In the year of our Lord’s incarnation 959, Edgar, the honour and

delight of the English, the son of Edmund, the brother of Edwy, a

youth of sixteen years old, assuming the government, held it for

about a similar period. The transactions of his reign are celebrated

with peculiar splendour even in our times. The Divine love, which

he sedulously procured by his devotion and energy of counsel, shone

propitious on his years. It is commonly reported, that at his birth

Dunstan heard an angelic voice, saying, “Peace to England so long as

this child shall reign, and our Dunstan survives.” The succession of

events was in unison with the heavenly oracle; so much while he lived

did ecclesiastical glory flourish, and martial clamour decay. Scarcely

does a year elapse in the chronicles, in which he did not perform

something great and advantageous to his country; in which he did not

build some new monastery. He experienced no internal treachery, no

foreign attack. Kinad, king of the Scots, Malcolm, of the Cambrians,

that prince of pirates, Maccus, all the Welsh kings, whose names were

Dufnal, Giferth, Huval, Jacob, Judethil, being summoned to his court,

were bound to him by one, and that a lasting oath; so that meeting him

at Chester, he exhibited them on the river Dee in triumphal ceremony.

For putting them all on board the same vessels he compelled them to

row him as he sat at the prow: thus displaying his regal magnificence,

who held so many kings in subjection. Indeed, he is reported to have

said, that henceforward his successors might truly boast of being

kings of England, since they would enjoy so singular an honour. Hence

his fame being noised abroad, foreigners, Saxons, Flemings, and even

Danes, frequently sailed hither, and were on terms of intimacy with

Edgar, though their arrival was highly prejudicial to the natives: for

from the Saxons they learned an untameable ferocity of mind; from the

Flemings an unmanly delicacy of body; and from the Danes drunkenness;

though they were before free from such propensities, and disposed to

observe their own customs with native simplicity rather than admire

those of others. For this history justly and deservedly blames him; for

the other imputations which I shall mention hereafter have rather been

cast on him by ballads.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 973.] KING EDGAR’S REFORMS.]

At this time the light of holy men was so resplendent in England, that

you would believe the very stars from heaven smiled upon it. Among

these was Dunstan, whom I have mentioned so frequently, first, abbat

of Glastonbury; next, bishop of Worcester; and lastly, archbishop of

Canterbury: of great power in earthly matters, in high favour with God;

in the one representing Martha, in the other Mary. Next to king Alfred,

he was the most extraordinary patron of the liberal arts throughout

the whole island; the munificent restorer of monasteries; terrible

were his denunciations against transgressing kings and princes;

kind was his support of the middling and poorer classes. Indeed, so

extremely anxious was he to preserve peace ever in trivial matters,

that, as his countrymen used to assemble in taverns, and when a little

elevated quarrel as to the proportions of their liquor, he ordered

gold or silver pegs to be fastened in the pots, that whilst every man

knew his just measure, shame should compel each neither to take more

himself, nor oblige others to drink beyond their proportional share.

Osberne,[183] precentor of Canterbury, second to none of these times

in composition, and indisputably the best skilled of all in music,

who wrote his life with Roman elegance, forbids me to relate farther

praiseworthy anecdotes of him. Besides, in addition to this, if the

divine grace shall accompany my design, I intend after the succession

of the kings at least to particularize the names of all the bishops

of each province in England, and to offer them to the knowledge of

my countrymen, if I shall be able to coin anything worth notice out

of the mintage of antiquity. How powerful indeed the sanctity and

virtue of Dunstan’s disciples were, is sufficiently evidenced by

Ethelwold, made abbat of Abingdon from a monk of Glastonbury, and

afterwards bishop of Winchester, who built so many and such great

monasteries, as to make it appear hardly credible how the bishop of one

see should be able to effect what the king of England himself could

scarcely undertake. I am deceived, and err through hasty opinion, if

what I assert be not evident. How great are the monasteries of Ely,

Peterborough, and Thorney, which he raised from the foundations, and

completed by his industry; which though repeatedly reduced by the

wickedness of plunderers, are yet sufficient for their inhabitants.

His life was composed in a decent style by Wulstan,[184] precentor of

Winchester, who had been his attendant and pupil: he wrote also another

very useful work, “On the Harmony of Sounds,” a proof that he was a

learned Englishman, a man of pious life and correct eloquence. At that

time too Oswald, nephew of Odo, who had been archbishop before Dunstan,

from a monk of Flory becoming bishop of Worcester and archbishop of

York, claimed equal honours with the others. Treading the same paths,

he extended the monastic profession by his authority, and built a

monastery at Ramsey in a marshy situation. He filled the cathedral

of Worcester with monks, the canons not being driven out by force,

but circumvented by pious fraud.[185] Bishop Ethelwold, by the royal

command, had before expelled the canons from Winchester, who, upon

the king’s giving them an option either to live according to rule, or

depart the place, gave the preference to an easy life, and were at that

time without fixed habitations wandering over the whole island. In this

manner these three persons, illuminating England, as it were, with a

triple light, chased away the thick darkness of error. In consequence,

Edgar advanced the monastery of Glastonbury, which he ever loved beyond

all others, with great possessions, and was anxiously vigilant in all

things pertaining either to the beauty or convenience of the church,

whether internally or externally. It may be proper here to subjoin to

our narrative the charter he granted to the said church, as I have read

it in their ancient chartulary.[186]

[Sidenote: [A.D. 973.] EDGAR’S CHARTER.]

[Sidenote: [A.D. 973.] CHARTER OF GLASTONBURY.]

“Edgar of glorious memory, king of the Angles, son of king Edmund,

whose inclinations were ever vigilantly bent on divine matters, often

coming to the monastery of the holy mother of God at Glastonbury, and

studying to honour this place with dignity superior to others, hath by

the common consent of the bishops, abbats, and nobility, conferred on

it many and very splendid privileges;--the first of which is, that no

person, unless a monk of that place, shall there be abbat, either in

name or in office, nor any other, except such as the common consent of

the meeting shall have chosen according to the tenor of the rule. But

should necessity so ordain, that an abbat or monk of another monastery

be made president of this place, then he deems it proper that none

shall be appointed, but such as the congregation of the monastery may

elect, to preside over them in the fear of the Lord; nor shall this be

done, if any, even the lowest of the congregation, can be there found

fit for the office. He hath appointed too, that the election of their

abbat shall rest for ever in the monks, reserving only to himself

and his heirs the power of giving the pastoral staff to the elected

brother. He hath ordained also, that so often as the abbat or the monks

of this place shall appoint any of their society to be dignified with

holy orders, they shall cause any bishop canonically ordained, either

in his own cathedral, or in the monastery of St. Mary at Glastonbury,

to ordain such monks and clerks as they deem fit to the church of St.

Mary. He hath granted moreover, that as he himself decides in his own

dominions, so the abbat or the convent shall decide the causes of

their entire island,[187] in all matters ecclesiastical or secular,

without the contradiction of any one. Nor shall it be lawful for any

person to enter that island which bore witness to his birth, whether

he be bishop, duke, or prince, or person of whatever order, for the

purpose of there doing any thing prejudicial to the servants of God:

