purpose to which it was to be applied was at 
 least indirectly sacred. He would not, however, allow 
 even this to stand as a precedent for future exactions, 
 and therefore gave up the revenues of his estate at 
 Peckham for seven years.* 
 
 In the beginning of September, William crossed 
 the Channel with six thousand six hundred and 
 sixty-six pounds, for which he received the duke¬ 
 dom of Normandy, so long coveted and so badly used 
 when obtained. At the close of the same month, 
 duke Pobert set out upon his pilgrimage, in company 
 with that impenitent old sinner Odo, bishop of 
 Bayeux, who, partly from his old love of war and ad¬ 
 venture, and partly because he would not be subject 
 to the government of William, his unforgiving enemy, 
 determined to join the crusade. 
 
 The king kept the Christmas of this year in 
 
 * Hod}', in his History of Convocations, says that this was the first time 
 danegeld was levied on the clergy. 
 
WARS WITH THE WELSH. 237 
 
 Normandy, and shortly before Easter returned to 
 England. He was probably recalled by bis affairs in 
 the west counties. The Welsh constantly ravaged 
 them, and the nobles who acted during bis absence 
 were not able to overcome them. It was his inten¬ 
 tion to have kept bis court at Winchester for Easter, 
 but being driven back to sea by bad weather, be put 
 in at Arundel, and so travelled on to Windsor. 
 Immediately after the festivities be started for 
 Wales, and pushed as far as be could into the in¬ 
 terior. He remained there nearly two months, but 
 effected little. AYe have few details of these AYelsh 
 skirmishes, and such as we have are of little or no 
 interest; an incident that arose out of them was, how¬ 
 ever, of great importance. 
 
 Among the troops levied by AYilliam for this expe¬ 
 dition was a body of men furnished by Anselm, as 
 feudal vassal of the king. Either the archbishop 
 bad positively not sent them out equipped in a 
 manner accordant with the custom and fitted for the 
 necessities of the case, or AYilliam seized upon it 
 as a pretext for a new quarrel; but while in Wales 
 be sent severe messages and letters to Anselm, 
 threatening him with prosecution in bis court. The 
 primate attended bis court which was held at AYhit- 
 suntide, but the cause was dropped, probably because 
 as no state business could be beard until the feasting 
 was over, and during that time be bad proposed to 
 the king to leave the country, AYilliam saw a 
 greater advantage in bis absence than in bis 
 prosecution. Leave was, however, not granted at 
 
238 
 
 ANSELM LEAVES ENGLAND 
 
 once; three different times, extending over as many 
 months, did Anselm request permission to leave the 
 country for Rome. The first time he received only 
 a sarcastic joke, and the last time he was given to 
 understand that if he went, he would never return 
 as archbishop. He determined to run all risks, and 
 to go. His suffragans, especially the bishop of 
 Winchester, sneered at his habit of referring all 
 his proceedings to God; and hinted to him, if he 
 would but descend to their position, and regard 
 things as they did, they would be glad to counsel 
 him. 
 
 Anselm seated himself, as was his right, beside the 
 king in the great court, and again opened the question 
 which had been discussed at Rockingham, viz., that 
 there was nothing inconsistent with his loyalty to 
 the king in his fidelity to the pope. His earnestness 
 led him some length, and brought upon him the 
 laughter of the king and the rude jokes of his cour¬ 
 tiers. He remained quiet, and with downcast eyes 
 pretended not to hear the noise; and that having 
 subsided he left their presence, declaring that to give 
 up his right to appeal to the pope would he to abjure 
 Christ himself. 
 
 The next time he saw the king was to bid him 
 farewell. It would have appeared better in itself, 
 he told him, and would have appeared better in 
 the eyes of all honest men, if he had given him leave 
 to take this journey; but since he would not, he 
 accepted with great quietness all that concerned him¬ 
 self, and his interest for his salvation was not less. As 
 
FOR ROME. 
 
 2S9 
 
 his spiritual father, as archbishop of Canterbury, etc., 
 he offered him his benediction. The king bowed 
 his head. Anselm made above it the sign of the 
 cross, and went. He and William met no more after 
 that day, October 15th, 1097. 
 
 He set out upon his journey at once, dressed in 
 the simple garb of a pilgrim, and surrounded by a 
 croAvd of weeping monks and sorrowing poor. He 
 arrived at Hover in company with Eadmer and Bald¬ 
 win, his constant friends. He was detained there 
 fifteen days by contrary winds, and during the whole 
 time was watched by one of the king’s party, and on 
 the day on which he started his baggage was violently 
 ransacked for the purpose of discovering money. 
 Such treatment is hardly credible; but the hatred of 
 William was deep, and his nature essentially mean. 
 
240 
 
 CHAPTER VIE 
 
 ANSELM IN EXILE. 
 
 Anselm left England October 15tli, 1097, and after 
 a voyage •which in the ordinary course of things 
 would have been far otherwise than prosperous, he 
 reached Wissant—a port situated to the south of 
 Boulogne. The sailors pointed out with astonish¬ 
 ment and joy that a plank had broken in the hold 
 of the ship, and had so left an opening of two feet, 
 but which, thanks to the sacred presence of Anselm, 
 the water had refused to enter. 
 
 We cannot follow Anselm through all the inci¬ 
 dents of his travels, nor attempt to give the details 
 left by his companion and biographer, of all the 
 places at which he stayed, and the persons whom 
 he met. He remained generally at monasteries, 
 visited churches, and took part in the festivals and 
 services of the place through which he passed. 
 Wherever he went he was recognised as the repre¬ 
 sentative of the church party, and as such received 
 all the homage that belonged to one who had placed 
 himself in the same rank as Hildebrand and EFrban. 
 By the duke of Burgundy, through whose territory 
 he passed, he was treated with great respect. Three 
 
ANSELM AT CLUNY. 
 
 241 
 
 days before Christmas he arrived at the monastery 
 of Cluny, celebrated for the austerity of its discipline, 
 the virtue of its abbot, and as being the early home 
 of Hildebrand. Hugh, abbot of Cluny, was at the 
 time of Anselm’s arrival an old man; in fame he 
 was still as great as ever, but in activity he had 
 declined. He had entered the monastery at a very 
 early age, while indeed a mere boy, but even then 
 attracted the attention of his superiors, and was 
 as prior chosen to undertake a political embassy to 
 Germany. Shortly after his return he was elected 
 abbot, though only three and twenty years of age, and 
 from that time was actively engaged in all the great 
 ecclesiastical movements of his age. The principles 
 which Hildebrand so stoutly and vigorously main¬ 
 tained, in opposition to the great body of the clergy, 
 were inculcated by him. He therefore supported 
 the pope and his legates in all their designs. He 
 was regarded, however, with affection, not by the 
 papal party alone ; he was beloved alike by em¬ 
 peror and pope; the princes of Germany all loved 
 the abbot of Cluny ; and had Hildebrand followed 
 his advice when Henry travelled across the Alps 
 in the winter of 1077, and granted the audience 
 which the emperor requested, the strife between the 
 church and the empire would probably have con¬ 
 cluded then. 
 
 From Cluny the archbishop sent a message to 
 Lyons, informing his friend of his arrival; in answer, 
 he was waited upon by one of the suffragans of the 
 archbishop of Lyons, and by him conducted to Hugh- 
 
242 
 
 THE ARCHBISHOP OF LYONS. 
 
 One in name and in purpose with the ahhot of 
 Cluny, the archbishop of Lyons yet differed con¬ 
 siderably from him in the constancy and self-denial 
 with which his purposes were carried out. He was 
 originally a monk of Cluny, and had received all 
 the honours which the church could bestow upon its • 
 servants, short of the papacy itself. Under Gregory 
 VII. he became papal legate in France, and in that 
 office distinguished himself by his thorough sym¬ 
 pathy with the plans and prospects of the ecclesias¬ 
 tical party. His zeal was too great even for Hilde¬ 
 brand, whose prudence seldom forsook him, and who 
 wrote to Hugh, begging him to deal more mercifully 
 wdth such of the clergy as came before him for 
 violation of canonical rules. His rashness was not 
 to be checked ; for, having called a council, which 
 prelates of Normandy, either being unable or not 
 wishing, did not attend, he suspended them from 
 their functions. Gregory was again obliged to 
 interfere, and to reinstate the bishops, telling Flugh 
 not to irritate the duke of Normandy by measures 
 so hasty and arbitrary. This rude energy, never¬ 
 theless, secured for him the favour of Gregory, and 
 the confidence of his partisans; and he had the 
 honour of being one of three who were nominated as 
 worthy to he the successors of Hildebrand. The 
 honour of succession fell to Desiderius, and the 
 disappointment which Hugh evidently felt, showed 
 that ambition was not the least element in his 
 character. He scandalized the new pope in letters to 
 the duchess of Tuscany, the loved friend of Gregory, 
 
HIS ACQUAINTANCE WITH ANSELM. 243 
 
 and brought upon himself the excommunication of 
 Victor by attempting to organize a schism against 
 him. Fortunately for him Victor died, and Urban 
 his successor was possessed of sufficient policy to 
 remove his predecessor’s ban, and so bring back the 
 prelate to obedience to the see. Hugh was recon¬ 
 ciled to his former friends, but received a severe 
 rebuke from the abbot of Cluny, and what pro¬ 
 bably hurt his pride more sorely, was insulted by 
 the monks of the same monastery. By Urban he was 
 reinstated a cardinal legate, and was one of those 
 who had attended the council of Clermont the year 
 previous to Anselm’s arrival. 
 
 He had become principally acquainted with Anselm 
 in the year 1095, owing to the correspondence that 
 had passed between them respecting the affairs of 
 the English church. Anselm had a high opinion of 
 his judgment and sagacity, and looked with some 
 hope to his support. He was compelled to remain 
 at Lyons, owing to the weak state of his health; and 
 while there he wrote to the pope, announcing his 
 approaching arrival, and recounting all he had 
 suffered in England. The delay to which he was 
 subjected proved useful, as he afterwards discovered 
 that the antipope, who was master of the road, had 
 set ambushes to seize him, and who, learning from 
 the pilgrims going to Rome of his illness, ceased to 
 watch for him when he really went forward.* 
 
 He left Lyons, habited simply as a monk, and 
 accompanied by his two friends Baldwin and Eadmer, 
 
 M 2 
 
 ♦ Hibtoire Lit., tom. ix. 
 
244 
 
 ANSELM ARRIVES AT ROME. 
 
 on the 17th of March^ 1098. Wherever he went he 
 found himself expected; the monks belonging to the 
 different monasteries where they stopped, inquired 
 of the three travellers whether they knew where the 
 archbishop of Canterbury was. Eadmer and Baldwin 
 generally managed to deceive the querists, and so, 
 in addition to the disguise in which they appeared, 
 they passed generally undetected. 
 
 He arrived at Rome, and was welcomed by the 
 pope with undisguised affection. He entertained 
 him ten days as his guest at the Lateran. His 
 formal introduction to the nobility took place the 
 day after his arrival. On his entrance he threw 
 himself at the feet of the pope, who, raising him, 
 embraced him as his friend, and complimented him 
 amid the applause of the courtiers. He rendered 
 homage to his great talents,—called him his equal 
 —a venerable patriarch—the pope of another world. 
 Requested by the pope, he explained the cause of 
 his journey. He was assured of the protection of 
 the pope, who begged him to stay with him to await 
 the results of the negotiation proposed with Rufus. 
 Anselm did not remain long with the pope, but 
 sought an asylum at the monastery of St. Saviour, 
 the abbot of which, though a Roman, had been 
 formerly a monk of Bee. Afterwards, to avoid the 
 heat of the plains, he removed to a house situated 
 among the mountains in the Terra del Lavoro. As 
 soon as he had breathed the air of this solitude he 
 exclaimed, Here is repose for me.” He employed 
 himself by finishing his work, Cur Deus Homo,” 
 
COUNCIL OF BARI. 
 
 245 
 
 tliat he had commenced in England. A work that 
 contributed more to his fame was, that he assisted 
 the monks in finding a spot where they could most 
 profitably dig a well. Repeating a prayer, and 
 striking.the ground three times, he ordered them to 
 dig there. They dug, and in a few days found the 
 water. One of his biographers says that it was 
 known as the well of the archbishop of Canterbury. 
 It existed as late as 1640. 
 
 Duke Roger, second son of Robert Guiscard, laid 
 siege to Capua in the spring of 1098, and finding 
 that Anselm was in the neighbourhood, he begged 
 him to come to his camp. He went, and was 
 heartily welcomed. The pope arrived soon after 
 him, and lived in a tent near him till the end of the 
 siege. Roger’s uncle Roger brought a number of 
 Saracens to Anselm for conversion—a task in which 
 the archbishop succeeded. These Saracen pagans had 
 been found in the island when Robert Guiscard took 
 it. We have already recounted (Life of Lanfranc) 
 the relation of Guiscard to the holy see. 
 
 On the 1st of October, 1098, Urban held the 
 famous council of Bari, at which he invited Anselm 
 to be present. The body of St. Nicholas was at 
 Bari, and in the church named after him the council 
 was held. One hundred and eighty-three bishops 
 were present. 
 
 The business with which the council was occupied 
 was matters of faith. Anselm spoke on none of the 
 subjects which were considered, except tlie heresy 
 of the Greek church. One of the questions was 
 
246 
 
 Anselm’s speech. 
 
 Avhether tlie Holy Gliost proceeded from the Father 
 alone. The pope opposed to the Greeks many 
 arguments, drawn principally from the work Anselm 
 had addressed to him on the incarnation of the 
 Word. He was not, however, very successful, and 
 in despair of overcoming his opponents, he sensibly 
 called for the author of the treatise. “ Father and 
 Master Anselm, archbishop of the English, where 
 art thou ?” He was seated in his rank among the 
 bishops. He immediately rose. Why dost thou 
 remain silent? Come and defend thy mother and 
 ours.” A disturbance arose around the pope by the 
 anxiety of the bishops to find accommodation for the 
 speaker, who was introduced by the pope wfith an 
 account of his suffering and exile. As he w^as about 
 to speak, he was requested to postpone to the next 
 day what he had to say, in order that he might 
 address an audience less fatigued. Accordingly, the 
 next day he delivered an oration, which, carefully 
 revised, became a theological manual. He established 
 his point by an appeal to the Scriptures to meet his 
 opponents, who refused the authority of the Latin 
 Fathers. He obtained the applause of all. At the 
 conclusion of the address the pope cried out. 
 Blessed be thy heart and thy mouth, and the 
 Avords of thy mouth.” 
 
 The pope then repeated to the assembled bishops 
 the circumstances that had led to Anselm’s exile; 
 and concluded by demanding of the audience what 
 ought to be the discipline of the church. All cried 
 out for excommunication, but Anselm threw himself 
 
william’s letter to the pope. 
 
 24T 
 
 at the feet of the pope, and begged him not to 
 pronounce the sentence which all demanded; he 
 had great trouble to prevail. 
 
 About this time arrived the messenger from 
 England, bringing William’s reply to the letters of 
 Anselm and the pope. He reported that William 
 had received both, but refused to read Anselm’s; 
 and had threatened to tear out the eyes of the 
 messenger if he did not instantly quit the kingdom. 
 This messenger was followed by another, William 
 de Warlewast, who was sent by the king. He 
 carried the ansAver of William to the pontifical letter, 
 and defended the kin^ for seizing; the lands of the 
 archbishopric, by saying that he had unequivocally 
 threatened to do so if Anselm left, and he had kept 
 his AAmrd. The pope inquired if it was possible he 
 had come so far to tell him that the king had acted so, 
 as a punishment for Anselm for not having renounced 
 his intention to visit the holy see. The king must 
 restore all the episcopal Avealth if he Avould not be 
 excommunicated. He gave him three months to 
 consider. The English envoy did not depart 
 directly; he scattered Avidely and profusely presents 
 and promises. He begged for a private interview 
 Avith the pope, and though Avhat passed is not 
 knoAvn, the result Avas that grace Avas alloAved until 
 September, Avhich gave nine months instead of three 
 for the ansAver of William. The next three months 
 of Anselm’s stay at Rome Avere spent in the com¬ 
 pany of the pope and the nobles. He held the second 
 rank, and acted for the pope in many ceremonies. 
 
248 
 
 COUNCIL AT ROME. 
 
 The next council was held at Rome in the third 
 week of Easter. There were present one hundred 
 and fifty bishops from Gaul and Italy. The council 
 was held in the church of St. Peter. The attendants 
 were so numerous that the church was full, and the 
 noise was so great that the decrees could not be 
 heard when read. The pope therefore appointed the 
 bishop of Lucca, as he was tall and loud of voice, to 
 place himself in the midst of the council, and to 
 announce the decisions. He had commenced read¬ 
 ing, when he suddenly ceased, and changing counte¬ 
 nance he cried out, “What are we doing? We 
 overwhelm the obedient with directions and regula¬ 
 tions, and yet do not resist the tyrants. Their 
 cruelty, their acts of oppression and spoliation, are 
 each day denounced to the holy see, and from it we 
 seek counsel and assistance. But of the result the 
 world knows and grieves. There is, here from the 
 most distant country a man humble and silent, and 
 his silence cries out; his humility exalts him. 
 Cruelly persecuted, unjustly despoiled, he is here as 
 a suppliant, soliciting the apostolic justice. Already 
 two years have passed, and what succour has he 
 gained from us ? If you do not know him of whom 
 I speak, it is Anselm of England.” So he spoke, 
 and with closed teeth, scarcely containing his indig¬ 
 nation, he struck the pavement with his pastoral 
 stalf. The pope promised to arrange the whole 
 thing wisely. 
 
 The decrees were read, and the business was pro¬ 
 ceeded with. Many were repealed, others made. 
 
ANSELM EETURNS TO FRANCE. 
 
 249 
 
 especially those which related to investitures; and 
 excommunication pronounced against all those who 
 should do homage for any ecclesiastical dignity^ or 
 should become tributary to any of the laity. A gene¬ 
 ral exclamation of Jlat (be it so) hailed these decrees. 
 
 Anselm had heard the bold and unexpected demand 
 of the bishop of Lucca with less astonishment than 
 acquiescence; he had felt that the private interview 
 of William’s agent could do him no good^ not even 
 the virtue of Urban might be proof against English 
 I gold, and the delay that occurred showed that he 
 was abandoned by the pontiff. Under these circum¬ 
 stances he asked and obtained leave to return to 
 France. 
 
 To travel from Eome to Lyons was attended with 
 as much difficulty for a leading prelate in the papacy 
 of Urban II., as for an enemy of Austria to travel 
 I the same journey now. Guibert, the rival pope, 
 being driven from Home, sought to revenge him- 
 ! self by seizing all those who were the friends 
 of Urban. He held several fortresses along the 
 banks of the Po. Anselm had fortunately avoided 
 ■ him on his Avay from Lyons to Rome; but Guibert 
 had obtained during his stay in Italy a portrait of 
 I him, by which he hoped that his vassals would 
 recognise him. He escaped, however, all harm. 
 Under the protection of the Count of Savoy he 
 I passed through Piedmont. 
 
 He occupied his time at Lyons as before, preaching 
 sermons, consecrating churches, visiting monasteries 
 
 : and churches, and doing acts of kindness which the 
 
 M 3 
 
£50 
 
 DEATH OF URBAN 
 
 credulity of the people or the dishonesty of his 
 biographers have exalted into miracles. 
 
 Here he wrote a continuation of his tract on the 
 Incarnation^ which he called the Conception of the 
 Virgin and Original Sin. He also gave to his 
 friends at this time a volume of Meditations on the 
 Redemption of Man; and at Cluny he delivered a 
 sermon, a report of which has been preserved By 
 Eadmer, in a hook called the Blessedness of the 
 Celestial World. 
 
 On the £9th of July, 1099, died pope Urban, who 
 had filled the see little more than eleven years. As 
 the successor of Hildebrand, he attempted to carry 
 out his schemes, but he was neither possessed of 
 his courage nor his virtue. The following sentences 
 could certainly only have been written by a friend 
 mourning his loss, and can only be tolerated by 
 remembering that their subject was dead:—He 
 was neither swayed by the wealth of the rich, nor 
 elated by praises and fame, nor terrified by the 
 threats of the powerful. His tongue was remarkable 
 for eloquence, his heart for wisdom, his conduct 
 for worth, his carriage for dignity.” These words 
 were written by his friend Peter Leo; to his house 
 he went after the council of Bari, and there died. 
 
 Urban was succeeded by Rainier, a Tuscan by 
 birth, a monk of Cluny by education. He had 
 attracted the attention of Gregory VII., and was by 
 him admitted to the sacred college. He was con¬ 
 secrated on the 14th of August under the name 
 of Pascal II. Anselm wrote to him to pay his 
 
AND OF WILLIAM RUFUS. 
 
 251 
 
 respects, and to explain his position; he begged that 
 the king of England might not be excommunicated, 
 but enlightened. The pope probably replied to this 
 letter, but nothing was definitely done, and Anselm 
 had nothing left but to wait. His friend Hugh of 
 Lyons was making preparations to go on a pilgrimage 
 to the Holy Land, and at a council he held for the 
 purpose of supplies and authority, Anselm was present. 
 
 Everything was at the time apparently opposed to 
 his interests. When happening to he at the abbey 
 of Chaise-dieu in Auvergne, he received from two 
 monks, one of Bee, the other of Canterbury, the 
 news of William’s death. If we were to believe the 
 historians of the time, we should say this was not 
 the first intimation he had received of this event. 
 We are told that, being one day at Marcigny, he 
 was informed by abbot Hugh of Cluny, that he had the 
 night before dreamt that the king of England had 
 been brought to the throne of God, and that all the 
 wrongs of the English church had been avenged. 
 He had seen the saints in "reat numbers makin£»; 
 their complaints, and he had heard the ^lost High 
 say, ‘‘ Approach, put others by of the English, 
 and avenge thyself on the tyrant,” and then gave 
 an arrow of fire to St. Alban, who threw it upon 
 the ground, saying to Satan, lleceive all power 
 against him.” 
 
 In England the presages were not less striking, 
 and much more frequent. Like Csesar, William 
 had both an Artemidorus and a soothsayer, but like 
 him he refused to be warned. His Artemidorus was 
 
252 
 
 DEATH OF WILLIAM. 
 
 Robert Fitz-PIamon, one of the principal nobility, 
 who was told by a foreign monk that be had 
 dreamed a strange and fearful dream about the king ; 
 that he had come into a certain church, with menacing 
 and insolent gesture, as was his custom, looking 
 contemptuously on the standers by; then violently 
 seizing the crucifix, he gnawed the arms and almost 
 tore away the legs; that the image endured this for 
 a long time, but at length struck the king with its foot 
 in such a manner that he fell backwards; from his 
 mouth, as he lay prostrate, issued so copious a flame, 
 that the volumes of smoke touched the very stars.” 
 William laughed at the story, and replied, “ He is a 
 monk, and dreams for money like a monk: give him 
 a hundred shillings.”* 
 
 Serlo, abbot of St. Peter’s, Gloucester, also wrote 
 to the king, giving him a very distinct account of a 
 dream which one of his monks had had. 
 
 The letter of Serlo reached the king on the 
 morning of the 2nd of August, 1100, when, sur¬ 
 rounded by his courtiers, he was preparing to start 
 for the New Forest. William of Malmsbury says he 
 had refrained from going out before dinner, imputing 
 his delay to fear and the remonstrances of his friends, 
 but that having regaled himself with an unusual 
 quantity of wine, he was in high spirits. He joked 
 with his attendants while they laced his boots, and 
 with his armourer about the arrows; and of the six 
 presented to him he took but four, handing the 
 other two to Walter Tirel, saying, The sharpest 
 
 * William of Malmsbury. 
 
DEATH OF WILLIAM. 
 
 253 
 
 arrows should be given to him who knows best how 
 to inflict mortal wounds with them.’^ Having read 
 Serlo’s letter, he burst out laughing, and exclaimed, 
 I wonder what has induced my Lord Serlo to 
 write to me in this strain, for I really believe he is a 
 worthy abbot, and a respectable old man. In the 
 simplicity of his heart he transmits to me, who 
 have enough besides to attend to, the dreams of his 
 snoring monks, and even takes the trouble to commit 
 them to writing and send them a long distance. 
 Does he think that I follow the example of the 
 English, who will defer their journey or their 
 business, on account of the dreams of a parcel of 
 wheezing old women ?” 
 
 It is thus history descends to gossip respecting the 
 last hours of William. Little of all that has been 
 written respecting this event can he depended upon; 
 but tradition, speaking through the chroniclers, is 
 unanimous in declaring that he died pierced by the 
 arrow of Walter Tirel. More than one of them tell 
 us, that feverish with wine and in unusually good 
 spirits, William set out surrounded by his first Lords, 
 Henry his brother, William de Bretuil son of the 
 great Fitz-Osbern, and Walter Tirel de Poix. They 
 reached the forest, and the party broke into smaller 
 companies; he and Tirel remained alone in one part 
 of the forest “ watching for the coming of game,” 
 suddenly a stag rushed between them, and the king 
 quitting his post let fly an arrow ; it grazed the 
 animal’s back, and he shading his eyes from the 
 strong rays of the declining sun, watched the flying 
 
254 
 
 JOY OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 Stag. Walter seeing another stag pass by, shot his 
 arrow with more rapidity than aim, and pierced the 
 king. He uttered not a word, hut breaking oiF the. 
 shaft, fell upon the weapon in his body, and died 
 immediately. Walter satisfied himself that the king 
 was really dead, and fled.* All was confusion. Henry 
 hurried as fast as his horse would carry him to 
 Winchester to obtain possession of the treasures ; He 
 Bretuil, guessing whither he had gone, hurried after 
 him to oppose his demand; angry words sprung up 
 between them, and Henry drawing his sword declared 
 no foreigner should lay hands on his father’s sceptre. 
 Crowds flocked round to hear the cause of quarrel, 
 and through the intervention of friends He Bretuil’s 
 wrath abated. Henry gained his point, and the keys. 
 
 In the meantime the body of the king lay bleeding 
 in the forest; not one of those who had gone merrily 
 from the palace with him that morning had stayed 
 to see his corpse conveyed in decency to Winchester. 
 ‘^Like a wild boar pierced by the hunters,”! it was 
 conveyed in the cart of a charcoal burner from the 
 forest, and some of those poor timid monks, whose 
 living he had oppressed and avenged, formed a pro¬ 
 cession with the mendicants and widows of Winchester 
 to meet the body. Some of the nobility joined the 
 procession. Respecting the royal dignity, they buried 
 the body with honour in the court of the castle, 
 hut none wept. The wickedest believed his death 
 
 * The above account is chiefly by Malmsbury. Ordericus says, he 
 and Walter were not alone, that others were with them, and that Waltei'’s 
 arrow grazing the grizzly back of a stag glanced at the king. 
 
 t Ordericus. 
 
AT HIS DEATH. 
 
 255 
 
 deserved, and the religious believed it a judgment of 
 heaven. By the people generally the event was 
 received with joy. Those who suffered from the 
 game laws of the Norman kings, noted with delight 
 that this w^as the third of the Conqueror’s family that 
 had fallen in the New Forest. William I. had laid 
 waste more than sixty parishes to obtain space for 
 hunting. Then the people of Gloucester remembered 
 how the oldest monk in their monastery had preached 
 on the feast of St. Peter-in-vinculis, on the wrongs 
 of England, and had then told them that the bow 
 of vengeance was bent, and the swift arrow taken 
 from the quiver was ready to wound. The people 
 of Winchester marked how that part of the building 
 wherein lay the body of William fell to the ground. 
 The monk who buried him for pity hesitated not to 
 pass sentence upon him, and granted no absolution 
 to one who had lived as he had done. William was 
 in the thirteenth year of his reign when he died, 
 and a little over forty years of age. In appearance 
 “ he was well set; his complexion florid, his hair 
 yellow; of open countenance; dift-coloured eyes, 
 varying with certain glittering specks of astonishing 
 strength, though not very tall; of no eloquence.”* 
 On the day he died, he held, besides the archbishopric 
 of Canterbury and the bishoprics of Salisbury and 
 Winchester, eleven abbeys which he had farmed. 
 
 Henry allowed no time to elapse before completing 
 all his plans. His brother died on the Thursday ; 
 
 * W. Malrasbury. For an argument against the generally received 
 account of William’s death by Tirel’s arrow, see Dr. Liugard’s History. 
 
256 
 
 ACCESSION OF HENRY I. 
 
 on the same day he gained possession of the treasures 
 at Winchester; on the next day the Witan who 
 were then near at hand ” chose him as king ; on the 
 Sunday, he having sworn at the altar, before God 
 and all the people, to govern in equity and to remove 
 the injustice of his brother, received the homage of 
 the assembled prelates, and was consecrated by the 
 bishop of London. The clergy welcomed him ; they 
 trusted him rather than submit to the duke of 
 Normandy, who had gained an unenviable reputation 
 for rapacity and extortion. Henry sought to deserve 
 and retain their esteem by at once filling the vacant 
 bishopric of Winchester, and by sending for Anselm 
 to return. The people welcomed him as one born in 
 their own land, as having therefore a certain kindred 
 to them as a nation; and the lavish promises he 
 made them gave him a high place in their esteem. 
 “ He remitted taxes, released prisoners, drove the 
 flagitious from court, restored the nightly use of 
 lights within the palace which had been omitted in 
 his brother’s time, and renewed the operation of the 
 ancient laws, confirming them with his own oath, and 
 that of the nobility, that they might not be eluded.” 
 
 Thierry says, on the authority of Matthew Paris, 
 that Henry convened the chief persons of the national 
 party, and addressed to them, by means of an inter¬ 
 preter, the following speech : My friends and faith¬ 
 ful subjects, natives of this land in which I also was 
 born, you know well that my brother seeks my 
 kingdom. He is a proud man, wdio knows not how 
 to live in peace; he manifestly contemns you, he 
 
HIS DECLARATIOX. 
 
 257 
 
 calls you cowards and gluttons, and desires only to 
 trample you under foot. But I, like a mild and 
 peaceful king, purpose to maintain your ancient 
 liberties, and to govern you after your own wishes, 
 with moderation and wisdom. I will, if you desire it, 
 sign a writing to this effect, and will confirm it by 
 oath. Stand by me, then, faithfully ; for if English 
 valour second me, I fear not the vain threats of the 
 Normans.’^ This declaration was, as Henry proposed, 
 drawn up and put into the form of a charter, as 
 many copies were made as there are counties in 
 England, and by the king’s order they were placed 
 in the abbeys of each county for a memorial.” 
 Roger of Wendover gives the copy of the one de¬ 
 posited at St. Alban’s in Hertfordshire, signed 
 by three bishops, and many earls. It is addressed 
 to Hugh de Bocland, sheriff. The king promises, 
 first, neither to sell nor let out to farm the lands of 
 i any church when without a pastor ; secondly, repeals 
 many of the fees charged in feudal customs for 
 redemption of lands upon the death of the owner, 
 and upon the marriage of daughter and widow; 
 
 ! thirdly, regulates money in common use; fourthly, 
 decrees that barons and others are not to pay mere 
 forfeitures for wrong done, but to make atonement; 
 
 1 and, fifthly, that knights and others shall have their 
 fees remitted, to allow of their spending more in 
 horses and arms for practice, so as to be ready to 
 defend the kingdom. 
 
 Further, Henry cast Ralph the Flambard into the 
 Tower. No act could have rendered Henry more 
 
258 
 
 rmsT ACTS or hexry. 
 
 popular than this with the clergy. Flamhard had, 
 up to the death of the king, been his constant adviser; 
 he obtained the bishopric of Durham little more than 
 a year before the death of his patron. Henry had 
 private wrongs to avenge upon Flamhard, besides 
 the mere execution of public justice. He was com¬ 
 mitted to the care and irons of William de Magnaville 
 early in the same month of September, the exact date 
 is not known. Spite of his known vices, and his 
 abominable selfishness, Ralph had qualities that 
 always preserve a man friends,—his humour was 
 constant, his wit sparkling, and his speech ready. 
 By prison regulations he was allowed three shillings 
 per day, which, according to Thierry, would now be 
 worth thirty shillings a week—there being the weight 
 of three of our shillings in one of theirs. This 
 certainly was a good allowance, but it was not all 
 he had; his friends supplied many luxuries, so that 
 he fared sumptuously for a prisoner, and kept daily 
 a splendid table for himself and his keepers,” says 
 Ordericus Yitalis. The ingenuity which had so 
 often raised money for William did not desert the 
 chancellor now. He was not in the Tower five 
 
 I 
 
 months. One day a cord was brought to the bishop 
 in a flagon of wine, and causing a plentiful banquet 
 to be served, the guards having partaken of it in his 
 company, washed it down with Falernian cups, in 
 the highest spirits. Having intoxicated them to 
 such a degree that they slept soundly, the bishop 
 secured the cord to a mullion in the centre of the 
 Tower window, and catching up his pastoral staff, 
 
RETURN OF ANSELM TO ENGLAND. 
 
 259 
 
 began to lower liimself by means of the cord. But 
 now having forgotten to put on gloves, his hands 
 were excoriated to the bone by the rough cord, and 
 as it did not reach the ground the portly bishop 
 fell, and being much bruised, groaned piteously. 
 Faithful friends and tried followers were waiting at 
 the foot of the Tower, wdiere they had swift horses 
 in readiness for him, though they were in great 
 terror. Having mounted on horseback with them, 
 they fled with the utmost speed ; and escorted by his 
 trusty companions, Avho had charge of his treasure, 
 he lost no time in hastening on shipboard; and 
 crossing over to Normandy, presented himself to 
 Duke llohert.”* 
 
 Anselm was at the abbey of Chaise-dieu in Auvergne 
 when the news reached him of the death of William, 
 lie returned at once to Lyons, and, by the advice of 
 the archbishop, determined to return to England at 
 the request of the English clergy. He had not 
 reached Cluny when another messenger arrived from 
 England, this time from the king and nobles, pray¬ 
 ing for his immediate return. The letter he received 
 from Henry apologized for the absence of money and 
 an escort, but promised to meet him at Dover. 
 Anselm hastened forwards, and arrived at Dover 
 Sept. 2S, 1100. The three years Anselm had been 
 away from England had not tended to render his dis¬ 
 position more pliable, or his Avill less firm ; he had left 
 his primacy owing to the impossibility of obtaining 
 the free exercise of ecclesiastical right and discipline; 
 
 ♦ Ord. Vit., Book x., ch. xviii. 
 
260 
 
 MEETING OF HENRY AND ANSELM. 
 
 and the people with whom he had moved in France 
 and Italy had honoured him as a martyr to clerical 
 consistency. They had constantly regarded it as a 
 rule, that the spiritual power must be superior to the 
 civil; that in every question of dispute the king 
 must give way to the bishop. In the reign of 
 William, Anselm had unhesitatingly done homage 
 for the lands of the primacy, hut in Italy he had 
 heard the practice of investiture denounced as irre¬ 
 ligious and infamous. This exile was most unfortu¬ 
 nate for Anselm and England in this respect. He 
 returned only to renew a quarrel with Henry which 
 had been commenced with William, and to dispute 
 with violence and virulence upon a subject which 
 had no right to he dealt with in specific instances 
 The question was one of principle,—a principle that 
 was almost universally recognised, that had descended 
 from the time of Charlemagne, which Lanfranc had 
 not attempted to evade, and which Gregory felt it 
 safer, in certain instances, to leave alone. 
 
 Henry, in meeting with his primate, apologized 
 for not having waited for his arrival for consecration, 
 hut alleged the exigencies of his political position. 
 The question of homage arose instantly between 
 them, and Anselm at once refused to renew to Henry 
 the homage he had given to William. The position 
 of the king was of a critical character. Robert and 
 Anselm had arrived at the same time—Anselm in 
 England, Robert from the Crusade in Normandy. 
 He had earned the affection of the church by his 
 expedition, and was regarded by many of the nobility 
 
MARRIAGE OF HENRY. 
 
 261 
 
 as the heir to the throne. To enter into dispute with 
 the primate then would have been to throw away 
 the support of the clergy in the coming struggle, and 
 to have given Robert the moral influence belonging 
 to the pope. He therefore postponed the matter, 
 and promised Anselm to send a deputation to Rome 
 respecting it. Anselm, on his side, wrote to the 
 pope, begging his support, directioa, and authority. 
 The pope did not immediately reply, but left Anselm 
 to arrange his affairs as he thought fit. He was as 
 a friend said of him—the Augustine of England, 
 without there being a Gregory at Rome. 
 
