IN TROUBLES--
The king had before this time noticed a spot of immense military
importance on the Seine between Rouen and Paris, the rock of Andelys.
Indeed he had once tossed three Frenchmen from the rock. It was, or
might be, the key to Normandy on the French side, and he feared lest
Philip should seize upon it and use it against him. Consequently he
pounced upon it, and began to fortify it at lavish expense. Archbishop
Walter of Rouen, and late of Lincoln, in whose ecclesiastical patrimony
it lay, was furious, and obtained an Interdict, and Philip was chafed
too.{10} The former was appeased by the gift of Dieppe, and the latter
left to digest his spleen as best he might. The work was just about
finished in May when a shower of red rain fell, to the horror of all
except the dauntless king, who "would have cursed an angel" who had told
him to desist from this his great delight. Here it was that the king lay
waiting for the truce with France to expire.
The bishop arrived at the Rock castle in the morning of St. Augustine's
day (Aug. 28th). The king was in the chapel hearing Mass, and thither
the bishop followed him, and straightway saluted him. Now the king was
in the royal daïs, near the outer door. Two bishops were standing just
below him. (We must think of something like a small upstair college
chapel for the theatre of this tale.) These two were old Hugh Pudsey,
Bishop of Durham, and young Eustace, Bishop of Ely: the former a
generous, loose-handed, loose-living old gentleman, the latter
Longchamp's successor, a great scholar and revenue officer. Hugh looked
past the shoulders of these two and saluted again. The king glared at
him for a few seconds and then turned his face. The unabashed bishop put
his face nearer: "Give me the kiss, lord king." The king turned his face
further away, and drew his head back. Then the bishop clutched the
king's clothes at the chest, vigorously shook them, and said again, "You
owe me the kiss, for I have come a long way to you." The king, seemingly
not astonished in the least, said, "You have not deserved my kiss." The
strong hand shook him still harder, and across the cape which he still
held taut, the bold suppliant answered confidently, "Oh yes, I have
deserved it. Kiss me." The king, taken aback by this audacious
importunity, smiled and kissed him. Two archbishops (Walter of Rouen
most likely being one) and five other bishops were between the royal
seat and the altar. They moved to make room for their uncourtly brother.
But he passed through their ranks and went right up to the horn of the
altar, fixed his looks firmly on the ground, and gave his whole
attention to the celebration of the Divine mysteries. The king could
hardly take his eyes off the bishop all through the service. So they
continued until the threefold invocation of the Lamb of God that taketh
away the sins of the world. Then the celebrant, the king's chaplain,
gave the kiss of peace to a certain foreign archbishop, whose business
it was, by court custom, to bring it to the king. Richard came from his
place right up to the altar steps to meet him, received "the sign of the
peace which we get from the sacrifice of the Heavenly Lamb," and then
with humble reverence yielded the same to the Bishop of Lincoln by the
kiss of his mouth. This respectful service, which the other archbishop
was making ready to receive, as the custom was, and to pass on himself,
was thus given direct to the holy man. The king stept quickly up to him,
when Hugh was expecting nothing of the sort, but was wrapt in
prayer.{11}
When the Mass was over, Hugh went to the king and spoke a few strong
words of remonstrance against his unjustifiable anger, and explained his
own innocence. The king could answer nothing to the purpose, but said
that the Archbishop had often written suspicious suggestions against
him. The bishop soon showed that these were groundless, and added,
"God's honour apart, and the salvation of your soul and mine, I have
never opposed your interests even in the least degree." The king
immediately asked him to come next day to the recently constructed
castle of Château Gaillard, and ordered the bishop to be given a big
Seine pike, knowing that he would not eat meat. But before they left the
chapel Hugh gripped him by the hand and led him from his high seat to a
place near the altar. There he set him down and sat beside him. "You are
our parishioner, lord king" (he was born in Oxford), "and we must answer
at the tremendous judgment of the Lord of all for your soul, which He
redeemed with His own blood. So I wish you to tell me how stands it with
your soul in its inner state? so that I may be able to give it some
effectual counsel and help, as the Divine breathing shall direct. A
whole year has gone by since I last spoke with you."