this he forbids altogether, in the same manner as his predecessors have

sanctioned and confirmed by their privileges; that is to say, Kentwin,

Ina, Ethelard, Cuthred, Alfred, Edward, Athelstan, and Edmund. When,

therefore, by the common consent, as has been said, of his prelates,

abbats, and nobility, he determined to grant these privileges to the

place aforesaid, he laid his own horn, beautifully formed of ivory

and adorned with gold, upon the altar of the holy mother of God, and

by that donation confirmed them to the same holy mother of God, and

her monks, to be possessed for ever. Soon after he caused this horn

to be cut in two in his presence, that no future abbat might give or

sell it to any one, commanding part of it to be kept upon the spot

for a testimony of the aforesaid donation. Recollecting, however, how

great is the temerity of human inconstancy, and on whom it is likely

to creep, and fearing lest any one hereafter should attempt to take

away these privileges from this place, or eject the monks, he sent

this charter of royal liberality to the renowned lord, pope John, who

had succeeded Octavian in the honour of the pontificate, begging him

to corroborate these grants by an apostolical bull. Kindly receiving

the legation, the pope, with the assenting voice of the Roman council,

confirmed what had been already ordained, by writing an apostolical

injunction, terribly hurling on the violators of them, should any

be so daring, the vengeance of a perpetual curse. This confirmation

therefore of the aforesaid pope, directed to the same place, king

Edgar, of worthy memory, laid upon the altar of the holy mother of God

for a perpetual remembrance, commanding it to be carefully kept in

future for the information of posterity. We have judged it proper to

insert both these instruments, lest we should be supposed to invent

such things against those persons who seek to enter into the fold

of St. Mary, not like shepherds, by the door, but like thieves and

robbers, some other way. “Be it known to all the faithful, that I,

John the twelfth, through the mercy of God unworthy pope of the holy

Roman See, am intreated by the humble request of the noble Edgar,

king of the Angles, and of Dunstan, archbishop of the holy church of

Canterbury, for the monastery of St. Mary, Glastonbury; which, induced

by the love of the heavenly King, they have endowed with many great

possessions, increasing in it the monastic order, and having confirmed

it by royal grant, they pray me also so to do. Wherefore assenting to

their affectionate request, I take that place into the bosom of the

Roman church, and the protection of the holy apostles, and support

and confirm its immunities as long as it shall remain in the same

conventual order in which it now flourishes. The monks shall have

power to elect their own superior; ordination, as well of monks as

of clerks, shall be at the will of the abbat and convent. We ordain,

moreover, that no person shall have liberty to enter this island,

either to hold courts, to make inquiry, or to correct; and should any

one attempt to oppose this, or to take away, retain, diminish, or

harass with vexatious boldness, the possessions of the same church,

he shall become liable to a perpetual curse, by the authority of God

the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, the holy mother of God, the holy

apostles Peter and Paul, and all saints, unless he recant. But the

peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with all who maintain the rights of

the place aforesaid. Amen. And let this our deed remain unshaken. Done

in the time of Edward, abbat of the said monastery.” The aforesaid

king Edgar confirmed these things at London, by his solemn charter, in

the twelfth year of his reign; and in the same year, that is, of our

Lord 965,[188] the pope aforesaid allowed them in a general synod at

Rome, and commanded all members of superior dignity who were present at

the said general council, to confirm them likewise. Let the despisers

then of so terrible a curse consider well what an extensive sentence

of excommunication hangs over their heads: and indeed to St. Peter

the apostle, the chief of apostles, Christ gave the office either of

binding or loosing, as well as the keys of the kingdom of heaven. But

to all the faithful it must be plain and evident, that the head of

the Roman church must be the vicar of this apostle, and the immediate

inheritor of his power. Over this church then John of holy memory

laudably presided in his lifetime, as he lives to this day in glorious

recollection, promoted thereto by the choice of God and of all the

people. If then the ordinance of St. Peter the apostle be binding,

consequently that of John the pope must be so likewise; but not even

a madman would deny the ordinance of Peter the apostle to be binding,

consequently no one in his sober senses can say that the ordinance of

John the pope is invalid. Either, therefore, acknowledging the power

conferred by Christ on St. Peter and his successors, they will abstain

from transgressing against the authority of so dreadful an interdict,

or else contemning it, they will, with the devil and his angels, bring

upon themselves the eternal duration of the curse aforewritten. In

consequence, it is manifest that no stranger ever seized this monastery

for himself, who did not, as shall appear, disgracefully lose it again;

and that this occurred, not by any concerted plan of the monks, but by

the judgment of God, for the avenging his holy authority. Wherefore let

no man reading this despise it, nor make himself conspicuous by being

angry at it; for should he, perhaps he will confess that to be said of

himself which was designed to be spoken of another. The monastic order,

for a long time depressed, now joyfully reared its head, and hence it

came to pass that our monastery also resumed its ancient liberties: but

this I think will be more suitably related in the words of the king

himself.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 973.] ELFRIC GUARDIAN OF MALMESBURY.]

“I, Edgar, king of all Albion, and exalted, by the subjection of the

surrounding kings maritime or insular, by the bountiful grace of God,

to a degree never enjoyed by any of my progenitors, have often, mindful

of so high an honour, diligently considered what offering I should

more especially make from my earthly kingdom, to the King of kings.

In aid of my pious devotion, heavenly love suddenly insinuated to my

watchful solicitude, that I should rebuild all the holy monasteries

throughout my kingdom, which, as they were outwardly ruinous, with

mouldering shingles and worm-eaten boards, even to the rafters, so,

what was still worse, they had become internally neglected, and almost

destitute of the service of God; wherefore, ejecting those illiterate

clerks, subject to the discipline of no regular order, in many places

I have appointed pastors of an holier race, that is, of the monastic

order, supplying them with ample means out of my royal revenues to

repair their churches wherever ruinated. One of these pastors, by

name Elfric, in all things a true priest, I have appointed guardian

of that most celebrated monastery which the Angles call by a twofold

name Maldelmes-burgh. To which, for the benefit of my soul, and in

honour of our Saviour, and the holy mother of God the virgin Mary,

and the apostles Peter and Paul, and the amiable prelate Aldhelm, I

have restored, with munificent liberality, a portion of land: and

more especially a piece of ground,[189] with meadows and woods.

This, leased out by the aforesaid priest, was unjustly held by the

contentious Edelnot; but his vain and subtle disputation being heard by

my counsellors, and his false defence being, in my presence, nullified,

by them, I have restored it to the use of the monastery in the year of

our Lord 974, in the fourteenth of my reign, and the first of my royal

consecration.”

[Sidenote: [A.D. 973.] EDGAR’S VISION.]

And here I deem it not irrelevant to commit to writing what was

supernaturally shown to the king. He had entered a wood abundant in

game, and, as usually happens, while his associates were dispersed in

the thicket for the purpose of hunting, he was left alone. Pursuing

his course, he came to the outlet of the wood, and stopping there

waited for his companions. Shortly after, seized with an irresistible

desire to sleep, he alighted from his horse, that the enjoyment of a

short repose might assuage the fatigue of the past day. He lay down,

therefore, under a wild apple-tree, where the clustering branches had

formed a shady canopy all around. A river, flowing softly beside him,

adding to his drowsiness, by its gentle murmur soothed him to sleep;

when a bitch, of the hunting breed, pregnant, and lying down at his

feet, terrified him in his slumbers. Though the mother was silent, yet

the whelps within her womb barked in various sonorous tones, incited,

as it were, by a singular delight in the place of their confinement.

Astonished at this prodigy, as he lifted up his eyes towards the summit

of the tree, he saw, first one apple, and then another, fall into the

river, by the collision of which, the watery bubbles being put in

commotion, a voice articulately sounded, “Well is thee.” Soon after,

driven by the rippling wave, a little pitcher appeared upon the stream,

and after that a larger vessel, overflowing with water, for the former

was empty: and although by the violence of the stream the greater

vessel pressed upon the lesser that it might discharge its waters

into it; yet it ever happened that the pitcher escaped, still empty,

and again, as in a haughty and insulting manner, attacked the larger.