 Henry is said to have declared, when he promised 
 to govern by the laws of Edward the Confessor, that 
 he could afford to dispense with the support of the 
 Normans if he were sure of that of the Saxons. In 
 a similar spirit we suppose he determined to choose 
 a Saxon wife. Nothing that he could have done would 
 have tended so much to his popularity as this among 
 the English, and no woman could he have chosen so 
 much to the popular taste as Matilda, daughter of 
 Malcolm III., that unfortunate monarch of whom 
 we spoke in the reign of ^yilliam Rufus, whose life 
 had been spent in defending the honour of liis Saxon 
 relatives, and whose death w^as occasioned by avenging 
 his own. He had two daughters, Edith and Mary, 
 brought up under the pious influence of their mother 
 iVlargaret, and Eurgot her confessor. The former, 
 Edith, was afterwards called ^Matilda 3Iaud. Miss 
 Strickland says that tliey did not enter a monastery 
 till after their j)arents’ deatli, when the Saxon exiles 
 
262 
 
 MARHIAGE OF HENRY. 
 
 were ordered to quit the Scottish court; but Ordericus 
 says,* that Margaret entrusted her two daughters 
 Edith and Mary to her sister Christina, a nun of 
 the ahhey of Romsey, to he brought up and instructed 
 in sacred learning.” The abbess afterwards removed 
 from Romsey to Wilton, taking her nieces with her > 
 Wilton abbey, founded by Alfred, had always been 
 the place for the education of Saxon princesses. The 
 wife of Edward the Confessor had rebuilt it from 
 wood into stone. Edith, or Maud, inherited all her 
 mother’s piety and popularity. Her character is 
 spoken of as singularly holy”—but her beauty as 
 only ‘‘ by no means despicable.” Such as it was, 
 however, it procured her many suitors—Alan the 
 Red Count of Brittany, and William de Warenne, 
 Earl of Surrey, sought her hand ; and it is said by 
 Eadmer that Henry himself had been a suitor 
 previous to his becoming king. The first died, the 
 second married Elizabeth de Vermandois, and the 
 third awaited merely an opinion twice before he 
 pressed his suit. 
 
 The precise motives which led Henry to desire 
 this engagement it is rather difficult to discover. To 
 suppose it was wholly on account of the purity and 
 piety of the lady’s character, is to give him credit for 
 more sympathy with such qualities than he ever mani¬ 
 fested ; and to allege as a cause his policy, which was 
 to strengthen himself with the Saxon natives, even at 
 
 * Besides, Miss Agnes Strickland is not consistent. She says that 
 Maud was at Wilton seven years. How then could she have entered, a 
 nunnery at the time of Duncan’s reign, which was 1094 } 
 
Ills CHARACTER. 
 
 26S 
 
 llie risk of losing his popularity among the Normans, 
 would be perhaps to impute to him a greater fore¬ 
 sight and policy than his other acts would^ entitle 
 him to. His character has been sketched by several 
 contemporary pens, and generally in the most 
 laudatory terms. William of Malmshury exhausts 
 his ready eloquence in praise of a king “ whose 
 mother bore him to be a commander, not a soldier;” 
 who abstained from war as far as he could with 
 honour; but when he had determined no longer to 
 forbear, a most severe requiter of injuries, dissipating 
 every opposing danger by the energy of his courage; 
 contending by counsel rather than by the sword. 
 If he could, he conquered without bloodshed; if it 
 was unavoidable, with as little as possible in¬ 
 flexible in the administration of justice”—‘^ruling 
 the people with moderation, the nobility with conde¬ 
 scension.” 
 
 The Saxon Chronicle says briefly of him, He 
 was a good man, and great was the awe of him ; no 
 man durst ill-treat another in his time; he made 
 peace for men and deer.” 
 
 Henry of Huntingdon, who was by Hr the keenest 
 of the chroniclers of this period, lias left us two 
 descriptions of the king; first, that which answers 
 to the common talk of the people of the time, and 
 his own belief based on the facts he knew. He is, 
 however, correct in nothing so much as this, that 
 whatever king Henry may have been or done, he 
 and his acts appeared light and beauty itself com¬ 
 pared to the darkness wliich followed in the sad 
 
264 
 
 CHARACTER OF HENRY. 
 
 times of Stephen. He came between two bad kings. 
 Rufus had been blackened by vices which would have 
 disgraced a serf among serfs, and cruelties which 
 would have turned the stomach of Brian de Bois 
 Guilbert’s Saracens ; he had been surrounded by 
 men who had added to political crimes personal 
 infamy, and by women who had converted the palace 
 
 from the abode of majesty to the stews of paltries.”* 
 The reputation which Henry obtained from repress¬ 
 ing the vices he found, and dismissing the servants 
 of such a court, was cheaply earned. Besides, he 
 had learnt wisdom from misfortune. The circum¬ 
 stances in which he had lived had taught him self- 
 reliance and caution, his purposes he had to conceal, 
 and to learn to act with rapidity. He had managed, 
 too, to gain a reputation for learning, which would 
 probably have given him a second rank among the 
 clerks of a monastery. 
 
 There are two reasons for thinking Henry’s 
 marriage was a necessity rather than choice; first, 
 he was regarded with suspicion by the Norman 
 nobles for having gained the throne from his brother ; 
 secondly, the repeated assertion that Matilda was 
 reluctant to the match, and that the suspected Henry 
 was not so free from licentiousness as was repre¬ 
 sented—both of which statements are borne out by 
 her subsequent conduct. 
 
 Henry wrote to Anselm, when at Lyons, begging 
 him to decide this case before he returned, but 
 Anselm would not, considering it too important; 
 
 * Malmsbury. 
 
COUNCIL AT LAMBETH. 
 
 265 
 
 and postponed it till he could hear it at Lambeth. 
 At the council held there, Anselm stated the objec¬ 
 tions to the marriage, and the prevailing report that 
 Matilda had embraced a nun’s life. She said, or is 
 reported to have said—for there are differing accounts 
 —that she had worn the veil to avoid the fury of the 
 Norman soldier.* Two archdeacons were heard who 
 
 * “ Grave Anselm, archbishop of Canterbury, espous’d and married 
 Maud (daughter of Malcolm, king of the Scots, and St. Margaret his wife) 
 to Henry king of England. She had been a profess’d votary, and was 
 press’d, by the importunity of her parents and friends, for politic ends, 
 to this marriage, inasmuch as, in the bitterness of her soul, (able to 
 appal the writer hereof, seeing his ink out-black’d with her expression,) 
 she devoted the fruit of her body to the devil, because they would not 
 permit her to perform her promise of virginity : 
 
 “ Thus Matthew Paris. But the reader reserveth his other ear for the 
 relation of Eadmerus, reporting this story after a different, yea, contrary 
 manner, as folioweth;—The aforesaid Maud, when a girl, liv’d under the 
 tuition and correction of Christian her aunt, and abbess of Wilton, at 
 what time the Norman soldiers, conquering the kingdom, did much 
 destroy and more endanger virgins by their violence. Christian, there¬ 
 fore, to preserve this her niece, clapp’d a black cloth on her head, in 
 imitation of a nun’s vail, which she unwillingly wore in the presence of 
 her aunt, but in her absence off it went, from above her head to under 
 her heels, so that in despiteful manner she used to tread and trample 
 upon it, yea, if Malcolm her father chanc’d to behold her wearing that 
 mock vail, with rage he would rend it off, cursing the causers of it, and 
 avowing that he intended her no votary, but a wife to Count Alan, 
 Besides, two grave archdeacons, sent down to Wilton to inquire into the 
 matter, reported that for aught they could learn from the nuns the re, 
 this Maud was never solemnly entered into their order. Hereupon a 
 council was called of the English clergy, wherein some grave men 
 attested of their own knowledge that at the Norman conquest, to avoid 
 the fury of the soldiery, many maids out of fear, not affection, for protec¬ 
 tion, not piety, made a cloister their refuge, not their choice; were nuns 
 in their own defence, running their heads, but without their hearts, into 
 a vail. And in this case it was resolved by learned Lanfranc, that such 
 virgins were bound, by an extraordinary obligation, above other women, 
 
 “ Hebitam castitati reverentiam exhibere 
 Nullam religiouis continentiam servare; 
 
 N 
 
266 
 
 MARHIAGE OF HENRY 1. 
 
 had been to Wilton and questioned all the sisters 
 and the abbess, and who reported that she had been 
 confided to his care by her mother,—that she had 
 never worn the veil, until one day the king William 
 came to the door of the convent, and had already 
 got from his horse when the abbess thought of the 
 beauty of her mien and the unscrupulousness of the 
 king. She instantly threw a black veil over her 
 head, and introduced her to William. As soon as 
 he saw the veil he set off again, evidently showing 
 with what purpose he had come. The summing up, 
 which was by the president of the council—Anselm 
 having retired that he might have no influence in 
 the decision—was, that a distinction was to be made 
 between those ladies who had voluntarily chosen a 
 monastic seclusion, and those who had been compelled 
 to observe its rules for temporary purposes. He 
 cited the authority of Lanfranc, who had decided 
 similarly; and he ruled that the case of Maud fell 
 under this latter class. Accordingly, Henry and 
 Edith, now called Maud, were to be married. The 
 ceremony took place in the church of Westminster, 
 to which the wealth and energy of Rufus had added 
 
 which is, in effect, that they must he chaste wives, though they need not 
 be constant maids. These things alleg’d and prov’d, Anselm pronounced 
 the nunship of Maud of none effect, and solemnly married her to king 
 Henry. However, some infer the unlawfulness of this match from the 
 unhappiness of their children—all their issue male coming to untimely 
 deaths. But sad events may sometimes be improved by men’s censures 
 further than they were intended by God’s justice; and it is more wisdom 
 seriously to observe them to the instructing of ourselves, than rigidly to 
 apply them to the condemning of others; the rather because Maud, the 
 empress, their sole surviving child, seemed by her happiness to make 
 reparation for the infelicity of the rest.”— Fuller's History. 
 
WITH QUEEX MAUD. 
 
 the Great Hall. Anselm mounted on a pulpit, and 
 gave the people who were present a history of the 
 whole affair, all that had taken place before the 
 synod, and the results. He then demanded with a 
 loud voice if any objected. He was answered with 
 a great shout; and so the lady was married to 
 the king on St. Martin’s day, Sunday, Nov. 11, 1100. 
 Mr. ]Macaulay says it “ was regarded as a marriage 
 between a white planter and a quadroon girl would 
 now be regarded in Virginia.” This seems a little 
 too strong, but there is no doubt the nobility charac¬ 
 terized it as sarcastically as they could—a marriage 
 which was perhaps less detestable for its origin than 
 for the sobriety it introduced to the palace. Only 
 five nobles are spoken of as being on Henry’s side; 
 the others either secretly sent for Robert to make 
 him king, or openly branded their lord with sarcasms, 
 calling him Godric, and his consort Godiva.”* 
 Henry heard and laughed; he hoped to answer 
 shortly the jeer with a blow. The Saxons were 
 enthusiastic in this marriage; they saw not only the 
 daughter of Alfred on the throne, but the piety of 
 the Atheling’s sister in the palace. They called her 
 
 Mold, the Good-Queneand she strove to deserve 
 the epithet by works of charity and humility. She 
 had a habit of walking barefoot through the church 
 in Lent, and of Avashing and feeding beggars ; and 
 a great weakness it Avould appear for clerks of 
 
 * “ Godric implies God’s kingdom or government, Godiva is the name 
 ‘of the wife of that grim earl’ who a ‘thousand summers back’ ‘rode 
 forth clothed on with chastity, .... round w'hom ‘ the deep air listened 
 as she rode, and all the low wind hardly breathed for fear.’ ”— Tennyson. 
 
 N 2 
 
268 DISPUTE BETWEEN HENRY AND ROBERT. 
 
 melodious voices ” whom she would fee someivliat 
 extravagantly. 
 
 Robert, as has been mentioned, Teturned to 
 Normandy in September. He came back the richer 
 by a wife, and entered upon his duchy without 
 opposition. His journey to Jerusalem, if it had 
 removed his former sins, had not altered his nature 
 or strengthened his will. His return was hailed by 
 the continental barons, because they expected his 
 rule would he less strict than his brother’s, and 
 because they hoped to gain something from his reck¬ 
 less generosity. They were not disappointed. In¬ 
 stead of remaining satisfied with the dominion of 
 Normandy, his vanity was excited by the flatteries 
 of those nobles who had everything to gain from 
 his attempt if successful, and nothing to lose. His 
 party was soon joined by Ralph, who, upon escaping 
 from the tower, hastened to try his fortune with 
 Robert, by whom he was welcomed; his industry 
 being of service to a prince who was almost too 
 indolent to avail himself of his counsels. Ralph 
 used all his efibrts to exasperate the duke against 
 his brother, and to stir up a war. Henry was not, 
 however, without adherents upon the south side of 
 the channel; the clergy as a body clung to him— 
 his they believed was the side of order and justice ; 
 and many of the nobility sent messages to him 
 begging him to obtain the duchy of Normandy as 
 well as the kingdom of England. Robert gained 
 no friends, either among clergy or nobility, that were 
 worth anything. He angered the first by giving to 
 
THE ENGLISH SIDE WITH HENRY. 
 
 269 
 
 the horrible Robert de Belescue the bishopric of 
 Seez, and he disgusted all by promises which it was 
 obvious he would never keep. It was certainly easy 
 for a man who having so wasted his means, that, 
 in spite of the wealth of his wide duchy, he was 
 often penniless, and so much in want of clothes, 
 that he lay in bed till twelve o’clock, and could not 
 go to church to hear mass because he had nothing 
 to wear.” * 
 
 Henry, on his side, took all the precaution of a 
 wise prince. He obtained the favour of Anselm, 
 who took every opportunity of showing the king 
 that his opposition to him on the question of investi- 
 ture was one of principle, not personal—who gave 
 him his support, and even stood surety for him to 
 the barons of his party that the king would keep 
 his word, and not revoke the liberties he had pro¬ 
 mised. The native English were arranged entirely 
 on Henry’s side—in fact, without them he could 
 have done nothing. ‘‘ He sent out ships,” says the 
 Saxon Chronicle, “ to annoy and hinder his brother; 
 but some of them failed at time of need, and deserted 
 from the king and submitted to Earl Robert. At 
 midsummer the king posted himself with all his 
 troops at Pevensey to oppose his brother; and he 
 waited for him there.” Robert, however, did not 
 land near that place, but made for Portsmouth. 
 Henry, hearing of this, marched hastily towards that 
 point, encouraging his soldiers, going in and out of 
 the ranks instructing his English recruits how to 
 
 * Order. Vitalis, book x., ch. xviii. 
 
270 
 
 CONFERENCE BETWEEN 
 
 ward off the blows of their adversaries and the heavy 
 charges of the cavalry. Robert landed July 19th; 
 shortly after the two armies met upon a certain 
 level tract.” Envoys were sent backwards and 
 forwards—Robert answering to the demand of why 
 he had come, that he had come to claim the king¬ 
 dom of his father as his own by right of birth. 
 Henry soon discovered that the envoys coloured the 
 messages that he sent and received, according to 
 their own wishes; and knowing the impulsiveness 
 of his brother, he requested an audience; and on 
 their meeting both felt the gentle influence of 
 brotherly affection. Their numerous troops formed 
 a magnificent circle round them, displaying the 
 terrible but brilliant spectacle of the Normans and 
 English under arms. The two brothers met unat¬ 
 tended in the centre, and conversed together in the 
 presence of the troops.” The result of the conference 
 was that Robert disbanded his troops, returning 
 from the battle-ground to Henry’s palace, no longer 
 having the hope of becoming a king, but richer by 
 three thousand marks a year; but which the very 
 next year he cheerfully surrendered to the queen’s 
 pleasure, because she desired it.” Henry was as 
 perfect in dissembling, as Robert in generosity. 
 He allowed his brother to stay two months, hut as 
 soon as he had left England he fined all the barons 
 who had leagued against him—some he besieged 
 in their castles, and some he exiled. Among the last 
 was the once suitor of his wife, the Earl of Surrey, 
 who carried to Robert the complaint that through 
 
HENRY AND ROBERT. 
 
 271 
 
 love to him he had lost an estate worth a thousand 
 silver pounds a year. Robert came over to remon¬ 
 strate with Henry for his breach of faith. He dis¬ 
 covered, however, that it would not be safe for him 
 to remain here, for Henry could ill conceal the rage 
 he felt; they met smilingly, but Robert gained 
 nothing by his journey save a reprimand for his 
 loose government and the reinstallment of Earl 
 Surrey; and he lost the three thousand marks of 
 silver, owing to his sister-in-law’s smiles. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 INVESTITURES. 
 
 The time which had been agreed upon between 
 Anselm and the king had expired at Easter; but 
 nothing had been done on either side. The many 
 services which Anselm had rendered to the king,— 
 especially the opposition which he had exhibited to 
 the schemes of Robert, while it was rumoured that 
 the pope was somewhat favourable to them,—and 
 the many ways in which his services were needed, 
 were sufficient to keep the mind of Henry quiet. 
 The king evidently had a high opinion of the talent 
 and integrity of the primate, and he in his turn 
 seems to have felt no inconsiderable respect for the 
 king; hut it was just as evident that Henry, in 
 proportion as he took a higher view of his prero¬ 
 gatives than his brother William had done, just so 
 would he hold them with a tighter grasp. The 
 reply he received from Paschal, was not calculated to 
 weaken his resolution, but rather to excite his pride, 
 and so add obstinacy to principle. It was a model 
 of ecclesiastical diplomacy; apparently moderate in 
 its demand, and certainly kind in its manner, it 
 
HENRY AND ANSELM. 
 
 213 
 
 contained an imposing array of citations from men 
 and books whose names would be likely to influence 
 the mind of the king; with such judicious com¬ 
 mentaries and observations as gave the particular 
 application needed. The affection of the bishop 
 for the king was occasionally shadowed by the 
 influence of the pope,—mingled with enticing words 
 were the covert threats, that not for nothing did the 
 minister of God bear the sword. 
 
 Anselrn had received no reply from the pope, but 
 the letter read to him by order of the king showed 
 him the estimation in which his services were held 
 at Home. The scene now was little diflerent from 
 those that occurred at the court of Ilufus,—a resolute 
 king surrounded by violent partisans, a determined 
 archbishop strong in the belief that the interests of 
 the church were committed to his care, and ready to 
 go into exile for them. Anselm, seeing no prospect 
 of a termination, retired from court; when one day 
 he received letters from the king begging his return, 
 where it was determined in conference, held at 
 Winchester, that ambassadors should be sent to 
 declare to the pope, that “ if he persisted to deny 
 the king’s right to investiture and homage, they 
 would drive Anselm out of the kingdom, withdraw 
 their subjection to the see of Home, and withhold 
 their usual payments.”* 
 
 The envoys chosen by Anselm, were Baldwin 
 bis favourite monk, and Alexander. Henry sent 
 three, two of whom had private reasons for wishing 
 
 N 3 
 
 * Henry’s England, vol. v., p. 294. 
 
274 LETTER FROM HENRY TO THE POPE. 
 
 to go to Rome. The letter sent by these envoys 
 was characteristic of the family of William the Con¬ 
 queror—frank, bold, fearless, hearty, and generous. 
 It congratulated Paschal upon his elevation to the 
 papal chair; trusted that the amity so long main¬ 
 tained by the popes of Rome with the kings of 
 England might continue; and as an earnest of the 
 desire, was accompanied with the contribution called 
 Peter’s Pence. It promised that all the honours 
 and obedience due by the custom of William to the 
 pontiff should he still paid, hut no more; the 
 condition, it maintained, of all obedience must he 
 the rights, of the kings of England. He would 
 protect those rights and privileges; and should he 
 so far forget his duty as to neglect them, his barons 
 and the people of England would undertake the 
 privileges which their fathers had secured. It 
 concluded with an affectionate trust, that nothing 
 should ever be done to compel him to withhold his 
 obedience to the holy see. 
 
 The result of this mission was very similar to the 
 proceedings of the legate who brought the pallium 
 to Anselm in the reign of Rufus, and the conduct of 
 the popes Urban and Paschal was much the same. 
 What passed at Rome could not be known except 
 by the envoys, and their accounts differed very 
 Avidely. Baldwin and Alexander brought to Anselm 
 the letters from the pope, and messages cheeringly 
 appreciative of his conduct, and confirmatory of his 
 authority. The letter rejoices that neither the 
 violence of tyrants, nor the favour of the wealthy, 
 
COUNCIL AT LONDON. 
 
 . 275 
 
 has been able to detach him from his faith and duty 
 to the church. It gives him the liberty to act as 
 sole legate for the pope to do what he pleases. He 
 is informed that only recently at a synod held in the 
 consistory of the Lateran, the former decrees had 
 been renewed against the lay-investiture, denounced 
 as the corrupt source of simony, and of secular 
 patronage. 
 
 On the other hand the legates of Henry returned 
 to him, bringing both messages and letters. A 
 council was called in London, 1102. The alternative 
 of the king was, Comply with the traditional usages 
 of the kingdom, or quit it.” Anselm appealed 
 to the letters of the pope; the king would neither 
 listen to those the primate had received, nor permit 
 his own to be read ] nor would he be bound to act 
 according to these letters. 
 
 The king appears to have left the council, and 
 Anselm read his letters to those about him; and it was 
 then that the three bishops who had been legates 
 for Henry declared that the letters did not agree 
 with what the pope had himself told them. They 
 affirmed that the pope had promised, in consideration 
 of the general obedience of Henry and his manage¬ 
 ment of the churches, to repeal during his life the 
 canons against lay-investiture, and not to excom¬ 
 municate those who received the cross and ring 
 from liis hands. The monks stated the opposite. It 
 was purely a question of fact,—a violent personal 
 debate arose out of it, one of course maintaining the 
 words of monks fortified by letters was of more 
 
276 
 
 THE CONTEST WITH RESPECT 
 
 value than that of bishops without letters* The 
 bishops replying that the pope had not treated 
 them in private and public alike; so on went the 
 controversy, ad nauseam. 
 
 It is to be hoped that both parties, the controversy 
 being over, came to the conclusion that they had 
 been fooled by the pope. Anselm seems to have 
 had some misgiving that day. He wrote a letter to 
 the pope invoking all the charity of their religion. 
 He fears neither exile, poverty, tortures, nor death; 
 he feels prepared for all, for everything, for the 
 sake of the authority and liberty of his mother, the 
 church of Christ. All he asks is, to know what 
 is the sovereign will. Either let him know that 
 England is excepted from the excommunication of 
 councils, or that everything has^to be maintained at 
 any expense, or let him know the exceptions, if there 
 he any, to the general law. This letter he despatched 
 to Rome. 
 
 No evidence can be more conclusive than the 
 following, that Anselm was carrying on a war of 
 principle. He determined not to fight the battle 
 over particular cases, or specific instances. He 
 was himself doubtless fatigued and worn with 
 these repeated controversies; and he therefore pro¬ 
 posed to Henry that the two bishoprics which 
 were then vacant should be filled by his investiture, 
 and that he would exclude no one from his com¬ 
 munion until definite instructions should arrive 
 
 * Some one suggested letters were but sheepskin! “ Well,” replied the 
 monks, “ were not the holy gospels written on parchment!” 
 
TO INVESTITURE. 
 
 2TT 
 
 from Rome. He, however, would not consecrate 
 such as had so acquired their dignity. The bishop¬ 
 rics of Hereford and Salisbury were then filled up. 
 The latter was filled by Roger, his chancellor; a 
 man who, before the accession of Henry, had been a 
 sort of chaplain to himself and followers, and steward 
 of his household. He had formerly been a clerk in 
 a church near Caen; Henry, while in the service of 
 liis brother William, passing that way, entered, and 
 ordered mass to be read. The unusual expedition 
 of the priest recommended him to the notice of 
 the prince and his noble followers, who thought 
 ^‘no man so fit for chaplain to men of their pro¬ 
 fession.” He was afterwards known as Roger the 
 Great; conducted the affairs of state when Henry 
 was away; laid out his wealth in buildings, and 
 rebuilt the church at Salisbury. In the reign of 
 Stephen, he had become so powerful that he excited 
 the suspicion of the king—was degraded and 
 openly insulted in the council, his castles taken 
 from him, his treasures pillaged; and he shortly 
 afterwards died, unpitied, ‘^so much envy and hatred 
 had liis excessive power drawn on him.”* 
 
 At Michaelmas, 1102, says the Saxon Chronicle, 
 “ the king was at Westminster, with all the head 
 men of this land, both clergy and laity; and arch¬ 
 bishop Anselm held a synod, at which many decrees 
 were made touching the Christian religion. Since 
 the days of Lanfranc no such assembly had been 
 known in England,—a synod called for the express 
 
 * Malmsbury, 509. 
 
278 SYNOD AT WESTMINSTER. 
 
 purpose of reforming the manners and purifying the 
 practices of clergy and laity. Several examples 
 were made of abbots convicted of simony. Six at 
 least were deposed for this crime, and three for other 
 reasons. One of the six was Aldewin of Ramsay; 
 one of the three was Richard, promoted two years 
 before to Ely, and who, although educated at Bee, 
 and allied to the royal family, was spared neither 
 by the indulgence of Anselm, nor by the favour of 
 the king.* 
 
 The ancient canons against marriage and concu¬ 
 binage were renewed at this synod, and a more 
 strict arrangement was now made by a retrospec¬ 
 tive law, that commanded those who had wives to 
 put them away. Sons of priests were not allowed 
 to inherit their fathers^ churches, abbots not to be 
 absentees either by night or day from their monas¬ 
 teries, marriage prohibited to them within the 
 seventh degree; the worship of fountains forbidden, 
 that those who had long hair should submit to lose 
 it, and that the traffic in slaves should be dis¬ 
 continued. “ Anselm put forth in plain language 
 what had been decreed in the general council at Rome, 
 concerning the investiture of churches ; namely, that 
 no prelate of a church, bishop, abbot, or clerk should 
 receive investiture of any ecclesiastical dignity from 
 the hand of a layman.’’f 
 
 Difficulties arose again and again; Anselm had 
 promised to consecrate only one bishop out of those 
 who had received investiture from the king, William 
 
 * Remusat and Roger de Wendover. f Wendover. 
 
THE KING AND THE BISHOPS. 
 
 219 
 
 Gifford, because he had been elected to Winchester 
 against his own desire, and had retired to Rouen 
 rather than exercise his functions. The king refused 
 to permit this exception, and imperiously demanded 
 the consecration of the three bishops of Salisbury, 
 Winchester, and Hereford. The last of the three 
 lay dangerously ill, and sent to Anselm begging him 
 to consecrate him previous to his death. We smile at 
 the superstition of the poor bishop. Malmsbury the 
 chronicler tells us that the holy archbishop laughed 
 at the astonishing folly of the proposal. The half- 
 made bishop died, and the queen’s chancellor was 
 elected in his stead. Henry finding Anselm would 
 not consecrate the three, ordered the archbishop of 
 York to do so. He proposed to do so,—a day was 
 arranged,— St. Paul’s was prepared at London. 
 Anselm went to Mortlake to await the result. To 
 the king’s mortification. Reinelm of Hereford re¬ 
 turned his crosier and ring, thinking that so indirect 
 a blessing might prove a curse; Girard, neverthe¬ 
 less, was determined to persevere, and the bishops 
 urged him to do so. Again the king was disap¬ 
 pointed ; at the very moment of the solemnity 
 William Gifford refused either to make the usual 
 confession, or to bow his head to the archbishop 
 of York. The assembly broke up, and the king 
 banished William. 
 
 The struggle was now fairly begun. In the 
 spring the king had business on the coast, and 
 returning from Hover, he called upon the primate 
 at Canterbury. Anselm had just received the answer 
 
280 
 
 LETTER FROM 
 
 of the pope to his letters for instruction. The seal 
 was not broken, and he proposed to abide by the 
 contents of the epistle. “ I will tolerate no longer 
 these delays,” said the king; I will finish this 
 question. What have I to do with the pope and 
 his letter ? All the prerogatives of my predecessors 
 belong to me; he who would despoil me of them is 
 my enemy, and shall feel the weight of my anger.” 
 ‘‘ I am determined to die rather than violate the 
 canons of the church,” was the reply. The king, 
 surrounded by his nobles, all anxious to end this 
 dispute, proposed that Anselm should himself go to 
 Rome to request the pope to grant the king the use 
 of the prerogatives his predecessors had enjoyed. 
 At the request of Anselm this was delayed for dis¬ 
 cussion at the Easter festivities and councils. On 
 the 29th of March the council was held. He pro¬ 
 mised to go to Rome, although he was sixty-nine 
 years of age, and on condition that he should not be 
 expected to ask anything contrary to his views of 
 the general church welfare and his own honour. 
 It was replied to him that the king would send an 
 envoy who would state his case, and all that Anselm 
 would have to do would be to speak to the truth of 
 the envoy’s statement. He left England on the 
 27th of April, 1103; not till he arrived at Bee did 
 he open the pope’s letters. He then read :— 
 
 Paschal to Anselm. We have received those 
 most gratifying letters of your affection, written with 
 the pen of charity. In these we recognise the 
 fervency of your devotion, and, considering the 
 
PASCHAL TO ANSELM. 
 
 281 
 
 strength of your faith, and the earnestness of your 
 pious care, we rejoice, because by the grace of God 
 neither promises elevate nor threats depress you. 
 We lament, however, that after having kindly 
 received our brother bishops, the ambassadors of the 
 king of England, they should, on their return home, 
 report what we never uttered or even thought of. 
 For we have heard that they said, if the king con¬ 
 ducted himself well in other respects, we should 
 neither prohibit the investiture of the churches, nor 
 anathematize them when conferred; but that we 
 were unwilling thus to write, lest from this prece¬ 
 dent other princes should exclaim. Wherefore we 
 call Jesus, who trieth the hearts and reins, as witness 
 to our soul, if ever such a horrid crime even entered 
 our imagination, since we assumed the care of this 
 holy see. ... If therefore a lay hand present the 
 staff, the sign of the shepherd’s office, or the ring, 
 the emblem of faith, what have the bishops to do 
 in the church ? Moreover, those bishops who have 
 changed the truth into a lie, that truth, which is 
 God, being the criterion, we separate from the favour 
 of St. Peter and our society, until they have made 
 satisfaction to the church of Pome. Such therefore 
 as have received the investiture or consecration 
 during the truce we regard as aliens to our commu¬ 
 nion and to the church.” 
 
 Pentecost was spent at Chartres in the company 
 of Henry’s sister Adela, who had married Stephen 
 of Blois, and Ives the bishop. Both showed him 
 much kindness, and prevented his going forward, as 
 
2S2 
 
 ANSELM AT ROME. 
 
 the heat was at the time very great, especially in 
 Italy. The bishop held more moderate opinions 
 than Anselm on these points, and strove to reduce 
 his zeal to his own temperature. Anselm stayed in 
 Normandy till August, and then set forth for Rome. 
 He kept up a constant correspondence with his 
 friends in England, especially the bishop of Rochester, 
 who managed his affairs. He received a letter from 
 the king, which, couched in affectionate terms, 
 begged him to delay his journey. He feared that 
 diplomacy rather than kindness had dictated it; he 
 pushed on, and upon arriving at Rome he found he 
 had been preceded some days by William de Warle- 
 wast, the unscrupulous agent of William Rufus, 
 who had rifled his luggage at Hover in the year 
 1097, and who was made bishop of Exeter in 
 1107. 
 
 Anselm was received with great honour, lodged 
 in the Lateran, and allowed three days for repose. 
 A council was then held for the settlement of the 
 question. William de Warlewast pleaded warmly 
 the cause of his master; he had probably gained 
 many friends during his stay in Rome, and as Roger 
 of Wendover says, the holy see is never wanting 
 to any one, if anything of a white or red* colour 
 pass between the parties.” 
 
 William de Warlewast made a long and forcible 
 speech in the consistory called by the pope. He 
 described the position of England, the munificence of 
 its kings to Rome; and insinuated that all this would 
 
 *- Silver or gold. 
 
ANSELM AT ROME. 
 
 283 
 
 be M’ithdrawn if tlie right of investiture were not 
 granted. Encouraged partly by the voice of one 
 who said that the demand should he granted to so 
 grave a monarch, and by the silence of Anselm, he 
 exclaimed that he knew, whatever might he said on 
 either side of this question, the king his master 
 would rather lose his kingdom than relinquish his 
 right to investiture. Like all passionate speeches, 
 it was an unfortunate one. It aroused the vanity 
 and passion of the pope, who declared in his turn 
 that if Henry would rather lose his kingdom, pope 
 Paschal w^ould as soon lose his head as permit this 
 pretended right to Henry. This concluded the 
 sitting; and the pope sends Warlewast hack with 
 this letter :— 
 
 Paschal the bishop to king Henry, health. 
 From your letter lately entrusted to us of your 
 servant, our beloved son, William the clerk, we have 
 been certified both of the safety of your person, and 
 of those prosperous successes which the Divine 
 favour hath granted you in the subjugation of the 
 adversaries of your kingdom. We have heard too 
 that you have had the male issue you so much 
 desired by your noble and religious consort. As we 
 have derived pleasure from this, we think it a good 
 opportunity to impress the commands and will of 
 God more strongly upon you at a time when you 
 perceive yourself indebted to his kindness for such 
 ample favours. We also are desirous of associating 
 our kindness witli the benefits of God towards you ; 
 but it is distressing tliat you should seem to require 
 
284 
 
 LETTER FROM POPE PASCHAL 
 
 what we cannot possibly grant. For if we consent, 
 or suffer, that investitures he conferred by your 
 excellence, no doubt it will be to the great detriment 
 both of ourselves and of you. In this matter we 
 wish you to consider what you lose by not perform¬ 
 ing, or gain by performing. For we, by such a 
 prohibition, obtain no increase of influence, or 
 patronage, over the churches; nor do we endeavour 
 to take away anything from your just power and 
 right; hut only that God’s anger may he diminished 
 towards you, and thus every prosperity attend you. 
 God, indeed, hath said, ‘ Thd^e that honour me I 
 will honour; and those that despise me shall he 
 lightly esteemed.’ You will then say, ‘ It is my 
 right.’ No truly; it is neither an imperial nor 
 royal, hut a divine right; it is his only who has 
 said, ‘ I am the door:’ wherefore I entreat for his 
 sake, whose due it is, that you would restore and 
 concede it to him, to whose love you owe what you 
 possess. But why should we oppose your pleasure, 
 or run counter 'to your good will, unless we were 
 aware that in consenting to this matter we should 
 oppose the will of God and lose his favour ? Why 
 should we deny you anything which might he 
 granted to any man living, when we should receive 
 greater favours in return? Consider, my dearest 
 son, whether it be an honour or a disgrace that 
 Anselm, the wisest and most religious of the Gallican 
 bishops, on this account fears to he familiar with 
 you, or to continue in your kingdom. What will 
 tliose persons think who have hitherto had such 
 
TO KING HENRY. 
 
 285 
 
 favourable accounts of you? What will they say 
 when this gets noised abroad ? The very people 
 who before your face commend your excess, will, 
 when out of your presence, be the first more loudly 
 to vilify the transaction. Return, then, to your 
 understanding, my dearest son, we entreat you, for 
 the mercy of God and for the love of his only 
 begotten Son; recall your pastor; recall your father; 
 and if, what we do not imagine, he hath in anything 
 conducted himself harshly towards you, and hath 
 opposed the investiture, we will mediate according 
 to your pleasure, as far as God permits; but, never¬ 
 theless, remove from your person and your kingdom 
 the infamy of such an expulsion. If you do this, 
 even though you should ask very difficult matters of 
 us; and all, if with God’s permission, we can grant, 
 you shall certainly obtain them; and we will be 
 careful to entreat the Lord for you, himself assisting, 
 and will grant indulgence and absolution, as well to 
 your sins as to those of your consort, through the 
 merits of the holy apostles. Moreover, we will, 
 together wdth you, cherish the son whom, you have 
 begotten on your exemplary and noble consort; and 
 who is, as we have heard, named after your excellent 
 father William, with such anxious care, that whoso¬ 
 ever shall injure either you or him, shall be regarded 
 as having done injury to the church of Rome. 
 Dated at the Palace of Lateran, the ninth before the 
 Kalends of December.” * 
 
 Treating Anselm with the greatest kindness, 
 _ * William of Malmsbury, p. 448. 
 
286 
 
 ANSELM RETURNS 
 
 Paschal issued a bull (16th November, 1103) con¬ 
 firming all the ancient privileges possessed by his 
 predecessors. Under the plea of a pilgrimage to a 
 certain St. Nicholas of those parts, De Warlewast 
 remained at Rome after the primate, and attempted 
 negotiations with the pope; but his attempts were 
 fruitless. He left Rome, and finding Anselm at 
 Milan, travelled wdth him to Sevres. He there 
 delivered a message from Henry, that if he would 
 act as former archbishops had done, he might return 
 to England; otherwise not. He owned to Anselm 
 that he had expected the result of his negotiations 
 at Rome would have been different. Anselm wrote 
 to the king a short letter, telling him the message 
 of Warlewast had closed England against him; that 
 he could not he to him what Lanfranc had been to 
 his father, since the holy see had decided the ques¬ 
 tion of homage and investiture. But excepting in 
 this he was at his service, and only awaited his 
 orders to return to England. He learned soon after 
 
 that the king had seized upon his estates. 
 
 _ ♦ 
 
 Anselm, on his way through Elorence, was either 
 entertained by Matilda, the celebrated countess, or 
 at least received from her great marks of esteem. 
 She was the most remarkable woman of her age. 
 Daughter of the duke of Tuscany, she inherited the 
 most beautiful provinces in Italy. At the opening 
 of the quarrel between Hildebrand and Europe, she 
 threw herself into the contest wdth all the piety and 
 courage she was possessed of. At the head of her 
 troops she defended the approaches to Rome from 
 
TO ENGLAND. 
 