The king answered that his conscience was clear, nearly in everything,
except that he was troubled by hatred against the enemies whom he was
apt to find doing him wrong, and wickedly attacking him. The reply was,
"If in all things you please the grace of the Ruler of all, He will
easily appease your enemies or give them into your hand. But you must
beware with all your might, that you are not living against the laws of
your Maker in any way (and God forbid you should) or even doing any
wrong to your neighbours. The Scripture says that 'When a man's ways
please the Lord, He maketh even his enemies to be at peace with him.' On
the other hand it says of others, 'The world shall fight with him,
against the unwise,' and again the holy man saith of the Lord, 'Who hath
hardened himself against Him and hath prospered?'
"Now there is a public report of you, and I grieve to say it, that you
neither keep faithful to the marriage bed of your own wife, nor do you
guard untouched the privileges of churches, especially in providing and
choosing their rulers. Yes, it is said, and a huge piece of villainy it
is, that moved by money or favour, you are used to promote some to the
rule of souls. If this is true, then without any doubt, peace cannot be
granted to you by God." When he had given this careful and timely
admonition and instruction, the king excused himself on some points, on
others asked earnestly for the bishop's intercession, and was sent off
with a blessing. The bishop then went in gladness to his pike. Richard's
opinion was that "if all the other bishops were like him, no king or
prince would dare to rear his neck against them." Such salutary
treatment now-a-days is the sole perquisite of the very poor. The higher
up men get on the social scale, the less they need such honest dealing,
it now appears.
But Hugh was not quite out of the toils. The king's counsellors
suggested that he should carry back letters to the barons demanding aid
and succour, letters which it was known would be well weighted by the
authority of the postman, and would ensure their bearer continuance of
the royal favour. The king's servants informed the bishop of this move,
and his clerkly friends pointed out the great advantage to himself of
this service. He answered: "That be far from me. It jumps neither with
my intention nor my office. It is not my part to become the carrier of
letters royal. It is not my part to co-operate in the least degree in
exactions of this sort. Do not you know that this mighty man begs as it
were with a drawn sword? Particularly this power (of the Crown), under
guise of asking, really forces. Our English first attract with their
gentle greetings, and then they force men with harshest compulsion to
pay not what is voluntary but just what they choose to exact. They often
compel unwilling folk to do what they know was once done spontaneously,
either by this generation or the last. I have no cause to be mixed up in
such dealings. These may please an earthly king at one's neighbour's
expense, but afterwards they move the indignation of Almighty God." He
asked the counsellors to arrange that this burden should not be laid
upon him with its consequent refusal, conflict, and disfavour. Richard
heard the tale and sent a message, "God bless you, but get away home,
and do not come here to-morrow as we said, but pray for us to the Lord
without ceasing," which message was most grateful to the bishop, and he
soon set his face north. His exultant chaplains felt sure that all would
turn out well, for on the steps of the chapel, when their hearts were
all pit-a-pat, they had heard the chorus prose of St. Austin being
chaunted, "Hail, noble prelate of Christ, most lovely flower," a lucky
omen! And again when they reached chapel doors they heard the bishops
and clerks within in unison continue the introit, "O blessed, O holy
Augustine, help thou this company."
A month later Richard won a smart little victory near Gisors, where King
Philip drank moat water, and nearly got knocked on the head. The king
announced this in a letter, and asked for more prayers, and Adam, the
biographer, felt that the heavenly triumph of his friend was complete.
He would have been less elate if he had known that all the bishops got a
similar letter, even wicked old Hugh de Pudsey.