Returning home, as the Psalmist says, “He thought upon what had been

done, and sought out his spirit.” His mother addressed him, however,

that she might cheer both his countenance and his heart; saying, it

should be her care to entreat God, who knew how to explain mysteries

by the light of his inspiration. With this admonition he dispelled his

grief and dismissed his anxiety, conscious of his mother’s sanctity, to

whom God had vouchsafed many revelations. Her name was Elfgiva, a woman

intent on good works, and gifted with such affection and kindness, that

she would even secretly discharge the penalties of those culprits whom

the sad sentence of the judges had publicly condemned. That costly

clothing, which, to many women, is the pander of vice, was to her the

means of liberality; as she would give a garment of the most beautiful

workmanship to the first poor person she saw. Even malice itself, as

there was nothing to carp at, might praise the beauty of her person and

the work of her hands. Thoroughly comprehending the presage, she said

to her son next morning, “The barking of the whelps while the mother

was sleeping, implies, that after your death, those persons who are

now living and in power, dying also, miscreants yet unborn will bark

against the church of God. And whereas one apple followed the other,

so that the voice, ‘Well is thee,’ seemed to proceed from the dashing

of the second against the first, this implies that from you, who are

now a tree shading all England, two sons will proceed; the favourers

of the second will destroy the first, when the chiefs of the different

parties will say to each of the boys, ‘Well is thee,’ because the dead

will reign in heaven, the living on earth, Forasmuch as the greater

pitcher could not fill the smaller, this signifies, that the Northern

nations, which are more numerous than the English, shall attack England

after your death; and, although they may recruit their deficiencies by

perpetual supplies of their countrymen, yet they shall never be able

to fill this Angle of the world, but instead of that, our Angles, when

they seem to be completely subjugated, shall drive them out, and it

shall remain under its own and God’s governance, even unto the time

before appointed by Christ. Amen.”

Farther perusal will justify the truth of the presage. The manifest

sanctity both of parent and child ought here to be considered; that the

one should see a mystery when broad awake without impediment, and that

the other should be able to solve the problem by the far-discerning eye

of prophecy. The rigour of Edgar’s justice was equal to the sanctity

of his manners, so that he permitted no person, be his dignity what

it might, to elude the laws with impunity. In his time there was no

private thief, no public freebooter, unless such as chose to risk the

loss of life for their attacks upon the property of others.[190] How,

indeed, can it be supposed that he would pass over the crimes of men

when he designed to exterminate every beast of prey from his kingdom;

and commanded Judwall, king of the Welsh, to pay him yearly a tribute

of three hundred wolves? This he performed for three years, but omitted

in the fourth, declaring that he could find no more.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 973.] EDGAR’S CHARACTER.]

Although it is reported that he was extremely small both in stature

and in bulk, yet nature had condescended to enclose such strength in

that diminutive body, that he would voluntarily challenge any person,

whom he knew to be bold and valiant, to engage with him, and his

greatest apprehension was, lest they should stand in awe of him in

these encounters. Moreover, at a certain banquet, where the prating

of coxcombs generally shows itself very freely, it is reported that

Kinad, king of the Scots, said in a sportive manner, that it seemed

extraordinary to him how so many provinces should be subject to such a

sorry little fellow. This was caught up with malignant ear by a certain

minstrel, and afterwards cast in Edgar’s teeth, with the customary

raillery of such people. But he, concealing the circumstance from his

friends, sent for Kinad, as if to consult him on some secret matter

of importance, and leading him aside far into the recesses of a wood,

he gave him one of two swords, which he had brought with him. “Now,”

said he, “as we are alone, I shall have an opportunity of proving your

strength; I will now make it appear which ought deservedly to command

the other; nor shall you stir a foot till you try the matter with me,

for it is disgraceful in a king to prate at a banquet, and not to be

prompt in action.” Confused, and not daring to utter a word, he fell at

the feet of his sovereign lord, and asked pardon for what was merely

a joke; which he immediately obtained. But what of this? Every summer,

as soon as the festival of Easter was passed, he ordered his ships to

be collected on each coast; cruising to the western part of the island

with the eastern fleet; and, dismissing that, with the western to the

north; and then again with the northern squadron towards the east,

carefully vigilant lest pirates should disturb the country. During the

winter and spring, travelling through the provinces, he made inquiry

into the decisions of men in power, severely avenging violated laws,

by the one mode advancing justice, by the other military strength; and

in both consulting public utility. There are some persons, indeed,

who endeavour to dim his exceeding glory by saying, that in his

earlier years he was cruel to his subjects, and libidinous in respect

of virgins. Their first accusation they exemplify thus. There was,

in his time, one Athelwold, a nobleman of celebrity and one of his

confidants. The king had commissioned him to visit Elfthrida, daughter

of Ordgar, duke of Devonshire, (whose charms had so fascinated the eyes

of some persons that they commended her to the king), and to offer

her marriage, if her beauty were really equal to report. Hastening on

his embassy, and finding everything consonant to general estimation,

he concealed his mission from her parents and procured the damsel for

himself. Returning to the king, he told a tale which made for his

own purpose; that she was a girl nothing out of the common track of

beauty, and by no means worthy such transcendent dignity. When Edgar’s

heart was disengaged from this affair, and employed on other amours,

some tattlers acquainted him, how completely Athelwold had duped him

by his artifices. Paying him in his own coin, that is, returning him

deceit for deceit, he showed the earl a fair countenance, and, as in

a sportive manner, appointed a day when he would visit his far-famed

lady. Terrified, almost to death, with this dreadful pleasantry, he

hastened before to his wife, entreating that she would administer to

his safety by attiring herself as unbecomingly as possible: then first

disclosing the intention of such a proceeding. But what did not this

woman dare? She was hardy enough to deceive the confidence of her

first lover, her first husband; to call up every charm by art, and to

omit nothing which could stimulate the desire of a young and powerful

man. Nor did events happen contrary to her design. For he fell so

desperately in love with her the moment he saw her, that, dissembling

his indignation, he sent for the earl into a wood at Warewelle,[191]

called Harewood, under pretence of hunting, and ran him through with

a javelin: and when the illegitimate son of the murdered nobleman

approached with his accustomed familiarity, and was asked by the

king how he liked that kind of sport, he is reported to have said,

“Well, my sovereign liege, I ought not to be displeased with that

which gives you pleasure.” This answer so assuaged the mind of the

raging monarch, that, for the remainder of his life, he held no one in

greater estimation than this young man; mitigating the offence of his

tyrannical deed against the father, by royal solicitude for the son.

In expiation of this crime, a monastery which was built on the spot by

Elfthrida is inhabited by a large congregation of nuns.

To this instance of cruelty, they add a second of lust. Hearing of the

beauty of a certain virgin, who was dedicated to God, he carried her

off from a monastery by force, ravished her, and repeatedly made her

the partner of his bed. When this circumstance reached the ears of

St. Dunstan, he was vehemently reproved by him, and underwent a seven

years’ penance; though a king, submitting to fast and to forego the

wearing of his crown for that period.[192] They add a third, in which

both vices may be discovered. King Edgar coming to Andover, a town not

far from Winchester, ordered the daughter of a certain nobleman, the

fame of whose beauty had been loudly extolled, to be brought to him.

The mother of the young lady, shocked at the proposed concubinage of

her daughter, assisted by the darkness of night placed an attendant

in his bed; a maiden indeed neither deficient in elegance nor in

understanding. The night having passed, when aurora was hastening

into day, the woman attempted to rise; and being asked, “why in such

haste?” she replied, “to perform the daily labour of her mistress.”

Retained though with difficulty, on her knees she bewailed her wretched

situation to the king, and entreated her freedom as the recompence

of her connexion with him; saying, “that it became his greatness, not

to suffer one who had ministered to his royal pleasure, any longer

to groan under the commands of cruel masters.” His indignation being

excited, and sternly smiling, while his mind was wavering between

pity to the girl, and displeasure to her mistress, he, at last, as

if treating the whole as a joke, released her from servitude, and

dismissed his anger. Soon after, he exalted her with great honour, to

be mistress of her former tyrants, little consulting how they liked

it, loved her entirely, nor left her bed till he took Elfthrida, the

daughter of Ordgar, to be his legitimate wife. Elfthrida bore him

Edmund, who dying five years before his father, lies buried at Romsey,

and Ethelred, who reigned after him. Besides, of Egelfleda, surnamed

the fair, the daughter of the most powerful duke, Ordmer, he begot

Edward; and St. Editha of Wulfritha, who it is certain was not a nun

at that time, but being a lay virgin had assumed the veil through fear

of the king, though she was immediately afterwards forced to the royal

bed; on which, St. Dunstan, offended that he should desire lustfully a

person who had been even the semblance of a nun, exerted the pontifical

power against him. But however these things may be, this is certain,

that from the sixteenth year of his age, when he was appointed king,

till the thirtieth, he reigned without the insignia of royalty; for at

that time, the princes and men of every order assembling generally, he

was crowned with great pomp at Bath, survived only three years, and

was buried at Glastonbury. Nor is it to be forgotten, that when abbat

Ailward opened his tomb in the year of our Lord 1052, he found the body

unconscious of corruption; which instead of inclining him to reverence,

served only to increase his audacity. For when the receptacle which

he had prepared, seemed too small to admit the body, he profaned the

royal corpse by cutting it. Whence the blood immediately gushing out

in torrents, shook the hearts of the by-standers with horror. In

consequence his royal remains were placed upon the altar in a shrine,

which he had himself given to this church, with the head of St.