 287 
 
 the army of the emperor; and when beaten by 
 superior forces, and compelled to leave Rome, 
 besieged the sheltered Gregory in his castle, and 
 soothed the sorrows of his mortified ambition. 
 She has a reputation that the church deservedly 
 honours, and which the breath of scandal has not 
 dimmed.* 
 
 Hugh, archbishop of Lyons, returned from his 
 pilgrimage to the Holy Land, welcomed Anselm, 
 and kept him with him six months. There he learnt 
 what the king had determined to do. In vain 
 Edgar of Holland had mediated—in vain Matilda, 
 the queen, entreated. Henry would not lower, and 
 Anselm would not accept his terms. Matilda wrote 
 in the most affectionate manner to him, begging him 
 to return. It must have been difficult for the 
 primate to have refused to comply with such a 
 request from such a lady; but Anselm was contend¬ 
 ing for a principle; he was striving for that uni¬ 
 formity of obedience, that unity of practice, which 
 Home loved. He felt himself accountable to posterity 
 for the condition in which he handed down the 
 property he had received. An old man, he needed 
 rest; a scholar, he should have been free from 
 anxiety; a bishop, he would fain have been among 
 his flock, feeding the church of Christpenniless, 
 when he should have been wealthy,—he neverthe¬ 
 less voluntarily endured exile and all its concomitant 
 evils, rather than relinquish a struggle which appeared 
 almost hopeless. A pope with a doubtful word— 
 
 . * See Neander for her vindication from current slanders. 
 
288 
 
 Anselm’s firmness. 
 
 clergy everywhere recommending submission—a 
 king whose virtues and popular bearing were suffi¬ 
 cient to excuse his obstinacy in this matter,—all 
 these things were against him. In no instance, in 
 no part of his life, does the rectitude and moral 
 courage of Anselm appear so great as at this time, 
 when, amid the prayers of his people at home, the 
 requests of the queen, the tempting offers of royal 
 friendship, he stood unmoved, standing by the prin¬ 
 ciple he had adopted—viz., uniformity. Added to 
 this was the feeling that most of the good men, men 
 whose opinions he would have been glad to have 
 secured, were against him. He was asked if for 
 a single word of De Warlewast’s he would consent 
 to keep away from his people and his flock. The 
 king aided this feeling by pretending a great desire 
 for his return, and by having apparently no means 
 unused for bringing it about; new embassies were 
 planned for Rome—the queen wrote to the pope 
 begging him to order his return; so pathetically she 
 asked it of the pope, that Anselm had more than 
 once to explain and justify his conduct. 
 
 It w^as not alone to the pope that’A.nselm thought 
 it necessary to justify and explain his conduct,—he 
 also wrote a letter to Ernulf, the prior of the monas¬ 
 tery at Canterbury, in which he reminds his friends 
 that if they deplore his absence from England, they 
 must remember it is partly the effect of their friend¬ 
 ship. They had evidently wounded him by their 
 suspicions, and by their officious party zeal; he 
 admits that he finds it difficult to explain to his 
 
HIS LETTER TO EllNULF. 
 
 ^89 
 
 wise monks liis desertion of his flock without appa¬ 
 rent reason. He shows them that he cannot, with¬ 
 out peril to his soul, after the late apostolic decision, 
 hold communion wdth those who have violated the 
 canon laAvs; and he then supposes a case—that of 
 the coronation of the king, which among the first 
 Normans was repeated several times,—then he would 
 have to celebrate mass; around him would be the 
 excommunicated bishops—he could not drive them 
 out, he dare not communicate with them. He could 
 not refuse the accustomed honour to the king—a 
 duty devolving upon him by order of the pope, etc. 
 Suppose the king should order him to leave the 
 court, and confine himself to the duties of his 
 pastorate; not only the king, but the nobility would 
 then complain that he was wanting in his duty as 
 primate, and had tarnished the lustre of the crown. 
 The king would transfer to another church the 
 prerogative of the Romish. When, therefore, he is 
 charged with fleeing on account of a word from the 
 flock for whom it was his duty to shed his blood, he 
 replies that the case is not so slight when it involves 
 so many evils to their church. He fears neither to 
 shed his blood, nor to lose his property; if anything 
 should happen to him, he would suffer it wdth 
 clieerfulness; but nothing would fall upon him,— 
 the church would suffer most in any protracted 
 struggle with a king. 
 
 Doubtless he did say in the previous year that he 
 would not leave his charge; hut that was more 
 
 because he would not appear to fly from menace 
 
 o 
 
290 
 
 MEETI^sG OF 
 
 than because he had any confidence in the use of 
 his presence. Having defended himself from the 
 charge of slandering the king, through his monks 
 Eadmer and Alexander, he replies to their question 
 how they are to conduct themselves in relation to 
 those bishops with whom he has no communion. 
 He gives them most timid and temporizing counsels, 
 such as quite freed them from any opposition, and 
 which reduced the quarrel between the church and 
 state to a hand-to-hand contest between himself and 
 king. But for himself he will become “ the man”* 
 of no one, nor will he engage himself to any one by 
 oath of fidelity; and if any one requires from a 
 monk of their church any speech or engagement of 
 fidelity, or any compact contrary to rule, let him 
 reflect and resist according to his power. The ques¬ 
 tion of communion he leaves virtually unsettled. 
 It is less grave to hold communion with those with 
 whom the king holds communion, especially when 
 the interdict has not been addressed to them; still 
 he dare not recommend communion : but they cannot 
 isolate themselves from all the world, and so if he 
 finds them on his return as when he left them, he 
 will have no reproaches for them. 
 
 Anselm then leaves the archbishop of Lyons, and 
 travels nearer to England, stays at Bheirns, and calls 
 on his way at a priory of the abbey of Cluny to see 
 Adela, the sister of Henry, who was ill.f He had 
 
 * Feudal expression. 
 
 t Miss Strickland gives a very interesting letter from Maud to 
 Anselm :—“ She styles herself to him, Maud, by the grace of God queen 
 of England, the lowliest of the handmaidens of his holiness: ‘ I greet 
 
HENRY AND ANSELM. 
 
 291 
 
 been her religious director; he was perhaps anxious 
 to pay court through her. He tells her he is armed 
 with a bull to excommunicate her brother; she, 
 alarmed, begs him to go with her to Chartres, where 
 she hoped to find Henry. Henry and Anselm accord¬ 
 ingly met in the castle L’Aigle (July 21st, 1105). 
 They easily came to terms on the question of the 
 sequestered estates which Henry had seized; but 
 Anselm would not promise to hold communion with 
 the excommunicated bishops. Embassies to Rome 
 were again proposed. Anselm promised to remain in 
 Normandy till the return of the embassies. He went 
 to Bee.. The king on his return did not hurry to 
 send a minister. It was about Christmas when 
 William Warlewast arrived, and in company with 
 Baldwin started for Rome. 
 
 The envoys succeeded beyond their expectations. 
 On the 23rd of March, 1106, they obtained letters 
 
 the little piece of parchment sent by you, as I would one from my father 
 himself. I place it in my bosom near ray heart; I read over and over 
 again the words flowing from your kindness; my mind ponders them ; 
 my heart considers them. Yet, while I prize all you say, I marvel at 
 what 5'our wise excellency says about your nephew.’.... She foretells that 
 ‘ the return of the pastor to the flock, of the father to his daughter, would 
 soon take place from the good will which, by carefully examining, I And 
 really to exist in the heart of my lord. In truth, his mind has more 
 friendship towards you than you think. I cultivate it, promoting what¬ 
 soever good feeling I can, in order that he may be reconciled to you. 
 Whatsoever he may grant now in regard to your return, will be followed 
 by further concessions when, in the future, you may see occasion to desire 
 them. . . . But if he should still persist in overstepping the bounds of 
 justice, I implore from the plenitude of your charity, as the venom of 
 rancour is not accustomed to be in you, that you turn not from him the 
 benignity of your regard, but piously intercede with God for him, forme, 
 and for tlie children that spring from us both ; likewise for the people of 
 our realm. May your holiness ever fare well.’ ” 
 
292 
 
 LETTER FROM 
 
 to Anselm and to the king; which ran as fol¬ 
 lows :— 
 
 Paschal to Anselm. Since the condescension 
 of Almighty God hath inclined the heart of the king 
 of England to obedience to the papal see, we give 
 thanks to the same God of mercies, in whose hands 
 are situated the hearts of kings. We believe it 
 indeed to have been eifected through favour to 
 your charity and the earnestness of your prayers, 
 that in this respect the heavenly mercy hath regarded 
 the people over whom your watchfulness presides. 
 But whereas we so greatly condescend to the king 
 and those who seem culpable, you must know that 
 this has been done from kindness and compassion, 
 that we may lift up those that are down. And you 
 also, reverend and dearest brother in Christ, we 
 release from the prohibition, or, as you conceive, 
 excommunication, which, you understand, was 
 denounced against investitures or homage by our 
 predecessor of holy memory, pope Urban. But do 
 you, by the assistance of God, accept those persons 
 who either receive investitures, or consecrate such as 
 have received them, or do homage on making that 
 satisfaction which we signify to you by our common 
 legates, William and Baldwin, faithful and true 
 men, and absolve them by virtue of our authority. 
 These you will either consecrate yourself, or com¬ 
 mand to be consecrated by such as you choose; 
 unless perchance you should discover somewhat in 
 them on account of which they ought to be deprived 
 of their sacred honours, ilnd if any hereafter, in 
 
PASCHAL TO ANSELM. 
 
 293 
 
 addition to the investitures of the churches, shall 
 have accepted prelacies, even though they have done 
 homage to the king, yet let them not on this account 
 he denied the office of consecration, until by the 
 grace of Almighty God the heart of the king may he 
 softened hy the dew of your preaching to omit this. 
 Moreover, against the bishops who have brought, as 
 you know, a false report from us, our heart is more 
 vehemently moved, because they have not only 
 injured us, but have led astray the minds of many 
 simple people, and impelled the king to want of 
 charity for the papal see. Wherefore, by the help 
 of God, we suffer not their crime to pass unpunished ; 
 but since the earnestness of our son the king un¬ 
 ceasingly intreats for them, you will not deny even 
 them the participation of your communion. Indeed, 
 you will, according to our promise, absolve from 
 their transgressions and from penance the king and 
 his consort, and those nobles who for this business, 
 together wuth the king, have by our command been 
 under sentence, whose names you will learn from 
 the information of the aforesaid William. We com¬ 
 mit the cause of the bishop of Rouen* to your 
 consideration, and we grant to him whatsoever you 
 may allow.” f 
 
 The concessions contained in this letter were 
 very marked. The king had clearly gained his 
 point. The pope seems to feel that Anselm will not 
 
 * He had been suspended some years for having married Philip the 
 king to the wife of Count Montfort, he being alive. 
 
 t Malmsbury, 451. 
 
294 
 
 ANSELM RETURNS TO ENGLAND. 
 
 agree with him. The messengers found him very 
 ill at Bee, not ahle to leave for some weeks—Warle- 
 wast sent with letters to fetch him. The king arrived 
 at Bee on the day of the Assumption; and Anselm 
 was able to say mass. Henry there promised to 
 take off the tax from the clergy; those who had not 
 paid need not do so; and that whatever had been 
 taken from the archbishop during his absence should 
 he repaid. Having received these guarantees, Anselm 
 landed at Dover at the end of August, 1106. 
 
295 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE LAST YEARS OF ANSELM. 
 
 Henry was not in England on the return of Anselm; 
 he was at the time prosecuting with vigour his 
 schemes for reducing Normandy to order, either 
 under the rule of his brother or himself. He 
 resembled his father in two important points; he 
 allowed no pillage but his own, or for him; and he 
 permitted no one to oppress the church save himself. 
 He was essentially the friend of order, both in 
 England and Normandy; the clergy, despite his 
 treatment of Anselm, clung to him with grateful 
 tenacity. 
 
 Huring the year 1102, Henry had carried on 
 hostilities of no mean character against that sworn 
 foe to all order and law, Robert de Belescue; he had 
 besieged his castles of Bridgnorth and Shrewsbury, 
 taken them, and finally banished him, and many 
 more earls like him, from England. Robert and 
 his friends retired to Normandy, where there was 
 no one of capacity to take the lead against the 
 powerful freebooter.” Duke Robert raised a force 
 to oppose him but was defeated. Belescue destroyed 
 monasteries, pillaged nunneries and private houses. 
 
296 
 
 henry’s war with 
 
 and imprisoned and tortured his victims. Duke Robert 
 lamented his misfortunes, but submitted; he soon 
 patched up a treaty with his rebellious earl, restoring 
 to him certain estates which had belonged to his 
 family. Among these was the bishopric of Seez; 
 Serlo the bishop of which, and Ralph the abbot, 
 fled to England, to carry the news of Duke Robert’s 
 infidelity to his brother, and to beg assistance 
 against Robert de Belescue. Bishop Serlo afterwards 
 returned; but abbot Ralph was made bishop of 
 Rochester, and afterwards primate in the room of 
 Anselm. 
 
 In 1104, Henry passed over into Normandy, 
 having with him the chief men of his kingdom; he 
 severely blamed his brother for having, by his 
 indolence, abetted thieves and robbers. A treaty 
 was agreed upon, and a promise given for the better 
 government of the kingdom ; but they were of no 
 value. Immediately on the return of Henry to 
 England the old practices recommenced, and in 
 April of the next year Henry landed at Barfleur; 
 rested for a short time at the village of Carentan; 
 was met there by Serlo the bishop, whom he had 
 reinstated and protected; from him he learned that 
 the state of affairs in Normandy was quite as bad as 
 the exiles had reported to him; the freebooting 
 Belescue and his companions had ravaged the country 
 all around; had robbed and murdered the defenceless 
 wealthy, set fire to the houses of the poor ; that 
 year he had burnt the church of Tournai and forty- 
 five persons in it, the inhabitants had many of them 
 
ROBERT IN NORMANDY. 
 
 29T 
 
 fled into France for protection, tlieir property they 
 had stowed away in the churches. Henry entered 
 the church of Carentan, and seated himself, with some 
 of his nobles, among the peasants’ panniers at the 
 lower end of the church.” The furniture, the agricul¬ 
 tural implements, the packages of the villagers, were 
 piled about him. The bishop used the occasion 
 for addressing Henry, calling upon him to be the 
 
 Phinehas and Mattathias” of Normandy, and for 
 denouncing Duke Robert in no measured terms. 
 Henry promised; his nobles promised also to give 
 order to the distracted country. 
 
 The struggle in which Henry was thus engaged 
 lasted till Michaelmas of the next year (1106); but 
 he was not the whole time in Normandy. He was 
 compelled to return to England after having taken 
 and burnt Bayeux, wilh its cathedral, whither the 
 people had fled for safety, and after having driven 
 his brother from Caen; owing partly to his want 
 of supplies, and partly to the retirement of Count 
 Elias at the request of the Normans. In the interval 
 both parties strengthened themselves; Henry for 
 a final encounter with Robert, having evidently 
 determined to obtain a permanent possession of 
 Normandy as well as England. Robert suspected 
 as much, and while his friends were arranging their 
 defence on the continent, he came to the English 
 court to obtain terms from Henry. The king would 
 yield nothing that he had gained. Robert returned; 
 and Henry followed him in the month of July. 
 
 Henry led his army to the attack of a castle 
 
 0 3 
 
298 
 
 BATTLE OF FINCHEBRAY. 
 
 belonging to William, Earl Moreton or Montaigne, 
 the son of Odo, who had caused so many troubles in 
 the two previous reigns. In the clumsy fashion of 
 the times, he built a fort opposite to the castle, and 
 placed in it a troop of horse and foot to cut off the 
 sallies of the garrison. Earl William commenced a 
 vigorous defence; he filled his castles with men and 
 provisions, cut down all the corn in the neighbour¬ 
 hood, and in time besieged the king’s fort. Henry 
 urged on the siege; William obtained fresh supplies. 
 He called on Duke Robert and his friends to 
 attack the English troops on the rear. Duke Robert 
 assembled his army, and ordered his brother to raise 
 the siege of a castle situated on his territory. This 
 was just what Henry most desired ; anxious to bring 
 on an engagement with his brother, he yet feared 
 to commence hostilities, which he did all he could to 
 provoke. Burning with ambition to obtain posses¬ 
 sion of Normandy, he yet wished it to appear that 
 he seized it in the cause of order, not as a mere 
 soldier.. The answer which he returned Robert, as 
 reported by Ordericus Vitalis, expresses that feeling 
 —that he burns with zeal for God and the country. 
 The battle of Finchebray was the result of the dif¬ 
 ferent messages which passed between the brothers. 
 Robert drew his troops together, troops which had 
 many of them fought with him upon the plains of 
 Syria, led by the sagacious Earl of Moreton, the 
 brave but wicked Belescue, and the faithful but 
 unfortunate Edgar Atheling. Henry was followed 
 by the flower of English and Norman knighthood; 
 
DEFEAT OF ROBERT. 
 
 £99 
 
 everything was on his side, the clergy in his favour, 
 the hatred of the English in his camp, the horror 
 of the inhabitants. The battle was fought on the anni¬ 
 versary of that of Hastings. Just forty years before, 
 William, the father of these two men, had gained the 
 greatest victory of his age, and subjected the boldest 
 and most enterprising of people to his rule; and 
 now here were gathered on this field the Breton 
 who had fled from the tyranny of the invading 
 Saxon five hundred years before, the Saxon who had 
 succumbed under the martial skill of the Norman 
 forty years before, arrayed under the leadership of a 
 Norman, to fight with Normans. 
 
 Henry conquered. In vain Duke Robert fought 
 on foot surrounded by his followers trained in the 
 Jerusalem wars;” in vain William of Moreton urged 
 his men forward after he had created some confusion. 
 Henry triumphed, the Bretons'^ knights bore down 
 on the flank of the duke’s army and routed it. The 
 English chronicler (William of Malmsbury), writing 
 in the English monastery, thinks it was doubtless 
 by tlie wise dispensation of God that Normandy 
 should he subjected to England on the same day 
 that the Norman power had formerly arrived to 
 subjugate that kingdom.” From this time Robert, 
 the eldest son of William the great duke, drops 
 out of history. He was taken prisoner, carried to 
 England, and confined by his brother in Cardiff 
 Castle. There he lived eight and twenty years, 
 expiating by a life of intolerable solitude the many 
 crimes of which he had been guilty. 
 
300 
 
 COMPROMISE BETWEEN 
 
 Henry announced his victory to Anselm in a letter 
 which gave him an opportunity of displaying the 
 character he had assumed of a patron of law and the 
 church, and of informing his reconciled primate of the 
 course he meant to pursue; he trusted that henceforth 
 the church would remain free, unshaken by the 
 storms of war. 
 
 Anselm was now an old man, feeble and in¬ 
 constant in health; he was evidently drawing to 
 the close of his public life. He had returned to 
 England after his second forced absence, and the 
 unanimity which prevailed, the influence he had 
 obtained, the temper of the king, were favourable to 
 those social and ecclesiastical changes which he was 
 desirous of efiecting. Henry had returned to England, 
 and had held his court as usual at Easter, but did 
 not then enter upon any ecclesiastical matters. He 
 spoke to his nobles of England and Normandy, who 
 attended, we are told, with fear and trembling,’^ 
 with the tone of a conqueror, not apologetically as 
 the youngest son, but as one who had subdued both 
 his fatherland and family. During March he had 
 held a council at Lisieux for the arrangement of his 
 new provinces, and had then restored to his ancient 
 foe Ralph Flamhard his former bishopric of Durham, 
 in consideration of the assistance rendered by the 
 wily bishop after the victory of Finchebray. At 
 Pentecost he held his court at Westminster, and 
 early in the month of August he opened the Council 
 of London,” from which for three days Anselm was 
 absent, owing to his health. The most important 
 
HENRY AND ANSELM. 
 
 301 
 
 transaction at this council was the compromise 
 agreed upon respecting the vexed question of investi¬ 
 tures ; “ the king ordained that from that time no 
 bishop or abbot should receive investiture by the 
 staff and ring through the hands of the king or of 
 any other lay person: whilst on the other hand the 
 archbishop conceded that no one elected to a dignity 
 should be refused consecration by reason of the 
 homage which he should make to the king.” 
 
 Anselm in his letter to the pope, and Eadmer in 
 his History, claim the honour of a victory over the 
 king in this decree; hut really they cannot be said 
 to have gained much. The language which the 
 pope used at the council of Bari was very unlike 
 the tone of compromise, and the determination with 
 which Anselm himself had always spoken would 
 hardly have led us to expect this termination. So 
 lame and impotent a conclusion” might surely have 
 been arrived at sooner. It should be especially 
 remembered by those writers who maintain the 
 victory of Anselm, that his decree left the church 
 fast bound in the thraldom of the feudal system, a 
 thraldom entirely unknown in England until the 
 victory of Henry’s father: the mere ecclesiastical 
 rite of investiture might be safely left in the hands 
 of the clergy, if the feudal homage were still due to 
 the king. The result is estimated by Dr. Lingard 
 thus:—If Henry surrendered an unnecessary 
 ceremony, he still retained the substance. The 
 right which he assumed of nominating bishops and 
 abbots was left unimpaired; and, though he pro- 
 
S02 
 
 LAWS REGULATING THE 
 
 mised not to appropriate to himself the revenues of 
 the vacant benefices^ he never hesitated to violate 
 his engagement.” 
 
 Immediate advantage was taken of this decision 
 to consecrate several bishops and abbots. On the 
 11th of the same month in which the council was 
 held, Anselm, assisted by his suffragans, conse¬ 
 crated five or six bishops; among them was Ralph 
 the Flambard, the former enemy of himself and his 
 church. Nobody remembered so many candidates 
 for consecration. Since the days of Pleigmund, in 
 the reign of Edward the elder,”* none such had 
 taken place. 
 
 Another council was held in London in 1108. It 
 is remarkable only for the canons which were passed 
 to regulate the domestic life of the clergy. Six 
 years before, Anselm had been chiefly instrumental 
 in the making of laws, forbidding the ordination of 
 the sons of priests; but they were found too strict, 
 and were never carried out. Nature triumphed 
 over ecclesiastical law, and even the pope was 
 obliged to restrain the zeal of the primate, and to 
 repeal a regulation, the enforcement of which, he said, 
 would be very inconvenient in England, where the 
 best part of the clergy were the sons of priests. 
 During the exile of Anselm such a law would 
 probably have been permitted to lie unnoticed, as 
 few of the higher clergy had felt the same con¬ 
 scientious objection to a practice which the vows 
 they had made did not permit to them. We may 
 
 * Johnson’s Ecc. Canons. 
 
LIVES OF THE CLERGY. 
 
 303 
 
 admire the spirit in which Anselm carried on this 
 struggle against natural affection, hut we cannot 
 certainly approve of its purpose; far better would 
 it have been that all the clergy in England should 
 have been married, than that a large portion of 
 them should have been living in open opposition to 
 the laws of their order, and that of not a few of the 
 higher clergy could it he said that they were as 
 licentious as the nobles. Ten canons were passed 
 at this council in reference to this matter; every 
 possible case was foreseen that could by any means 
 arise in which an offending priest had attempted to 
 evade the law; from archdeacons to canons, all are 
 to put away their wives; those who do so are not 
 to say mass until they have passed a quarantine 
 of penance and absolution; those who refuse, to be 
 deposed and excommunicated; women and goods 
 to be delivered up to the bishop of the diocese. A 
 provision is also made for the protection of offenders 
 from future temptation. All women are to he 
 removed from the dwellings of such priests; and the 
 possibility of offence limited by the enforced presence 
 of witnesses when there is a necessity for com¬ 
 munication. 
 
 Anselm’s life closed in controversy; the question 
 of rivalry between the two sees of York and Canter¬ 
 bury, which it had cost Lanfranc so much to settle 
 with his contemporary Thomas, was again asked of 
 Anselm. Girard, the successor to Thomas, died 
 suddenly, and in the summer of 1108 Henry chose 
 his chaplain, Thomas, nephew of the former prelate 
 
304 
 
 THE LAST DAYS 
 
 of that name, and son of the bishop of Worcester, to 
 succeed to the see of York. Thomas was not con¬ 
 secrated. Urged it seems by the clergy of his diocese, 
 and seeing that Anselm was growing old, he deter¬ 
 mined to postpone the ceremony; so that Anselm being 
 too feeble, or having died, he might he able to avoid 
 the usual submission, and thus establish a precedent. 
 Anselm was too wise to allow this to pass; he 
 wrote to the pope and to Thomas, warning the 
 latter that his see should not he vacant more than 
 three months, and fixing a day on which the delay 
 must terminate. That if he did not then comply 
 with the rite, he should use his own authority and 
 take possession of the see. Thomas still delayed 
 submission, alleging as a reason the absence of the 
 king in Normandy. Anselm would w’ait no longer, 
 but wrote a letter to Thomas demanding submission, 
 or threatening excommunication. He wrote also 
 to the bishop excommunicating any who should dare 
 to consecrate him without the acknowledgment of 
 the superiority of Canterbury. This was his last 
 act; he shortly afterwards died, when the Romish 
 legate arrived bringing a letter from the pope re¬ 
 quiring submission, and the pallium. Thomas still 
 struggled against it. Ralph of Durham, ever believing 
 in the power of money, advised him to bribe the 
 king; hut his advice was worthless; the king heard 
 the letter of the departed primate read, and though 
 vexed that such a one had been written without his 
 sanction, he nevertheless gave judgment in its favour. 
 Both the father and brother of Thomas urged this 
 
OF ANSELM. 
 
 305 
 
 decision, with which Thomas complied, inserting in 
 the record of the fact, the note that it was done hy 
 order of the king. The protest became as valuable to 
 the succeeding archbishops of York as the precedent 
 of non-submission would have been; and in spite of 
 the triumphant expression of Eadmer that Anselm, 
 though absent from this world, gained the cause of 
 the church, Canterbury had renewed a struggle 
 which never brought any special honour to it, and 
 which cost her the life of one of her greatest prelates. 
 In this struggle died Becket sixty years after. 
 
 During the absence of Henry in Normandy, Anselm 
 acted for him in the same capacity as Lanfranc for 
 his father. He undertook the management of the 
 most urgent matters in the kingdom, and acted as a 
 sort of regent. Day by day, however, he grew weaker; 
 little hy little he found his strength failing, and his 
 capacity for enjoyment and labour diminished. With 
 the most affectionate attention he was watched by 
 his friends. The queen wrote him a letter on his 
 austere habits. For months he was unable to ride 
 on horseback; then walking was abandoned, and 
 finally he ’was unable to attend even the services of 
 the church. Amid all his weakness, however, he 
 found sufficient strength to put the last touches to 
 his treatise on ‘^Free Will and Predestination.” He 
 complained of no pain; he experienced only a great 
 weakness; if he could eat he hoped he should yet 
 recover. Towards the evening of the third day in 
 Holy Week, the bishop of Rochester begged him to 
 give his blessing to his friends, his monks, and the 
 

 806 DEATH OF ANSELM. 
 
 royal family. He was unable to speak, but raised 
 his right hand and made the sign of the cross. It 
 was his last act. At matins one of the brothers 
 brought him the gospel, and read the passage for the 
 day. In it occurs the words, Ye are they which 
 have continued with me in my temptations. And I 
 appoint unto you a kingdom, as my Father hath 
 appointed unto me; that ye may eat and drink 
 at my table in my kingdom.’^ There the reader 
 stopped; those present saw that Anselm would that 
 hour realize the promise made to the first fathers of 
 his church. He died then, on the 21st of April, 
 1109. They buried him near to his friend and 
 master, to the south of the altar. His contemporaries 
 have left a dreary record of his miracles, and of the 
 marvels that occurred in connexion with him; they 
 are not sufficiently ingenious to deserve transcription, 
 and the only value we can attach to them is, that 
 they show us how very far before his time this 
 great man was. He was undoubtedly the greatest 
 and best man of his age; the world generally gives 
 to Lanfranc the highest seat as a politician; and 
 some have placed the piety of Anselm in the second 
 place. The contrast is hardly a fair one; it is one 
 in which both men lose. Lanfranc was a man 
 whose courage and decision seemed more real than 
 Anselm’s, because accompanied with a greater force 
 of expression; unconsciously, probably those who 
 were opposed to him felt that they had to overcome 
 decision not merely based on principle, but fortified 
 by personal feeling; that his determination would 
 
HIS CHARACTER. 
 
 307 
 
 be hardly less strong if there were no question of 
 principle involved. With Anselm it was not a personal 
 matter at all; it would have been, we believe, an 
 impossibility to have engaged that man in a dispute 
 about a single acre of ground which belonged solely 
 to himself; rather than arouse or feel animosity and 
 ^\Tath, he would have sacrificed his right of posses¬ 
 sion. Even in the statement of his determination, 
 his sensitive mind shrunk from a violent expression, 
 and so quietly did he utter his decision that men of 
 warm and pious tempers could not believe it real 
 till it had been supported by time. A man can be 
 a politician of any fortune, who considers facts in 
 relation to the principles which underlie them; the 
 successful politician is a man skilful in arrangements, 
 rapid in resources, brilliant in execution, capable of 
 seeing all present conditions, but careless of future 
 contingencies; one whose moral nature submits 
 without question to the necessity of an hour. Such 
 a man was not Anselm; Lanfranc would never have 
 gone into exile, nor would he have had any necessity 
 for the admonitory letters of pope Paschal to restrain 
 liis zeal in the matter of clerical marriages and 
 offspring. 
 
 In regard to the religious character of the two 
 men, we liave no hesitation in placing Anselm above 
 his predecessor. Lanfranc’s mind was of that logical, 
 critical order, that he could rest nowhere between 
 atheism and superstition. That solemn authority 
 which the church possessed gave him at once the 
 (juiet certainty for which he longed ; without it he 
 
308 
 
 COMPARISON BETWEEN 
 
 would have hurried distractedly from object to object, 
 striving to beat out from nature a something to 
 believe ; but when the church supplied him with 
 the something, he was satisfied; and then the power 
 of the man came out, strengthened by the reverent 
 authority of the universal church, trusting to the 
 voice that seemed to him from God, which told him 
 his doctrine was truth; he laboured with an untiring 
 industry, and unquestioning faith, to prove the church 
 had not erred. Philosophy and common sense con¬ 
 demns his method, but the heart of all reflective 
 men sympathize with the worker. With Anselm, the 
 whole thing was difierent; doubt was an abnormal 
 state with him, faith his natural condition; the 
 truths he held were such as the affection of men 
 have ever clustered around. Had no church pro¬ 
 nounced them true, his mind would have gone 
 directly towards them, would have embraced them, 
 and he would have proved them for others He 
 employed his logic not for the satisfaction of his own 
 mind, but for the conquests of his creed. He taught 
 that to the knowledge of God man might be directed 
 only by the light of reason; but it is impossible not 
 to see that the argument of the metaphysician is 
 denied by the experience of the saint. To see the 
 position he must have occupied had his intellect 
 been ungoverned by those holy affections of his soul, 
 we have only to look at the extravagance of the 
 following century. By those who lived around him, 
 however, Anselm was less understood than he is by 
 the present day. It was reserved for a philosopher 
 
LAN FRANC AND ANSELM. 
 
 309 
 
 of a later age to appreciate and employ his methods, 
 and for the church in the fifteenth century to 
 recognise his sanctity by canonization. In 1494, 
 Archbishop Moreton procured a hull from Alexander 
 Borgia, the then pope, permitting him to procure 
 the evidences necessary to the acknowledgment of 
 sanctity. 
 
 A Moreton and a Borgia!—engaged in canonizing 
 Anselm, the friend of Hildebrand and Matilda! 
 
LIFE OF THOMAS A’BECKET. 
 
THOMAS A’BECKET. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DISPUTED PEDIGREE AND ROMANTIC PARENTAGE. 
 
 Political philosophers confess, in an epigram¬ 
 matic sentence, envious admiration of the poet’s 
 political influence. Not thus expressed, hut not 
 unacknowledged, are the historian’s obligations to 
 the bard. No one, in these days, undertaking to 
 write the history of a people or a period, ventures 
 to omit a reference to its- songs and ballads. He 
 would seek in those humble chronicles incidents to 
 embellish his narrative, and some clue to guide his 
 researches. 
 
 There exist, as we shall presently see, large, if 
 not satisfactory, materials for a Life of Thomas 
 a’llecket. But first in interest,—because showing 
 the primary relation of the man to the common people 
 of his age,—we rank the two metrical compositions* 
 
 ♦ Jamieson’s Popular Songs and Ballads, vol. ii., p. 117. 
 
 P 
 
314 
 
 REPUTED PARENTAGE 
 
 that relate the story of his parentage. That story 
 is as follows :— 
 
 Bechet’s father—in London born—longed, when 
 a young man, strange countries for to see.” In 
 the gratification of his curiosity, he was ta’en by 
 a savage Moor,” who “ handled him right cruellie,” 
 making him labour under the burden of timber, 
 skins of wine, and bales of spices; and because, 
 faithful to his Christian creed, to Mahomed or to 
 Tennegant” he would never bend a knee,” he was 
 cast “ into a dungeon deep, where he could neither 
 hear nor see,” and where, through the course of 
 seven years, he was for hunger like to die.’^ The 
 cruel Moor had an only daughter —‘‘ her name was 
 called Susie Pye;” who, daily passing near young 
 Beichen’s prison,” often sighed, she knew not 
 ■why,” for him that in the dungeon lay. Happen¬ 
 ing one day to hear him sadly sing”— 
 
 “ My hounds, they all go masterless; 
 
 My hawks, they flee from tree to tree; 
 
 ‘ My younger brother will heir my land— 
 
 Fair England again ITl never see’ ”— 
 
 the doleful sound so sank into her heart, that she 
 could not sleep at night ; but stole the keys from 
 her father’s head, and went down to the prison. 
 The prisoner mistook her for a fellow-captive; but 
 in answer to his astonished inquiries— 
 
 “ 0, have ye any lands,” she said, 
 
 “ Or castles, in your own countrie. 
 That ye could give to a lady fair. 
 
 From prison strong to set you free r” 
 
OF THOMAS a’bECKET. 
 
 315 
 
 To which he replied— 
 
 “ Near London town I have a hall, 
 With other castles two or three; 
 rU give them all to a lady fair 
 
 That out of prison will set me free.” 
 
 The dialogue proceeded:— 
 
 “ Give me the truth of your right hand, 
 
 The truth of it give unto me. 
 
 That for seven years ye’ll no lady wed. 
 Unless it be along with me.” 
 
 “I’ll give thee the truth of my right hand. 
 The truth of it I’ll freely gie. 
 
 That for seven years I’ll stay unwed. 
 
 For the kindness thou dost show to me.” 
 
 Thus betrothed, the maiden bribed the warder 
 to set her lover free—gave him “ to eat the good 
 spice cake,” and to drink the blood-red wine,”— 
 broke with him a ring, and bade him 
 
 “-before that seven years have an end. 
 
 Come back again, love, and marry me.” 
 
 But “ long ere the seven years had an end,” she 
 pined for and mistrusted her lover. So she set 
 her foot on good ship bound,” and, after sailing 
 east and sailing west,” came at last to fair England’s 
 shore. ‘‘ A bonny shepherd,” “ feeding his sheep 
 upon the plain,” told her, as a piece of current news, 
 that in yonder hall a wedding had been protracted 
 thirty and three days; the bridegroom, young 
 Beichen,” refusing to bed with his bride, for love 
 
 p 2 
 
316 
 
 ■ROMANTIC STORY. 
 
 of one that’s beyond the sea.” She found ready 
 attention at the gate of the hall— 
 
 “ She toil’d softly at the pin”— 
 
 the proud porter ” being greatly moved by her 
 beauty and brave attire. She sent in by him her 
 half of the broken ring. It was presented kneeling 
 to the lord—an unusual stretch of homage, it ap¬ 
 pears ; for the lord asks— 
 
 “ What aileth thee, my proud porter ? 
 
 Thou art so full of courtesie.” 
 
 To which the serving-man replied— 
 
 “I’ve been porter at your gates, 
 
 It’s thirty long years now and three; 
 
 But there stands a lady at them now, 
 
 The like o’ her did I never see; 
 
 “ For on every finger she has a ring. 
 
 And on her mid finger she has three; 
 
 And as mickle gold aboon her brow 
 As would buy an earldom unto me.” 
 
 The bride’s mother was furious at the arrival and 
 the panegyric,— 
 
 “ Ye might have excepted our bonny bride, 
 
 And twa or three of our companie.” 
 
 But the honest churl answers tartly:— 
 
 “ 0 hold your tongue,^thou bride’s mother. 
 Of all your folly let me be; 
 
 She’s ten times fairer nor the bride. 
 
 And aU that’s in your companie. 
 
HIS father’s courtship. 
 
 317 
 
 “ She begs one sheave of your white bread, 
 
 But and a cup of your red wine; 
 
 And to remember the lady’s love, 
 
 That last relieved you out of pine.” 
 
 At this young Beichen” went down stairs five 
 steps at a time— 
 
 Of fifteen steps he made but three— 
 
 took in his arms his bonny love/’ and kist, and 
 kist her tenderlie.” With a gentle reproach that he 
 should have quite forgotten her who gave him life 
 and lihertie/’ and looking away to hide her tears, 
 
 “ Now fare thee well, young Beichen,” she says, 
 
 “ rU try to think no more on thee.” 
 
 But her lover would not hear of it. The fore¬ 
 noon bride” was sent back to “her own countrie” 
 with a donble dower—and, 
 
 He’s taen Susie Pye by the white hand. 
 
 And gently led her up and down; 
 
 And only as he kist her red rosy lips, 
 
 “ Give welcome, jewel, to your own.” 
 
 He’s taen her by the milk-white hand. 
 
 And led her to yon fountain stone; 
 
 He’s changed her name from Susie Pye, 
 
 And he’s called her his bonny love. Lady Jane. 
 