Lincoln by this time was the home of learned and reliable men. The
canons, prebends, and placemen had been chosen with great care. Hugh had
cast his net far and wide and enclosed some very edible fishes. We know
of not a few. William of Leicester, Montanus, has already been
mentioned. Giraldus Cambrensis (a most learned, amusing, and malicious
writer, on the lines of Anthony A. Wood, or even of Horace Walpole) was
another. Walter de Map a third.{12} It was part of Hugh's high sense of
duty which made him fight with all his weight for a worthy though a
broad-minded use of patronage. He often upbraided the archbishop with
his careless use of this power, who was immersed in worldly business and
too given to bestow benefices for political or useful services. He said
himself that the most grievous worldly misfortune he ever suffered was
to find men whom he trusted and advanced turn out to be immoral
sluggards. Yet another of his promotions was that of William de Blois,
who afterwards succeeded him. In fact, like every great bishop of the
time, he gathered his _eruditi_, his scholars, around him, and these
were not looked upon as mere dreamers and impracticable bookworms. Lore
and action went hand in hand. The men of affairs and the men of
learning, in this age, were interchangeable persons. Consequently when
Richard's attention was directed to Lincoln and its bishop, when he
noticed that it was a centre for sound and steady clerks whose wallets
were by no means unstuffed, and when he reflected that he had failed to
lay hands upon the bishop's money, he resolved to have something at any
rate from this fine magazine. He wrote to the archbishop to order, by
letter, twelve eminent clerks, who had prudence, counsel, and eloquence,
to serve at their own expense in the Roman Court, in Germany, Spain, and
elsewhere. The post from Canterbury duly arrived with twelve sealed
"pair of letters," to be directed to eminent men, and with a special
letter to order the bishop to hasten and obey. The bearer found the
bishop at his Buckden House, and dinner was just on the board. There was
much buzz and hum among those present when the tale was told, but Hugh
made no reply. He simply sat down to table. The clergy, a pavid flock,
chattered their fears between the mouthfuls. They hoped rather
hopelessly, that the answer would be all sugary and smiling; at any rate
that their master would try a little ogling of the archbishop, who
could, if he would, make things ever so much better. While they were
exchanging their views upon expediency and the great propriety of saving
one's skin, the stout-hearted bishop rose from table. He had consulted
none of these scared advisers, so that he might not throw the
responsibility upon their shivering backs. He turned to the messenger
and said, "These are novelties, and hitherto unheard of, both the
things which my lord has ordered on the king's authority and on his own.
Still he may know that I never was, nor will be, a letter carrier of his
epistles; and I never have, nor will now, oblige our clergy to undertake
royal service. I have often stopped even clerks of other parts,
beneficed in our bishopric, from daring to make themselves beholden to
secular patronage in public offices, such as forest diversion, and other
like administrations. Some, who were less obedient on this point, we
have even chastened by long sequestration of their livings. On what
reasonable count, then, ought we to pluck men from the very vitals of
our Church, and send them by order on the royal service? Let it be
enough for our lord the king that (certainly a danger to their soul's
salvation) the archbishops, neglecting the duty of their calling, are
already utterly given over to the performance of his business. If that
is not enough for him, then this bishop will come with his people. He
will come, I say, and hear his orders from the king's own lips. He will
come ready to carry out what is right next after those same orders.
"But as for you, take the bundle of twelve letters which you say you
have brought to us, and be off with them and make just what use you
please of them. But every single word which I speak to you, be sure to
repeat to our lord the archbishop: and do not fail to end with the
message that if the arrangement holds that our clergy are to go to the
king, I myself likewise will go with them. I have not gone before
without them; and they will not go without me now. This is the right
relation between a good shepherd and good sheep: he must not scatter
them by foolishly letting them out of his ken. They must not get into
trouble by rash escape from him."
The letter carrier, a court cleric, was finely indignant. He was a man
careful-chosen, haughty by nature, but still more haughty as royal
envoy. He was bridling up for a volley of threats when the bishop cut
him short, and ordered him off at the double. He slunk away abashed. A
deputation, of weight, from Lincoln next waited upon the archbishop to
expostulate with him for playing chuck taw with the immunity of the
church, and franking with his authority such messages. He smiled
graciously, after the manner of his kind, and hid his spleen. He meant
no harm, of course: if harm there were, he was glad to be disobeyed, and
he would make all quiet and right. Of course in reality he took care to
twist the Lion's tail with both hands, and the next thing was a public
edict, that all the goods of the bishop were to be taken care of by the
king's collectors. The good man heard and remarked, "Did I not tell you
truly of these men: their voice is Jacob's voice, but the hands are the
hands of Esau?" It was easier to order than to execute. The anathema
counted for much, but the public conscience no doubt for more. The
officers balked and remonstrated. Richard insisted, but his tools bent
in his hand. "Those English are scared at shadows," he said; "let us
send Mercadier. He will know how to play with the Burgundian fellow."