Apollinaris, and the relics of Vincent the martyr; which purchased,

at a great price, he had added to the beauty of the house of God. The

violator of the sacred body presently became distracted, and not long

after, going out of the church, met his death by a broken neck. Nor did

the display of royal sanctity stop thus; it proceeded still further,

a man, lunatic and blind, being there cured. Deservedly then does the

report prevail among the English, that no king, either of his own or

former times in England, could be justly and fairly compared to Edgar:

for nothing could be more holy than his life, nothing more praiseworthy

than his justice; those vices excepted which he afterwards obliterated

by abundant virtues: a man who rendered his country illustrious through

his distinguished courage, and the brilliancy of his actions, as well

as by the increase of the servants of God. After his departure, the

state and the hopes of the English met with a melancholy reverse.[193]

CHAP. IX.

_Of St. Edward king and martyr the son of Edgar._ [A.D. 975-978.]

[Sidenote: [A.D. 975-977.] COUNCIL AT CALNE.]

In the year of our Lord 975, Edward the son of Edgar began to reign,

and enjoyed the sovereignty for three years and a half. Dunstan, in

common consent with the other bishops, elevated him to the royal

dignity, in opposition, as it is said, to the will of some of the

nobility, and of his step-mother; who was anxious to advance her son

Ethelred, a child scarcely seven years of age, in order that herself

might govern under colour of his name. Then, from the increasing

malice of men, the happiness of the kingdom was impaired; then too,

comets were seen, which were asserted certainly to portend either

pestilence to the inhabitants, or a change in the government. Nor

was it long ere there followed a scarcity of corn; famine among men;

murrain among cattle; and an extraordinary accident at a royal town

called Calne. For as soon as Edgar was dead, the secular canons who

had been for some time expelled their monasteries, rekindled the

former feuds, alleging, that it was a great and serious disgrace, for

new comers to drive the ancient inmates from their dwellings; that

it could not be esteemed grateful to God, who had granted them their

ancient habitations: neither could it be so to any considerate man,

who might dread that injustice as likely to befall himself, which he

had seen overtake others. Hence they proceeded to clamour and rage,

and hastened to Dunstan; the principal people, as is the custom of the

laity, exclaiming more especially, that the injury which the canons

had wrongfully suffered, ought to be redressed by gentler measures.

Moreover, one of them, Elferius, with more than common audacity, had

even overturned almost all the monasteries which that highly revered

monk Ethelwold, bishop of Winchester, had built throughout Mercia.

On this account a full synod being convened, they first assembled at

Winchester. What was the issue of the contest of that place, other

writings declare;[194] relating, that the image of our Saviour,

speaking decidedly, confounded the canons and their party. But men’s

minds being not yet at rest on the subject, a council was called at

Calne; where, when all the senators of England, the king being absent

on account of his youth, had assembled in an upper chamber, and the

business was agitated with much animosity and debate; while the weapons

of harsh reproach were directed against that firmest bulwark of the

church, I mean Dunstan, but could not shake it; and men of every rank

were earnestly defending their several sides of the question; the floor

with its beams and supporters gave way suddenly and fell to the ground.

All fell with it except Dunstan, who alone escaped unhurt by standing

on a single rafter which retained its position: the rest were either

killed, or subjected to lasting infirmity. This miracle procured the

archbishop peace on the score of the canons; all the English, both at

that time and afterwards, yielding to his sentiments.

Meanwhile king Edward conducted himself with becoming affection to

his infant brother and his step-mother; he retained only the name

of king, and gave them the power; following the footsteps of his

father’s piety, and giving both his attention and his heart to good

council. The woman, however, with that hatred which a step-mother

only can entertain, began to meditate a subtle stratagem, in order

that not even the title of king might be wanting to her child, and to

lay a treacherous snare for her son-in-law, which she accomplished

in the following manner. He was returning home, tired with the chase

and gasping with thirst from the exercise, while his companions were

following the dogs in different directions as it happened, when hearing

that they dwelt in a neighbouring mansion, the youth proceeded thither

at full speed, unattended and unsuspecting, as he judged of others

by his own feelings. On his arrival, alluring him to her with female

blandishment, she made him lean forward, and after saluting him while

he was eagerly drinking from the cup which had been presented, the

dagger of an attendant pierced him through. Dreadfully wounded, with

all his remaining strength he clapped spurs to his horse in order to

join his companions; when one foot slipping, he was dragged by the

other through the trackless paths and recesses of the wood, while the

streaming blood gave evidence of his death to his followers. Moreover,

they then commanded him to be ingloriously interred at Wareham; envying

him even holy ground when dead, as they had envied him his royal

dignity while living. They now publicly manifested their extreme joy

as if they had buried his memory with his body; but God’s all-seeing

eye was there, who ennobled the innocent victim by the glory of

miracles. So much is human outweighed by heavenly judgment. For there

lights were shown from above; there the lame walked; there the dumb

resumed his faculty of speech; there every malady gave way to health.

The fame of this pervading all England, proclaimed the merits of the

martyr. The murderess excited by it, attempted a progress thither;

and was already urging forward the horse she had mounted, when she

perceived the manifest anger of God; for the same creature which she

had heretofore constantly ridden, and which was used to outstrip the

very wind in speed, now by command of God, stood motionless. The

attendants, both with whips and clamours, urged him forward that he

might carry his noble mistress with his usual readiness; but their

labour was in vain. They changed the horse; and the same circumstance

recurred. Her obdurate heart, though late, perceived the meaning of

the miracle; wherefore, what she was not herself permitted to do, she

suffered to be performed by another: for that Elferius, whom I before

blamed for destroying the monasteries, repenting of his rashness, and

being deeply distressed in mind, took up the sacred corpse from its

unworthy burial-place, and paid it just and distinguished honours at

Shaftesbury. He did not escape unpunished, however, for, within a year

afterwards, he was eaten of the vermin which we call lice. Moreover,

since a mind unregulated is a torment to itself, and a restless spirit

endures its own peculiar punishment in this life, Elfthrida declining

from her regal pride, became extremely penitent; so that at Werewell,

for many years, she clothed her pampered body in hair-cloth, slept at

night upon the ground without a pillow; and mortified her flesh with

every kind of penance. She was a beautiful woman; singularly faithful

to her husband; but deserving punishment from the commission of so

great a crime. It is believed and commonly reported, that from her

violence to Edward, the country for a long time after groaned under the

yoke of barbarian servitude.

At Shaftesbury, truly shines a splendid proof of royal sanctity; for

to his merit must it be attributed, that there a numerous choir of

women dedicated to God, not only enlighten those parts with the blaze

of their religion, but even reach the very heavens. There reside

sacred virgins wholly unconscious of contamination, there, continent

widows, ignorant of a second flame after the extinction of the first;

in all whose manner, graceful modesty is so blended with chastened

elegance, that nothing can exceed it. Indeed it is matter of doubt

which to applaud most, their assiduity in the service of God or their

affability in their converse with men: hence assent is justly given to

those persons who say that, the world, which has long tottered with the

weight of its sins, is entirely supported by their prayers.

CHAP. X.

_Of king Ethelred and king Edmund._ [A.D. 979-1017.]

[Sidenote: [A.D. 978, 979.] ETHELRED--EDMUND.]