 There has been recovered, by the industrious 
 collector of these precious ephemera—recovered from 
 the lips of an old lady w'ho had received them from 
 serving-maids and nnrses, from the basket of the 
 pedler, or from the walls to which street literatnre 
 
318 
 
 ANOTHER LEGEND. 
 
 is commonly affixed—another ballad* on the same 
 subject. In this the heroe’s name is written “Bekie” 
 —a nearer approach to the received form of the 
 name of the future chancellor, archbishop, and 
 martyr. He is described here, however, as a 
 knight”—as going to the court o’ France, to serve 
 for meat and fee”—as then falling in love with the 
 king’s daughter Isabel, and being consequently 
 thrown into prison. The rest of the story closely 
 resembles that of the first ballad—the lady liberating 
 her lover by night, and adding to liberty the gift of 
 money, horse, and hounds—following him, in less 
 than a twelvemonth, from an impulse of mistrust, 
 taking the form of a spectral visitant and guide— 
 finding him on the point of compulsory marriage 
 with a duke’s daughter, and superseding on the 
 instant the unloved bride. Both these ballads have 
 been corrupted by their passage into Scottish popu¬ 
 larity—and both may differ much from their common 
 English original. But it will be seen that their 
 widest deviation from the following beautiful legend, 
 told by the oldest biographers of Becket, is not so 
 great as to discredit their claim to be considered a 
 vulgar metrical version of the same. 
 
 When Gilbert was a young man, he took up the 
 cross, and weht~as a penance, to the Holy Land, 
 attended by only a single serving-man, ^Gvhose name 
 was Richard.” Tlifijcpinpany in which they travelled 
 was surprised, taken prisoners, and given in chains 
 * Jamieson’s Popular Ballads and Songs, vol. ii., p. 127. 
 
THE LOVELORN DAMSEL. 
 
 319 
 
 to be the slaves of a certain Amenath, chief of the 
 Pagans.”* For a year jind a half Gilbert wrought, 
 with the rest, in what would be called in the langua^ 
 of modern slave states a, field gang; but at the end 
 of that time was promoted to tHe lighter labour of 
 the house. Waiting at the prince’s table, though 
 still in chains,” the lord and his guests would 
 converse with him; asking him of the Christian 
 faith and of the manners of England_._ , .His replies 
 excited a special interest in the breast of Amenath^s 
 only daughter, a beautiful and courtly damsel.” 
 Finding an opportunity of freely conversing with 
 him, she asked, And would you dare to die for 
 your God, and for that faith of Christ which you 
 profess ?” Most willingly,” replied he, would 
 I die in the cause of my God.” Penetrated with 
 admiration of such courage and faithfulness, she 
 declared that for his sake she would become a 
 Christian, if he would promise, by the cross foi 
 Avhich he professed his readiness to die, to make her 
 his wife. But Gilbert, distrusting such romantic 
 devotion, or unwilling to profit by it, put her off 
 from day to day;” and one night escaped, wdth his 
 fellow-prisoners, from her father’s domain. After 
 many days and nights of anxiety and deliberation, 
 the lovelorn damsel resolved to follow the escaped 
 prisoners. Taking only a small quantity of provi¬ 
 sions" with her,” she set out by night, reached a 
 port, and embarked in safety on board a vessel 
 with some foreigners and merchants who understood 
 
 * The First Quadrilogus, Paris, 1495. Life and Letters, vol. i., pp.l4—22. 
 
320 
 
 SHE FOLLOWS AND DISCOVERS 
 
 her language, and were returning to their native 
 country.” But when the vessel reached the English 
 shore, and the damsel had to take leave of her 
 companions, she had no other means of making 
 known her wishes than by exclaiming—London ! 
 London!” At London, however, she arrived : “ and,” 
 continues the narrator, with the charming minute¬ 
 ness and naturalness of a writer now at home, 
 wandering through the streets, looked wildly into 
 the faces of the passers-by, to all of whom she 
 afforded subject of derision, particularly the children, 
 who followed her, laughing and marvelling at her 
 foreign dress and uncouth accents. Injbis guise 
 she passed in front of the house where Gilbert was 
 living, in one of the more open and better frequented 
 quarters of the city, where now stands the hospital 
 erected in honour of St. Thomas. It was soon told 
 in the house that a young crazy'^girl was going by, 
 followed by boys and others, who were laughing and 
 mocking her. Gilbert’s man Bichard, who has been 
 mentioned above, ran out with others to see the 
 sight. On approaching nearer, he recognised the 
 damsel, and returned with all speed to tell his master 
 that it was Amenath’s daughter who had attracted 
 so great a concourse of people. At these words 
 Gilbert was struck with amazement, a,nd could not 
 believe a thing which he considered absolutely im¬ 
 possible. But as Richard persisted in what he said, 
 his master’s incredulity somewhat abated. In doubt 
 what could be the cause of her coming, he neverthe¬ 
 less judged it wiser not to admit her into his own 
 
HER FAITHLESS LOVER. 
 
 821 
 
 house; wherefore, he sent Richard to, conduct her to 
 the house of a widow lady who lived near him, who 
 \vould treat her as if she were her own daughter. 
 The damsel no sooner saw and recognised the man, 
 than she fell down in a swoon, as if dead outright. 
 When she had recovered her senses and risen from 
 the ground, Richard conducted her, as he had been 
 directed, to the widow lady’s house. Meanwhile, 
 Gilbert’s mind was distracted with the > even? which 
 had just happened; and in his doubt what course to 
 take, he determined to go to St. Paul’s, and consult 
 the bishop of London. Thither he accordingly 
 went on a certain time, when six of the bishops had 
 met there to deliberate on some important business, 
 either of Church or State. In their presence he 
 related the whole affair, as it has been S^e de'scnbed T 
 when the bishop of Chichester, anticipating the 
 others, exclaimed with a prophetic voice that it was 
 the hand of God, and not of man, which had con¬ 
 ducted that woman from so far a land; and that she 
 would be the mother of a son whose sanctity and 
 sufferings should elevate the whole Church, to the 
 glory of Christ the Lord. The other bishops agreed 
 with the bishop of Chichester in this opinion, and 
 advised that Gilbert should marry the young woman, 
 provided she would consent to be baptized. A day 
 was then fixed—namely, the morrow—on w'hich she 
 was conducted into the presence of the aforesaid 
 bishops, in the Church of St. Paul, where was a 
 baptistery prepared in which she sliould be baptized. 
 Upon her being asked before the wliole congrega- 
 
322 
 
 BAPTIZED AND MARRIED. 
 
 tion, according to the custom of the Church, by 
 means of the above-named Richard, who acted as 
 interpreter between them, if she were willing to be 
 baptized, she replied. It was for this purpose that I 
 came here from so distant a land, only if Gilbert 
 will take me for his wife. She was, therefore, at 
 once baptized with much solemnity by the six bishops 
 above named, for she was a woman of a noble family, 
 and was more ennobled still by the call which she 
 had received; yea, the call of God himself. The 
 bishops afterwards bestowed her upon Gilbert as 
 his wife, with all the forms of the marriage cere¬ 
 mony, when she had previously been instructed in 
 the nature of the Christian faith. The very next 
 day, we are further told, Gilbert was again 
 smitten wi th a strong desire of visiting the Holy 
 ,L and from which we may suppose that having 
 failed, though by no fault of his own, to fulfil his 
 vow by praying at the sepulchre, he was piously 
 disquieted in his conscience. For many days he 
 concealed the cause of his dejection from the wife 
 he feared to leave alone in her adopted country; hut 
 she won from him his secret, and being a woman 
 of high hopes, and already firm in the faith of 
 Christ,” strongly urged him to go; only leaving 
 with her Richard, as a guardian, interpreter, and 
 servant. He therefore went,—was absent three 
 years and a half, reaching Jerusalem in safety,—and 
 on his return, a. d. 1118 , “found a son named 
 Thomas, a beautiful hoy, and high in favour Avith 
 all his friends and neighbours.” 
 
a’becket’s mother. 
 
 S2S 
 
 It may have been observed, that in this otherwise 
 circumstantial narrative the lady’s name is not once 
 mentioned—neither her native nor her baptismal 
 name. We are informed by several other writers 
 that it w^as Matilda,—and by one* that it was Rose. 
 This last writer, moreover, differs from the rest in 
 giving Becket an immediate Norman ancestry. 
 Among the Norman- traders who, soon after the 
 conquest, emigrated from Rouen or Caen to London, 
 says this writer, was one Gilbert, surnamed Becket^,^ 
 hoi'll at Rouen, and distinguished amon g his cit izens 
 for the respectability of his birth, the energy ,of his 
 character, and the easy independence of his Jbrtune.f 
 . . .. His wife was Rose, a lady of Caen, also of a re¬ 
 spectable civic family, fair in person, and fairer still 
 in conduct, an able mistress over her household, and, 
 saving her duty to God, an obedient and loving 
 wife.” Another biographer +—and he in the closest 
 relation with Becket—alludes to Becket’s Norman 
 lineage as a fact notorious to his contemporaries, and 
 influential on his advancement. In the absence of 
 any positive statement to the contrary—looking at 
 the undoubtedly Norman structure of Becket’s name, 
 and preferring literal truth to the most inviting 
 speculation, we must decline, wdth the erudite and 
 painstaking Germans wRo have investigated this 
 
 * The anonymous author of a MS. in the library at Lambeth Palace. 
 
 t Thus Dr. Gill translates—“ Genere, strenuitate, fecultatumque possi- 
 bilitateand it is not easy to find another rendering at once so like in 
 sound, and likely to be accurate in sense. 
 
 t Fitzstephen. 
 
su 
 
 DISPUTED CLAIMS FOR 
 
 period,* to follow the brilliant historian of the 
 Conquest, f in arguing Bechet’s Saxon origin from 
 his popularity with the Saxon people, and in account¬ 
 ing for his popularity with the Saxon people on the 
 assumption of his Saxon sympathies. But neither 
 do we feel compelled to admit, on the authority of 
 an anonymous French writer, and against that of 
 the English chroniclers, that Gilbert a’Becket was 
 himself a Norman. We should rather conclude 
 that he was the son of an earlier emigrant, and had 
 grown up a citizen of London—in the titles of whose 
 chief magistrates, mayor, and aldermen, we find, as 
 Thierry observes, J a singular association of the 
 two languages spoken in Englandindicative of a 
 more rapid amalgamation of races than was going on 
 in the scattered population of the country. The 
 biographer who speaks familiarly of Gilbert’s French 
 connexions, speaks also of his “ taking part in the 
 affairs of the corporation,” and serving the office of 
 sheriff; which would scarcely happen to a new 
 settler. And only on this supposition can we recon¬ 
 cile the legend of the pilgrimage to Palestine with 
 the French descent; for it is incredible that the 
 emigrant from Bouen or Caen, if he did not bring a 
 wife with him, would be sufiiciently youthful and 
 adventurous to undertake a journey to Jerusalem. 
 It is permitted to the historian to rejoice only in the 
 elimination of the doubtful; yet may he congratulate 
 the lovers of the marvellous and touching, that the 
 
 * See vol. i. of Dr. Pauli’s History of England under the Plantagenets. 
 
 f Thierry, book ix. J Norman Conquest, book xi. 
 
a’becket’s ancestry. 
 
 325 
 
 story of Gilbert and Matilda is still an accepted 
 prelude to the life of their illustrious son. However 
 disputed his pedigree, the purple atmosphere of 
 eastern romance yet surrounds his parentage. And 
 dearer to the imagination becomes that investiture 
 when viewed in comparison with the prodigies that 
 haunt his cradle. Before he was horn, his mother 
 dreamed that she carried in her womb the great 
 Church at Canterbury,—and again, that on his little 
 bed lay a coverlet which would not be fully unfolded 
 even in the wude market-place of Smithfield. On 
 the night of his birth his father’s house and a great 
 part of the city were burnt; and around his baby- 
 brow'^ played the semblance of a bishop’s crown. 
 The verity of these stories we need not examine,— 
 albeit they are told by the same grave chroniclers to' 
 wdiom w^e are indebted for the legend we should be 
 so reluctant to discredit. The difference of our faith 
 in this instance is simply the difference betw^een the 
 marvellous and the incredible. The love of women 
 w'orks marvels daily, in our owui sight—the destiny 
 of infants is prefigured by supernatural portents only 
 in the twdlight of superstition, or the dawn of a new 
 dispensation. 
 
S26 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE LONDON OF GILBERT a’bECKET. 
 
 Fitzstephen, the principal of Becket’s biographers, 
 has prefixed to his ‘^Life and Passion” a description 
 of the city whose highest honour he counted it to 
 have given birth to the future saint and martyr— 
 and justifies himself by the example of Sallust, 
 who, when about to write the history of the Roman 
 wars in Africa, wrote first an account of Africa 
 itself. It needed not an example so antique to 
 commend a method so natural and excellent;-—for 
 surely the stream of narration that should, like a 
 river, run clear and fast, should also, like a river, 
 reflect the city or the country through which it 
 takes its way. 
 
 The London into which Thomas a’Becket was 
 born—about the year HIT a.d., and therefore in 
 the reign of Henry Beauclerk—was not exactly the 
 London on which gazed, with greedy admiration, 
 the Norman visitors to Edward the Confessor. Con¬ 
 spicuous changes had taken place at either end of 
 the city. The abbey, church, and palace of West¬ 
 minster, which that now sainted monarch founded, 
 and so far advanced as to find within the incom- 
 
LONDON IN 1117. 
 
 S21 
 
 parable structure”* a residence and a shrine,—were 
 now companioned, or rather confronted, by the 
 Hall of Hufus; designed by that least Norman of 
 the Normans for no higher uses than the banquet, 
 but destined to an historical celebrity unrivalled as 
 its architectural nobility. The little Isle of Thorney, 
 the site of the royal and sacred pile, had no longer 
 to be reached by a ferry—a bridge to the mainland 
 had been built by Matilda, Henry’s queen. At the 
 other extremity of the capital rose in gloomy strength 
 the Tower, which William had rebuilt on the ruins 
 of its plain predecessor. The wall w^hich in the 
 Saxon time ran along the river’s northern edge, 
 from the Tower to Ludgate,—broken by Belins- 
 gate (Billingsgate) below bridge, and Queenhythe 
 above—had yielded to the encroachments of the 
 tide, and, being considered unnecessary for purposes 
 of defence, had not been restored. The bridge 
 itself was not the same as that which Roman, 
 Saxon, and Norman are supposed successively to 
 have traversed — for which Olave and Ethelred 
 made dreadful conflict with the Dane, but through 
 which the wily Canute forced his ships. That 
 immemorial thoroughfare, with its guardian fortresses, 
 cliapel, and dwellings, was swept away on the night 
 of November 16, 1091, by a rush of the waters, 
 caused by a tempest of wind which also carried 
 away six hundred houses and several churches. 
 Nor was it that more famous, if less venerable, old 
 London Bridge which was standing seven hundred 
 
 * Fitzstephen. 
 
328 LONDON IN THE 
 
 years later. That was of stone, and was not com¬ 
 menced till the year 1176. This, like its pre¬ 
 decessor, was of wood, and was destined to early 
 destruction by an antithetic agent—the fire which in 
 1136, beginning at the house of one Ailward, near 
 London-stone, Cannon Street, raged from St. Paul’s 
 to Aldgate. On three sides of the city, the old 
 Koman wall was extant and unimpaired—a wall 
 ^^high and thick,’^ with seven double gates”*— 
 namely. Postern, Aldgate, Bishopsgate, Moorgate, 
 Cripplegate, Aldersgate, and Ludgate. Issuing from 
 and connecting these gates, ran the great eastern, 
 northern, and western roads, and the intramural 
 thoroughfares, Watling Street, Cornhill, and Chepe, 
 nearly as at present. Less than a mile from Lud¬ 
 gate, and connected with it by a tolerable road,— 
 crossing by a bridge the river Fleet, or river of 
 Wells,—was ^^the populous suburb” of St. Clement 
 Dane; where lived the peaceful and fast amalga¬ 
 mating descendants of the countrymen of Canute. 
 About a mile further west was the village of Charing, 
 whence the road conducted by a curve to the Isle 
 of Thorney, where the learned king sat on certain 
 days to administer justice; but whither suitors 
 usually preferred to go by the silent highway of 
 Thames.” On the margin of the stream, between 
 the City and the West Minster, other fortress palaces 
 were rising up; the strongholds and mansions of a 
 nobility not too brave for caution, and not too rude 
 for the appreciation of such home comforts as the 
 
 * Fitzstephen. 
 
TWELFTH CENTURY. 
 
 S29 
 
 domestic architecture of the age could provide. 
 Behind these were the smooth and shelving banks 
 of the river, the site of future palaces, and subse¬ 
 quently of the best frequented streets in Europe. 
 Further back were corn-fields and meadows,—the 
 gleaming waters of Holy Well, and of Old Bourne— 
 now long since corrupted into Holborn,—and the 
 pleasant expanse of Smoothfield, already a market, 
 and afterwards to degenerate into loathsome Smith- 
 field. Close in the rear rose the political priory 
 of St. John of Jerusalem—of which a church and 
 gateway still remain. On the high ground to 
 the north were many mills,” with a background of 
 “ immense forests, woods, and groves,” the habitation 
 of beasts and game; under which latter denomination 
 were included boars and wild hulls. On the north¬ 
 east lay a ^Wast lake^’—the site of modern Moorfields 
 and Finsbury. To the east, it is doubtful whether 
 either inclosed fields or groups of habitations were 
 to. be seen; except the eye could reach to the hamlet 
 of Stebonheath, with its church of St. Dunstan, and 
 its scattered maritime population. But on the south 
 side of the river, a considerable village skirted the 
 entrance to the great Kentish road along which Csesar 
 had marched from Dover, the Saxon from the Isle of 
 Thanet, and William from Hastings ; and by which 
 the majority of travellers now entered the capital of 
 this thrice conquered hut still independent kingdom. 
 
 The population of London at this time Fitzstephen 
 describes as numerous,” and indicates his estimate 
 of that adjective by adding—so that in the time of 
 
330 
 
 THE CHURCHES OF LONDON. 
 
 the civil wars under king Stephen, when those who 
 were qualified for military service went out to a 
 review, they were reckoned at twenty thousand 
 armed cavalry, and sixty thousand infantry.” Ac¬ 
 cording to the ordinary proportion of adult males 
 to women and children, this would give a total of 
 at least two hundred thousand; a conclusion not 
 only improbable in itself, hut contradicted by the 
 statement of Peter of Blois, who estimated the whole 
 population in a subsequent reign at only forty 
 thousand. The monk may he better trusted in the 
 ecclesiastical department of statistics. There are,” 
 he says, in London and the suburbs, thirteen 
 large conventual churches; besides smaller parish 
 churches to the number of one hundred and twenty- 
 six.” Most conspicuous of these, by reason of its 
 tall spire, not then common to the edifice it serves 
 so well to indicate and adorn, as well as most 
 ancient, was the episcopal church of St. Paul—once 
 metropolitan,” but superseded in that dignity, as we 
 have seen, by Canterbury. The famous cross was 
 not yet set up; though its site was already a place 
 of popular assemblage. To three of the churches 
 were attached schools, famous for their privileges 
 and ancient dignity;” and on holydays the magis¬ 
 trates held “ festive meetings ” at these schools, when 
 the scholars entertained them by exhibitions of scholar¬ 
 ship and wit. On the day called carnival” a more 
 objectionable sort of sport was indulged on the 
 academic fioor—every scholar bringing his master 
 a fighting-cock, and the whole morning being given 
 
ITS AMUSEMENTS. 
 
 331 
 
 up to seeing the cocks fight. The after part of the 
 day was devoted to foot-hall, in the fields under 
 the city wallsthe scholars of each faculty and 
 the folloAvers of every occupation playing separately— 
 while their fathers and mothers looked on with 
 well-pleased gravity from their saddles. On certain 
 other days—every Sunday in Quadragesima,” 
 specifies the ante-puritanic priest—the noble youths 
 themselves mounted on horseback, and went forth 
 in swarms to contest equestrian prizes; while the 
 sons of meaner citizens exercised themselves with 
 spear and shield, and even hoys waged a mimic 
 war with wooden weapons. To these entertainments 
 the court contributed both competitors and spec¬ 
 tators,—the king himself being not far off.” Every 
 earl, baron, knight, or noble churchman, who chanced 
 to be in the city” on a Friday, moreover, went to 
 Smoothfield to see the show of horses for sale; which 
 included chargers, and palfreys, and unbroken colts, 
 as well as the ^Wulgar steeds” now alone to be 
 seen there. The meadows and marshes further 
 north were the scene of entertainments that varied 
 with the season—in the summer, archery and dancing, 
 the latter by moonlight; in the winter, bull or 
 bear baiting, and skating, lleckless of limb, and 
 even of life, their sports upon the ice were rendered 
 additionally perilous by the use of iron-shod staffs, 
 with which these inheritors of an age that covets 
 glory” struck at each other as they swiftly passed 
 and re-passed. In Lent, they had river sports, dis¬ 
 tinguished by a like rude energy and contempt of pain 
 
S32 
 
 THE STREETS OF LONDON, 
 
 or danger,—such as striking, from the prow of a boat 
 in motion, at a target, by which the spearman was 
 almost sure to he overthrown and immersed;—the 
 bridge or quays being crowded with people, whose 
 business it was,” says the monk, as if anticipating the 
 modern description of a comic performance,—whose 
 business it was to laugh.” But beside these, there 
 were periodical exhibitions free from danger, if not 
 from dulness, and designed to instruct in other than 
 the arts of warfare—namely, religious plays; re¬ 
 presentations of the miracles which the holy con¬ 
 fessors wrought, or of the sufferings by which 
 the constancy of the martyrs was proved. One of 
 these was performed annually, by the parish clerks 
 of London, at the place of springs which then came 
 to be known as Clerkenwell; and which was the 
 scene of the conference between Bichard the First 
 and the Patriarch of Jerusalem. And among the 
 pleasures of the city, though not among its enter¬ 
 tainments, must be named those other “ choice foun¬ 
 tains of water, sweet, wholesome, and clear, bubbling 
 forth among the glistening pebble stones,” whither 
 resorted on summer evenings the youths and maidens 
 to take the air.” 
 
 The streets of the city presented at this time, in 
 its perfection, a peculiarity of which some traces yet 
 remain. The trades had each its own quarter, 
 and much of their business was carried on in the 
 open air. “ Those who practise each particular 
 profession,” says Fitzstephen as well as the 
 sellers of each separate merchandise, and those 
 
AND ITS TKADES. 
 
 333 
 
 who expose the several products of their labour, 
 locate themselves every morning in places as distinct 
 as their occupations.” Horses were not the only 
 article of traffic at Smoothfield. It was a market 
 for all agricultural produce, and probably for all 
 commodities most in request on the farm. The 
 river side appears to have been the principal 
 mart. Our monkish historian resorts to a poetic 
 generality to cover his ignorance or disregard of 
 commercial details:—To this city, out of every 
 nation under heaven, resort merchants with their 
 merchandise brought from beyond the sea. 
 
 “ Arabia sends her gold, Saba its frankincense, 
 
 Scythia her arms, and rich-soil’d Babylon 
 Her oil of palms, the Nile its precious stones, 
 
 China her purple vests, Gallia her wines, 
 
 Norwegians, Koosians, send their grieze and sables.” 
 
 But on one particular he is unctuously explicit:— 
 There is, moreover, in London, a public cookshop, 
 among the wines which are set for sale in the vessels 
 and the wine-cellars. Here you will get every day, 
 according to the season, all kinds of meats and 
 dishes, roast, baked, fried, and boiled; fish, both 
 great and small; flesh of a common sort for the 
 poor, but more delicate for the rich; venison, poultry, 
 and game. If any one of the citizens is surprised 
 by a visit from his friends, tired by their journey, 
 and disinclined to wait till fresh food can be bought 
 and cooked to allay their hunger. 
 
 Whilst ready menials bred in baskets bring, * 
 
 Towels for their hands, and water from the spring; 
 
334 DECLINE OF THE COUNTRY, 
 
 some one runs down to the quay, where he finds 
 everything they want. Whatever may he the multi¬ 
 tude of soldiers or foreigners who enter the city 
 or leave it, at any hour of the day or night, there 
 is no need that the former should come in to fast, 
 or the others set out on an empty stomach; down to 
 the quay they go if they like, and each there gets 
 what he wants. Indeed, those who like to take care 
 of themselves need not look about for pheasants or 
 quails from Africa or Ionia, when they see what 
 dainties will here he set before them. This, then, is 
 the public cookshop, and it is as beneficial to the 
 city as it is useful in promoting civility.” It is clear 
 that, to the monk Fitzstephen, the original Belinsgate 
 Ordinary was the very chiefest of London sights and 
 charms. 
 
 To its citizens, we would gladly believe, there 
 was nothing subordinate in interest and value,— 
 nothing so much an object of pride and affection, 
 as its traditional and chartered freedom. We have 
 seen that it was the heart of Saxon England,—that 
 only by cutting the arteries which united it with the 
 north and east, could the Norman ensure the subjec¬ 
 tion of the island whose king he had slain on the 
 southern shore, — that it surrendered not to the 
 victorious soldier, but to the fair-speaking statesman, 
 who strove to govern them by their ancient laws. A 
 hundred years have elapsed between the coronation of 
 William and the rise of Gilbert a^Becket. Through 
 that century of cruel tyranny and devastating strug¬ 
 gle, England has undergone a melancholy change; 
 
AND PROSPERITY OF THE TOWN. 
 
 335 
 
 —fruitful fields have been converted into hunting- 
 grounds,—villages are depopulated, and castles mul¬ 
 tiplied,—the natural, and even the religious sanctuaries 
 of patriotism ruthlessly invaded;—hut London had in¬ 
 creased in 'svealth, and not diminished its freedom. 
 The Saxon hustings have given place to the Norman 
 Guildhall; hut the old spirit lives in the new forms; 
 the foreign element is even absorbed by the native. 
 The city whose crests are enriched by the produce of 
 all climes, defends its liberties by sons adopted 
 from all races; from the loins of a citizen of Louen 
 aud a princess of the orient, is horn in its streets one 
 destined to serve in its sheriffs’ offices, and to curb, 
 from the high altar, the power of its foes. 
 
336 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 EDUCATION AND ADVANCEMENT. 
 
 Whether we accept or reject the legend of the 
 loves of Gilbert and Matilda,—whether, as is not 
 likely, we believe that portents heralded and attended 
 the birth of their son, or resolve them into myth,— 
 we cannot doubt that he was from childhood educated 
 for distinction in the Church. It is expressly said 
 by an anonymous biographer of good authority,* 
 “ he was destined from his infancy to the spiritual 
 warfare, and his parents took measures accordingly 
 to give him a liberal education.” We know from 
 his own testimony, in a letter to his friend John of 
 Salisbury, that his mother was not only a devout 
 woman, but devout after a manner which the Catholic 
 church alone encourages, and which enriches that 
 church above all else with the love of her female 
 members,—that from his mother he learnt not only 
 to fear the Lord,” hut to reverence, next to her 
 Divine Son, the holy Virgin Mary, to adopt her as 
 his patroness, and frequently to invoke her name. 
 By the same plastic hand his character was early 
 moulded after those images of charity which were 
 
 * Lambeth MS. 
 
a’becket’s mother. 
 
 337 
 
 the natural types of saintship in the ages of a simple 
 civilization. His mother used, we read, at certain 
 times of almsgiving, to put her little son in one 
 scale, and in the other scale as much bread, meat, 
 and clothing as would weigh him down; and so the 
 bigger he grew, the heavier were her gifts to the 
 poor. Happy mother! her heart so full of ma¬ 
 ternal love that neither to heaven nor earth can she 
 spare a thought that does not glance through her 
 son. Happy child! for whose future saints and 
 angels are solicited, and the favour of mankind 
 bespoke. 
 
 Matilda did not live to witness in her son’s eleva¬ 
 tion to sacerdotal and civil dignities, the fulfilment of 
 those prophecies which her heart had chaunted over 
 him—a perpetual Magnificat, as is every mother’s 
 joyful pride—as he lay in her bosom, or learned at 
 her knee. One biographer says that she lived till 
 he was twenty-one; others speak of her as dying 
 when he was but a child. But we can well imagine 
 that she would see in an incident like this,—as 
 indeed do those who relate it,*—an additional proof 
 of her son’s internal guavdianship and lofty destiny. 
 He was riding out, hawking, with a guest of his 
 father’s—a certain knight called Richard de 
 A(piilacrossing a foot-bridge over a mill stream, 
 Tliomas’s horse stumbled. He was thrown into the 
 stream—and, eager to save the bird that had dropped 
 from his waist, was fast approaching the mill wheel. 
 His destruction seemed inevitable,— but the mill 
 
 * Roger de Pontigny and Edward Grim. 
 
 Q 
 
S38 
 
 CHILDHOOD OF 
 
 stopped With miraculous suddenness^ and he was 
 drawn out by the miller, who had no doubt heard 
 an outcry, and promptly checked his machine. 
 
 That Becket’s father shared in the anticipations 
 we have ascribed to the mother, is probable from 
 the boy’s being sent for education to Merton 
 Priory—a monastery of great reputation as a 
 religious seminary;* and if we may credit an 
 anecdote told by one who could easily verify, and who 
 would scarcely have invented it, the presentiment 
 was stronger than his sense of paternal dignity. 
 He went one day, the story runs, to see his 
 son at the monastery; and when the boy was in¬ 
 troduced, the father prostrated himself at his feet; 
 at which the prior called him a foolish old man— 
 but the father justified himself, in private, saying. 
 That boy of mine will one day be great in the 
 sight of the Lord.” 
 
 Some time after leaving Merton he studied at 
 Paris; some have said at Oxford*—but if so, the 
 circumstance has escaped notice by his contem¬ 
 poraries, and detection by the industrious Anthony 
 Wood. How long he remained at Paris, or to 
 what particular studies he there applied himself, 
 is not known. On his return, he is recorded to 
 have been made clerk and accountant to the sheriffs 
 of London, of whom his father had been one. 
 A little later in life he is represented as entering, 
 in a similar capacity, the household of one man, 
 Osbern, surnamed Octonuncia, a rich man, and 
 
 * Fitzstephen. 
 
GILBERT a’bECKET. 
 
 339 
 
 related to the family of the Beckets.” We read 
 of his father’s having snifered about this time heavy 
 losses by “ frequent firesand perhaps the two 
 circumstances were co-related. His most useful 
 friends, however, were two priests—Baldwin and 
 Eustace—who, like the knight with-whom he went a 
 hawking, lodged at his father’s house; and offered 
 to introduce him to the notice of archbishop 
 Theobald, lately promoted from the abbey of Bee 
 to the primacy of England, and, like his predecessors 
 in that path to lofty preferment, a warm patron 
 of intelligence and learning. They who tell us 
 this, tell us also that the young man was for a 
 long time reluctant thus to be put in the way of 
 advancement—from which we conjecture that either 
 he preferred to continue in the civil employments 
 to which he was already addicted, or that he dis¬ 
 liked to owe his first advancement in life to the 
 favour of others. His after career would hear out 
 both these interpretations. Not till he is actually 
 consecrated archbishop shall we find in him that 
 devotion to priestly duties which might be expected 
 from the son of Matilda, a votary of Mary, and 
 the pupil of Merton Priory; hut at nearly every 
 step shall we see the workings of that noble spirit of 
 independence which once expressed itself in the 
 splendid avowal, that “he gloried rather to he one 
 in whom nobility of mind constituted his birthright, 
 than one in whom nobility of birth had degenerated 
 a boast and a taunt that expresses the whole dif¬ 
 ference between the feeble heirs of privilege and 
 
 Q 2 
 
S40 
 
 BECOMES A PRIEST. 
 
 the aspiring sons of the unprivileged. But, alas! 
 not the proudest is absolute master of his destiny; 
 and Becket had probably the mortification to owe 
 to the discrimination of Theobald alone, employments 
 which provoked the jealous anger of other loiterers in 
 the archiepiscopal court, and which he would have 
 rather earned by independent service. But if am¬ 
 bition rather than independence were his master 
 passion, it must have been largely gratified—for 
 before he was ordained deacon, he had obtained 
 the livings of St. Mary le Strand, and of Olleford, 
 Kent, with prebends in the cathedrals of London 
 and Lincoln. He attended the archbishop* to Rome, 
 and obtained the friendship of the pope and his 
 whole court—received permission, probably, while 
 thus in Italy, to study civil law for a year at 
 Bologna and Auxerre — and on his return was 
 ordained deacon, and made archdeacon of Canter¬ 
 bury, one of the highest of subordinate church 
 offices; to which were added the provostship of 
 Beverley and the prebendary of Hastings. 
 
 The biographers who relate with expressions of 
 admiring astonishment this rapid advancement to 
 the dubious dignities of a pluralist, relate also 
 anecdotes which indicate a very rare fitness for 
 the discharge of multifold duties, and the endurance 
 of seductive triumphs. Conscious, or perhaps un- 
 
 * Fitzstephen makes Becket himself the envoy to Rome; but Roger de 
 Pontigny mentions him as only one of Theobald’s retinue—a far more 
 probable story. Lord Campbell even speaks of this diplomatic prodigy as 
 being entrusted with “two delicate negotiations;’’ but there is at any 
 rate no evidence of Becket’s going twice to Rome in this period of his life- 
 
HIS CHARACTER. 
 
 341 
 
 pleasantly reminded, of his inferiority in learning 
 to his new associates in Theobald’s palace, Becket 
 repaired this deficiency with great diligence; and, 
 which is still higher praise, disarmed by sweetness 
 of temper the jealousy he could not but provoke. 
 One of his distempered rivals nicknamed him, and 
 otherwise so grievously wronged him, that he was 
 himself twice dismissed by the archbishop; but 
 Becket obtained his recall. Nor did he omit to 
 practise, among influences not very favourable to 
 high morality, the virtues inculcated by his saintly 
 mother—especially delighting to befriend the poor. 
 His chastity is equally well attested,—though his 
 want of it was alleged against him from this stage 
 of his career; and it is a virtue which his age and 
 temperament would not render easy. The scattered 
 lines of description that have come down to us 
 authorize us to think of him as tall in stature, 
 graceful and vigorous in limb, with a countenance 
 handsome in serenity and fascinating in expression, 
 a nose slightly aquiline, and a mouth framed to 
 habitual soft, swift speech. 
 
 Such was the man whom the young king Henry, 
 in 1055, the second year of his reign, appointed 
 his cliancellor. At whose commendation, to what 
 duties, and how they were fulfilled, the reader is not 
 yet in a position to understand. 
 
342 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE CHANCELLOR AND COURTIER. 
 
 Promotion by favour is usually considered the 
 antithesis of promotion by merit. The truer anti¬ 
 thesis would be, promotion by privilege. Autocracy 
 is as little interested as democracy in the repression 
 of low-born ability. It is under the government 
 of the few—whether calling itself by the pompous 
 misnomer, ‘^Aristocracy;” or made justly odious 
 by the designation, “Oligarchy”—that the natural 
 rights of intellect, and the paramount necessities 
 of the public service, are systematically sacrificed 
 to considerations of private, family, or party interest. 
 Hence the frequency and conspicuousness of great 
 names in the annals of absolutely despotic and 
 of absolutely free states—their comparative paucity 
 in those of mixed monarchies and quasi-republics; 
 the nurseries of mediocrity, the prison-houses of 
 genius. Hence, especially, the number and brilliancy 
 of the names which even in the darkest of the 
 middle ages shone in the firmament of the church— 
 that theocratic democracy whose worst abuses could 
 only obscure, not destroy, its presentation of that 
 Divine idea which heathen philosophy named “ the 
 
BECKET MADE CHANCELLOR. 
 
 343 
 
 monarchy of manand whose unfaithfulness will 
 not prevent its being the mother of that human 
 perfectness which a Christian Father visioned as 
 the city of God.” Free from the subtlest of those 
 influences which must sometimes bias the purest 
 and the strongest, ecclesiastics had little motive to 
 prefer other than the fittest to posts within their 
 gift; and when service was to be rendered to the 
 pope a little at the expense of less sacred potentates, 
 they were especially unlikely to put forward the 
 eldest of the brethren merely because he was the 
 eldest. And secular princes, on the other hand, 
 were but too glad to avail themselves of servants, 
 at once superior in art and alien in interest, to 
 the temporal nobility; who, on their part, however 
 resolute to impose their counsels, and gratify their 
 ambition, were willing enough to resign the toils 
 of administration. 
 