This amiable man was the captain of the Routiers, whose playful habits
may be guessed from the fact that he is the gentleman who afterwards
skinned Bertrand de Gourdon for shooting the king. One of the king's
friends answered, "Mercadier is necessary, my lord the king, to your
war. We should lose our pains and also his services if the Lincoln
bishop's anathema should take effect." The king agreed that the risk was
too heavy, so he ordered Stephen de Turnham to take charge of the
bishop's goods, as he loved his life and limbs. This man had been
seneschal of Anjou under the king's father, and was well affected to the
bishop; but he was between the devil and the deep sea. With some
heaviness and nervousness Stephen moved upon Sleaford. Between
Peterborough and Market Deeping, whom should he fall in with but the
bishop and his party! The uneasy disseizers fetched a compass, halted,
and got hold of some of the clergy. They were as humble as Ahaziah's
third captain before Elijah. They were obliged to do it, but, poor
lambs, they would not hurt so much as a swan's feather. And would the
bishop, by all that was invokeable, kindly defer his anathema? or else
the king would be royally angry, and they would get more than they
deserved. The bishop answered the clergy, "It is not their parts to keep
our things whole. Let them go. Let them finger and break in upon the
goods, as they think fit. They are not ours but our Lady's, the holy
Mother of God." He then brought out the end of his linen stole from his
cloak (which stole he always wore, ready for confirmation and
excommunication) shook it and added, "This little bit of stuff will
bring back to the last halfpenny whatever they reeve away." He then
passed on to Buckden (near Huntingdon), where he issued orders to all
the archdeacons and rural deans, that so soon as the officers should
arrive they should clang bells, light candles and solemnly ban all who
should violently and unrighteously touch the property of their Church.
The flutter in the clerical dovecot was immense, but the bishop simply
said good-night to his excited chaplains and was soon in the sweetest
slumber. Except that he said Amen in his sleep a few more times than
usual, and more earnestly, they saw no trace of neural tremours about
his sedate carriage. He seems to have been well aware of the gravity of
the struggle, for he had already announced at Lincoln that he would have
to go abroad. He had gathered his children at the Mass, where he added
the priestly blessing from the law of Moses,{13} had commended himself
to their prayers, given them the kiss of peace and commended them to
God, and was already on the way to the archbishop. He stayed a few days
at Buckden. Thence he slowly made his way to London. On the road a rural
dean consulted him upon the case of a girl with second sight and a
terrific tongue. This damsel would prophetically discover things stolen
or lost, and she had a large following. If any discreet and learned man
tackled her she would talk him down, and put him to rout. She was
brought to meet Hugh by the roadside, amid a crowd of confirmation
candidates. He addressed her, chiding not so much the damsel as the
demon within her, "Come now, unhappy girl, what can you divine for us?
Tell me please, if you can, what this hand holds in it?" He held out his
right hand closed over his stole end. She made no reply, but fell at
his feet in a sort of faint. After a pause he bade them lift her up and
asked through the dean (for he was ignorant of the country woman's talk)
how she had learnt to divine? "I cannot divine. I implore the mercy of
this holy bishop," she replied, and knelt at his feet. He laid his hands
upon her head, prayed, blessed her, and sent her to the Prior of
Huntingdon, the penitentiary priest of the district, to hear her
confession. She not only gave up witchcraft, but ceased to be
brazen-faced and a shrew: so that people bruited this matter as a
miracle, and a handsome one it was. The bishop probably saved her from
the vengeance of this rural dean, for witch-burning was not unknown even
then, as Walter de Map witnesses. This was not the first essay of our
bishop in witch-laying. When he was still Prior of Witham, Bartholomew,
Bishop of Exeter, a learned and pious man, and one of St. Thomas'
opposers, consulted him upon a sad case. Bishop Bartholomew was
interested in spiritualism (which shews the same face in every century,
and never adds much to its phenomena), as Matthew Paris recounts. A poor
girl was the prey of a most violent and cruel Incubus, whom no fasts or
austerities could divorce from her. Hugh suggested united prayer on her
behalf, which was made, but not answered. A rival Incubus, however, came
upon the scenes, of a softer mood, and wooed with mild speeches. He
promised to deliver her, and pointed out the perforated St. John's wort
as a herb odious to devils. This the artful woman put in her bosom and
her house, and kept both suitors at bay.{14} The bishop was much struck
with this story, as well he might be, and used often to tell it. A monk
told him another similar tale from Essex; but enough of such fables.