In the year of our Lord’s incarnation 979, Ethelred, son of Edgar and

Elfthrida, obtaining the kingdom, occupied, rather than governed it for

thirty-seven years. The career of his life is said to have been cruel

in the beginning, wretched in the middle, and disgraceful in the end.

Thus, in the murder to which he gave his concurrence, he was cruel;

base in his flight, and effeminacy; miserable in his death. Dunstan,

indeed, had foretold his worthlessness, having discovered it by a very

filthy token: for when quite an infant, the bishops standing round,

as he was immersed in the baptismal font, he defiled the sacrament

by a natural evacuation: at which Dunstan, being extremely angered,

exclaimed, “By God, and his mother, this will be a sorry fellow.” I

have read, that when he was ten years of age, hearing it noised abroad

that his brother was killed, he so irritated his furious mother by his

weeping, that not having a whip at hand, she beat the little innocent

with some candles she had snatched up: nor did she desist, till herself

bedewed him, nearly lifeless, with her tears. On this account he

dreaded candles during the rest of his life, to such a degree that he

would never suffer the light of them to be brought into his presence.

The nobility being assembled by the contrivance of his mother, and

the day appointed for Dunstan, in right of his see, to crown him, he,

though he might be ill-affected to them, forbore to resist, being a

prelate of mature age, and long versed in secular matters. But, when

placing the crown on his head he could not refrain from giving vent

with a loud voice, to that prophetic spirit which he had so deeply

imbibed. “Since,” said he, “thou hast aspired to the kingdom by the

death of thy brother, hear the word of God; thus saith the Lord God:

the sin of thy abandoned mother, and of the accomplices of her base

design, shall not be washed out but by much blood of the wretched

inhabitants; and such evils shall come upon the English nation as they

have never suffered from the time they came to England until then.” Nor

was it long after, that is, in his third year, that seven piratical

vessels came to Southampton, a port near Winchester, and having ravaged

the coast fled back to the sea: this I think right to mention because

many reports are circulated among the English, concerning these vessels.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 988-994.] DUNSTAN’S PROPHECY.]

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1012.] TREACHERY OF EDRIC.]

A quarrel between the king and the bishop of Rochester had arisen

from some unknown cause; in consequence of which he led an army

against that city. It was signified to him by the archbishop, that

he should desist from his fury, and not irritate St. Andrew, under

whose guardianship that bishopric was; for as he was ever ready to

pardon, so was he equally formidable to avenge. This simple message

being held in contempt, he graced the intimation with money, and sent

him a hundred pounds, as a bribe, that he should raise the siege and

retire. He therefore took the money, retreated, and dismissed his

army. Dunstan, astonished at his avarice, sent messengers to him

with the following words, “Since you have preferred silver to God,

money to the apostle, and covetousness to me; the evils which God has

pronounced will shortly come upon you; but they will not come while

I live, for this also hath God spoken.” Soon after the death of this

holy man, which was in the tenth year of his reign, the predictions

speedily began to be fulfilled, and the prophecies to have their

consummation. For the Danes infested every port, and made descents on

all sides with great activity, so that it was not known where they

could be opposed. But Siric, the second archbishop after Dunstan,

advised that money should repel those whom the sword could not: thus

a payment of ten thousand pounds satisfied the avarice of the Danes.

This was an infamous precedent, and totally unworthy the character

of men, to redeem liberty, which no violence can ever extirpate from

a noble mind, by money. They now indeed abstained a short time from

their incursions; but as soon as their strength was recruited by rest,

they returned to their old practices. Such extreme fear had seized

the English, that there was no thought of resistance: if any indeed,

mindful of their ancient glory, made an attempt to oppose, or engage

them, they were unsuccessful, from the multitude of their enemies, and

the desertion of their allies. The leader of revolt was one Elfric,

whom the king had appointed to command the fleet: he, instead of

trying his fortune, as he ought, in a naval conflict, went over, on

the night preceding the battle, a base deserter to the enemy, whom he

had apprised, by messengers, what preparations to make; and though

the king, for this perfidious crime, ordered his son’s eyes to be

put out, yet he returned again, and again deserted. All Northumbria

being laid waste, the enemy was met in battle and worsted. London was

besieged, but honourably defended by its citizens. In consequence,

the besiegers, after suffering severely and despairing of taking the

city, retired; and devastating the whole province to the eastward,

compelled the king to pay a sum of money, amounting to sixteen

thousand pounds. Moreover, hostages being given, he caused their king

Anlaf to come to him, stood for him at the font, and soothing him with

royal munificence, bound him by an oath that he should never return

into England again. The evil however was not thus put to rest. For

they could never provide against their enemies from Denmark, springing

up afresh, like the heads of the hydra. The province in the west of

England, called Devonshire, was laid waste; the monasteries destroyed;

and the city of Exeter set on fire: Kent was given up to plunder; the

metropolitan city and seat of the patriarchs, burnt; the holy patriarch

himself, the most reverend Elphege, carried away and bound in chains:

and at last, when required to plunder his tenants in order to ransom

himself, and refusing to do so, he was stoned, struck with a hatchet,

and glorified heaven with his soul. After he was murdered, God exalted

him; insomuch, that when the Danes, who had been instrumental to his

death, saw that dead wood besmeared with his blood miraculously grew

green again in one night, they ran eagerly to kiss his remains, and

to bear them on their shoulders. Thus they abated their usual pride,

and suffered his sacred corpse to be carried to London. There it was

honorably buried; and when taken up, ten years afterwards, free from

every taint of corruption, it conferred honour on his cathedral at

Canterbury.[195] To the present moment both its blood remains fresh,

and its soundness unimpaired, and it is considered a miracle, that

a carcass should be divested of life, and yet not decay. That I may

not be tedious in mentioning severally all the provinces which the

Danes laid waste, let it be briefly understood, that out of thirty-two

counties, which are reckoned in England, they had already overrun

sixteen; the names of which I forbear to enumerate on account of

the harshness of the language. In the meantime, the king, admirably

calculated for sleeping, did nothing but postpone and hesitate, and if

ever he recovered his senses enough to raise himself upon his elbow,

he quickly relapsed into his original wretchedness, either from the

oppression of indolence, or the adverseness of fortune. His brother’s

ghost also, demanding dire expiation, tormented him. Who can tell

how often he collected his army? how often he ordered ships to be

built? how frequently he called out commanders from all quarters? and

yet nothing was ever effected. For the army, destitute of a leader

and ignorant of military discipline, either retreated before it

came into action, or else was easily overcome. The presence of the

leader is of much avail in battle; courage manifested by him avails

also; experience, and more especially, discipline avail much; and as

I have said, the want of these, in an army, must be an irreparable

injury to its countrymen, as well as a pitiable object of contempt

to an enemy. For soldiers are a kind of men, who, if not restrained

before the battle, are eager to plunder; and if not animated during

it, are prone to flight. When the ships, built for the defence of the

sea-coast, were lying at anchor, a tempest suddenly arising dashed

them together, and rendered them useless by the destruction of their

tackling: a few, fitted from the wrecks of the others, were, by the

attack of one Wulnod, whom the king had banished, either sunk, or

burnt, and consequently disappointed the expectations of all England.