 It is thus we account for the otherwise inex¬ 
 plicably sudden elevation of Becket to the highest 
 of civil dignities. The church desired to strengthen 
 her influence with the sovereign — the sovereign 
 was open to offers of friendship and service. It was 
 not by accident that Becket attracted the attention, 
 and secured the favour of the king. It is expressly 
 stated by the authorities whom we shall presently 
 name, that it was by the influence of Theobald— 
 liimself advised by Henry of Winchester, Philip 
 of Bayeux, and Ernulf of Lisieux—that he was 
 appointed chancellor within a year of Henry’s acces¬ 
 sion. The first-named of these prelates was the 
 
344 
 
 THE ELEVATION OF BECKET 
 
 brother of Stephen, the late king; and one of the 
 most astute politicians of that troublous time. He 
 foresaw danger to the church, and possibly to the 
 kingdom, in the youthful years, violent spirit, and 
 disputed claims of the new king; and he saw in 
 Becket a fascinating associate and an able minister. 
 The amiable Theobald was not likely to resist an 
 opinion so flattering to his own sagacity,—and the 
 king was under obligations to the primate, who 
 had in more than formality set the crown upon 
 his head; for one of the two objects of the mission 
 to Rome in which Becket at any rate assisted, was 
 to obtain a prohibition of the coronation of Eustace, 
 son of Stephen. Had it been an inferior office 
 in which they wished to place their protege, they 
 might have purchased it—but, for reason of its 
 importance, says a contemporary writer, “ the chan¬ 
 cellorship is never sold for money.” Its functions 
 included the custody of the royal seal; the control 
 of the king’s chapel, and of all his ecclesiastical 
 patronage; and a seat at the council, even without 
 being summoned.” We cannot believe that Henry 
 would have bestowed so large a gift simply at the 
 request even of Theobald. It is at any rate clear 
 that he very soon appreciated both the personal 
 and official qualities of his chancellor. One says, 
 They played together like boys;” another, There 
 never were two better friends in all Christendom.” 
 The only story that bears out the former repre¬ 
 sentation is that of their struggling on horseback, 
 in a city thoroughfare, for a new and costly cloak. 
 
APPROVED BY THE PEOPLE. 
 
 345 
 
 wliich Henry had pulled from Becket’s shoulders, 
 to bestow, with a truly royal generosity, upon a 
 tattered passer-by. The disparity between their 
 ages would alone forbid the intimacy of youth, 
 Becket being fourteen years older than Henry. 
 But we may credit what we read of their dining, 
 hawking, hunting, and chess-playing together. The 
 king sometimes rode on horseback into the hall where 
 the chancellor was sitting at table, with an arrow 
 ill his hand, as on his return from hunting, or on 
 his way to the forest; sometimes he would drink a 
 cup of wine, and, when he had seen the chancellor, 
 take his departure; at other times he would jump 
 over the table, sit down, and eat with him.” When 
 severely ill, at St. Gervais, both Henry and the 
 king of France went to see him; and as soon 
 as convalescent, he solaced himself for his seclusion 
 from their sports by putting on a falconer’s cape 
 with sleeves,” and pursuing on the board the 
 mimic war. 
 
 It is equally undisputed that the popular voice ap¬ 
 plauded the young monarch’s choice of a minister—and 
 that the suitors for justice, which the first Henry was 
 accustomed to dispense in person at Westminster, 
 were well content tliat the second of his name should 
 leave its administration to the chancellor, who pre¬ 
 sided in the Ante Regis.* Admiration was excited 
 by Becket’s celerity in rebuilding the palace, which 
 had become almost a ruin,”—such marvellous 
 
 * “ The office of Grand Justiciar,” observes Lord Campbell, “does not 
 appear to have been tilled up during Becket’s chancellorship.” 
 
346 
 
 HIS ADMINISTRATION. 
 
 rapidity that this great work was finished between 
 Easter and Whitsuntideadmiration being none 
 the less that the carpenters and other workmen 
 made so much din in their haste, that even those 
 who were standing close together could hardly hear 
 one another speak.” Still more satisfactory were 
 the promptitude and courage with which he put 
 down the predatory hands whom the late civil wars 
 had encouraged; especially one William of Ypres, 
 a Fleming, who had established himself by sea 
 and land in Kent—demolished the castles which 
 had been built by refractory barons, alike to the de¬ 
 fiance of the crown and terror of the people—restored 
 to dispossessed families their lawful inheritance—and 
 remitted the punishment to which thousands had 
 exposed themselves by infringement of the forest 
 laws. So early and energetic were these changes 
 effected, that they have been ascribed to the king’s 
 independent activity; but there is little room to 
 doubt that they were executed at Becket’s instance, 
 if not by his actual authority—and no doubt at 
 all that they harmonize with his entire adminis¬ 
 tration, and are also in harmony with the genius, 
 both of the man and churchman. During the seven 
 years of Becket’s chancellorship, says Eitzstephen, 
 the king, by the blessing of Him who is the 
 King of kings, succeeded in all he undertook ; the 
 realm of England became richer and richer, and 
 copious blessings flowed from plenty’s horn; the 
 hills were cultivated, the vallevs teemed with corn, 
 the fields with cattle, and the folds with sheep.” 
 
HIS STYLE OF LIVING. 
 
 847 
 
 ilis latest biographer mentions that at AYest Tarring, 
 in Sussex, is a rectory, where he is said to have 
 planted a fig-tree, brought from Italy, and the 
 parent of the species which grows so plentifully 
 in that county. England at large is sown with 
 similar proofs that the church of that age was 
 the great husbandman and the great artificer—the 
 builder of bridges ; the maker of roads ; the founder 
 of schools, hospitals, and even cities. What else 
 was the church of that age, we shall see exemplified 
 in the acts and sufferings of her great son and saint, 
 the future archbishop of Canterbury. But wEile 
 the archbishop is still in the future, we must observe 
 the chancellor in his daily life, and afterwards 
 accompany him, as envoy and soldier, to France. 
 
 Fitzstephen’s well-known description of Becket’s 
 housekeeping is provokingly incomplete,—suggest¬ 
 ing, but little more than suggesting, a curious 
 picture of English society in the twelfth century. 
 
 The house and table of the chancellor were 
 common to all of every rank who came to the 
 king’s court, and needed hospitality; whether they 
 were honourable men in reality, or at best appeared 
 to be such.” It would aid the imagination to realize 
 this bounteous hospitality, if the situation and extent 
 of the house had been indicated. The king’s court 
 was sometimes at the Tower, sometimes at West¬ 
 minster ; and unless Becket kept up an establish¬ 
 ment at either end of the capital, his table w’ould 
 not be verv accessible to the invited earls and 
 barons, without whose company ‘‘ he never dined.” 
 
348 
 
 becket’s house. 
 
 That he was warder of the Tower might fix there 
 the locality, if he had not also rebuilt the “ palace 
 of London,”—a designation applied by the same 
 writer to the royal residence at Westminster. 
 The capacity of the building must have been 
 enormous—for, besides the multitude of daily guests, 
 there were the young nobles, whose fathers had 
 sent them to serve in the chancellor’s house; and 
 he was followed by so large a retinue of soldiers 
 and persons of all ranks, that the royal palace 
 seemed empty in comparison.” But whatever the 
 site or size of the chancellor’s mansion, the rude 
 simplicity of its structure is indicated by the amusing 
 circumstances enumerated among the instances of 
 his dainty splendour. He ordered his hall to be 
 strewed every day in winter with fresh straw and 
 hay, and in summer with green branches, that the 
 numerous knights, for whom the benches were in¬ 
 sufficient, might find the ground clean and neat for 
 their reception, and that their valuable clothes and 
 beautiful shirts might not contract injury from 
 its being dirty.” Enough is known now of the 
 domestic architecture of the Anglo-Normans to 
 enable us to elaborate these outlines. Let us 
 imagine, then, on the eminence behind the city 
 fortress, or in the more rural and hallowed shades 
 of the wooded banks where rise the abbey and 
 the palace, a spacious but not lofty structure— 
 slightly elevated on covered arches, which serve 
 both as cellarage and basis, the walls of marble, 
 flint, and mortar, rugged to the eye, but impervious 
 
BECKETTS HOUSE. 
 
 349 
 
 to the elements; the windows chiefly mere arrow 
 slits, offering easier admission to wind than light; 
 the main entrance, a rounded doorway high enough 
 to admit man and horse. Another court running 
 the long length of the building, and planted with 
 such fruit trees and flowering shrubs as have yet en¬ 
 riched the native poverty of our soil, serves as a spacious 
 ante-room for servitors and suitors. The grand 
 doorway lets the visitors at once into the principal 
 apartment of the dwelling,—the hall,” some twenty 
 feet high, and fifty deep, where the chancellor 
 and his most honoured guests sit at a table upon 
 the dais, or low platform, at the upper end; the 
 multitude of visitors and retainers on benches 
 running from top to bottom; and the late comers, or 
 meaner sort, squatting upon the littered floor of 
 wood or earth. Over the dais, looking east, is a 
 window of some pretensions,—the trefoil and cross 
 traceable in the stone framework; the small interstices 
 of the wood and iron filled up with horn or rough 
 glass, which began to be used about this time. 
 Chimneys, too, are coming to be a feature of great 
 honour. The hall boasts one vast fire-place,—the 
 wood smoke from which rolls up its legitimate 
 aperture ; while braziers stationed in distant parts of 
 the room send up slender columns that festoon the 
 rafters with grimy wreaths. Breaks in the wall, 
 veiled by curtains, communicate with the kitchens 
 and chambers ; besides wliich, except perhaps for the 
 chancellor’s private business and devotion, there 
 are no other rooms. All are upon the ground floor. 
 
S50 
 
 STYLE OF LIVING 
 
 and are for the most part rather spacious than com¬ 
 fortable. Few of the sleepers in the princely house 
 can obtain the luxury of an entire hutch, or curtained 
 bed. A couch by the wall, a bundle of straw, or 
 even a resting place on the floor of the hall not yet 
 swept out, must suffice for the great majority. For 
 ablutions, the favoured have baths—pits dug in the 
 floor, and inlaid with tiles ; for the rest there are 
 buckets, the adjacent Thames, or the nearest moat. 
 But the crypt contains good store of meat and drink, 
 with costly plate and vessels—at least for the upper 
 table, for to that we must limit “ the board ” which 
 is said to have shone with gold and silver, and 
 abounded with rich dishes and precious liquors.” 
 Though it seems incredible that Becket should at 
 any time have given five'pounds—a sum calculated as 
 an equivalent to seventy-five pounds of modern money 
 —for a single diet of eels,” he must have sometimes 
 paid large sums for “ the objects of consumption 
 recommended by their vanity,” for which his table 
 is explicitly declared to have been famous. But all 
 the wealth of that age was as inadequate to provide 
 plenty of good food for the chancellor’s host of 
 clients,—the dainty young Norman knights, and the 
 gluttonous Saxon monks,—as to have spread his floor 
 with a modern carpet. Peter of Blois has left us a 
 description of court fare in his day—only thirty 
 years later—which can leave no doubt as to the 
 normal poverty, not to say nastiness of twelfth 
 century diet. The bread, he says, was black and 
 lumpy; the wine sour; the beer so thick that it 
 
IN THE ELEVENTH CENTURY. 
 
 351 
 
 had to be filtered through the teeth; the meat seldom 
 fresh; and fish so scarce as to fetch a high price 
 whether s\veet or stinking. The fertility and fatness, 
 which Fitzstephen unctuously ascribes to the Divine 
 blessing on BeckeFs administration, were in fact 
 comparative. England had been so wasted by a 
 century of conquest and civil wars; so many fair 
 fields had been taken from the ploughman to 
 make hunting grounds for his foreign master,—that 
 periodical famine and permanent dearth had succeeded 
 to the happy plenty of the good old times, when the 
 Saxon was but too well fed. If the gentles, in 
 silken doublet and hose, pointed shoes, and feathered 
 cap, had to put up with sour bread and rancid 
 wine in their place at the dais, we may be sure 
 that the churls in woollen jerkin, and hoseless 
 sandals, fared appropriately to their seat with the 
 dogs. And often would the uninvited guests at the 
 chancellor’s table be right glad to carry away the 
 rich alms which it provided for those who partook 
 thereof.” 
 
 That he still practised the charity so 'whimsically 
 inculcated by his mother, there is various evidence. 
 Some of his contemporaries allude with pride, and 
 some wdtli censure, to his stateliness and magnifi¬ 
 cence ; but none deny that “ he was himself singularly 
 frugal” and unostentatiously benevolent. The kind¬ 
 ness of heart in wdiich he had been nurtured, and 
 wdiich is indeed instructive to the conscious possessor 
 of great powers, he carried into the exercise of his 
 official prerogatives. “ lie w^as humble to the 
 
352 
 
 becket’s virtues. 
 
 humble,” says one, but to the proud he was stern 
 and haughty.” The poor and oppressed found ready 
 access to him,” says another; the cause of the widow 
 did not come before him in vain; he gave justice and 
 protection to the weak and needy.” The vacant 
 bishoprics and abbacies which he filled up, instead of 
 allowing their revenue to be paid into the royal 
 treasury, he bestowed readily on deserving persons.” 
 “ There never passed a day on which he did not 
 make large presents.” And he gave his gifts with 
 such a grace that all the Latin world loved him and 
 delighted in him.” But he did not permit these 
 easier and natural virtues to excuse him from the 
 practice of the more vigorous and special. He was 
 chaste as well as temperate, just as well as generous, 
 and pious according to the requirement of the deacon 
 rather than of the chancellor. He not only punished 
 one of his household, who, a clerk and of high birth, 
 carried off the wife of a friend, but defeated the at¬ 
 tempt to surprise himself in sensual enjoyment. He 
 practised penance and mortification, often baring 
 his back in private to the scourge,” and wearing 
 the hair shirt of an anchorite under the soft raiment 
 of a courtier. He not only induced the king to 
 recall from banishment persons of character and 
 bearing, but had the courage to withstand the 
 monarch’s anger. Nicolas, archdeacon of London, 
 being expelled from his home by the king’s orders, 
 his house locked, and his goods put up to sale, the 
 good chancellor did not rest ” till he had procured 
 restitution. On another occasion he showed both 
 
HIS INFLUENCE WITH THE KING. 
 
 853 
 
 tact and firmness in defeating the royal vindictive¬ 
 ness. The archdeacon of Rouen being offended by 
 the recognition of Pope Alexander, whom Henry 
 (then in Normandy) disclaimed, he sent orders 
 for the destruction of his house. Becket remon¬ 
 strated, on the pretext of his own convenience, 
 saying—The house which you are ordering to he 
 destroyed belongs, indeed, to archdeacon Gilo, but 
 it is the house in which I am residingand the 
 king withdrew his order. But next day information 
 was brought that the bishop of Le Man had also sub¬ 
 mitted to the obnoxious pope. The bishop was instantly 
 expelled from his lodgings at Rouen, and warrants 
 sent for the demolition of his house at Le Man. Becket 
 found the king exulting in his intended vengeance, 
 and forbore to interfere, except by instructions to 
 the messengers, to delay their journey. Then he 
 sent in some of the French clergy to entreat the 
 king’s forgiveness for their brother, but he was 
 inexorable. Becket next applied himself to the 
 task of pacification, and was repulsed,—but tried 
 again, and was successful; Henry supposing that 
 his warrant had been already executed. But the 
 bearer of his pardon arrived as soon as the messenger 
 of his vengeance, and tlie irascible monarch recog¬ 
 nised in tlie chancellor the keeper of his honour as 
 well as of his conscience. 
 
854 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE ENVOY AND SOLDIER. 
 
 The incidents of Becket’s employment in France 
 are strikingly illustrative of tke relationskips which 
 then obtained between European governments. 
 Henry had indicated his estimate of the other sex 
 by a marriage, while Duke of Normandy (1152), 
 with Eleanor, the divorced wife of Louis VII. He 
 thus became Duke of Aquitaine and Earl of Poniton 
 —acquisitions for which he did homage, and took 
 fresh oaths of allegiance, to the released husband, 
 who had in vain forbidden his vassal of Normandy 
 to ally himself with a lady whose reputed unchastity 
 did not outweigh the attraction of her great inherit¬ 
 ance. Louis could place little reliance upon the 
 good faith of the powerful subject, since he had 
 violated the provisions of his own father’s will, 
 broken his oath of compliance, and made war upon 
 the brother thus dispossessed of Anjou, Maine, and 
 Tourraine. Henry had done this immediately upon 
 his accession to the throne of England, and now, 
 five years later, he laid claim to the countship of 
 Toulouse. About the same time—and possibly to 
 detach the French king from the wars of his weaker 
 
SIEGE OF TOULOUSE. 
 
 355 
 
 vassals—Henry proposed to espouse his own eldest 
 son, Bechet’s pupil, to Margaret the daughter of 
 Louis. Bechet was entrusted with the negotiation 
 of their not unusually precocious alliance ; which 
 appears to have been met, immediately on his arrival 
 in France, with an invitation from Louis to Henry 
 himself. The hing of England crossed the channel 
 accordingly, hut only to prosecute by vows his claim 
 on the earldom, and mahe a confederacy in its support. 
 He then returned to England for supplies, and 
 seems to have been very successful in his purpose— 
 for the army with which he presently laid siege to 
 the city of Toulouse is described as including ‘‘ the 
 chivalry of all England, Normandy, Aquitaine, 
 Anjou, Bretagne, and Scotland.” The English 
 chancellor was there, with ‘‘ seven hundred knights 
 of his own household”—and a brain of such capacity 
 for counsel as to anticipate the bold enterprises of 
 the Edwards against the king of France. Louis, 
 violating his powers of neutrality, had thrown him¬ 
 self into the besieged city—less perhaps as a com¬ 
 batant than as a protector to his sister, the Countess 
 Constance. Becket boldly advised his capture, with 
 that of the town. The king had other advisers, 
 of profounder respect for those rights of feudal 
 sovereignty which Becket declared to have been 
 forfeited by violation of treaty and appearance in 
 arms; and Henry’s singular scrupulousness gave 
 time for the relief of the city. The retreating army 
 had to content itself Avith the capture of a few castles 
 —and of these only the chancellor and Henry of 
 
356 
 
 BECKET AS SOLDIER. 
 
 EsseXj of all the English barons, could be induced to 
 take charge, after the kings of England and Scotland 
 had recrossed the channel. Becket even undertook 
 an aggressive or personal warfare; putting himself 
 in full armour at the head of a stout band of his 
 men,” took three other castles which had been 
 regarded as impregnable, passed the Garonne, 
 and secured the entire province to his royal master. 
 In the next campaign he still further distinguished 
 himself. To the seven hundred knights of his own 
 household he now added twelve hundred others, 
 each receiving three shillings a day for their horses 
 ' and esquires, and themselves dining at his own 
 table,—besides four thousand serving-men, or foot- 
 soldiers. These he commanded in person,—giving 
 the signal to advance or retreat “ on one of those 
 slender trumpets which was peculiar to his band, 
 but which were well known to all the rest of the 
 army around.” His knights were everywhere 
 foremost, doing more valiant deeds than any others,” 
 and his mercenaries were famous for discipline. 
 But the reputation of a just commander did not 
 content the military ecclesiastics in an age of 
 chivalry. Personal prowess excelled all other merits 
 when war was a series of personal encounters. And 
 not to be wanting in this essential of a medieeval 
 statesman and soldier, Becket one day “ charged 
 with lance in rest and horse at full speed against 
 Engelram of Trie, a valiant French knight, who was 
 advancing towards him, and having unhorsed the 
 rider, carried off his horse in triumph.” 
 
HIS PROGRESS THROUGH NORMANDY. 
 
 357 
 
 The campaign in which Becket bore so important 
 a part brought the war to a close. John of Salisbury^ 
 writing to him in 1161 , thus expresses the common 
 estimate at home of the chancellor’s position:— 
 “ Those who have returned say, and I would it were 
 true, that the king and court are governed entirely 
 by your advice, and that the peace depends upon 
 your advocacy.” It may therefore be assumed, that 
 Becket counselled the resumption of the negotiations 
 which had been interrupted by the Avar, and which 
 he Avas entrusted to conclude. His biographers, 
 liOAveA'Cr, dAvell less upon the skill than upon the 
 splendour of his embassy. Fitzstephen’s amusing 
 description of the state Avith Avhich he journeyed 
 through Normandy is almost too Avell knoAvn to 
 require repetition. The tAvo hundred knights and 
 serving-men, all on horseback and in ncAv holiday 
 clothes”—the long procession of sumpter mules— 
 the huntsmen and folloAvers, Avith dogs and birds 
 of all kinds”—the eight carriages, each draAvn by 
 five horses, and serving as kitchen, pantry, plate 
 chests, bedchambers, etc.—the “ large dog” tied 
 beloAv, and the long-tailed ape riding above—the 
 running footmen, singing as they Avent, after the 
 fashion of their country,” make up an English 
 historical picture, as rare as it is grotesque and 
 familiar. The reported comment of obserAers — 
 What a remarkable man the king of England 
 must be, if such a great man as this is his chan¬ 
 cellor !”—may be taken to indicate the object of 
 all this show. It Avas not to gratify his OAAm lusts 
 
358 
 
 SUCCESS OF THE MISSION, 
 
 for magnificence, not to promote purposes of state, 
 that Becket dazzled the eyes of the vulgar. It 
 seems to have been his policy to lower the French 
 king in the estimation of his own subjects by com¬ 
 parison with the Anglo-Norman. He anticipated 
 the hospitality of the court, and purchased its ad¬ 
 herence. He rendered futile the king’s power to pre¬ 
 vent expense to the embassy,—sending emissaries to 
 buy up secretly provisions enough for a thousand 
 men. It was here, too, he went to the fabulous 
 extravagance of paying a hundred shillings for a 
 dish of eels. And now was seen the special object 
 of his cumbrous mode of travel. He gave away all his 
 gold and silver,—his bundle of rich clothing,—his 
 dogs, birds, and rarest horses. Not the least charac¬ 
 teristic of his benefactions was the present of hooks 
 which he made to the master and pupils of the French 
 schools. There he obtained golden opinions from 
 all sorts of people,” and was assisted in the ac¬ 
 complishment of his mission. The hand of the 
 princess Margaret was obtained for the prince Henry, 
 and the claim of Eleanor’s husband to Toulouse was 
 admitted. 
 
 lieturning with a diminished train to the Anglo- 
 Norman court, the successful envoy performed the 
 romantic and useful service of capturing a brigand¬ 
 like baron, named Guy de la Val. His embassy was 
 concluded some time in 1160; and it is not till 1162 
 that we find him again in England, commissioned by 
 the king, who remained in Normandy, to have the 
 crown set upon the head of the pupil he had provided 
 
AND MARRIAGE OF PRINCE HENRY. 
 
 359 
 
 with a bride, and to exact oaths of allegiance from the 
 nobility to their sovereign’s eldest son. But before 
 another meeting with his royal master and friend, he 
 whose career has been hitherto so signally bright, 
 will have entered on the clouded though lofty path 
 that leads through civil strife to a cruel death. 
 
360 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ELEVATION TO THE PEIMACY. 
 
 It appears to have been in the castle of Forlaise that 
 the chancellor received the first authoritative hint of 
 his destined translation to the headship of the church. 
 Archbishop Theobald had died in April of 1161,— 
 and till the spring of the year 1162, the king gave 
 no sign of his intention to appoint a successor. 
 The ostensible business on which he then sent his 
 chancellor to England, was the crowning of prince 
 Henry, and the suppression of disturbances on the 
 Welsh frontier; ^‘hut,” said he, in a private con¬ 
 versation on the night before Becket’s departure,— 
 which Becket must have repeated to the clerk who 
 records it, Herbert de Boshaen,—‘^you do not yet 
 know the real reason for your being sent—it is my 
 intention that you shall be made archbishop.” The 
 chancellor would not have been greatly surprised— 
 for, according to another of his intimates, a travel¬ 
 ling prior, visiting him at St. Gervais, remarked on 
 his ^‘cape with sleeves” as becoming an ecclesiastic 
 who held several preferments, and was spoken of for 
 the archbishopric. Now as then, the chancellor 
 pointed to his dress, with a smile of incredulity, 
 
becket’s reluctance. 
 
 361 
 
 saying, A pretty costume to figure at the head of 
 the monks of Canterbury.” But Becket’s was not 
 a mind to confound trivial with essential difficulties. 
 It will be seen presently that he preferred sackcloth 
 to fine linen, when sackcloth had the truer signifi¬ 
 cance. On both these occasions he is reported to 
 have spoken like a sagacious and conscientious man. 
 To the prior of Leicester he said, I know those 
 poor priests in England, either one of whom I would 
 rather see advanced to be archbishop than myself; 
 for if I were promoted to that rank, so well do I 
 know the lord my king, I should be obliged either to 
 lose his favour, or—which God forbid!—to set aside 
 my duty to my God.” To the king he spoke with 
 equal plainness:—If you do as you say, my lord, 
 your mind will very soon be estranged from me, and 
 you will hate me then as much as you love me now ; 
 for you assume at present, and will continue to 
 assume, an authority in church matters which I should 
 not consent to, and there will be plenty of persons to 
 stir up strife between us.” Nor were these the 
 expressions of a coy reluctance that waits to be 
 overcome. He Avould have finally declined the 
 appointment, according to John of Salisbury, who 
 attributes to his friend precisely the sentiments above 
 stated, but for the interference of the Cardinal 
 Henry of Pisa; who plied him with an argument 
 to which the esprit de corps is insensible only in 
 meanest minds—the good of the church. 
 
 In the May following, there arrived at Canterbury 
 commissioners from the Norman court, the bishops 
 
 R 
 
S62 
 
 ELECTION OF BECKET 
 
 of Chichester, Exeter, and Rochester, with the abbot 
 of Battle, and Richard de Lucy, the chief justice 
 “ bringing the king’s command under his seal to the 
 convent for the prior, with the other monks, to meet 
 the bishops and clergy of England at London, and 
 proceed to the election of an archbishop and primate.” 
 The message was formally delivered in the chapter 
 house, Richard de Lucy acting as spokesman. He 
 informed them that the king left the election of a 
 pastor to their free choice, on condition that they 
 elected a person worthy of the honour, and equal to 
 the burden. There was also an implication of danger 
 in what they were about to do. The troubles, diffi¬ 
 culties, and tumults which may arise, together wdth 
 the loss of our worldly goods, and the peril to our 
 souls,” if the king and the archbishop should not be 
 united together in the strong bonds of affection 
 should 7iot mutually and amicably support one 
 another.’^ Further admonished by a sign from the 
 bishops,”—after returning thanks for the royal kind¬ 
 ness and solicitude,—the prior retired wdth some of 
 the elder brethren. They resolved in this committee 
 of selection, that nothing would be done without a 
 more explicit intimation of the king’s wishes. The 
 commissioners, on being called in and made acquainted 
 with the discreet conclusion, named the chancellor. 
 It is to be presumed that proceedings in the 
 chapter house were then resumed, for a discussion 
 followed; “ the monks ” hesitating some time to give 
 their assent, not because they did not know 
 Thomas to be a virtuous man, but because he did 
 
TO THE ARCHBISHOPRIC. 
 
 363 
 
 not wear the dress of the religious order,” after the 
 example of St. Augustine, and 'his successors in the 
 see of Canterbury. The discussion concluded, how¬ 
 ever, with an unanimous assent to the nomination; 
 and the commissioners appointed a day for the com¬ 
 pletion of the election, at a council in London. 
 
 To this council w^ere summoned prelates, abbots, 
 priors, earls, barons, and “ all the king’s officials.” 
 It may therefore be regarded as a parliamentary 
 session,—minus those representatives of the towns 
 whose presence was necessary only when money was 
 to be obtained. The prior of Canterbury reported 
 what had been done there, in obedience to the king’s 
 mandate. The three commissioners testified to the 
 regularity of the election, and the fitness of the 
 choice. All present gave their consent, and joined 
 in religious thanks. One there was who was known 
 to be non-content,—but it appears that he deemed 
 it prudent to unite in the general congratulation. 
 This was Gilbert Foliot, bishop of Hereford, and 
 afterward of London,—but whether at this time of 
 the former or latter see does not clearly appear. He 
 w^as a man of advanced age, great learning, and of thts 
 monastic profession—qualifications for the primacy 
 which miglit excuse the ambition he was known to 
 entertain. Kalph de Hiceto, archdeacon of London, 
 and subsequently secretary to the king, says dis¬ 
 tinctly, Thomas, archdeacon and chancellor, was 
 formally elected to tlie archbishopric, one objecting'' 
 John of Salisbury, writing to the archbishop, when 
 
 Foliot had become openly hostile, recalls his conduct 
 
 R 2 
 
364 
 
 HIS INSTALLATION. 
 
 at the election: I was myself present at it, and saw 
 it all. He was the solitary individual who did not 
 express pleasure at your nomination. He, as was 
 then evident, and is still abundantly so, had been 
 foremost among the aspirants to your lordship’s see. 
 Yet even he was soon shamed out of his opposition. 
 
 . . . . He was one of the first to give his vote in your 
 favour, and the loudest in his praises of the election.” 
 
 The remaining formalities rapidly followed. The 
 assent of the young king—as his father’s representa¬ 
 tive—was formally asked by the bishops; and given 
 with expressions of cordial approval. More ominous 
 was the request preferred by Henry of Winchester, 
 in the name of his brethren. The terms of his 
 demand are indicative of Becket’s previous position 
 in the state, as well as of anxiety as to his future. 
 
 My lord the chancellor, our archbishop elect, 
 has for a long time possessed the highest place 
 in the house of the king, your father, and in 
 the whole kingdom, which he has had entirely 
 under his government; nor has anything been 
 done during your father’s whole reign without 
 his advice and pleasure. We demand, therefore, 
 that he shall he delivered over to us, and to the 
 church of God, free from all civil obligation or 
 service of the court, from all suit, or accusation, or any 
 other matter whatsoever, that from this very hour 
 and ever after he may he at liberty and at leisure to 
 act freely in God’s service.” Prince Henry assented 
 to this also, in his father’s name. But Becket 
 himself, his biographers are careful to record, declared 
 
JOY OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 365 
 
 that it was impossible for him to serve two masters, 
 whose wills were so much at variance; and that 
 whoever should be archbishop of Canterbury would 
 be sure to offend either God or the king.” Nor was 
 Henry without warning of this sad alternative from 
 other quarters. His mother cautioned him against 
 promoting a useful servant to the position of a rival 
 master. But no time was lost between Becket’s 
 nomination to the primacy and his actual installation. 
 On Whit Sunday,—the writ of election having been 
 previously read in the refectory of the abbey of 
 Westminster,—the new archbishop received priesBs 
 orders, in the cathedral church of Canterbury, from 
 the hands of Walter of Rochester. Shortly after¬ 
 wards, in the eighth year after his appointment to 
 the chancellorship, he was consecrated by the Henry 
 of Winchester to whom he already owed so much. 
 
 A large number of religious men of all ranks,” 
 repaired to Canterbury in time for the ceremony,— 
 and on the day appointed went out, with an im¬ 
 mense multitude of the common people,” to receive, 
 with every kind of honour and with acclamations 
 of joy,” the new-made priest, who advanced on foot, 
 and with tears in his eyes, to be crowned and 
 anointed. So great was the general delight—says 
 the monk Roger of Pontigny—that no language can 
 describe it; while Thomas was himself burdened 
 with contrition and humility of heart, thinking 
 less of the honour than of the burden which he was 
 about to take upon him.” Honour or burden, how¬ 
 ever,—mock reluctance or genuine,—the ceremony 
 
366 
 
 RATIFICATION BY THE POPE. 
 
 went on to its conclusion. Messengers of fit rank 
 were despatched to that sovereign pontifi* whose 
 crowning benediction was yet wanting. They brought 
 away from Kome the pallium which conferred the 
 mystic power it symholled. They laid it on the 
 high altar of the cathedral church of Canterbury, 
 and then it was taken by the archbishop himself, in 
 exchange for that final oath of allegiance to the 
 successor of St. Peter, which he was one day to ratify 
 in blood. 
 
367 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PRIVILEGE AND PREROGATIVE. 
 
 Descending, -now, from the pleasant height of 
 worldly pomp and power, into the vale of spiritual 
 strife and personal suffering, it is important that we 
 estimate more closely than hitherto our means of 
 observation. While Becket was only courtier or 
 chancellor, we had no special interest in scrutinizing 
 the claims of his biographers to credibility. But 
 henceforth we shall find a frequent conflict of state¬ 
 ments as well as of actions, and must therefore 
 count and weigh authorities. 
 
 They are briefly these :—John of Salisbury (after¬ 
 wards bishop of Chartres), an intimate friend of 
 Becket; Herbert de Bosham, his secretary; Edward 
 Grim, Roger de Pontigny, and William Fitzstephen 
 —monks wlio were attendant on the archbishop, more 
 or less constantly. Benedict, abbot of Peterborough; 
 Alan, abbot of Tewkesbury; William, prior (or sub¬ 
 prior) of Canterbury; Elias, a monk of Evesham; 
 with two anonymous but contemporary writers, have 
 written memoirs of the archbishop, or compiled 
 passages from liis correspondence, which form the 
 
368 
 
 ALLEGED CHANGE IN THE 
 
 basis of all subsequent biographies. The most 
 important of these latter are known as the first and 
 second Quadrilogies; the earlier of which was pub¬ 
 lished at Paris in 1495, and the latter at Brussels in 
 1682. Some additional light is thrown upon the 
 period by the chronicles of Ralph de Diceto, William 
 of Newborough, and Matthew of Paris. 
 
 The first point on which arises a difierence of 
 opinion, is that of Becket’s demeanour immediately 
 subsequent to his consecration. His monkish biogra¬ 
 phers, intent upon the glorification of an unnatural 
 ideal, set forth, with super-clerical extravagance of 
 diction, a certain change of character, immediately 
 upon that event. Contrary to the expectations of 
 the king and of all men,” says Fitzstephen, the 
 glorious archbishop Thomas so abandoned the world, 
 and so suddenly felt that change which is the handi¬ 
 work of the Most High, that it filled all with 
 astonishment.” But this painting with the ver¬ 
 milion rather than with the pen,” as one of them 
 expresses it, has done great injustice to its subject. 
 It has been made the ground of a historical calumny 
 no less unjust and unphilosophical than that which, 
 for nearly two centuries, divided the career of Crom¬ 
 well into that of a fanatic and a hypocrite—honest 
 regicide and crafty liberticide. All such violent 
 bisections disappear before a candid examination of 
 facts, and a charitable construction of motives. Looked 
 at closely, all Fitzstephen’s evidences of‘‘conversion ” 
 resolve themselves into indications of a natural 
 adaptation to new circumstances. He who as chan- 
 
archbishop’s habits. 
 
 369 
 
 cellor had delighted in fine garments and a costly 
 housekeeping, hunting and falconry, great company 
 and books of law,—as archbishop wore sackcloth, 
 fared on bread and water instead of meat and wine, 
 submitted his hack to the scourge, washed the feet 
 of beggars, doubled his alms, and sat in the cloisters 
 reading books of devotion. But the latter were just 
 as proper to the archbishop as the former to the 
 chancellor. The outward signs of humility and 
 mortification enumerated were so thoroughly pro¬ 
 fessional, that they excited remark only from their 
 contrast to previous characteristics. So far from 
 their being carried to the excess which would alone 
 
 argue either affectation or fanaticism, there is indis¬ 
 putable evidence of this being accompanied by his old 
 display of wealth and taste. A modern church writer, 
 who has placed the whole twelfth century controversy 
 in a new light, goes so far as to say—Thomas Becket 
 carried with him, on his entrance into the archi- 
 episcopate, far more of the display of worldly splendour 
 for which he was remarkable as chancellor, than the 
 custom of the times, and the general expectation 
 of his contemporaries, required of him. After his 
 advancement, as before, his dress and retinue were 
 remarkable for their magnificence—his table for its 
 almost fastidious delicacy, his companions for their 
 rank and intellectual accomplishments—his studies 
 for their political and philosophical rather than their 
 religious character; and the only change discernible 
 in his pursuits and manner of living, was such as 
 
 the cliange of his rank and occupations would 
 
 R 3 
 
370 
 
 HIS CONDUCT TOWARDS THE KING 
 
 necessarily suggest to a refined taste.’^* Even two 
 years after his consecration (1165), the unques¬ 
 tionably pious John of Salisbury ventures to re¬ 
 monstrate with his more eminent friend upon the 
 preference of secular and political literature to 
 psalms and sermons; on which it is well remarked, 
 by the writer just quoted—^^If John of Salisbury 
 believed the archbishop to be a great saint, he never 
 would have thought this advice either necessary or 
 becoming; if he had regarded him as a hollow 
 pretender to sanctity, he surely would have addressed 
 him in a less afiectionate and confidential tone.” 
 And when Becket was in exile, so did the native 
 taste cleave to him, that John of Poictiers counselled 
 a more chastened style of living, as more in keeping 
 with his own condition, and the habits of the 
 religious house in which he found sanctuary. It 
 may well be concluded, therefore, that Becket’s 
 demeanour was at least free from the charge of a 
 hypocritical profession of saintship. 
 
 The next point that arises is that of his change of 
 relationship to the king. The popular notion on this 
 head appears to be, that having obtained the primacy 
 by countenancing the royal expectation of his proving 
 a faithful as well as able servant, he insidiously 
 converted it, from motives of personal ambition 
 and pride, into a rival dominion; breaking faith 
 with a generous master, and arrogantly opposing 
 himself to the laws of which he had been the chief 
 administrator. We have seen that there is no ground 
 
 * Froude’s Remains, vol. ii. 
 
NOT THE RESULT OF AMBITION. 
 