When he left Huntingdon the bishop went on to St. Albans, seemingly in a
leisurely way, and as he drew near to this place, he met a crowd of
provost's men dragging a condemned thief to the gallows. The poor
creature's arms were braced behind his back. The word went round quickly
that it was Hugh of Lincoln, and there was the usual rush to beg for his
blessing, police craft and piety being wedded in those officers. The
captive by some acrobatics managed to rush too, and came against the
horse's neck, was knocked down, and in the dust cried for mercy. The
bishop drew rein and asked who the man was and what he wanted. His
attendants, who knew the language, answered him, "It is not your part,
my lord, to ask more about the fellow. Indeed, you must let him just
pass." They feared lest the bishop, already in deep water, should fall
into still deeper by some chivalrous audacity. But he would know the
tale and why the man cried him mercy: and when he knew it, he cried,
"Lackaday! God be blessed!" and turning to the hangmen, he said, "Come
back, my sons, with us to St. Albans. Hand the man over to us, and tell
your masters and the judges that we have taken him from you. We will see
that you take no harm." They did not dare to resist, but gave up their
victim. He was quickly untied and given to the almoner. When they
reached the abbey the clergy and attendant came to the bishop and begged
him most earnestly to allow the civil magistrates to do their office.
"Up till now, my lord, neither the king nor any other man who lay in
wait for you, could bring a just or a just-seeming charge against you.
But if when the legal judges have passed sentence and handed the case to
the executive, you quash that sentence by your pontifical authority,
your ill-wishers will call it a blow against the king's crown, and you
will fall into the condemnation of flat treason." "I am assured of your
kindness," he answered; "but let these judges come in to us and you
shall hear what we have to say to each other." The judges were already
tapping at the doors, for a word with the audacious bishop. "Gentlemen,
you are wise enough to know that your holy Mother the Church has
everywhere this prerogative: all who are falling into any danger of
condemnation and fly to her, may get freedom, and be kept unhurt." This
they well knew and believed to be quite right. "If you know this, you
ought to know that where the bishop is, united to the faithful in
Christ, there too is the church. He who is used by his ministry to
dedicate the material stones of the church to the Lord; who also has the
work of sanctifying the living stones, the real stuff of the church, by
each of the Sacraments, to rear from them the Lord's temple, he by right
must enjoy the privileges of ecclesiastical dignity, wherever he be, and
succour all who are in danger, according to his legal order."
The judges gratefully agreed, remembered that this was so expressed in
ancient English law, but now obsolete, thanks to bishops' sloth or
princes' tyranny. They summed up by this politeness, "My lord, we are
your sons and parishioners. You are our father and pastor. So it will
not be ours to run counter to your privilege or to dispute it: nor
yours, by your leave, to bring us into any hazard. If you decide upon
the man's release, we offer no opposition; but by your leave we trust
you to see that we incur no danger from the king." "Well and rightly
spoken," said he, "and on these terms I take him from your hands. For
this infraction, I will make answer where I must." So the man escaped
the gallows, and was set free again when they reached London.
Two remarks are worth making here. First, that the right of sanctuary,
both for accused and of guilty persons, were guaranteed by the old Laws
Ecclesiastical of King Edward the Confessor, as collected by William the
First in the fourth year of his reign, which laws were romantically dear
to the English people. The stretch came in where the Church was
interpreted to mean the bishop and faithful. Secondly, Saint Nicholas
similarly rescued two men from the scaffold, but not at a moment so
inopportune for himself. If the rescue had law behind it, and it might
be so defended, it was a very awkward moment to choose to champion a
hangdog. But this was the age of chivalry, and without such innate
chivalry Hugh would never have cast the spell he did over King Richard's
England.
FOOTNOTES:
{10} "I will take it, though it were built of iron," he said; to which
Richard replied, "And I will defend it, though it were of butter."
{11} There is no osculatory to be found in the records. This is a
slightly later invention, and no one seems to kneel in this picture.
{12} Whom some wish to acquit of writing that jovial drinking song,
"I intend to end my days,
In a tavern drinking."
{13} "The Lord bless thee and keep thee," &c. Numbers, vi., 24.
{14} If the reader disbelieves this story, let him read Bede upon Luke
viii., 30, says the narrator.