The commanders, if ever they met to confer, immediately chose different

sides, and rarely or never united in one good plan; for they gave more

attention to private quarrels, than to public exigences: and, if in

the midst of pressing danger, they had resolved on any eligible secret

design, it was immediately communicated to the Danes by traitors. For

besides Elfric, the successor of Elfere who had murdered the late king,

there was one Edric, a man infamously skilled in such transactions,

whom the king had made governor of the Mercians. This fellow was the

refuse of mankind, the reproach of the English; an abandoned glutton,

a cunning miscreant; who had become opulent, not by nobility, but by

specious language and impudence. This artful dissembler, capable of

feigning anything, was accustomed, by pretended fidelity, to scent out

the king’s designs, that he might treacherously divulge them. Often,

when despatched to the enemy as the mediator of peace, he inflamed them

to battle. His perfidy was sufficiently conspicuous in this king’s

reign, but much more so in the next; of which I shall have occasion to

speak hereafter. Ulfkytel, earl of the East Angles, was the only person

who, at that time, resisted the invaders with any degree of spirit;

insomuch that although the enemy had nominally the victory, yet the

conquerors suffered much more than the conquered:[196] nor were the

barbarians ashamed to confess this truth, while they so frequently

bewailed that victory. The valour of the earl was more conspicuously

eminent, after the death of Ethelred, in that battle which mowed down

the whole flower of the province; where, when he was surrounded from

the rear, deeming it disgraceful to fly, he gave fresh confidence to

the king by his blood; but this happened some time after.[197] At this

juncture, that the measure of king Ethelred’s misery might be full, a

famine ravaged all England, and those whom war had spared perished from

want. The enemy over-ran the country with such freedom, that they would

carry off their booty to their ships through a space of fifty miles,

without fearing any resistance from the inhabitants. In the midst of

these pressing evils, the expedient of buying off hostilities by money

was again debated and adopted; for first twenty-four, and soon after,

thirty thousand pounds were given to the Danes: with what advantage,

succeeding times will show. To me, indeed, deeply reflecting upon the

subject, it seems wonderful, how a man, as we have been taught to

suppose, neither very foolish, nor excessively heartless, should pass

his life in the wretched endurance of so many calamities. Should any

one ask me the reason of this, I could not easily answer, except by

saying, that the revolt of the generals proceeded from the haughtiness

of the king. Their perfidy has been spoken of before: I now hasten to

instances of his violence, which was so intolerable, that he spared not

even his own relations. For, besides the English, whom he despoiled

of their hereditary possessions without any cause, or defrauded of

their property for supposititious crimes: besides the Danes, whom,

from light suspicion only, he ordered to be all butchered on the same

day throughout England; which was a dreadful spectacle to behold; each

one compelled to betray his dearest guests, now become dearer from the

tenderest connexions of affinity, and to cut short their embraces with

the sword: yet besides all this, I say, he was so inconstant towards

his wife, that he scarcely deigned her his bed, and degraded the royal

dignity by his intercourse with harlots. She too, a woman, conscious of

her high descent, became indignant at her husband, as she found herself

endeared to him neither by her blameless modesty nor her fruitfulness;

for she had borne him two children, Elfred and Edward. She was the

daughter of Richard, earl of Normandy, the son of William, who, after

his father, presided over that earldom for fifty-two years, and died

in the twenty-eighth year of this king. He lies at the monastery of

Fescamp, which he augmented with certain revenues, and which he adorned

with a monastic order, by means of William, formerly abbat of Dijon.

Richard was a distinguished character, and had also often harassed

Ethelred: which, when it became known at Rome, the holy see, not

enduring that two Christians should be at enmity, sent Leo, bishop of

Treves, into England, to restore peace: the epistle describing this

legation was as follows:--

[Sidenote: [A.D. 991.] EPISTLE OF POPE JOHN XV.]

“John the fifteenth, pope of the holy Roman church, to all faithful

people, health. Be it known to all the faithful of the holy mother

church, and our children spiritual and secular, dispersed through the

several climates of the world, that inasmuch as we had been informed

by many of the enmity between Ethelred, king of the West-Saxons, and

Richard the marquis, and were grieved sorely at this, on account of our

spiritual children; taking, therefore, wholesome counsel, we summoned

one of our legates, Leo, bishop of the holy church of Treves, and sent

him with our letters, admonishing them, that they should return from

their ungodliness. He, passing vast spaces, at length crossed the sea,

and, on the day of the Lord’s nativity, came into the presence of the

said king; whom, having saluted on our part, he delivered to him the

letters we had sent. And all the faithful people of his kingdom, and

senators of either order, being summoned, he granted, for love and

fear of God Almighty, and of St. Peter, the chief of the apostles, and

on account of our paternal admonition, the firmest peace for all his

sons and daughters, present and future, and all his faithful people,

without deceit. On which account he sent Edelsin, prelate of the holy

church of Sherborne, and Leofstan, son of Alfwold, and Edelnoth, son

of Wulstan, who passed the maritime boundaries, and came to Richard,

the said marquis. He, peaceably receiving our admonitions, and hearing

the determination of the said king, readily confirmed the peace for

his sons and daughters, present and future, and for all his faithful

people, with this reasonable condition, that if any of their subjects,

or they themselves, should commit any injustice against each other,

it should be duly redressed; and that peace should remain for ever

unshaken and confirmed by the oath of both parties: on the part of king

Ethelred, to wit, Edelsin, prelate of the holy church of Sherborne;

Leofstan, the son of Alfwold; Edelnoth, the son of Wulstan. On the part

of Richard, Roger, the bishop; Rodolph, son of Hugh; Truteno, the son

of Thurgis.

“Done at Rouen, on the kalends of March, in the year of our Lord 991,

the fourth of the indiction. Moreover, of the king’s subjects, or of

his enemies, let Richard receive none, nor the king of his, without

their respective seals.”

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1002.] ISIDORE--GERBERT.]

After the death of this John, Gregory succeeded; after whom came John

XVI.; then Silvester, also called Gerbert, about whom it will not be

absurd, in my opinion, if I commit to writing those facts which are

generally related about him.[198] Born in Gaul, from a lad he grew

up a monk at Flory; afterwards, when he arrived at the double path

of Pythagoras,[199] either disgusted at a monastic life or seized by

lust of glory, he fled by night into Spain, chiefly designing to learn

astrology and other sciences of that description from the Saracens.

Spain, formerly for many years possessed by the Romans, in the time

of the emperor Honorius, fell under the power of the Goths. The Goths

were Arians down to the days of St. Gregory, when that people were

united to the Catholic church by Leander bishop of Seville, and by king

Recared, brother of Hermengildus,[200] whom his father slew on Easter

night for professing the true faith. To Leander succeeded Isidore,[201]

celebrated for learning and sanctity, whose body purchased, for its

weight in gold, Aldefonsus king of Gallicia in our times conveyed to

Toledo. The Saracens, who had subjugated the Goths, being conquered

in their turn by Charles the Great, lost Gallicia and Lusitania, the

largest provinces of Spain; but to this day they possess the southern

parts. As the Christians esteem Toledo, so do they hold Hispalis,

which in common they call Seville, to be the capital of the kingdom;

there practising divinations and incantations, after the usual mode

of that nation. Gerbert then, as I have related, coming among these

people, satisfied his desires. There he surpassed Ptolemy with the

astrolabe,[202] and Alcandræus in astronomy, and Julius Firmicus in

judicial astrology; there he learned what the singing and the flight

of birds portended; there he acquired the art of calling up spirits

from hell: in short, whatever, hurtful or salutary, human curiosity

has discovered. There is no necessity to speak of his progress in the

lawful sciences of arithmetic and astronomy, music and geometry, which

he imbibed so thoroughly as to show they were beneath his talents,

and which, with great perseverance, he revived in Gaul, where they

had for a long time been wholly obsolete. Being certainly the first

who seized on the abacus[203] from the Saracens, he gave rules which

are scarcely understood even by laborious computers. He resided with

a certain philosopher of that sect, whose good will he had obtained,

first by great liberality, and then by promises. The Saracen had no

objection to sell his knowledge; he frequently associated with him;

would talk with him of matters at times serious, at others trivial, and

lend him books to transcribe. There was however one volume, containing

the knowledge of his whole art, which he could never by any means

entice him to lend. In consequence Gerbert was inflamed with anxious

desire to obtain this book at any rate, “for we ever press more eagerly

towards what is forbidden, and that which is denied is always esteemed

most valuable.”[204] Trying, therefore, the effect of entreaty, he

besought him for the love of God, and by his friendship; offered

him many things, and promised him more. When this failed he tried a

nocturnal stratagem. He plied him with wine, and, with the help of

his daughter, who connived at the attempt through the intimacy which

Gerbert’s attentions had procured, stole the book from under his pillow

and fled. Waking suddenly, the Saracen pursued the fugitive by the

direction of the stars, in which art he was well versed. The fugitive

too, looking back, and discovering his danger by means of the same art,

hid himself under a wooden bridge which was near at hand; clinging

to it, and hanging in such a manner as neither to touch earth nor

water.[205] In this manner the eagerness of the pursuer being eluded,

he returned home. Gerbert, then quickening his pace, arrived at the

sea-coast. Here, by his incantations, he called up the devil, and made

an agreement with him to be under his dominion for ever, if he would

defend him from the Saracen, who was again pursuing, and transport him

to the opposite coast: this was accordingly done.