 371 
 
 whatever for the first part of this theory—that so far 
 from seeking the primacy, he as little desired as 
 expected it; accepted the appointment with a reluc¬ 
 tance which there is no reason to suspect; and 
 expressly foretold the rupture of his friendship with 
 the king. But here, again, probability as well as 
 testimony is against the ordinary belief. Becket 
 was at any rate well acquainted with the lives of 
 Lanfranc and Anselm,—better still with the troubles 
 of their successors,—and best of all with the character 
 of Henry. It is giving him little credit for the 
 foresight and calculation which should always accom¬ 
 pany ambition, to suppose that he anticipated a life 
 of easy power, where all his predecessors had found a 
 seat of thorns. Even had he deliberately resolved 
 to prove traitor to those spiritual principalities which 
 he must solemnly swear to serve, before obtaining 
 the means to serve another, he could scarcely have 
 reckoned upon the quiescence of pope or clergy; 
 the pope, whose anathema would leave him without 
 a subject or a friend; the clergy, whose revolt would 
 paralyze the favour of tlie king. There is no escape 
 from these difficulties, but in the natural hypothesis 
 that Becket was an honest man,—after the nature 
 of men,—neither a miracle of saintship, nor a prodigy 
 of wickedness ; but one of those strong, brave men, 
 to whom resistance is easier than servitude,—who 
 meet events as tliey come, without timid calculation, 
 though not without some anxious foresight,—who 
 may stoop to dissimulation for a moment, as a 
 soldier may step behind a tree to avoid a momentary 
 
372 
 
 DIFFICULTIES COMMENCE 
 
 danger too great for him to encounter, but who 
 scorns either to yield or ilee in the great, prolonged 
 battle of his life. 
 
 Bechet’s battle with the king began while the 
 latter was still in Normandy. The archbishop sent 
 over his resignation of the chancellorship. Notwith¬ 
 standing Prince Henry’s promise to the bishops, his 
 father betrayed his vexation and anger at this, by 
 requiring Bechet to resign also the archdeaconry 
 of Canterbury. Bechet complied,—-though not, it 
 appears, without some demur at this interference 
 with his ecclesiastical patronage. But he went on 
 to demand the restoration of estates alienated from 
 the see of Canterbury. The law was clearly in his 
 favour, and Fitzstephen states positively that he 
 had also obtained a license from the king. Never¬ 
 theless he was called upon to account, in the royal 
 courts, for having rejected the holders of these 
 manors and fee-farms. He refused to plead, except 
 where his right to the property was disputed ; alleging 
 that the estates thus resumed were notoriously his 
 own. The prosecution of these claims of course 
 brought him into collision with the nobility,—some 
 of whom, as envious courtiers, were already sufficiently 
 his enemies. One of them was Roger, Earl of Clerc, 
 whom Bechet called upon to do homage for Tun¬ 
 bridge, and with whose beautiful sister the king was 
 in love. He also claimed the custody of Rochester 
 Castle; and its possessor went over to Normandy,— 
 with many other malcontents, cleric as well as lay,— 
 to vent their complaints into the royal ear. But on 
 
BETWEEN HENRY AND BECKET. 
 
 873 
 
 Henry’s return to England at Christmas^ Becket, 
 with Prince Henry, met him at Southampton; and 
 the king was so gracious, even affectionate, to his old 
 favourite, that the complainants had to fall in with 
 the general shout of congratulation. 
 
 After spending a few days with the king at 
 Runnel, one of his own Kentish coast villages, 
 Becket set sail for Flanders, on his way to Tours, 
 where a general council had been called. Philip, 
 Earl of Flanders, with all the nobility of Normandy 
 and Maine, treated the archbishop with the most 
 cordial honour; and when he approached Tours, 
 the whole city ” went forth to meet him,—strangers 
 as well as citizens,—so that pope Alexander was 
 left with only two cardinals. He was lodged in a 
 royal castle, and treated by the court as their most 
 distinguished guest. The proceedings of the council 
 related chiefly to the sale of benefices and preferments ; 
 hut Becket found occasion to procure the confirma¬ 
 tion of privileges granted by former popes to the 
 church of Canterbury. Returning home, he found 
 the king still friendly; and concurred with him in 
 
 the translation of Gilbert Foliot from the see of 
 
 % 
 
 Hereford to that of London. The letter in which 
 Becket communicates this appointment shows his 
 estimation of the post and of the man :— 
 
 Thomas, by God’s grace humble minister of 
 
 THE CHURCH OF CANTERBURY, TO HIS VENERABLE 
 BROTHER Gilbert, by the same grace bishop 
 OF Hereford, health. 
 
 That the city of London surpasses in grandeur all 
 
874 
 
 INSTALLATION OF FOLIOT 
 
 the other cities of this kingdom is well known to all 
 of us^ my brother: for the business of the whole 
 realm is therein transacted; it is the residence of 
 the king^ and frequented more than any other by his 
 nobles. For this reason it is important that the 
 church of London, which has now lost its ruler, 
 should receive for its new bishop a man whose 
 personal merits, attainment in learning, and prudence 
 in managing public business, shall not be unworthy 
 of the dignity of that see. After much deliberation 
 in this matter, it is the unanimous opinion of the 
 clergy, the king, ourself, and the apostolic pontiif, 
 that the general welfare of the kingdom, and the 
 interest of the church, will best be promoted by your 
 being translated to exercise the pastoral care over 
 the diocese of London. . . . And I entreat of you, 
 my brother, that whereas you are hound to this by 
 virtue of your obedience to ourself, so you may be 
 led by your own inclinations to undertake the duty 
 of this important trust. Thus, not only sincere 
 affection, hut also proximity of place, will unite us 
 both in the same good work, to give one another 
 mutual assistance in ministeriqg to the necessities of 
 God’s church.” 
 
 Foliot appears to have hesitated,—and it would 
 appear that he refused to make the profession of 
 obedience to the primate required of him at transla¬ 
 tion. However this may he, Becket wrote another 
 and still more friendly letter,—mingling the highest 
 compliments with the most affectionate epithets,— 
 which may have been influential in overcoming his 
 
TO THE SEE OF LONDON. 
 
 3T5 
 
 objections. Certainly Becket acted in the matter 
 either with the mao^nanimitv which recognises merit 
 in an opponent, or with the wisdom which disarms 
 dislike by kindness. 
 
 The dedication of Beading Abbey, and the transla¬ 
 tion of the remains of Edward the Confessor from an 
 ordinary tomb to the famous shrine at Westminster, 
 were events of sufficient importance to add lustre to 
 the first year of Becket’s archiepiscopal reign. We 
 can imagine with what perfection of personal bearing 
 the most poetic of prelates would preside at those 
 festivals of religious pomp, which as far exceed in 
 mental effect all other pageants, as the sacred 
 structure which they filled with rapt spectators 
 exceeds in solemn beauty all other structures. In 
 the days when the stones whose very fragments now 
 fill us with admiring wonder were fresh built up 
 into the long-drawn aisle, and high - embowered 
 roof,—in the days when the bones of the Saxon king 
 were still of power to move the popular heart, and 
 of repute for power to draw down heavenly virtue,— 
 in the days when the abbey was the only safe refuge ' 
 for scholars from tlie anger of kings, and for serfs 
 from the famine created by their lords,—when the 
 floor of the church or the steps of the shrine was 
 the only spot at which the conqueror and the con¬ 
 quered could meet without pride or hate,—how must 
 these events, so dim or despicable to us, have looked 
 large and sunk deep. The Berkshire hind and the 
 London ’prentice would hardly think the genera¬ 
 tion that had seen such sights—though there had 
 
376 
 
 CONTINUED DIFEERENCES BETWEEN 
 
 been no murder of Becket^ and no conquest of Wales 
 or Ireland—unworthy an historian. 
 
 But the year was not yet out. In June, 1162, 
 the favour or policy of the king lifted an archdeacon 
 into the archiepiscopal chair;—in the spring of 1163, 
 the king and his archbishop openly disputed a 
 question of prerogative and common law. In a 
 council held at Woodstock, Henry endeavoured to 
 alter, among other things, the custom of paying to 
 sheriffs annually two shillings for every hide of land 
 in the county, as compensation for their services. 
 The king modestly proposed that this payment 
 should be transferred to the royal exchequer. The 
 council was astonished and offended,—but only the 
 archbishop dared to put the general feeling into 
 language. He respectfully represented that the 
 usage was not a compulsory one, but voluntary,—a 
 means of rewarding the sheriffs if they discharged 
 their duties satisfactorily, but of reprimanding them 
 if otherwise. He replied in anger, and with his 
 favourite oath— j)er octilos Dei —that the payment 
 should forthwith be enrolled among the royal dues ; 
 and that the archbishop had no right to oppose his 
 will in this respect. Becket rejoined with the same 
 adjuration, ^^None of the men on my estate shall 
 ever pay it as long as I am alive.” The king 
 appears to have withdrawn the provocation; “ but 
 immediately, began”—says the monk Grim—^Go 
 turn his anger against the clergy, because any obloquy 
 which he might throw on them would rebound more 
 especially on the archbishop as their head.” The 
 
THE KING AND ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 377 
 
 biographer evidently means to infer that the question 
 of jurisdiction,—or benefit of clergy,—would not 
 have been raised but for this prior quarrel between 
 the king and the primate. But there were not 
 wanting other causes of irritation. Becket had 
 bestowed the living of Eynesford, a parish in Kent, 
 upon one of his clerks, named Lawrence. But the 
 lord of the manor claimed also the right of nomina¬ 
 tion, and summarily enforced it by expelling the 
 curate and his servants^ Becket defended his clerk 
 by excommunicating the alleged patron,— who, 
 in turn, claimed protection of the king, as his feudal 
 lord. Thereupon Henry wrote to the archbishop, 
 requiring him to grant the Lord William absolution. 
 Becket demurred to this interference with his 
 spiritual authority; but usage required him to con¬ 
 sult the royal dignity by an appeal to the king 
 before excommunicating a tenant of the crown,—and 
 Henry refused to see the archbishop until absolution 
 had been granted. Becket complied—feeling, pro¬ 
 bably, that he had been too hasty; but the king, 
 though pacified, was not reconciled. There were 
 other cases in which Henry was clearly in the wrong, 
 —and in which Becket compelled him to do right. 
 Such were the vacant bishoprics of Hereford and 
 Worcester, which the king kept open, as his prede¬ 
 cessors had done, that the revenues might replenish 
 his exchequer. The archbishop could the better 
 remonstrate against this flagrant abuse of the pre¬ 
 rogative, because he had opposed himself to it as 
 chancellor; and the vacancies were reluctantly filled 
 
378 
 
 WEUE ECCLESIASTICS TO BE SUBJECT 
 
 up. And so the minds of these two strong men, 
 long sincere and cordial friends, were mutually 
 inflamed for the approaching encounter on a question 
 of great political magnitude. 
 
 The question was this—Were ecclesiastics accused 
 of crime to be subject to the ordinary tribunals? 
 There could he no doubt as to the law of the case. 
 They were explicitly excepted by the act of William 
 the Conqueror—an act at least equally binding upon 
 William’s successors with any of the prior usages of 
 English courts. But was it necessary, to the general 
 safety, or to the good estate of the church, that the 
 exception should cease ? It is usually taken for 
 granted, by Protestant writers, that the exception 
 was as pernicious in practice as it is certainly 
 contrary to the received principles of social economy. 
 It seems to be forgotten, that, in the ages of which 
 we write, the church was no less a distinct institu¬ 
 tion than the state,—that it is not just at any time 
 to deprive an institution of its vital functions, unless 
 you are prepared also to destroy its organic exist¬ 
 ence,—and that an institution or privilege, very 
 pernicious in one age, may be highly beneficial in 
 another. Now, without compromising our own belief 
 that the principle of state-churchism is at no time 
 consistent with the hest interests either of the 
 church or of the state, we must claim for the 
 principle the fair trial of its largest development, if 
 it is to he tried at all. Such a trial it could not 
 have, unless the members of a spiritual corporation 
 were protected from arrest by secular functionaries. 
 
TO THE ORDINARY TRIBUNALS? 379 
 
 in an age when the forms of justice were little but 
 the masks of private malice. Who can doubt that a 
 passionate despot, like Henry, and rude robber chiefs, 
 like his nobles, would have set at nought every 
 restraint which the church attempted to lay upon the 
 violence of their lusts, had the representatives of the 
 church enjoyed no spiritual protection? Nor can we 
 find it in our hearts to regret that, at a time when 
 barbarous mutilations were among the lesser penalties 
 of the law, there was a self-governed community 
 whose form of discipline anticipated the discoveries 
 of a century of vaunted philanthropy. Least of all 
 do we see any sufficient evidence that the state of 
 clerical morals at the middle of the twelfth century 
 was such as to require new modes of correction. 
 Admitting, in the absence of proof on either side, 
 the list of ‘^nearly a hundred homicides” com¬ 
 mitted by clerics within a few years previously to 
 be trustworthy,—it may he pleaded, first, that the 
 term ‘^cleric” embraced a host of church followers, 
 extending to all who could read a Latin sentence; 
 and, secondly, that the period in question had been 
 one of civil war, so ruthless as almost to amount to 
 anarchy. When, therefore, we come to the facts 
 now following, we must not judge of them in isola¬ 
 tion from the region in which they stand. 
 
 A priest of the diocese of Salisbury, accused of 
 manslaughter, denied the charge, and pleaded his 
 privilege. The bisliop put him on his trial, convicted 
 liim of the alleged offence, and his metropolitan 
 passed the usual sentence—deprivation of orders. 
 
380 COUNCIL AT WESTMINSTER. 
 
 and confinement for life in a monastery, under strict 
 penance. The next case had a different issue. 
 Philip de Brois, a canon of Bedford, accused of the 
 murder of a knight at Dunstable, was tried by the 
 bishop of London, and acquitted. But the sheriff— 
 having, it is alleged, a private quarrel against the 
 canon—cited him again before one of the king’s 
 itinerary justices; in whose presence the canon 
 complained of this persecution, in words that were 
 held to be seditious, or even treasonable. For this 
 new offence he was arraigned before the archbishop, 
 and pleaded guilty, making apology for his heat. 
 The king was so urgent for his punishment, that 
 the court condemned poor Philip to two years’ sus¬ 
 pension and banishment; and yet, say the chroni¬ 
 clers, the king was not satisfied.” Then came the 
 notorious case of the clerk alleged to have debauched 
 a young lady of Worcestershire, and murdered her 
 father. That he is not likely to have escaped lightly 
 if proved guilty we may judge from the next sentence 
 on record—that of a clerk “ deprived of his orders, 
 and branded into the bargain, to please the king,” 
 for having stolen a silver cup. These cases appear 
 to have happened in quick succession, and to have 
 reminded the king of one which occurred some years 
 previously; where no default of justice was imputed, 
 but an affront to the king’s dignity, and a loss to his 
 exchequer. The consequence of the present case was 
 the convocation of a council at Westminster, which the 
 bishops and abbots attended, in expectation of a deci¬ 
 sion on the vexed questions between the sees of Canter- 
 
THE king’s demand. 
 
 381 
 
 bury and York, recently revived by the Roger whose 
 appointment we have chronicled in passing. It was, 
 therefore, a disagreeable surprise to find that the 
 king intended a formal attack upon one of the most 
 cherished privileges of their order. It opened with 
 a complaint of the rapacity of the clergy, and an 
 assertion of his determination to maintain tranquillity 
 throughout the realm. Then came the demand of 
 assent to the proposal, that clerks convicted of or 
 confessing crime he delivered over to the royal court, 
 “ to receive corporal punishment without protection 
 from the church.” The archbishop of Canterhury, 
 being personally asked for his assent, requested an 
 adjournment of the council till next day, that he 
 might have time to deliberate. This was refused,— 
 and the bishops withdrew. They were disposed to 
 yield, and some of them even argued in favour of 
 suhmission, from the Mosaic law that offending 
 Levites were punished with death or mutilation. 
 To these the archbishop replied—The church cannot 
 permit a second punishment to be inflicted on her 
 offending sons without admitting the injustice of her 
 own sentence; besides which, the liberties of the 
 church are in our keeping, and it is incumbent on 
 us to guard them, or they will be subverted.” His 
 timid brethren then argued from their fears. No 
 danger will result to the church from the loss of her 
 liberties; let them perish at present, rather than 
 that we should all perish; let us do Avhat the king 
 requires, for our escape is cut oft', and there will be 
 no one to avenge our death.” The primate’s rejoinder 
 
S82 
 
 ANGER OF HENRY, 
 
 was an appeal to their trust in God and to their 
 consciences. “ We cannot be justified,” he con¬ 
 cluded, in exposing any one of our brethren to 
 death, since it is unlawful for us even to be present 
 at a trial of life and death.” Thus the fearful shep¬ 
 herds were persuaded or shamed into courage. Re¬ 
 entering the royal presence, they declared their duty 
 to the church forbade them to give unqualified assent 
 to the king’s demands. Shifting the form of attack, 
 Henry then demanded of them whether they would 
 in all things observe the ancient constitutions of the 
 realm. To this Becket readily answered, We will 
 in all things, saving always our own order.’^ The 
 question was put to each spiritual peer in turn, and 
 each, as if by preconcert, gave precisely the same 
 answer. Again the question was put to the arch¬ 
 bishop, and after him to the suffragans. This time 
 an exception to the unanimity was made by Hilary, 
 bishop of Chichester, who promised without reserva¬ 
 tion. But this, so far from conciliating the king, 
 drew forth his pent-up passion. He upbraided 
 Hilary, and dismissed the council; though none 
 of the matters for which it had been convoked 
 were accomplished. Becket himself rebuked the 
 peccant brother when they had retired to their 
 lodgings; and the night was no doubt spent in 
 anxiety. Next morning early the king left London 
 without seeing any of the bishops; and sent to 
 demand of Becket the surrender of all the castles 
 and other honours conferred upon him when 
 chancellor. 
 
AND SUBMISSION OF BECKET. 
 
 383 
 
 Embarrassing as this demand might prove, it was 
 probably not the chief source of anxiety to Becket. 
 His confidential friend, John of Salisbury, was 
 ordered to leave the kingdom; the bishops dispersed 
 to their sees in no cheerful mood; and his correspon¬ 
 dence soon acquainted him with intrigues against 
 him at home and abroad. Arnulf, bishop of Liseux, 
 had insidiously advised the king that, to overcome 
 the primate, he must detach from him the bishops. 
 They were privately assured that the king, while 
 bent upon a public and unreserved assent to his 
 claims, would promise to require nothing inconsistent 
 wdth canonical vows. Roger of York, Gilbert of 
 London, and Hilary of Chichester, readily withdrew 
 the obnoxious reservation, and expressed regret 
 that the primate had made a dissension about mere 
 words. Then the archbishop himself was plied with 
 arguments drawn from the king’s former kindness, 
 his present anger, and his assurances of respect for 
 church rights. Lastly, there came letters from the 
 pope and cardinals,—the result of Henry’s influence 
 at home,—authorizing and even exhorting him to 
 yield the points in dispute. No wonder that Becket, 
 —though he had other letters telling him that the 
 liars listened less to words than to gifts,—no w^onder 
 that the strong man, thus beset by feebleness 
 and craft, threw away, for the moment, his shield, 
 and made submission. Hurrying to Woodstock, he 
 withdrew in the king’s presence the reservation,— 
 “ saving always our own order.” The monarch, 
 who could be cool as well as passionate, relaxed 
 
384 
 
 SUBMISSION OF BECKET. 
 
 somewhat the coldness of his reception at this humble 
 submission,—but required that the archbishop’s sub¬ 
 mission should be as public as was his contumacy. 
 Another council was therefore convoked—the famous 
 Council of Clarendon. 
 
385 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. . 
 
 CONSTITUTIONS OF CLARENDON. 
 
 The place which has given its name to one of the 
 most famous events, and to some of the most cele¬ 
 brated men in English history, is the site of a royal 
 castle on the road from Salisbury to Winchester. 
 It was once easy of access to the royal voluptuary 
 from the Woodstock with which tradition associates 
 his name and that of the fair Eleanor, but not quite 
 so to the prelates and nobles who had to make their 
 way, along wet dark roads, in the dead of winter 
 (January, 1164), from various parts of the kingdom. 
 Becket, coming up from Canterbury, would pass from 
 within sight of the noble towers which Augustine 
 had founded and Lanfranc restored,—across a coun¬ 
 try owing as much of its culture to the science of 
 churchmen as to the industry of Saxon boors,—past 
 the fields in which he had himself gaily helped his 
 monks to get in the hay harvest, as one of the 
 chroniclers tells us, over bridges that might never 
 have been built but for the neighbouring church or 
 monastery, — and beneath castles whose martial 
 holders were the enemies alike of priest and people. 
 
 Gilbert, too, from the London which he sought to 
 
 s 
 
386 
 
 THE ASSEMBLY MEETS. 
 
 raise to an ecclesiastical eminence worthy of its social 
 rank,—Roger, from the northern cradle of English 
 kingship and episcopacy,—the bishops of Hereford 
 and Bristol, from the one extremity of England, and 
 of Norwich and Ely from the other, could scarcely 
 fail to read in the physical features of the country 
 through which they toilfully journeyed at the sum¬ 
 mons of their imperious sovereign, testimonies to the 
 influence of their order ” upon the improving 
 fortunes of the realm to whose ancient laws they 
 were counted enemies. Whatever their musings, 
 several days had passed over the one appointed, 
 before the council was fully assembled. 
 
 The slight and confused relations of this memora¬ 
 ble parliament, supplied to us by the chroniclers, 
 present a curious picture of legislation in that age 
 of imperfect civilization as well as of imperfect 
 freedom. Some time on the first day, the archbishop 
 declared himself ignorant as to what were the consti¬ 
 tutions he was required to observe; and suggested 
 that the elders of the assembly should he called upon 
 to state them. The evening came on before any¬ 
 thing definite had been done. Next day the elders 
 commenced their recitations — some of which are 
 characterized by Becket’s secretary, Herbert de 
 Bosham, as invented and brought forward through 
 hatred of the archbishop, by the malice of his enemies, 
 to enslave the church.” It would appear that the 
 purport of the constitutions thus delivered was,— 
 to deprive the church courts of the power of decision 
 in cases affecting the rights of widows and orphans. 
 
THE CONSTITUTIONS. 
 
 38T 
 
 and the patronage of livings; to forbid appeals to 
 the pope, and excommunication of the king’s tenants- 
 in-chief without license; to remove the trial of clerics 
 to the secular tribunals; and to prevent any one, 
 ecclesiastic or layman, from crossing the sea without 
 the king’s permission. On these, and other regula¬ 
 tions, infringing the liberty of English subjects as 
 well as the privileges of the church, Becket com¬ 
 mented as they were proposodr And so the second 
 day wore to an end. 
 
 On the third day, th'^*"recapitulation being com- 
 plete, it was resolved to reduce the whole to writing, 
 and signed by the archbishop and others present, 
 in order,” said the king, to prevent any further 
 misunderstandings from' arising at any future time : 
 let the elders of the kingdom, therefore, withdraw at 
 once, with my clerks, and again return with these 
 laws reduced to writing.” There are various read¬ 
 ings of the result of this amusing hut simple pro¬ 
 cess of legislation; and while the scribes and elders 
 are at their task, we may peruse for ourselves the 
 record preserved in one of Becket’s biographies :— 
 
 “ I. If any controversy concerning the advow'son 
 and presentation of churches arise between laics, or 
 between clerics and laics, or between clerics only, it 
 is to be tried and determined in the king’s court. 
 
 ‘‘ TI. Churches belonging to the king’s fee cannot 
 be granted in perpetuity without his assent and 
 consent. 
 
 III. Clerics aiTaigned and accused of any 
 
 matter wliatsoever, being summoned by the king’s 
 
 s 2 
 
388 
 
 THE CONSTITUTIONS. 
 
 justice, shall come into his court, there to answer on 
 whatever point it shall seem proper to the king’s 
 court to require an answer : provided alway, that 
 the king’s justice shall send to the court of holy 
 church to see in what manner the matter is there to 
 be handled. And in case a cleric is found or pleads 
 guilty, he is no longer to be screened by the church. 
 
 “ IV. No archbishops, bishops, or parsons of the 
 kingdom are allowed to depart the same without 
 license of the king; and if they should have permis¬ 
 sion of the king to go abroad, they shall give security 
 that neither in going or staying they will procure 
 any evil or damage to the king or the kingdom. 
 
 V. Excommunicated persons shall not be bound 
 to give security or take oath to remain where they 
 are, but only security and pledge to stand to the 
 judgment of the church, in order to their absolution. 
 
 VI. Laics ought not to be accused but by certain 
 specified and legal accusers and witnesses, and that 
 in the bishop’s presence; yet so that the archdeacon 
 may not lose his right nor any advantage which he 
 ought to have from thence; and if the accused 
 parties be such that none either will or dare accuse 
 them, the sheriff, being required thereto by the 
 bishop, shall cause twelve legally qualified men of 
 the vicarage or town to be sworn before the bishop, 
 that they will try out the truth according to their 
 conscience. 
 
 “ VII. No man who holds of the king m capite, 
 nor any of his chief ministers, is to be excommuni¬ 
 cated nor the lands of any such laid under interdict. 
 
THE CONSTITUTIONS. 
 
 389 
 
 unless the king (if he be in the land), or (if he be 
 abroad) his justice, he first consulted, that he may 
 see justice done upon him: and so that whatever 
 shall pertain to the king’s court may be determined 
 there, and that which belongs to the ecclesiastical 
 court may be remitted to the same, to be there 
 dispatched. 
 
 VIII. Appeals, when they arise, ought to be 
 made from the archdeacon to the bishop, and from 
 the bishop to the archbishop; and if the archbishop 
 shall fail to do justice, recourse is to be had lastly 
 to the king, that by his precept the controversy may 
 be determined in the archbishop’s court, with the 
 understanding that it must not proceed further 
 without leave of the lord king. 
 
 IX. If any difference arise between a cleric and 
 a laic, or between a laic and a cleric, concerning any 
 tenement which the cleric pretendeth is held by 
 frank-almoigne, but the laic contends to be a lay-fee, 
 it shall be determined by the verdict of twelve 
 legally qualified men, according to the custom of the 
 king’s court, and in the presence of his justice, 
 whether the tenement belongeth to frank-almoigne 
 or to the lay-fee. And if it be found to belong to 
 frank-almoigne, the plea shall be had in the ecclesi¬ 
 astical court; hut if to the lay-fee, the plea shall be 
 in the king’s court, unless both parties claim to hold 
 of the same bishop or baron. But if each shall claim 
 to hold of the same bishop or baron, the plea shall 
 be in his court; yet, with this further proviso, that 
 he who was first seized of the thing in controversy. 
 
390 
 
 THE CONSTITUTIONS. 
 
 shall not lose his seizin pending the trial because of 
 the verdict above-mentioned. 
 
 X. Whosoever is an inhabitant of any city, 
 castle, borough, or any demesne lands of the lord 
 king, if he shall be cited by the archdeacon or 
 bishop, concerning any fault about which he ought 
 to answer them, and will not obey their citation, 
 it shall be lawful to put him under an interdict; but 
 he ought not to be excommunicated before the king’s 
 chief officer of that town be made acquainted with 
 the case, so that he may cause him to give satisfac¬ 
 tion. And if such officer shall fail therein, he shall 
 be in the mercy of the king, and then the bishop 
 may averce the party accused by ecclesiastical 
 process. 
 
 XI. Archbishops, bishops, and all other ecclesi¬ 
 astical persons in the kingdom who hold of the king 
 in capite, may enjoy their possessions of our lord 
 the king as a barony, and, for that reason, are to 
 answer to the king’s justices and ministers, and to 
 follow and perform all royal rights and customs, and, 
 like other barons, ought to appear at trials in the 
 king’s court, till they come to pronouncing sentence 
 of death or loss of members. 
 
 XII. When an archbishopric, bishopric, abbacy, 
 or priory, in the gift of the lord king shall be vacant, 
 it ought to remain in his hands, and he to receive 
 the rents and issues thereof, as of his demesnes. 
 And when he pleases to provide for that church, the 
 lord king ought to send for the chief persons of that 
 church, and the election ought to be made in the 
 
THE CONSTITUTIONS. 
 
 391 
 
 king’s chapel, with the assent of the king, and ^vith 
 the advice of such persons of his realm as he shall 
 call thereto; and the person elect shall there, before 
 his consecration, do homage and fealty to the king 
 as liege lord of his life, and members, and earthly 
 honour, saving his order. 
 
 XIII. If any of the great men of the kingdom 
 shall refuse to do justice to our archbishop, or a 
 bishop, or an archdeacon, either for him or his 
 tenants, the king is to adjudicate. And if perchance 
 any one shall refuse the lord king his right, the 
 archbishop, or bishops and archdeacons are to call 
 him to account, that they may make satisfaction to 
 the lord king. 
 
 XIV. The chattels of those who are under the 
 king’s forfeiture may not be detained in any church 
 or churchyard against the king’s justice, because 
 they are the king’s own, whether they be found 
 within the church and its precincts or without it. 
 
 XV. Pleas concerning debts, which are owing 
 upon troth-plight, or without troth-plight, are to he 
 within the cognizance of the lord king. 
 
 XVI. The sons of peasants ought not to he 
 ordained without the consent of the lord on whose 
 land they are known to be born.” 
 
 When the instrument thus prepared was presented 
 to the archbishop, first, for his signature, he declared 
 instantly, By God Almighty, no seal of mine shall 
 ever be affixed to constitutions such as those.” This 
 declaration, notwithstanding his private profession 
 to the king, could hardly have taken the council by 
 
S92 
 
 SUBMISSION OF BECKET 
 
 surprise,—seeing that the archbishop had continually 
 dissented from the rendering put upon that promise; 
 and that a pledge of general obedience differs widely 
 from the ratification of a specific instrument. He 
 in fact appears to have accused the king of breaking 
 faith with him, by giving this shape—at once exact 
 and comprehensive—to an understanding which was 
 undoubtedly intended by both parties to save the 
 king’s pride, without formally relinquishing the 
 privileges of the church. This is none the less 
 probable from the king’s withdrawing in anger; and 
 it is confirmed by a letter, written long after, in 
 w’hich Gilbert Foliot sharply rebukes the archbishop 
 for not having maintained this ground, when all the 
 bishops were ready to stand or fall at his side. 
 
 Who could he more unanimous than we ?” writes 
 Foliot. We were all shut up in one chamber, and 
 on the third day the princes and nobles of the 
 kingdom, bursting into fury, entered the conclave, 
 where we sat, threw back their cloaks, and holding 
 forth their hands to us, exclaimed, ‘ Listen, ye who 
 set at nought the king’s statistics, and obey not his 
 commands. These hands, these arms, these bodies 
 of ours, are not ours, but king Henry’s; and they 
 are ready at his nod to avenge his wrongs, and to 
 work his will, whatever it may he. Whatever are 
 his commands, they will be law and justice in our 
 eyes; retract these counsels, then, and bend to his 
 will, that you may avoid the danger before it is too 
 late.’ ” The substantial worth of this part of the 
 relation is confirmed by the monkish biographers. 
 
TO THE CONSTITUTIONS. 
 
 393 
 
 who all agree in representing that the bishops were 
 alternately menaced and entreated by the barons. 
 But Foliot goes on to recall that Becket, to the 
 astonishment, sorrow, and indignation of his brethren, 
 was the first to propose a seeming submission. His 
 lordship of Canterbury himself withdrew from our 
 fraternity, and from our determination; and after 
 holding counsel with himself alone, he returned to 
 us and said aloud, ^ It is God’s will that I should 
 perjure myself; for the present I submit and incur 
 perjury to repent of it hereafter as I best may.’ 
 
 It is incredible that Becket should have announced 
 in these words a resolution taken under such circum¬ 
 stances ; and it is not clear that he did sign the 
 constitutions. Roger de Pontigny describes him as 
 departing from the council with these words,—a 
 copy of the document having been given him :—I 
 accept this, not consenting, nor approving, hut for 
 caution, and for defence of the church, that by this 
 document we may know what it is that we must 
 act against.” 
 
 But whatever the degree to which Becket sufiered 
 his resolution or his integrity to be overborne, his 
 humiliation and grief could hardly have been ex¬ 
 ceeded. Returning from Clarendon to Winchester, 
 for the last time, he rode on before his company, 
 dejected and alone. He overheard his cross-bearer, 
 Edward Guin, a stout Saxon monk, deploring that 
 so great a pillar of the church had been shaken; 
 and his secretary Herbert ventured to address him 
 with words of consolation. Then tlie brave heart 
 
394 
 
 HIS HUMILIATION. 
 
 broke into a lament of self-reproaches. I cannot 
 help fancying,’^ he is reported to have said, that 
 my sins are the cause why the Church of England is 
 thus reduced to bondage. ... I was taken from the 
 court to fill this station; not from the cloister, nor 
 from a religious house, nor from a school of the 
 Saviour, but from the palace of Csesar—a proud 
 and vain man. I was a feeder of birds, and I was 
 suddenly made a feeder of men. I was a patron of 
 stage plays and a follower of hounds, and I became 
 a shepherd over so many souls. ... I am given over 
 by God, and unworthy even to be ejected from the 
 hallowed see in which I have been placed.” And 
 so with weeping eyes, the great man who had lately 
 filled Christendom with the favour of his magnificence 
 and power, journeyed to the nearest city of the king¬ 
 dom which had suddenly become his prison. For the 
 neAv constitutions forbade even self-expatriation to 
 the unhappy victims of a double allegiance. 
 
395 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 COUNCIL OF NORTHAMPTON. 
 
 From Winchester the archbishop sent a messenger 
 to the pope, at Sens. During the forty days of his 
 absence, Becket desisted from officiating at the altar, 
 humbled himself in the sight of the congregation, 
 and performed private penance, as an acknowledg¬ 
 ment of his faults, in having weakly promised at 
 Woodstock what he dared not perform at Clarendon. 
 For this fault, the pontiff sent him pleasing absolution, 
 professed much sympathy for his trials, and encouraged 
 him to bear up with confidence. For some purpose 
 which does not clearly appear, the archbishop, on his 
 journey home, turned off to Woodstock; but the king 
 would not see him, and he went on to Canterbury 
 with the resolution of leaving the kingdom. For 
 this resolution he has been violently reproached by 
 historians, as showing a lawless and coward spirit. 
 But surely a man is not morally bound by a new and 
 arbitrary enactment, to which he has either refused his 
 consent, or given it under coercion—least of all,when 
 death may be the consequence of obedience. There 
 may have been no truth in the report made to him 
 that his life would be taken if he continued to oppose 
 
396 
 
 BECKET IN DISGRACE. 
 
 the king’s wishes—but such a report was certainly 
 current, and was not of a nature to be scrutinized. 
 We can see nothing dishonourable, therefore, in his 
 rising at midnight, stealing forth with only two 
 attendants, making for one of his manors on the 
 coast,—according to Fitzstephen, that village of 
 Rumeneye where he had entertained the king but 
 twelve months before,—and embarking in an open 
 boat for France. We sympathize with his anxious 
 fear and disappointment when the adverse wind com¬ 
 pels him to debark, wFile it is yet dawn, on the 
 Kentish coast,—when a second time he puts out to 
 sea, and is driven back,—and when, baffled and 
 broken-spirited, he returns to Canterbury in the dusk. 
 One of the tAvo attendants, “ a clerk,” had returned 
 as soon as his master had embarked, and had endea¬ 
 voured to prevent the servants from breaking up the 
 household Avhen they found that their lord had dis¬ 
 appeared. This clerk sat up late, talking of the 
 archbishop’s perils, perhaps half expecting his return. 
 At length he bade a servant shut the outer door of 
 the court, and get to bed. The man returned in 
 affright, Avith a lighted candle, saying he had seen the 
 archbishop crouched in one of the corners of the court. 
 So it proved. And the archbishop, calling the monks 
 together, explained to them how God had defeated 
 his purpose. Next morning, they Avould see a 
 merciful intent in that defeat; for at daybreak 
 there appeared at the palace royal offlcers, Avho said 
 that they had heard of the archbishop’s flight, and 
 were come to confiscate his possessions—but Avho 
 
BECKET IN DISGRACE. 
 
 397 
 
 retired in confusion at his presence. To improve 
 the effect of this unexpected turn in his favour, 
 Becket went again to Woodstock. The king admitted 
 him to an interview,—hut the tone of one of his 
 speeches sufficiently explains why nothing resulted. 
 
 So, my lord,” said his pleasant majesty, you wish 
 to leave the kingdom: I suppose it is not large enough 
 to hold both you and me.” 
 
 The bishop of Evreux, acting as mediator, was 
 more successful. He went to the king at Porchester 
 Castle, whither the court had removed from Wood- 
 stock, and drew from the king a hasty hut definite 
 declaration : It is in vain to talk on this subject, my 
 lord bishop; there is hut one way to make peace 
 between us, which is this—that both you and the 
 archbishop shall do your best to procure the ratifica¬ 
 tion of the pope to my constitutions.” The bishop 
 instantly set off to Becket, and urged him, with 
 obvious arguments, to accept this means of shifting 
 the responsibility of the struggle upon the pontiff. 
 Becket complied—not doubting that the pope would 
 refuse his ratification. But already there were letters 
 on the road from Sens, which too clearly warned the 
 primate of desertion by the worthless courtezan of 
 ease and wealth whom he had mistaken for the faith¬ 
 ful spouse of Christ. About Easter, the antipope, 
 Octavian, died. Alexander was therefore able to 
 mount tlie papal throne in independence of the 
 English or any other king. But this did but protract 
 the negotiations already on foot. At Rome, as at 
 Sens,—when sole sovereign of Christendom as when 
 
398 
 
 COUNCIL OF NORTHAMPTON. 
 
 but a rival bishop^—the pope was ready to sell every 
 privilege of the Church of England, every prerogative 
 of the church of Canterbury, and even the life of its 
 too devoted pastor. 
 
 But before this catastrophe could he accomplished, 
 there were two or three acts of the tragedy to be 
 enacted. The king summoned a council at North¬ 
 ampton, the object of which illustrates the judicial as 
 w^ell as legislative character of these assemblies. It 
 was to try the archbishop on charges of malversation 
 as chancellor, and of disobedience to the king’s 
 summons at the suit of one John Marshel. The 
 council was convoked for Tuesday, October 6, 1164. 
 The place of assembly was in itself an indication of 
 Henry’s determination to crush his old friend and 
 servant—so distant w^as Northampton, in those days, 
 from Becket’s own land and people. But this very 
 circumstance the heroic priest turned into an oppor¬ 
 tunity of moral triumph. He presented himself, with 
 his attendant monks, on the very day appointed. The 
 king loitered so long on the road —hawking along 
 every river and stream he came to ”—that it w^as night 
 before he reached the town. The archbishop lodged 
 in the monastery of St. Andrew’s, and rose betimes 
 to hear mass. He then repaired to the royal castle, 
 and entered the great hall—which Fitz Stephen men¬ 
 tions as the first apartment.” When the king came 
 in from prayers, Becket rose, and bowing to him 
 with a cheerful countenance,” stood ready to salute 
 him with the kiss of peace. Henry evaded this usual 
 courtesy ; but listened to the archbishop’s complaint. 
 
IMPEACHMENT OF BECKET. 
 
 399 
 
 that one of the barons had occupied the house allotted 
 to himself, and gave orders that it should be resigned 
 to the primate’s party. The archbishop then referred 
 to the first ostensible business of the council, and 
 explained why he had not personally obtained a 
 summons to appear in the king’s court on a church 
 festival, on the writ procured by his Majesty’s retainer, 
 John Marshel. It was in consequence of this neglect 
 that he had been summoned, through the sheriff of 
 Kent, to attend this council. But Marshel himself 
 had not arrived—being detained, the king said, by his 
 business in the court of exchequer at London ; and 
 so the archbishop was excused from further attend¬ 
 ance that day. 
 
 On Thursday, there was a very full attendance at 
 the council. All the temporal peers were assembled, 
 and all the bishops, except the bishop of Bochester, 
 and another whose name is not mentioned.” The 
 archbishop was then formally accused of treason, in 
 that he had, without any valid excuse, and in viola¬ 
 tion of his oath of fealty and homage, neglected to 
 attend on the king’s summons. His defence was 
 overruled, and the king demanded immediate judg¬ 
 ment against him. But it was necessary that some 
 one should pronounce the sentence of confiscation of 
 all goods and moveables, subject to the king’s mercy ; 
 and this the barons and bishops alike evaded — 
 the latter pleading that they could not pass sentence 
 on their lord, and the former that they could not 
 pass sentence on an ecclesiastic. The king angrily 
 interposed, and commanded Henry of Winchester to 
 
400 
 
 CHARGES BROUGHT AGAINST 
 
 pronounce the sentence. The archbishop bowed in 
 silence, and his suffragans—all except Gilbert Foliot 
 -—volunteered their pledge for his submission. To 
 those near him, the archbishop said, Though I hold 
 my tongue, posterity will speak for me, and exclaim 
 against this iniquitous condemnation.^’ His appeal 
 has not been in vain—for no one can deny the harsh¬ 
 ness of thus punishing a merely technical and probably 
 frequent omission; seeing that Becket had made an 
 appearance to the summons by four knights, bearing 
 letters, and therefore no indignity could have been 
 intended. But still more has posterity exclaimed 
 against the proceedings that followed, as absolutely 
 and necessarily unjust. He was next charged with 
 not having accounted for three hundred pounds, 
 received by him as warden of the castles of Eye and 
 Berkhampstead. He replied, that he was under no 
 obligation to answer a charge not included in the 
 summons on which he attended the council, but that 
 he had spent much more than the money in question 
 upon repairs of the king’s castles and palaces. The 
 king denied that he had authorized this expenditure, 
 and demanded judgment. But the archbishop pre¬ 
 vented another act of oppression under the form of 
 justice, by saying that no question of money should 
 ever lie between him and his sovereign. He obtained 
 security, from the Earl of Gloucester and others in 
 the council—one of them the William of Eynesford 
 whom he had excommunicated—for the payment of 
 the money on the king’s demand. And the council 
 adjourned till the morning. 
 
THE ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 401 
 
 Before the re-opening of the courts the archbishop 
 was informed that a claim would he made upon him 
 for five hundred marks, lent him during the war in 
 France, and for another five hundred advanced by a 
 Jew on the king’s surety. In addition to the claim 
 for these sums—which he admitted to have received, 
 but as gifts—he was called upon to account for the 
 proceeds of the archbishopric while vacant, and of 
 the bishoprics and abbacies in his charge while chan¬ 
 cellor. He of course denied his liability to meet these 
 calls without notice; but promised to do so at another 
 time and place. But even the request for a short 
 delay to confer with his clerks and friends was refused, 
 and instant judgment demanded. The council en¬ 
 deavoured to save him from condemnation by suggest¬ 
 ing that he should find surety for the payment. This 
 he declined to do, as unworthy of the king to ask and 
 of himself to obtain, seeing that his estates were of 
 notoriously greater value than the sums demanded. 
 But he was reminded that all his personal property 
 had been already confiscated,—and some one added, 
 he must therefore find bail, or remain a prisoner. 
 There were five men in the council generous enough 
 to shame both their king and their peers, by offering 
 to become bound for the archbishop in a hundred 
 marks each. But the barons, as a whole, ceased 
 from that moment to pay him the usual respect, look¬ 
 ing upon him as doomed to destruction. There were 
 but few \dsitors at his lodgings that evening. 
 
 But early on Saturday morning—the fourth day of 
 the council—all the spiritual peers assembled there 
 
402 
 
 ADVICE OF THE BISHOPS 
 
 to consult with him on what should be done. Henry 
 of Winchester^ who already figures in this history for 
 wisdom^ now proved also his munificence^ by offering 
 to pay the king two thousand marks if he would 
 abandon the prosecution. Henry was too bent upon 
 the gratification of his revenge to listen either to his 
 avarice, or to the almost filial duty he owed to the 
 aged prelate. The offer was refused—and the council 
 proceeded to try the charge respecting vacant bishop¬ 
 rics and abbacies. The archbishop asked for an op¬ 
 portunity of separate consultation with his sufii'agans ; 
 and this was afforded him—but not till the king had 
 ordered the gates of the castle to be locked. Not¬ 
 withstanding that the archbishop was thus already a 
 prisoner, Henry of Winchester counselled him to 
 resist—declaring that no one could charge him with 
 a single dishonourable act, and reminding his brethren 
 that not only had the chancellor been delivered over 
 freely to the church, but that when a monk was 
 taken from one abbey to preside over another, a simi¬ 
 lar act of indemnity was always given. But Hilary 
 of Chichester did not even dissemble his base wishes. 
 
 Would to God,” he said to the primate, you were 
 not the archbishop, but plain Thomas Becket. You 
 must know the king better than we, because you 
 were so intimate with him formerly, but it appears to 
 us there is no doubt of his meaning. Who can be 
 expected to become surety for you to an uncertain, 
 and perhaps a most ruinous amount? The king is 
 reported to have said that either he or you must 
 resign; it is better, therefore, to throw yourself en- 
 
AS TO BECKET’s conduct. 
 
 403 
 
 tirely on his mercy.To this craven counsel the 
 crafty Foliot added—Perhaps the king would recom¬ 
 pense your humility by giving you back again your 
 see.” Becket replied with contemptuous curtness : 
 
 It is enough : your opinion is evident, and so are 
 your motives.” Robert of Lincoln, who had a reputa¬ 
 tion for outspoken common sense,—which in priests 
 is practical atheism,—said bluntly, It seems to me 
 that this man^s life is in danger, and that he will lose 
 it or his bishopric: what good his bishopric will do 
 him if he loses his life, I do not clearlv see.” Bar- 
 tholomew of Exeter probably remembered to have 
 read in the Gospel, at mass, Quid enim prodest 
 cuipiam si totum mundum lucratus fuerit, anima vero 
 sua mulctatur ? aut quam dabit quispiam compensa- 
 tionem animse suse ?”* But he may also have re¬ 
 membered and applied another text: “Vos nihil scitis 
 nec cogitatis conducere nobis ut unus homo moriatur 
 pro populo, et tota gens non pereat;”t for he was 
 not ashamed to say, almost in the words of Caiaphas, 
 “ It is better for an individual to he in jeopardy than 
 for the whole church to suffer.” Roger of \Yorcester, 
 a brother of the king’s, contrived to combine candour 
 wdth silence, thus—“ If I say that we have received the 
 care of souls to resign it at the king’s bidding, I shall 
 speak against my conscience, and be guilty of my 
 own damnation; if, on the other hand, I advise to 
 resist the king, there are plenty of his men who will 
 hear me, and will carry word to the king, and I shall 
 be treated like a public enemy: I have made up my 
 
 t St. John xi. 49, 50. 
 
 * St. Matthew xvi. 25. 
 
404 
 
 becket’s adherents 
 
 mind, therefore, to say neither the one nor the other.” 
 Only the venerable Henry of Winchester had the 
 courage to characterize these speeches as shameful 
 and pernicious. If our archbishop,” said he— 
 resuming the whole argument in a sentence—if the 
 primate of all England shall set us the example of 
 resigning the cure of souls committed to his charge at 
 the beck and nod of a temporal sovereign, what will 
 become of the whole church ? There will be no more 
 regard paid to rights and privileges ; but anarchy 
 will ensue, and the priest will be no better than the 
 people.” Thus unable to arrive at an agreement, the 
 archbishop sent for two of his friends among the 
 nobility who were with the king. To them he stated 
 the wish of his brethren for an adjournment, pro¬ 
 mising when the council re-opened to be ready with 
 an answer. The bishops of London and Rochester 
 were appointed to carry this message to the king. 
 The former, however, made it appear that the arch¬ 
 bishop wanted only a little delay in order to prepare 
 for submission. With this understanding, the king 
 granted an adjournment. But when the two earls 
 returned and reported the condition annexed, Becket 
 indignantly disclaimed it. The council broke up in 
 confusion,—and even the knights who had yesterday, 
 as heretofore, dined with the archbishop, were now 
 afraid to be seen in his company. The archbishop 
 therefore sent out his servants to call in the monks 
 and the poor of the city, and so filled his table, as he 
 said, with a new order of customers, that would not 
 so readily desert. 
 
GRADUALLY DESERT HIM. 
 
 405 
 
 The next day being Sunday, the archbishop and 
 his remaining adherents did not leave their lodgings; 
 and on the Monday, he was too ill to leave his bed. 
 The king thought, or affected to think, his illness a 
 deception,—but the earls of Leicester and Cornwall 
 went to visit him. They found him really unable to 
 move,—the complaint (one to which he was liable) 
 attacking his loins and legs ; but he assured them he 
 would attend the council next day, even if carried 
 thither in a litter. In the morning he was better, 
 and able to rise early to a third mass. He ordered 
 the introit from the office for St. Stephen, beginning 
 with the words, Princes sat together against me.” 
 The courtiers present took care to inform the king of 
 this,—and others remembered that this very day was 
 the centenary of William’s invasion of England. 
 Becket himself seems to have shared the presentiment 
 of signal danger, for he secretly carried with him a 
 piece of consecrated bread. The bishops met him 
 again at his lodgings, and he addressed to them a 
 speech which is thus reported :—My brethren, our 
 enemies, as you perceive, are pressing upon us, and 
 the whole world is against us ; but my chief sorrow is, 
 that you, who are the sons of my mother, do not take 
 my part. Though I were to say nothing, yet all 
 future ages will declare that you deserted me in the 
 battle, me, your father and archbishop, sinner though 
 I am, and for two whole days you sat as judges over 
 me, and were a mote in my eye, and a goad in my 
 sides,—you, who ought to have taken part with me 
 against my enemies. And, I doubt not, from the 
 
406 
 
 REPLY OF BECKET. 
 
 words which have dropped from you, that you 
 would sit as judges over me in criminal causes, as 
 you have already done in civil matters, before this 
 secular tribunal. But I now enjoin you all, in virtue 
 of your obedience, and in peril of your orders, not to 
 be present in any cause which may be moved against 
 my person; and to prevent you from doing so, I 
 appeal to that refuge of the distressed, the holy 
 Roman see. Moreover, if, as I have heard it in¬ 
 timated, and, indeed, as is already reported publicly, 
 the secular authority should lay violent hands upon 
 me, I command you, by virtue of your obedience, to 
 put forth the censures of the church in behalf of your 
 father and your archbishop. For be assured of one 
 thing, though enemies shall press hard upon me, and 
 the world itself be against me, though this frail body 
 yield to their persecution, because all flesh is weak, 
 yet shall my spirit never yield, nor will I ever, by 
 God’s mercy, turn my back in flight, nor basely 
 desert the flock committed to my care.” 
 
 Gilbert Foliot alone had the craven courage to an¬ 
 swer this moving appeal and injunction, while Joceline 
 of Salisbury joined with Henry of Winchester,in com¬ 
 forting and encouraging the man who seemed, as he 
 mounted his horse to go to the council, to be riding 
 to his own destruction. He had at first thought of 
 walking from his house to the castle, barefooted, 
 carrying his cross, and of kneeling at the king’s feet 
 in supplication for the liberties of the church. But 
 this singular spectacle was prevented by the remon¬ 
 strances of his friends. Even as he rode along, he 
 
ANGER OF THE KING. 
 
 407 
 
 regretted to his crossbearer that he had been dissuaded 
 from his first intention. It can hardly be said, there¬ 
 fore, that the scene which did ensue, and which is 
 familiar to all readers of English history, as the arro¬ 
 gant priest flouting with mitre and cross the crown 
 and sceptre,—it can hardly be said that the scene 
 thus interpreted was arranged in policy, or instigated 
 by passion. He had laid aside his mitre and pall 
 after mass, and it does not appear that he had resumed 
 them. On reaching the castle, he took the archi- 
 episcopal cross into his own hands. In the hall were 
 some of the bishops, who would—either out of re¬ 
 spect, or regarding it as a sign of obstinacy—have 
 taken it from him. He declined, calling it his banner 
 and his swmrd. The bishops therefore left him, and 
 went into an upper chamber, whither the king had 
 retired on Becket’s arrival. Among these was Roger 
 of York, preceded by his crossbearer, though for¬ 
 bidden to carry that ensign of supremacy in the pro¬ 
 vince of Canterbury. They informed the king of the 
 commands which their archbishop had laid upon them, 
 and of his appeal to the pope. At this he became 
 furious, and sent out some of the barons to demand 
 his instant, unqualified submission. They appear to 
 have done their office mildly, for [he replied to them 
 with a temperate statement of his position, though 
 reiterating his appeal to the pope. Thus silenced in 
 argument, some of them began to talk, so that he 
 could overhear, of the cruel punishments which had 
 been inflicted on Stigand and other rebellious prelates. 
 But when the king demanded sentence, he found that 
 
408 
 
 APPEAL OF THE BISHOPS. 
 
 Becket’s cross had really struck a heavy blow at his 
 sword. The bishops pleaded that they dare not dis¬ 
 obey their primate’s prohibition. Roger of York 
 called to his clerks to he off, but one of them. Master 
 Robert Grandis, refused to leave his lordship of 
 Canterbury, who could lose his life in no better cause. 
 Bartholomew of Exeter implored the archbishop on 
 his knees to save them from the decree which had 
 gone forth against all who adhered to him as enemies 
 of the state. The bishops of Salisbury and Norwich 
 added their entreaties—as well they might, having 
 been threatened with an act of barbarity which made 
 Norwich say, he would gladly have been a paralytic 
 like his brother of Ely. These Becket advised to 
 flee. But meanwhile, some others of the bishops had 
 been making a compromise with the king. They 
 offered to appeal to the pope against their archbishop 
 on the ground that he had sworn to obey, though he 
 refused to sign, those statutes of Clarendon which he 
 now contravened by his appeal to the pope. One 
 would have thought that their appeal would have 
 been equally unlawful with his, hut that does not 
 seem to have been suggested. When they presented 
 themselves to Becket, and threw off his allegiance, and 
 summoned him before the pope, he calmly reminded 
 them that not only had his promise been conditional, 
 hut that the constitutions were not binding on them 
 till ratified by the pope, who had in fact disallowed 
 the most objectionable. The bishops again withdrew 
 to the council. Presently the barons came out in a 
 body—and the earls of Leicester and Cornwall, who 
 
INSULTS OFFERED TO BECKET. 
 
 409 
 
 appear to have been faithful mediators throughout, 
 approached the archbishop to inform him of the 
 judgment of the court as to the revenue of vacant 
 sees formerly in his care. Becket interrupted them, 
 demanding whether Prince Henry had not expressly 
 freed him from all civil obligations, and whether he 
 ■was hound to hear judgment when he had not 
 received notice of trial. The earls intimated that 
 the bishop of London had prepared them for a very 
 different reception; and after a little private delibe¬ 
 ration, requested the archbishop to wait till they had 
 had another interview with the king. “ Am I then 
 a prisoner?” he asked. ^“^By St. Lazarus, no,” an¬ 
 swered Leicester. Then hear but one word more, 
 my son,” said the archbishop : “ I decline to receive 
 judgment from the king or you. The pope alone, 
 under God, is my judge. I call the bishops who 
 have obeyed the king rather than God to answer 
 before his tribunal. And so, protected by the holy 
 Catholic church, and the power of the apostolic see, 
 I leave this court!” As he rose and turned to 
 depart, the barons loitering about exclaimed aloud 
 that he was a traitor and a perjurer. He stumbled 
 a^T-ainst one of the lo<2fS of firewood in the court, and 
 none of these chivalrous nobles ran to his aid. One 
 of them, llandolf de Broc, who had an old grudge 
 against him, threw at him pieces of straw picked 
 from the floor of the hall. Another, the king’s ille¬ 
 gitimate brother, called out that he was sneaking 
 away like a coward. At this last insult the spirit of 
 the once distinguished soldier flamed out, and he 
 
 T 
 
410 
 
 DANGER AND FLIGHT 
 
 said, Had I a sword, it should answer that foul 
 speech.” His horses were in the yard, but the gate 
 was locked. The clerks who became his biographers 
 mention it as something miraculous that one Peter 
 de Morton espied the keys hanging in a corner. 
 As they rode out, so great was the multitude that 
 their horses could scarcely move. At the instigation 
 of one of the bishops, the king sent out a herald to 
 make proclamation that no one should molest the 
 archbishop. But it is doubtful whether even the 
 court followers would have dared to insult him 
 outside the castle gate. The people had taken him 
 under their protection. What a glorious proces¬ 
 sion escorts me home,” he said-to one of his clerks. 
 Again that night the poor and sick and halt and 
 blind were bidden freely to his table at the monas¬ 
 tery. His own knights received permission to depart, 
 for fear of the king’s anger, and now only his clerks 
 remained. The reader at supper happened to come 
 across the text, If they persecute you in one city 
 flee ye to another;” at which the archbishop and 
 his secretary exchanged signiflcant looks. He had 
 probably again resolved on attempting escape. But. 
 they w-ere interrupted by the bishops of London and 
 Chichester, who said they were authorized to state 
 that the king would be satisfled if the archbishop 
 would assign to him for a time his manors of Otford 
 and Munheaton. The nature of the proposal was 
 as suspicious as the character of the messengers. 
 Becket replied, The manor of Hercham, once 
 belonging to my archbishopric, is now in the king’s 
 hands. There is no hope of recovering it, yet would 
 
OF THE ARCHBISHOP. 
 
 411 
 
 I rather lose my head than resign even that manor.” 
 The answer 'would naturally have further excited 
 the king if he had really intended a reconciliation. 
 But when, presently afterwards, Becket sent three 
 other bishops to ask for a safe conduct to his own 
 diocese, they found the king in an ominously good 
 humour, and he told them they should have an 
 answer next day. Two noblemen—probably Leices¬ 
 ter and Cornwall—confidentially informed the arch¬ 
 bishop, about the same time, that he was really in 
 danger. When, therefore, he told the monks to 
 make up his bed behind the high altar of their 
 chapel, it was an understood method of combining 
 the repose of sleep with, the security of a sanctuary. 
 He retired at an early hour, and one of his own 
 servants ’^vas posted hard by. But meanwhile, 
 Herbert de Bosham was ordered to set off imme¬ 
 diately for Canterbury, get all the money he could 
 from the stewards who were just collecting the rents, 
 wdth a book which the archbishop highly valued, 
 and await him at St. Omers. At the same time. 
 Brother Scailman, and two trusty knights, were 
 instructed to procure four good horses, not of the 
 archbishop’s stud; and bring them round to the 
 postern door of the convent at'dark. This was done 
 promptly. The archbishop left his hiding-place as 
 the monks thought he was foiling asleep,—^joined 
 his three friends at the door,—got to the north gate 
 of the town before the guard had been posted for 
 the night, — and rode off through a storm that 
 drenched them with rain, but added to the obscuritv 
 of their flight. 
 
 rp O 
 
 1 /V 
 
412 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 FLIGHT AND EXILE. 
 
 The horsemen rode hard, and their steeds were 
 good. Though the rain so weighted their garments 
 that the disguised archbishop had four times to cut 
 off portions of his monkish cloak,—and the roads 
 were doubtless bad—and they rested two hours mid¬ 
 way,— they arrived at Lincoln—fifty miles from 
 Northampton—by daybreak. They went to the 
 house of an acquaintance named Jacob, where they 
 lay hidden till a boat could be procured to convey 
 them down the river to a hermitage forty miles 
 distant. It was not likely that the scattered inhabit¬ 
 ants of the fens would recognise in humble Brother 
 Hearman” the stately Thomas Becket; but, lest 
 emissaries from the court should be scouring the 
 roads, the four companions remained here three days. 
 Then they proceeded on foot to TIaverston, another 
 retreat of the monks of Semphingham. Thence they 
 travelled, slowly and by night, down to the south 
 coast, until they reached Estrey, a village eight miles 
 from Canterbury, whose parish priest had a private 
 communication between his house and the church. 
 There they rested and received the Eucharist, the 
 
becket’s flight. 
 
 413 
 
 archbishop himself (known only to the priests) 
 bestowing his blessing on the congregation. It was 
 the twentieth day after their flight from Northamp¬ 
 ton,—and therefore in the first week of November,— 
 w^hen they crossed, in a small open boat, the tempes¬ 
 tuous sea between the coasts of Kent and Flanders. 
 Running the boat ashore in a lonely place near 
 Gravelines, they struck into the country. Meeting 
 a party out hawking, Becket’s old habits of falconry 
 nearly betrayed him; and he was saved from dis¬ 
 covery only by the ready wit of one of his attendants. 
 The Earl of Boulogne was on the look out for, and 
 would gladly have seized him. He therefore changed 
 his name to Brother Christian,” and his habit to 
 that of a Cistercian monk. An innkeeper, aided by 
 the penetration of his wife, suspected the rank of 
 their guest from his noble presence and bearing; 
 hut instead of revealing him, the good folks craved 
 his benediction, and thanked the saints for so 
 honoured a guest. From Gravelines, where this 
 incident took place, it was thirty-six miles to the 
 abbey of Clermarais, and they traversed the distance 
 chiefly on foot. Even when approaching St. Omers, 
 where they were sure of finding good friends, if not 
 their steward Herbert, they deemed it prudent to 
 hide for some time in a hermitage among the marshes, 
 belonging to the abbey of St. Bertin. But here 
 they were joined by Herbert, with considerable 
 treasures ; and warmly welcomed by the abbot. It 
 was on a Friday they reached the monastery; and 
 the fugitives had fared so badly of late, that one of 
 
414 THE ARCHBISHOP AND HIS ACCUSERS 
 
 them suggested a dispensation. But the archbishop, 
 who had once given five pounds for a dish of eels, 
 professed his willingness to trust in God’s pleasure 
 that the fish would be in plenty; to reward which 
 pious confidence, says an historian whose faith in the 
 miraculous does not disdain the circumstantial, a 
 large fish, of a sort specified, leaped from the river 
 which led up to the convent into the archbishop’s 
 bosom. — At St. Bertin the archbishop had an 
 interview with his old co-justiciary. Bichard de 
 Lucy, who had been on a mission to king Louis,— 
 and tried to induce Becket to return with him; 
 failing which he renounced the homage he had 
 formerly professed. Another Englishman, Milo, 
 bishop of a Norman see, entered warmly into 
 the archbishop’s confidence; and since the court of 
 Flanders hesitated to give a safe conduct to the 
 court of France, assisted him, with the abbot, to 
 make their way privately to Soissons, where the 
 king then held his court. 
 
 Thither had preceded them another company of 
 Englishmen. Immediately that Becket’s departure 
 had been ascertained, it was resolved at Northampton 
 to send the bishops of London, Chichester, Exeter, 
 and Worcester, with the Earl of Arundel and other 
 nobles, on an embassy to the pope. They crossed 
 the straits on the same day as Becket,—passed 
 within sight of his party at the hermitage in the 
 marshes,—and were followed by Herbert de Bosham 
 to Compiegne. They called there on the French 
 king, and produced letters in which Becket was 
 
ARRIVE AT ROME. 
 
 415 
 
 described as the late archbishop of Canterbury 
 which shocked the French king’s notion of the 
 stability of the priesthood. An ill-timed allusion to 
 Becket’s conduct at Toulouse equally offended his 
 chivalry. Instead of undertaking to give him no 
 protection^ he declared that he should be welcomed 
 by the whole court. The embassy went on to Sens^, 
 —and when Herbert, with another of the arch¬ 
 bishop’s household, revealed themselves, they were 
 treated with honour and even familiarity. Thus 
 encouraged, they also continued their journey to the 
 papal court; where the cardinals received them 
 coldly, but the pope with much kindness. They 
 were present at the audience of the king’s ambassa¬ 
 dors, and have left an account of it which makes the 
 bishops cut a ridiculous figure—Gilbert Foliot draw¬ 
 ing down a rebuke from the pope by his vehemence 
 against the archbishop, and Hilary setting the car¬ 
 dinals laughing by his floundering rhetoric. The 
 Earl of Arundel made a temperate appeal to the 
 pope to aid in restoring peace between the archbishop 
 and the king. Herbert de Bosham twice rose to 
 defend his master, but was prevented by the pope 
 saying, “ Peace, my friend, there is no charge against 
 your bishop.” Even the offer to make Peter’s pence 
 a charge upon the holders of dwellings, as well as 
 upon the soil, failed to bribe the pontiff. And though 
 he promised to appoint a legate a latere to try the 
 questions at issue in England, he would not concede 
 the right of appeal to himself as desired by the 
 bishop of London. The embassy was therefore a 
 
416 HIS RECEPTION BY THE POPE, 
 
 failure, and the envoys moodily set out for home. 
 As they went, they narrowly escaped being set upon 
 by a party of knights friendly to the archbishop; 
 and he himself passed them on the opposite side of 
 the river with a retinue far superior to their own. 
 The king of France met him at Soissons with a 
 brilliant cavalcade, expressed much sympathy at the 
 narrative of his hardships, and furnished him at his 
 departure for Sens with ample funds. 
 
 Still more satisfactory to the archbishop was his 
 reception at Rome. Though only a few of the 
 cardinals went out to meet him, the pope placed him 
 at his right hand in the conclave, and bade him sit 
 while speaking. His speech was the more eifective 
 through its modesty and moderation. It was a 
 simple narrative, which he concluded by unrolling 
 and perusing the Constitutions.” Even the least 
 friendly of the cardinals could not deny that this 
 instrument struck a deadly blow at the privileges of 
 the church. They all concurred with the pope in 
 promising to support the archbishop against the 
 king. The pope publicly rebuked him for the sin 
 of assenting for a moment to such unlawful demands ; 
 but went on to absolve him in consideration of the 
 atonement he had made. Becket replied with a 
 profession, no doubt sincere enough, of repentance for 
 the prior and more grievous sin of suffering himself 
 to be thrust into Christ’s fold not through the strait 
 gate of canonical election, but by the favour of tlie 
 king : and he ended by draAving from his finger the 
 archiepiscopal ring, which he handed to the pope as 
 
AND FilESIl INVESTIITRE. 
 
 417 
 
 a token of his resignation of the primacy of England. 
 The effect of this upon the conclave indicates that 
 the act was as spontaneous as it was impressive. 
 Some of the cardinals saw in it a means of reconciling 
 their wishes with their professions, and spoke in 
 private conference of bestowing on Becket the next 
 important office that should fall vacant; but the 
 more faithful or sagacious saw that the independence 
 of the church in England must stand or fall with 
 the archbishop of Canterbury; and they urged that 
 Becket should be instantly reinstated. The pope 
 accordingly bade him receive a new investiture free 
 from the defects of the former; but further to purge 
 away the old courtly leaven of his life, or perhaps, 
 to afford time for temporizing with his powerful 
 master, consigned him to the monks of Pontigny, 
 there to live for a while on meagre fare, and wear a 
 humble garb. Thither he soon after departed. The 
 abbot appointed to attend upon him the monk Roger, 
 who became one of his biographers. The pope sent 
 him a cape and hood on which he had bestowed his 
 blessing, but which was a ludicrous misfit. And 
 there he lived for nearly two years, from Christmas 
 1164, secure in person, but not tranquil in mind, 
 and tortured for some time by toothache and fistula, 
 the result of liis unwonted poverty of diet. 
 
 But sharp as were these contrasts in Becket’s own 
 condition, far more severe were the misfortunes 
 entailed upon otliers by his resistance to the king. 
 Exasperated by the failure of his embassy, Henry 
 gave orders on the 26th of December by circular letters 
 
 T 3 
 
418 
 
 PEKSECUTION OF HIS ADHERENTS, 
 
 to the clergy and sheriffs, confiscating all the arch¬ 
 bishop’s property, seizing the revenues of his see, 
 and banishing all his relations, friends, and servants. 
 The execution of these tyrannical orders he confided 
 to Randolf de Broc, who carried them out with 
 ferocious cruelty. Every one connected with the 
 archbishop by friendship, however remote—all his 
 clerks and followers, mothers and their infants, old 
 men and children — were summoned from their 
 homes to the palace at Lambeth, ordered to take 
 themselves across the sea, and made to swear that 
 they would hasten to present themselves to the arch¬ 
 bishop. Four hundred persons in all, besides noble¬ 
 men and ecclesiastics who were heavily fined and 
 imprisoned, were thus driven into exile—exile 
 aggravated to the utmost degree by helplessness and 
 exposure. In the dead of winter, in open boats, 
 with little food or clothing, they were hurried over 
 the sea, and cast upon a strange and almost un¬ 
 peopled shore. Many of them perished—women 
 with babes at their breasts, and women with their 
 babes in their womb — perished of the cold and 
 hunger which reduced strong men to the appearance 
 of ghosts. The woods could afford them neither 
 food nor shelter, and the small towns could afford 
 them little more; but those who survived received 
 the generous aid of the Flemish and French nobility, 
 especially of the empress Matilda and king Louis. 
 Few of them, it is probable, reached Pontigny in 
 the condition stipulated by their persecutors, in 
 order to distress by sympathy their lord and leader. 
 
EXCOMMUKICATION OF THE ENGLISH CLERGY. 419 
 
 It would be easy to fill many pages with extracts 
 from the correspondence of the archbishop during 
 the two years of his retirement; for voluminous 
 letters were exchanged both with his friends and 
 opponents. To the king he wrote four times, for 
 the most part in a dutiful and conciliatory strain; 
 but finding this of none effect, concluded with a 
 solemn appeal for justice, and warning of Divine 
 retribution. This might have failed equally with 
 the former, had he not received at the same time an 
 intimation from the pope that the thunders of the 
 church would no longer be restrained. Becket had 
 received permission to excommunicate the whole 
 court and clergy of England. A few days before 
 Easter he went on a pilgrimage to Soissons, and 
 performed there three vigils and other exercises. 
 He went thence to the church at Vezealy, where the 
 festival was this year, 1166, to be celebrated with 
 unusual splendour. He preached from the pulpit a 
 very exciting sermon, explained to the people the 
 causes of his exile, and concluded by pronouncing 
 anathema John of Oxford, and other intruders upon 
 church offices in England. King Henry himself, 
 he said, he spared only from having just heard of 
 his serious illness. The people would receive it 
 with an intensity of feeling which we cannot 
 realize from this now obscure intimation. They 
 understood but too well the awful risk supposed 
 to attend death under sentence of excommunica¬ 
 tion. A poet* of our own time has painted with no 
 
 * Wordsworth. 
 
420 
 
 TERllOR OF THE BISHOPS, 
 
 excess of power the condition of a country under 
 interdict:— 
 
 “ Bells are dumb, 
 
 Ditches are graves, funereal rites denied. 
 
 And in the churchyard he must take his bride who dares be wedded. 
 
 Fancies thickly come 
 
 Into the pensive heart ill fortified. 
 
 And comfortless despairs the soul benumb.” 
 
 The extinguished torches did but faintly symbolize 
 the fate which terrible superstition attached to the 
 idea of a soul’s departure from life without the 
 priestly passport to eternity. Nor was it upon the 
 vulgar mind alone that this blighting awe descended. 
 Kings and barons, who had no fear to do wrong, 
 who could even talk above their breath of taking an 
 archbishop’s life, were terrified at the thought of 
 dying under his hann. What is still more strange, 
 even the bishops whose practical unbelief in their 
 own functions we have seen so curiously confessed 
 in their private conferences, dared not confront the 
 bolt which could take effect only upon believing 
 hearts. Gilbert Hilary and his fellows trembled 
 like women at the confessional, w’hen they received 
 from the archbishop against whom they had appealed 
 to the pope, an epistle declaring excommunicate, 
 and commanding them to hold as excommunicate, 
 John of Oxford, Kichard of Illchester, Richard de 
 Lucy, Josseline de Baliol, Randolf de Broc, Hugh 
 de St. Clair, Thomas Fitz-Bernard, and all who shall 
 hereafter lay hands upon the possessions of our 
 church. Gilbert wrote much in his own name— 
 many w^eary scrolls of flatulent rhetoric and irrelevant 
 
AND ANGER OF THE KING. 
 
 421 
 
 textual argument; and he was probably the author 
 of the remonstrance addressed in the name of the 
 suffragan bishops and their clergy to their venerable 
 father and bishop Lord Thomas. That epistle con¬ 
 cluded with notice of a second appeal to the pope. 
 The archbishop replied with an appeal to their own 
 sense of justice and of shame, challenging them to 
 say if ever he had wronged them, reminding them 
 that they assented unanimously to his elevation, 
 vindicating his acts of excommunication, and bitterly 
 upbraiding them for not employing in his defence 
 the spiritual weapons with which God had armed 
 them for the protection of his church. John of 
 Salisbury takes up his milder pen, and from him we 
 learn that in an assembly of his nobles at Chinon, 
 the king asserted with tears in his eyes that the 
 archbishop would take from him both body and* 
 soul, and called them a set of traitors, forasmuch as 
 they had not zeal or courage to deliver him from the 
 molestations of this one man. This speech, which 
 sounds very much like an anticipation of his fatal 
 taunt some years later, was rebuked by the bishop 
 of Rouen. But the bishop of Lisieux sympatheti¬ 
 cally suggested that the king might yet be in time 
 to appeal against the threatened interdict. The 
 king assenting, they made haste to lodge notice of 
 the appeal with the archbishop, hut he evaded its 
 delivery by leaving Pontigny, and the king then 
 despatched Walter de Lisle to close the ports and 
 passes of his kingdom against messengers carrying 
 the writ of excommunication. On the other hand. 
 
422 
 
 ATTEMPTS AT RECONCILIATION 
 
 the pope appointed the archbishop his legate for 
 England—an additional authority as well as honour. 
 The king retorted, terrifying the monks of Pontigny 
 into virtually withdrawing their protection from the 
 archbishop. They laid before him the information 
 which awakened their fears,—and he instantly took 
 leave of them in language which moved them to 
 weeping and prayers. The French king, however, 
 gave him the choice of his monasteries for a residence, 
 and he chose that of St. Columbe, just without the 
 walls of Sens. 
 
 It would be of doubtful interest to the reader, and 
 would certainly swell this volume to an excessive 
 bulk, if we were to trace minutely the progress of 
 the intrigues which stretched over the next four 
 years, and ended in the hollow reconciliation leading 
 to Becket’s ill-advised return. We will touch there¬ 
 fore only on the point that continues the narrative 
 to its tragic close. 
 
 At the close of this year, 1166, the cardinals Otho 
 and William were appointed as mediators between 
 the parties. Both were notoriously favourable to 
 the king, and during their communion the arch¬ 
 bishop’s powers of excommunication were suspended. 
 It was nearly a year before the exiles at St. Columbe 
 heard anything definite as to the result. In November 
 1167 they were summoned to meet the legate, at a 
 place between Gisors and Trie, on the frontier of 
 Normandy and France. Becket repaired thither ; 
 the legates suggested that he should appease the 
 king by some profession of reverence,—but declined 
 
BETWEEN THE KING AND BECKET. 
 