Probably some may regard all this as a fiction, because the vulgar are

used to undermine the fame of scholars, saying that the man who excels

in any admirable science, holds converse with the devil. Of this,

Boethius, in his book, On the Consolation of Philosophy, complains;

and affirms, that he had the discredit of such practices on account

of his ardent love of literature, as if he had polluted his knowledge

by detestable arts for the sake of ambition. “It was hardly likely,”

says he, “that I, whom you dress up with such excellence as almost to

make me like God, should catch at the protection of the vilest spirits;

but it is in this point that we approach nearest to a connection with

them, in that we are instructed in your learning, and educated in your

customs.” So far Boethius. The singular choice of his death confirms

me in the belief of his league with the devil; else, when dying, as we

shall relate hereafter, why should he, gladiator-like, maim his own

person, unless conscious of some unusual crime? Accordingly, in an old

volume, which accidentally fell into my hands, wherein the names and

years of all the popes are entered, I found written to the following

purport, “Silvester, who was also called Gerbert, ten months; this man

made a shameful end.”

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1002.] ROBERT, KING OF FRANCE.]

Gerbert, returning into Gaul, became a public professor in the schools,

and had as brother philosophers and companions of his studies,

Constantine, abbat of the monastery of St. Maximin, near Orleans, to

whom he addressed the Rules of the Abacus;[206] and Ethelbald bishop,

as they say, of Winteburg, who himself gave proof of ability, in a

letter which he wrote to Gerbert, on a question concerning the diameter

in Macrobius,[207] and in some other points. He had as pupils, of

exquisite talents and noble origin, Robert, son of Hugh surnamed Capet;

and Otho, son of the emperor Otho. Robert, afterwards king of France,

made a suitable return to his master, and appointed him archbishop of

Rheims. In that church are still extant, as proofs of his science, a

clock constructed on mechanical principles: and an hydraulic organ, in

which the air escaping in a surprising manner, by the force of heated

water, fills the cavity of the instrument, and the brazen pipes emit

modulated tones through the multifarious apertures. The king himself,

too, was well skilled in sacred music, and in this and many other

respects, a liberal benefactor to the church: moreover, he composed

that beautiful sequence, “The grace of the Holy Spirit be with us;”

and the response, “He hath joined together Judah and Jerusalem;”

together with more, which I should have pleasure in relating, were

it not irksome to others to hear. Otho, emperor of Italy after his

father, made Gerbert archbishop of Ravenna, and finally Roman pontiff.

He followed up his fortune so successfully by the assistance of the

devil, that he left nothing unexecuted which he had once conceived.

The treasures formerly buried by the inhabitants, he discovered by the

art of necromancy, and removing the rubbish, applied to his own lusts.

Thus viciously disposed are the wicked towards God, and thus they abuse

his patience, though he had rather that they repent than perish. At

last, he found where his master would stop, and as the proverb says,

“in the same manner as one crow picks out another crow’s eyes,” while

endeavouring to oppose his attempts with art like his own.

There was a statue in the Campus Martius near Rome, I know not whether

of brass or iron, having the forefinger of the right hand extended,

and on the head was written, “Strike here.” The men of former times

supposing this should be understood as if they might find a treasure

there, had battered the harmless statue, by repeated strokes of a

hatchet. But Gerbert convicted them of error by solving the problem

in a very different manner. Marking where the shadow of the finger

fell at noon-day, when the sun was on the meridian, he there placed

a post; and at night proceeded thither, attended only by a servant

carrying a lanthorn. The earth opening by means of his accustomed arts,

displayed to them a spacious entrance. They see before them a vast

palace with golden walls, golden roofs, every thing of gold; golden

soldiers amusing themselves, as it were, with golden dice; a king of

the same metal, at table with his queen; delicacies set before them,

and servants waiting; vessels of great weight and value, where the

sculpture surpassed nature herself. In the inmost part of the mansion,

a carbuncle of the first quality, though small in appearance, dispelled

the darkness of night. In the opposite corner stood a boy, holding a

bow bent, and the arrow drawn to the head. While the exquisite art of

every thing ravished the eyes of the spectators, there was nothing

which might be handled though it might be seen: for immediately,

if any one stretched forth his hand to touch any thing, all these

figures appeared to rush forward and repel such presumption. Alarmed

at this, Gerbert repressed his inclination: but not so the servant.

He endeavoured to snatch off from a table, a knife of admirable

workmanship; supposing that in a booty of such magnitude, so small

a theft could hardly be discovered. In an instant, the figures all

starting up with loud clamour, the boy let fly his arrow at the

carbuncle, and in a moment all was in darkness; and if the servant had

not, by the advice of his master, made the utmost despatch in throwing

back the knife, they would have both suffered severely. In this

manner, their boundless avarice unsatiated, they departed, the lantern

directing their steps. That he performed such things by unlawful

devices is the generally received opinion. Yet, however, if any one

diligently investigate the truth, he will see that even Solomon, to

whom God himself had given wisdom, was not ignorant of these arts: for,

as Josephus relates,[208] he, in conjunction with his father, buried

vast treasures in coffers, which were hidden, as he says, in a kind of

necromantic manner, under ground: neither was Hyrcanus, celebrated for

his skill in prophecy and his valour; who, to ward off the distress of

a siege, dug up, by the same art, three thousand talents of gold from

the sepulchre of David, and gave part of them to the besiegers; with

the remainder building an hospital for the reception of strangers.

But Herod, who would make an attempt of the same kind, with more

presumption than knowledge, lost in consequence many of his attendants,

by an eruption of internal fire. Besides, when I hear the Lord Jesus

saying, “My father worketh hitherto, and I work;” I believe, that

He, who gave to Solomon power over demons to such a degree, as the

same historian declares, that he relates there were men, even in his

time, who could eject them from persons possessed, by applying to the

nostrils of the patient a ring having the impression pointed out by

Solomon: I believe, I say, that he could give, also, the same science

to this man: but I do not affirm that he did give it.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1002.] POPE SILVESTER.]

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1002.] THE AQUITANIAN MONK.]

But leaving these matters to my readers, I shall relate what I

recollect having heard, when I was a boy, from a certain monk of our

house, a native of Aquitaine, a man in years, and a physician by

profession. “When I was seven years old,” said he, “despising the mean

circumstances of my father, a poor citizen of Barcelona, I surmounted

the snowy Alps, and went into Italy. There, as was to be expected in

a boy of that age, having to seek my daily bread in great distress, I

paid more attention to the food of my mind than of my body. As I grew

up I eagerly viewed many of the wonders of that country and impressed

them on my memory. Among others I saw a perforated mountain, beyond

which the inhabitants supposed the treasures of Octavian were hidden.