 428 
 
 to advise him more specifically; asked him whether 
 he could not promise to observe the constitutions,— 
 and on his sternly reminding them of what passed 
 at Sens, more than hinted what he might seem to 
 promise. Becket may have foresworn himself once, 
 but he could not systematically dissemble,—and he 
 answered bluntly, No, silence is consent.” The 
 upshot was, that, failing to cozen the archbishop, 
 they equally failed to satisfy the king and the bishops. 
 But the pope was becoming deeply interested in 
 effecting a reconciliation. War had broken out 
 between France and England, to the great disadvan¬ 
 tage of the former,—Henry had given his daughter 
 Matilda in marriage to the emperor of Germany,— 
 and if irritated too far, might make common cause 
 with the latter in support of a rival pope. Though 
 equally unable, in 1168 as in 1167, to effect the 
 reconciliation, he nevertheless contrived to prevent 
 extremities,—restraining Becket from launching the 
 long-threatened interdict, and suspending the ex- 
 communication ; and at length appointing fresh 
 legates. By the exertion of these envoys, another 
 conference was arranged, and came off on the 
 plain of Montmoreil, in January, 1169. The first 
 business of the conference was purely political, 
 —the conclusion of peace between the rival kings, 
 and of a marriage union between their children, 
 Richard and Blanche. This being settled, Becket’s 
 chances of procuring a favourable result to the 
 ecclesiastical negotiations were obviously diminished. 
 He once more took counsel of his own indomitable 
 
424 
 
 CONFERENCE BETWEEN THEM. 
 
 spirit, — fed, perhaps, by the adulation of his 
 clerks, who seem to have determined that he should 
 not lack the crowning honour of martyrdom. He 
 was willing to promise everything required, with 
 the qualification, saving God’s honour.” His 
 speech was conciliatory, and almost beseeching; but 
 when he came to these words, the king hurst into 
 one of his old fits of rage, and did not forbear to 
 revile the archbishop as an arrogant apostate, appeal¬ 
 ing to the French king to note his ingratitude and 
 vanity. “ Take notice, if you please, my lord,” 
 continued Henry, whatever his lordship of Canter¬ 
 bury disapproves, he will say is contrary to God’s 
 honour, and so he will on all occasions get the 
 advantage of me; but that I may not be thought to 
 despise God’s honour, I will make this proposition 
 to him. There have been many kings of England 
 before me, some of greater and some of less power 
 than I. There have also been good and holy arch¬ 
 bishops of Canterbury before him. Now, let him 
 behave towards me as the most holy of his predeces¬ 
 sors behaved toAvards the best of mine, and I am 
 satisfied.” At this very definite concession the 
 courtiers exclaimed, The king humbles himself 
 enoughand the French king said to the arch¬ 
 bishop, My lord, do you wish to be more than a 
 saint?” But he replied with equanimity, It is 
 true that there have been archbishops before me 
 holier and greater than I, every one of whom extir¬ 
 pated some abuses in the church; but if they had 
 corrected all, I should not now be exposed to this 
 
FIRMNESS OF BECKET. 
 
 425 
 
 hot and fiery trial/’ In vain the nobles and bishops, 
 both of England and France, with the envoys of the 
 pope, urged him to suppress the saving clause. The 
 conference broke up farther than ever from a deci¬ 
 sion ; and Becket retired uncertain whether he any 
 longer possessed even a secure retreat. For one of 
 the French counts had said, as he set himself in 
 opposition to the will of both kingdoms, he was 
 unworthy of the protection of either : he is rejected 
 by England—let him find no countenance in 
 France.” The kings rode off without so much as 
 saluting the archbishop,—Henry abusing him, and 
 declaring he was now revenged on the traitor. 
 Even the archbishop’s own attendants began now 
 to reproach him; and to one of them he answered. 
 
 Nay, brother; take care that the church is not 
 destroyed by you; for, by God’s grace, she shall 
 never be destroyed by me.” They would have been 
 further dispirited by the French king omitting that 
 night his customary visit while they lodged in the 
 same castle; but the archbishop comforted them 
 with skilful words, and the peasants cheered them 
 heartily as they rode next day to Chartres on their 
 way home. 
 
 Not long after they were dolefully discussing at 
 St. Columbe the chances of being again turned on 
 the Avorld,— and the archbishop was saying that 
 rather than ask help of ‘‘ those Homan robbers who 
 do nothing but plunder the needy without compensa¬ 
 tion,” he would go and live, with one attendant, 
 among the peasants of Burgundy,—when a messenger 
 
426 THE ARCHBISHOP EXCOMMUNICATES 
 
 from the French king was announced. To their 
 agreeable surprise he came to invite the archbishop 
 to an interview with the king. Louis and Henry 
 had quarrelled. The latter had broken his treaty, 
 and added rapine to bad faith. The former knew 
 the value of a spiritual ally against so powerful a 
 soldier. When Becket entered his apartment, Louis 
 knelt before him, craved absolution for his recent 
 boldness, and asked his counsel. Their plan of 
 operation was, that the mediators appointed by the 
 pope should formally report their failure, and lay 
 the blame on Henry. This done, the legates de¬ 
 livered to the king of England pontifical letters 
 threatening his obstinacy with Divine vengeance. 
 We can imagine with what a vigorous and almost 
 rejoicing hand the persecuted but fearless prelate 
 would grasp the thunders it was now permitted him 
 to hurl. They were pointed, first, at the bishop of 
 London, who had been long ago all but excommuni¬ 
 cate for disobedience to his metropolitan. The bolt 
 had already struck one Geofirey Biddell, an arch¬ 
 deacon of Canterbury, and a clerk of the king’s 
 chapel. As he was about to commune one day at 
 court, the bishop of Worcester withdrew, as from 
 one under anathema. This so greatly enraged the 
 king that he ordered him to leave the kingdom; 
 but yielding to the warnings and entreaties of the 
 courtiers, recalled him. The bishop did not return 
 till he had received these messages, and the excom¬ 
 municated archdeacon dare no more show himself. 
 The bishop of Hereford dying about this time 
 
THE BISHOPS OF LONDON AND SALISBURY. 427 
 
 (1167-8), from grief at liis inability to obey both the 
 primate and the king, no successor was appointed, 
 and it remained vacant in the beginning of 1169. In 
 February or March of that year the bishops of London 
 and Salishury received a final summons to appear 
 oefore their metropolitan. They gave notice of appeal 
 to the pope ; but this did not save them. On Palm 
 Sunday, in the church of Clairvaux, the archbishop 
 pronounced sentence of excommunication upon them, 
 with the nobles before mentioned, and the’ clerks 
 Robert de Broc and Letard de Norfleux. Others 
 were threatened, if they did not submit before 
 Ascension-day. Report of this could not be so 
 easily excluded as the written instrument. Gilbert 
 summoned a meeting of his clergy and the neigh¬ 
 bouring dignitaries at St. Paul’s, in which debate, 
 says Fitzstephen, the bishop’s cause found much 
 benefit from his having no opponents.” But his 
 friends were divided in opinion—some advising him 
 to act as if under the sentence, and others to avoid 
 its being executed. The more pleasant advice was 
 soon found the more difficult to follow. Strictly as 
 the ports and city gates were watched, a young 
 layman, named Berenger, contrived to bring over 
 the dreaded instrument. On Ascension-day, the 
 priest officiating at St. Paul’s was surprised, at the 
 time of chaunting the Offerenda, by a stranger kneel¬ 
 ing before him with what appeared to be his obla¬ 
 tion. But no sooner had he taken it than the 
 stranger, who was no other than Berenger, charged 
 him, by God and the pope, to celebrate no more 
 
428 
 
 OUTWARD RECONCILIATION 
 
 masses till he had delivered to the bishop and dean 
 the letters put into his hand. The young man 
 disappeared with prudent alacrity; and the strictest 
 search failed to discover him. Vitalis, the priest, 
 a timid man, dared not but deliver the letters,— 
 and after that there could he no denying that the 
 bishop was lawfully excommunicate, and his clergy 
 forbidden to commune with him and the others 
 named. It was in vain that Gilbert tried to asso¬ 
 ciate the other bishops with him in his appeal. 
 Durham and Exeter declined to risk the consequence 
 of its rejection. Winchester—the venerable and 
 noble-hearted Henry, who had further incensed the 
 anger of his royal nephew by assisting the exiles 
 with money—wrote, as from his dying bed, I, who 
 am sinking under disease and old age, and have 
 received a summons from the Almighty, am inca¬ 
 pacitated from preferring an appeal to an earthly 
 tribunal.” Worcester, who informs of these parti¬ 
 culars the anxious chapter at Canterbury, had already 
 presented himself before the archbishop, by permis¬ 
 sion of the king. Gilbert turned then to Henry,— 
 who wrote to him from Normandy with strongest 
 expressions of friendship, and promises to forward 
 him on his way to Rome. Meanwhile the pope 
 appointed two more legates—Vivian and Gratian; 
 whose first act was to arrange a conference between 
 the two kings at St. Denys, to which they invited the 
 archbishop also. Becket reluctantly complied. Louis 
 himself had not been informed of the intended inter¬ 
 view, as he would probably have declined it. Henry 
 
OF HENRY AND BECKET. 
 
 429 
 
 was to make a pretended pilgrimage to the chapel 
 of St. Denys, the patron saint and monk of France, 
 at the foot of the well-known Montmartre, near 
 Paris. The kings met, as desired, on the 18th of 
 November; and were presently joined by the arch¬ 
 bishop. Louis, at the exhortation of the legate 
 Vivian, acted as mediatpr,—his bishops and nobles 
 added their good offices. After much debate, and 
 several private conferences, everything was adjusted. 
 Henry consented—not expressly, but virtually—to 
 withdraw the constitutions; asking nothing of the 
 archbishop but his return to England, and obedience 
 in civil matters. Becket had then no occasion for 
 any reservation in his promise. All agreed that 
 specification would do harm in fact, both parties 
 were disposed to delude themselves into believing 
 that an impossible reconciliation had been accom¬ 
 plished. They even forbore to stipulate on pecuniary 
 matters—Becket accepting the king’s promise that 
 restitution of his property and five years’ revenue 
 should be made, when duly assessed. But their 
 mutual distrust was still stronger than their self- 
 deception. When the archbishop, as previously 
 advised by the pope, asked for and offered the kiss 
 of peace, as a pledge of good faith, the king refused 
 it; saying he had sworn never more to kiss the 
 archbishop, and for his oath’s sake only he would 
 not. The mediators, equally with the archbishop, 
 were alarmed at this reply. It was too suspicious 
 to be disregarded. Becket declared it decisive, 
 and the conference was thus broken off at nightfall. 
 
430 
 
 BUT ENVY AND HATRED 
 
 The kings were thirty-six miles from their quarters, 
 and Henry rode off cursing the long journey, the 
 fruitless conference, and the many provocations he 
 had received from his old favourite. The archbishop, 
 on his part, as he was leaving the scene of conference 
 for his quarters with the Templars, was thus ominously 
 addressed by one of his people: My lord, this place 
 is called the chapel of the martyrdom; and it is my 
 belief that nothing but your martyrdom will ever 
 ensure peace to the church.” To which he answered, 
 ‘‘ Be it so : God grant that she may he redeemed, even 
 if my life is sacrificed.” But perhaps the martyr’s 
 crown would have had an additional thorn if this 
 had been his last parting from the once beloved 
 friend and sovereign. 
 
 There was yet one other stage to the journey’s end; 
 and it opened hopefully, almost triumphantly, for the 
 exile. It was impossible that Henry could hold out 
 against weapons that had already disabled or estranged 
 all his bishops, left him with scarce a chaplain to 
 give the kiss of peace at mass, and threatened to 
 dissolve the tie of allegiance. The greatness of his 
 danger was confessed by Henry when he came to the 
 resolution—at Nantes, about the beginning of 1169— 
 to transfer the crown to his eldest* son Henry. But 
 it was difficult to effect this—the primate claiming 
 the right of coronation; and being sure to exert 
 himself to prevent its exercise by any other prelate. 
 If only the court of Home could stand firmly to 
 its engagement, the exile would return home in 
 triumph. If only!—at this very crisis, they were 
 
STILL REMAIN. 
 
 431 
 
 furtively aiding the enemy. Becket discovered that 
 the pope had authorized two of the Norman bishops 
 to absolve their brethren of London and Salisbury, 
 at the request of the king. Thereupon he wrote to 
 the Cardinal Albert, a letter breathing the spirit of 
 a Luther rather than of a favoured saint, within two 
 years of his apotheosis :— 
 
 I wish, my dear friend, your ears were hard by 
 the mouths of some of our people, that you might 
 hear what is chaunted in the streets of Ascalon to the 
 discredit of the Boman church. Our last messenger 
 seemed to have brought us some consolation in the 
 pope’s letters, which we have received, but their 
 authority has been altogether nullified by other letters, 
 commanding that Satan should be set free to the 
 destruction of the church. Thus, by the apostolic 
 mandate, the bishops of London and Salisbury, one 
 of whom is known to have been the fomenter of the 
 schism, and the contriver of all this wickedness from 
 the beginning, and to have inveigled the bishop of 
 Salisbury and others into the crime of disobedience, 
 have been absolved from excommunication. I know 
 not how it is, but at your court Barabbas is always 
 let go free, and Christ is crucified. Our proscription 
 and the sufferings of the church have now lasted 
 nearly six years. The innocent, poor, and exiled are 
 condemned before you, and for no other cause, I say 
 conscientiously, than because they are Christ’s poor 
 and helpless ones, and would not recede from God’s 
 righteousness: whilst on the other hand the sacri¬ 
 legious, murderers, and robbers are acquitted, how- 
 
432 
 
 becket’s letteb 
 
 ever impenitent, though I say on Christ’s own 
 authority, that St. Peter himself sitting on the tri¬ 
 bunal, would have no power to acquit them. For He 
 says, according to St. Luke, ^ If thy brother offend, 
 rebuke him; and if he be repentant, forgive him,’ 
 etc. These words, ^ if he be repentant,’ are not 
 superfluous or idle. Christ will not have to give 
 account for those words as idle on the day of judgment. 
 He will rather condemn those who presume, con¬ 
 trary to his commands, to forgive ofienders who do 
 not repent, and so to vivify such that cannot live. 
 Surely if what is stolen can be restored, and is not 
 restored, that man’s repentance is but feigned. The 
 Holy Spirit will shun falsehood, for He is Truth 
 itself. Let him take the burden upon him who dares 
 to do so; let him absolve robbers, homicides, the 
 sacrilegious, the perjured, the blood-thirsty, without 
 repentance; I for my part will never grant remission 
 to the impenitent who have plundered the church 
 of God. Is it not the spoils of us, or rather of our 
 church, which the king’s envoys are lavishing or 
 promising among the cardinals and the courtiers ? 
 What sin shall ever he revealed, if that which is. 
 committed against God’s church is concealed? We 
 can no longer defend the liberty of the church, be¬ 
 cause the apostolic see has now protracted our exile 
 to the sixth year. O God, look to it and judge our 
 cause ! Yet for that church we are prepared to die. 
 If all the cardinals rise up against us, and arm not 
 only the English king, hut all the world to our de¬ 
 struction, I will never, with God’s blessing, either in 
 
TO THE POPE. 
 
 433 
 
 life or in death, withdraw from my fidelity to the 
 church. I commit my cause for the future to God, 
 for whom I am suffering exile and proscription. 
 May He heal my sorrows as He deems best for me. 
 I have no further occasion for troubling the Roman 
 court; I will leave that for those who prevail in their 
 evil deeds, who triumph over righteousness, lead 
 innocence captive, and return victorious to the con¬ 
 fusion of the church. Would to God that looking 
 to Rome had not killed so many of my fellow-exiles ! 
 Who will in future resist the king, whom the Roman 
 church has inspired by so many triumphs, and 
 armed with a pernicious precedent that will have 
 due efiect upon posterity ? God bless your holi¬ 
 ness, and may you think of me in your prayers to 
 the Lord.’’ 
 
 Nor was it in the matter of absolution alone that 
 the court of Rome dissembled. With one letter they 
 imperatively forbade Roger of York, and all the 
 bishops of England, to assist at the coronation of the 
 king’s son, during the archbishop of Canterbury’s 
 absence. In other letters, they permitted and even 
 enjoined them to perform the ceremony. Becket him¬ 
 self wrote in the former sense, and gave his letters 
 for conveyance to the bishop of Worcester, on whose 
 person they were stopped at Dieppe, as he was em¬ 
 barking for England. But the archbishop also pre¬ 
 pared letters of interdict, which he addressed first to 
 the bishop of London, commanding him, within fif¬ 
 teen days after their receipt, to forbid the celebration 
 
 of divine service throughout all your diocese, except 
 
 u 
 
434 
 
 PvETTJKN OF BECKET 
 
 the baptism of infants, and the penance of the dying,” 
 on peril of your orders, dignities, and preferments,” 
 and of ^^everlasting damnation.” To prevent the 
 fall of this crushing blow, the king once more offered 
 terms of accommodation, promising to make peace 
 without fail. Seeing him thus thoroughly humbled 
 and awed, Becket forbore to stipulate even for a 
 pledge of safety. Their meeting took place on the 
 borders of Maine and Chartraine, near the castle 
 of Freitval. They rode together apart, talking in 
 strict privacy; suddenly the archbishop alighted, 
 and threw himself on his knees. The king raised 
 him up, and held his stirrup while he remounted. 
 The explanation of this curious scene was, that the 
 king had granted every thing the archbishop requested, 
 even to the liberty of cursing the bishops who had 
 crowned Prince Henry. Some doubted the sincerity 
 of so abject a submission, but Becket ordered his 
 people instantly to prepare for their return to England. 
 Suspicion was strengthened when John of Salisbury 
 and others, sent to ask from the king the promised 
 restitution of castles, were put off, and at length 
 denied. But the archbishop continued his prepara¬ 
 tions—not excepting the stowage of some French 
 wine, given him by the king, for consumption in his 
 English houses. He was furnished by the pope with 
 letters of excommunication against both Roger and 
 Foliot,—but desired now their pardon, on condition 
 of recognising the supremacy of the church of Canter¬ 
 bury. At Tours, and again at Chermont, near Blois, 
 Becket had interviews with the king; but the first 
 
TO ENGLAND. 
 
 435 
 
 was to complain that his agents refused to give up 
 the property they had seized, and each accused the 
 other—while at the second, Henry’s offer to put all 
 things once more into the hands of the archbishop, if 
 only he would yield to his pleasure, suggested to 
 Becket the words of the devil, ^^All these things 
 will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and wor¬ 
 ship me !” 
 
436 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 RETURN AND DEATH. 
 
 It was on Tuesday, the 1st of December, 1170, that 
 Becket returned to England, after an absence of 
 nearly six years. Some of his biographers remark 
 that Tuesday was his ominous day—the day of his 
 birth and baptism, of his flight from Northampton and 
 from England, and of his departure from the court in 
 Normandy; a coincidence to be strengthened by his 
 death on a Tuesday. Previous to his embarkation, 
 he was warned by Milo, dean of Boulogne, that 
 there were men waiting on the English coast either 
 to murder or make him prisoner. He replied, It is 
 of no consequence to me; if I am torn limb from 
 limb I will go. It is now seven years since my church 
 has been deprived of a pastor, and it is my request 3 
 perhaps my last request, to my friends, that if I can¬ 
 not return to Canterbury alive they will carry me 
 there dead.” He had brought with him the letters of 
 excommunication, which the three bishops sought to 
 evade by embarking at Dover, just as he was about 
 to cross the channel. But the letters had been sent 
 on by a messenger who delivered them in the port, or 
 on shipboard. This was the second time the arch- 
 
LETTER TO IDONEA. 
 
 437 
 
 bishop had been indebted to voluntary zeal for the 
 performance of this peculiar service—formerly by 
 Berenger, now by a woman named Idonea, the 
 memory of whose romantic devotion is kept alive by 
 this remarkable letter from the archbishop:— 
 
 God hath chosen the weak things of the world 
 to confound the mighty. 
 
 The pride of Holophernes, which exalted itself 
 against God, Avhen the warriors and the priests failed, 
 was extinguished by the valour of a woman; when 
 apostles lied and denied their God, women attended 
 Him in his sufferings, followed Him after his death, 
 and received the first-fruits of the resurrection. You, 
 my daughter, are animated with their zeal; God 
 grant that you may pass into their society. The 
 Spirit of love hath cast out fear from your heart, and 
 will bring it to pass, that the things which the 
 necessity of the church demands of you, arduous 
 though they be, shall appear not only possible, 
 but easy. 
 
 Having this hope, therefore, of your zeal in the 
 Lord, I command you, and for the remission of your 
 sins enjoin on you, that you deliver the letters, which 
 I send you from his holiness the pope, to our venerable 
 brother Roger, archbishop of York, in the presence, 
 if possible, of our brethren and fellow-bishops; and 
 if not, in the face of all who happen to be present. 
 Moreover, lest by any collision the original instru¬ 
 ment should be suppressed, deliver a transcript of it 
 to be read by the by-standers, and open to them its 
 intention, as the messenger will instruct you. 
 
438 
 
 RECEPTION OF BECKET 
 
 daughter, a great prize is oiFered for your 
 toil, remission of sins, a fruit that perisheth not,— 
 the crown of glory, which, in spite of all the sins of 
 their past lives, the blessed sinners of Magdala and 
 Egypt have received from Christ their Lord. 
 
 The Lady of Mercies will attend on you, and 
 will entreat her Son, whom she bore for the sins of 
 the world, God and Man, to be the guide, guard, 
 and companion of your steps. He who burst the 
 bonds of death, and curbed the violence of devils, is 
 not unable to restrain the impious hand that will be 
 raised against you. 
 
 Farewell, bride of Christ, and ever think upon his 
 presence with you.” 
 
 Milo’s warnings were confirmed by the crew of a 
 ship that left Dover immediately after the news of 
 the excommunication had got about. They stated 
 that the king’s party along the coast were much 
 excited, but that the people would be very glad to see 
 their archbishop. Both statements proved true. As 
 the vessel, with the silver cross at its prow, neared 
 the port of Sandwich, the people hurried down to 
 the beach, and even waded in the surf, to bear the 
 archbishop to land and receive his blessing. The’ 
 officers inquired if there were any foreigners in his 
 train, and reproached him with having troubled the 
 country by the excommunication; but when he told 
 them he had the king’s license, they offered no 
 molestation. In all the villages on the road to 
 Canterbury, the inhabitants came forth, headed by 
 their priests, ringing the church bells, and spreading 
 
BY THE PEOPLE. 
 
 439 
 
 garments in his way. In Canterbury itself there 
 was such a holiday as had never been seen,—rich and 
 poor putting on their best things,^—a procession going 
 out to meet him,—thanksgivings in the churches, a 
 banquet in the hall, the cathedral lighted up, and 
 the city resounding with trumpets and anthems. 
 After service, the archbishop preached from the text. 
 Here we have no continuing city, but seek one 
 to come.”* At night, he retired to the Augustine 
 monastery. But there was some trouble in the town 
 at the news that several of the king’s friends, on 
 their w^ay to the coast, turned off to the west when 
 they heard of the archbishop’s reception. Next 
 morning, there came Randolf de Broc and others, 
 demanding absolution for the bishops, who had not 
 yet left the country. Becket replied, that though 
 the excommunication was not his but the pope’s, he 
 would venture to absolve them, if they would promise 
 to abide the judgment of their brethren on the ques¬ 
 tion they had raised. This London and Salisbury 
 would have done, but York refused, declaring he 
 Avould empty his coffers in prosecuting an appeal 
 against this insolent Thomas. Thereupon the others 
 set off to the court in Normandy. 
 
 After resting a week at Canterbury, the archbishop 
 set out for London, to pay his respects to the young 
 king. Rochester, the only important town in his 
 road, received him with every mark of honour. The 
 metropolis exceeded even Canterbury in the warmth 
 of its welcome. ^^An immense multitude of all 
 
 * Heb. xiii. 14. 
 
440 
 
 RECErTION OF BECKET 
 
 classes, men and women, clergy and laity, went out 
 to meet him, and to bless God for allowing him to 
 return amongst them.” A procession of monks con¬ 
 ducted him to St. Mary’s, Southwark. Three thou¬ 
 sand clerks and poor scholars stationed themselves 
 on the road side, and sang the Te Deum Laudamus, as 
 for a great victory. To the people in the streets he 
 bowed and cast money, in acknowledgment of their 
 acclamations. The canons of St. Mary’s stood in 
 their porch, singing, Blessed is he who cometh.” 
 He lodged at night in the palace of Henry of Win¬ 
 chester, at the south foot of London Bridge. But 
 in the morning, there came Joceline de Arundel, the 
 young king’s uncle, to order him to return to his 
 diocese—and that although he had sent to his old 
 pupil a present of three very fine Flemish horses. 
 
 Is it the young king’s intention to forbid me his 
 presence ?” he asked. His commands are as I have 
 said,” answered Joceline. But when news reached 
 him that Bandolf de Broc, besides refusing to yield 
 his castle of Saltwood, had seized the vessel loaded 
 with his wine, killed some of the crew, and shut up 
 the rest in Pevensey Castle,—Becket sent word of it, 
 by the prior of Dover and the abbot of St. Alban’s, 
 to young Henry, who ordered the goods to be restored 
 and the sailors liberated. Bandolf himself arrived 
 next day, and attempted to hold to bail the priors 
 and citizens for having made a procession in honour 
 of the king’s enemy ; but they refused to be bound 
 on his summons. A mad woman startled the people 
 in all public places by calling out to the archbishop. 
 
BY THE PEOPLE. 
 
 441 
 
 Beware of the knife ! beware of the knife !” It is 
 not probable that he feared, though he certainly had 
 reason to apprehend, a personal attack—else would 
 he have taken a larger escort than the five lancers 
 whom he hired to accompany him to Canterbury. 
 He seems rather to have become at once careless of 
 his life, and anxious to end it with honour. But he 
 was not, for all that, superior to irritation at the in¬ 
 sults and robberies of the De Brocs; who killed his 
 deer, lured his dogs, heat his servants, and finally 
 cut off the tail of one of his pack horses. It was a 
 gleam of winter sunshine, amid this tempest of un¬ 
 certainties, to receive the submission of Hugh, Earl 
 of Norfolk, one of the excommunicated barons. The 
 archbishop wrote to him and to the bishop of Norwich 
 very gi*aciously, promising to visit them when he 
 had opportunity. But he could hardly have hoped 
 that it would ever come. It was now Christmas,— 
 and when, on that festival, preaching, before high 
 mass, from the favourite hut misquoted text, “ In 
 terra pax hominibus bonse voluntatis,”* he pointed to 
 the tomb of St. Alphage, and said, You have one 
 martyr among you now, and you may soon have 
 another.” The excitement of the people at these words 
 communicated itself to the preacher. His plaintive 
 strain changed into one of fierce invective. “ You 
 would have thought,” says Herbert de Bosham, 
 “ that you were looking at the face of the prophetic 
 beast, which was at once that of a man and of a lion.” 
 
 * Luke ii. 14. In the English version, “On earth peace, goodwill 
 toward men,” 
 
442 
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF 
 
 With the insults of the De Brocs flaming up in his 
 mind, he even condescended to specify, with an 
 emphasis that appeared as little incongruous to his 
 hearers as to himself, the cutting ofi* his horse’s tail, 
 and the spoliation of his wine ship. Then he swept 
 on, with a voice of thunder, to the greater offences 
 committed against his see and the rights of holy 
 church. He denounced and forbade communion 
 with the nobles and clerks who had intruded into 
 his benefices,—and did not forget Roger of York and 
 his associates. In conclusion, he cursed and excom¬ 
 municated whoever should sow hatred and discord 
 between himself and the king. With these words he 
 dashed the candlestick from his pulpit to the pave¬ 
 ment. As he passed to .the altar, by the tomb of 
 St. Alphage, he repeated to his crossbearer, One 
 martyr you have already—another, if God will, you 
 may have soon.” Nevertheless, he dined cheerfully 
 in his hall after service ; and it was observed that, 
 though it was Friday, he partook of fare appropriate 
 to the festival, not to the fast. On both the following 
 days he celebrated mass. On Sunday night he sent 
 away, with messages to the king of France and the 
 archbishop of Sens, his faithful secretary Herbert, and 
 Alexander his crossbearer, bidding them commend 
 themselves to the king, for they would see him no 
 more. Another clerk he sent to the pope,—and two 
 others with the letters to Norfolk and Norwich. Then 
 he inquired for William of Wrotham, a priest who 
 had met him there, on his last journey from London, 
 and probably warned him of some danger; for he 
 
GILBERT a’bECKET. 
 
 443 
 
 bade him come to Canterbury, where he should find 
 provision for life. William not having arrived, he 
 drew up a deed, appointing him to the chapelry of 
 Penshurst; and added a sentence of excommunication 
 against any one who should attempt to disturb him 
 therein. 
 
 So closed the last Sunday of his life. One of his 
 biographers alludes to some intimation of imminent 
 danger, as having been received that night in a letter 
 from France. However that may be, fatal danger 
 was already on the road. Four armed knights had 
 this same Sunday night left the king, in a frenzy of 
 rage, and were galloping towards the coast. It is 
 doubtful whether there had not been a faint resolu¬ 
 tion, at a sort of council on the previous Thursday, 
 that the archbishop’s life should be taken. The 
 account of the excommunicated bishops, and of the 
 witnesses to Becket’s reception, inflamed the whole 
 court to a desperate pitch. When the king asked the 
 bishops wdiat they would have him do, one of them— 
 his name remains in merciful obscurity—replied. 
 
 So long as Thomas lives, you will never enjoy one 
 day’s tranquillity.” Then came one of those fits of 
 demoniac fury which changed the face of the king, 
 and set him rolling on the bed and biting at the 
 coverlet. He cursed the false wretch who ate his 
 bread, but left him exposed to the violence of a priest. 
 Then arose Reginald Fitzarre, William de Tracy, 
 Hugh de Morville, and Richal’d Breton, and went 
 forth on their errand of blood. Entering the arch¬ 
 bishop’s country by diverse ports, they assembled on 
 
444 
 
 ATTACK UPON HIM 
 
 Monday night at Saltwood Castle, took dark counsel 
 there with the excommunicated De Brocs, and next 
 morning rode into the city. They took with them a 
 guard of soldiers, and sent out a herald to warn the 
 city in the king’s name against giving succour to the 
 archbishop. Terrible as were these premonitions of 
 their purpose, the archbishop met them proudly, in 
 the midst of his monks, and they left without offering 
 violence. But in the afternoon, at the hour of even¬ 
 song, they came hack, and followed the archbishop 
 and his attendants along the passages which led 
 from the monastery to the cathedral. One of the 
 monks had the presence of mind to close behind him 
 a door in these passages, which compelled the in¬ 
 truders to go round and knock at the church gate, 
 which the archbishop instantly ordered to he opened. 
 With trembling he was obeyed. What followed is best 
 told by an eye-witness and sufferer,—Edward Grim, 
 who was now the crosshearer, and himself shared the 
 blow which killed his master. 
 
 With drawn swords,” says Grim, they enter 
 the house of peace and reconciliation, by the very 
 sight and noise of weapons, striking terror into the 
 beholders. Those who were present, having come 
 to evening lauds, hut in reality to a spectacle of 
 death, being all affrighted and thrown into confusion, 
 the soldiers furiously shouted, ^ Where is Thomas 
 Becket, traitor to the king and to the kingdom?’ 
 And when no one answ^ered to this, they vociferated 
 again more loudly, ^ Where is the archbishop ?’ At 
 this word the archbishop, intrepid, according as it is 
 
IN THE CATHEDRAL AT CANTERBURY. 
 
 445 
 
 written, ^ The righteous, bold as a lion, shall be 
 without fear,’ comes down from the step (of the 
 altar) to which the monks had carried him for fear 
 of the soldiers, and very audibly answered, ^ Here 
 am I, not a traitor to the king, but a priest. What 
 do you want?’ And he who had already told them 
 that he feared not added, ‘1 am ready to suffer in 
 the name of Him who redeemed me with His blood; 
 God forbid that I should flee from your swords, or 
 shrink from justice.’ When he had spoken thus he 
 turned aside towards the right hand, under a pillar 
 having on one side an altar of the blessed mother of 
 God, and perpetual virgin Mary, and on the other 
 an altar of the holy confessor Benedict, by whose 
 example and suffrages he was crucified to the world 
 and its lusts, and with as great constancy as if he 
 were not in the flesh. Whatever the butcher could 
 bring he bore and overcame. 
 
 Here the murderers followed him, demanding, 
 ^ Absolve the persons you have excommunicated, and 
 restore to their offices those who are suspended.’ 
 ^ They have given no satisfaction,’ said he, ‘ and 
 therefore I will not absolve them.’ ^ Then you must 
 die,’ said they, ^ and get what you deserve.’ ^ And 
 I am ready,’ he replied, ^ to die for my Lord, that by 
 iny blood the church may obtain liberty and peace ; 
 but 1 forbid you, in the name of Almighty God, to 
 do any harm to any of my people, cither clerk or 
 layman.’ 
 
 ‘‘ Then they made a rush, laid on him their sacri¬ 
 legious hands, pulled him violently to drag him out 
 
446 
 
 THE MURDER. 
 
 of the church, that, as they afterwards confessed, 
 they might either kill him on the outside, or carry 
 him away hound. But he holding by the pillar 
 so firmly that they could not easily remove him, 
 he stoutly resisted one of them; and saying, ^ Regi¬ 
 nald, touch me not, you owe me fealty and subjec¬ 
 tion ; you and your accomplices are acting very 
 foolishly,’ pushed away the wretch. But this knight, 
 burning with rage at the terrible repulse, and bran¬ 
 dishing his sword over that sacred head, retorted, 
 
 ‘ I neither owe you fealty nor subjection, contrary 
 to the fealty due to my lord the king.’ The un¬ 
 conquerable martyr therefore, seeing that the hour 
 was come that must end his miserable mortality, 
 and that the crown of immortality prepared and 
 promised by his Lord was now ready to be given, 
 bowed his head in an attitude of prayer, and raising 
 his joined hands, commended his cause and that of 
 the church to God, to Mary, and to Denys, the 
 blessed martyr. 
 
 Scarcely had he finished when the vile knight, 
 afraid that, rescued by the people, he would™escape 
 with life, suddenly fell upon him, and on the top of 
 that shaven head which had been dedicated unto 
 God with holy chrism, wounded the lamb that was 
 to be immolated before God, and with tl»a..re , 
 
 stroke cut through the arm of him wh-S DOw ' 
 
 speaking. For he, when all the monks t cjprks 
 fled, constantly kept close to the holy-*^bishop, 
 and held him fast in both arms until het the arm 
 that met the sword. . . . Then came a*^€‘r stroke. 
 
THE MURDER. 
 
 447 
 
 but still he stood unmoved. But under a third the 
 martyr dropped his arms, sank upon his knees, and 
 offering himself a living sacrifice, said in a low 
 voice, ^ For the name of Jesus and the care of the 
 church, I am ready to he put to death.’ As he was 
 falling forward a third knight came with a-^ heavy 
 stroke. The sword glanced from the stone, and 
 carfTed away the top of his skull so entTrely, that 
 the white brain appeared reddened with gushing 
 blood, colours of the lily and the rose; white of tbb 
 Virgin and red of mother church—colours that both 
 in life and death tinged the face of the confessor 
 and the martyr." 
 
 A fourth knight had come, but turned away, 
 that others might more freely perpetrate the deed 
 of death. A fifth—not a knight, but a cleric—that 
 clerk who had come with the knights, lest a fifth 
 wound should be wanted for the martyr to be perfect 
 in his imitation of Christ, set his foot upon the 
 neck of the holy priest and precious martyr, and, 
 horrible to relate, scattering the brains over the 
 pavement, shouted to the rest, ^ Now let us go, 
 knights; this fellow will not get up again.’ ” 
 
 Their consciences must have belied their mouths, 
 as they rode off hastily through the gathering gloom, 
 while the altar lights fell on that accusing patch 
 of blood. Still louder must their consciences have 
 spoken when they heard how the monks buried, 
 and the people bewailed, the murdered priest. But 
 the voice was to wax still louder. For the penance 
 of Henry, the calamities which befell the execu- 
 
448 
 
 COI^CLUSION. 
 
 tioners of his wrath^ the shrine of St. Thomas, the 
 countless worshippers, and the verdict of posterity, 
 all attest that the dead did rise again, and overcome 
 his mortal enemies. The posthumous history of 
 Thomas Becket is perhaps the grandest portion of 
 his history,—but it is not for us to tell. 
 
 riNis. 
 
 LONDON; KNIGHT AND SON, PKINTEES, CLEE.KENWELL CLOSE. 
 

 
 Z'* 
 
 
 ^ - 
 
 - V 
 
 ■ I’ z 
 
 I ' I'l' 
 
 ; ■^.<:\ 
 ' J 'i '>r.l 
 
 '• i ; 
 
 
 .S'v 
 
7 ’^ 77'5 
 
 .fOSTON COLLEGE 
 
 3 9031 01218736 
 
 does ifor cncuuite 
 
 BOSTON COLLEGE LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY HEIGHTS 
 CHESTNUT HILL, MASS. 
 
 Books may be kept for two weeks and may be 
 renewed for the same period, unless reserved. 
 
 Two cents a day is charged for each book kept 
 overtime. 
 
 If you cannot find what you want, ask the 
 Librarian who will be glad to help you. 
 
 The borrower is responsible for books drawn 
 on his card and for all fines accruing on the same. 
 

 ^ * v? 
 
 t Ai\f i;>. 
 
 'jr J > 
 
 “ *■ ■■’*'!'.^ e’s?*'’ 
 «*►■«'# i V ’, 
 
 ' • (^/fW *( •• 
 
 
 
 
 ‘j r it. <-1 
 
 W 1.;: 
 
 If i'f. -.4* 
 
 j 
 
 
 
 
 
 “ •» 
 
 ! .r * ’,' 
 
 
 > j» . ;.j. 
 
 4 
 
 r f;» V