Many persons were reported to have entered into these caverns for the

purpose of exploring them, and to have there perished, being bewildered

by the intricacy of the ways. But, as hardly any apprehension can

restrain avaricious minds from their intent, I, with my companions,

about twelve in number, meditated an expedition of this nature, either

for the sake of plunder, or through curiosity. Imitating therefore

the ingenuity of Dædalus, who brought Theseus out of the labyrinth by

a conducting clue, we, also carrying a large ball of thread, fixed a

small post at the entrance. Tying the end of the thread to it, and

lighting lanterns, lest darkness, as well as intricacy, should obstruct

us, we unrolled the clue; and fixing a post at every mile, we proceeded

on our journey along the caverns of the mountain, in the best manner

we were able. Every thing was dark, and full of horrors; the bats,

flitting from holes, assailed our eyes and faces: the path was narrow,

and made dreadful on the left-hand by a precipice, with a river flowing

beneath it. We saw the way strewed with bare bones: we wept over the

carcasses of men yet in a state of putrefaction, who, induced by hopes

similar to our own, had in vain attempted, after their entrance, to

return. After some time, however, and many alarms, arriving at the

farther outlet, we beheld a lake of softly murmuring waters, where the

wave came gently rolling to the shores. A bridge of brass united the

opposite banks. Beyond the bridge were seen golden horses of great

size, mounted by golden riders, and all those other things which are

related of Gerbert. The mid-day beams of Phœbus darting upon them,

with redoubled splendour, dazzled the eyes of the beholders. Seeing

these things at a distance, we should have been delighted with a nearer

view, meaning, if fate would permit, to carry off some portion of

the precious metal. Animating each other in turn, we prepared to pass

over the lake. All our efforts, however, were vain: for as soon as one

of the company, more forward than the rest, had put his foot on the

hither edge of the bridge, immediately, wonderful to hear, it became

depressed, and the farther edge was elevated, bringing forward a rustic

of brass with a brazen club, with which, dashing the waters, he so

clouded the air, as completely to obscure both the day and the heavens.

The moment the foot was withdrawn, peace was restored. The same was

tried by many of us, with exactly the same result. Despairing, then,

of getting over, we stood there some little time; and, as long as we

could, at least glutted our eyes with the gold. Soon after returning

by the guidance of the thread, we found a silver dish, which being cut

in pieces and distributed in morsels only irritated the thirst of our

avidity without allaying it. Consulting together the next day, we went

to a professor, of that time, who was said to know the unutterable name

of God. When questioned, he did not deny his knowledge, adding, that,

so great was the power of that name, that no magic, no witchcraft could

resist it. Hiring him at a great price, fasting and confessed, he led

us, prepared in the same manner, to a fountain. Taking up some water

from it in a silver vessel, he silently traced the letters with his

fingers, until we understood by our eyes, what was unutterable with

our tongues. We then went confidently to the mountain, but we found

the farther outlet beset, as I believe, with devils, hating, forsooth,

the name of God because it was able to destroy their inventions. In

the morning a Jew-necromancer came to me, excited by the report of

our attempt; and, having inquired into the matter, when he heard of

our want of enterprise, “You shall see,” said he, venting his spleen

with loud laughter, “how far the power of my art can prevail.” And

immediately entering the mountain, he soon after came out again,

bringing, as a proof of his having passed the lake, many things which

I had noted beyond it: indeed some of that most precious dust, which

turned every thing that it touched into gold: not that it was really

so, but only retained this appearance until washed with water; for

nothing effected by necromancy can, when put into water, deceive the

sight of the beholders. The truth of my assertion is confirmed by a

circumstance which happened about the same time.

“There were in a public street leading to Rome, two old women, the

most drunken and filthy beings that can be conceived; both living in

the same hut, and both practising witchcraft. If any lone stranger

happened to come in their way, they used to make him appear either a

horse, or a sow, or some other animal; expose him for sale to dealers,

and gluttonize with the money. By chance, on a certain night, taking

in a lad to lodge who got his livelihood by stage-dancing, they turned

him into an ass: and so possessed a creature extremely advantageous

to their interests, who caught the eyes of such as passed by the

strangeness of his postures. In whatever mode the old woman commanded,

the ass began to dance, for he retained his understanding, though he

had lost the power of speech. In this manner the women had accumulated

much money; for there was, daily, a large concourse of people, from all

parts, to see the tricks of the ass. The report of this induced a rich

neighbour to purchase the quadruped for a considerable sum; and he was

warned, that, if he would have him as a constant dancer, he must keep

him from water. The person who had charge of him rigidly fulfilled his

orders. A long time elapsed; the ass sometimes gratified his master by

his reeling motions, and sometimes entertained his friends with his

tricks. But, however, as in time all things surfeit, he began at length

to be less cautiously observed. In consequence of this negligence,

breaking his halter, he got loose, plunged into a pool hard by, and

rolling for a long time in the water, recovered his human form. The

keeper, inquiring of all he met, and pursuing him by the track of his

feet, asked him if he had seen an ass; he replied that himself had

been an ass, but was now a man: and related the whole transaction.

The servant astonished told it to his master, and the master to pope

Leo, the holiest man in our times. The old women were convicted, and

confessed the fact. The pope doubting this, was assured by Peter

Damian, a learned man, that it was not wonderful that such things

should be done: he produced the example of Simon Magus,[209] who caused

Faustinianus to assume the figure of Simon, and to become an object of

terror to his sons, and thus rendered his holiness better skilled in

such matters for the future.”

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1050.] DEATH OF SILVESTER.]

I have inserted this narrative of the Aquitanian to the intent that

what is reported of Gerbert should not seem wonderful to any person;

which is, that he cast, for his own purposes, the head of a statue,

by a certain inspection of the stars when all the planets were about

to begin their courses, which spake not unless spoken to, but then

pronounced the truth, either in the affirmative or negative. For

instance, when Gerbert would say, “Shall I be pope?” the statue would

reply, “Yes.” “Am I to die, ere I sing mass at Jerusalem?” “No.”

They relate, that he was so much deceived by this ambiguity, that he

thought nothing of repentance: for when would he think of going to

Jerusalem, to accelerate his own death? Nor did he foresee that at Rome

there is a church called Jerusalem, that is, “the vision of peace,”

because whoever flies thither finds safety, whatsoever crime he may

be guilty of. We have heard, that this was called an asylum in the

very infancy of the city, because Romulus, to increase the number of

his subjects, had appointed it to be a refuge for the guilty of every

description. The pope sings mass there on three Sundays, which are

called “The station at Jerusalem.” Wherefore upon one of those days

Gerbert, preparing himself for mass, was suddenly struck with sickness;

which increased so that he took to his bed: and consulting his statue,

he became convinced of his delusion and of his approaching death.

Calling, therefore, the cardinals together, he lamented his crimes for

a long space of time. They, being struck with sudden fear were unable

to make any reply, whereupon he began to rave, and losing his reason

through excess of pain, commanded himself to be maimed, and cast forth

piecemeal, saying, “Let him have the service of my limbs, who before

sought their homage; for my mind never consented to that abominable

oath.”

And since I have wandered from my subject, I think it may not be

unpleasant to relate what took place in Saxony in the time of this

king, in the year of our Lord 1012, and is not so generally known.

It is better to dilate on such matters than to dwell on Ethelred’s

indolence and calamities: and it will be more pleasing certainly, and

nearer the truth, if I subjoin it in the original language of the

person who was a sufferer, than if I had clothed it in my own words.

Besides, I think it ornamental to a work, that the style should be

occasionally varied.

“I Ethelbert,[210] a sinner, even were I desirous of concealing the

divine judgment which overtook me, yet the tremor of my limbs would

betray me; wherefore I shall relate circumstantially how this happened,

that all may know the heavy punishment due to disobedience. We were, on

the eve of our Lord’s nativity, in a certain town of Saxony, in which

was the church of Magnus the martyr, and a priest named Robert had

begun the first mass. I was in the churchyard with eighteen companions,

fifteen men and three women, dancing, and singing profane songs to such

a degree that I interrupted the priest, and our voices resounded amid

the sacred solemnity of the mass. Wherefore, having commanded us to be

silent, and not being attended to, he cursed us in the following words,

‘May it please God and St. Magnus, that you may remain singing in that

manner for a whole year.’ His words had their effect. The son of John

the priest seized his sister who was singing with us, by the arm, and

immediately tore it from her body; but not a drop of blood flowed out.

She also remained a whole year with us, dancing and singing. The rain

fell not upon us; nor did cold, nor heat, nor hunger, nor thirst, nor

fatigue assail us: we neither wore our clothes nor shoes, but we kept

on singing as though we had been insane. First we sank into the ground

up to our knees: next to our thighs; a covering was at length, by the

permission of God, built over us to keep off the rain. When a year had

elapsed, Herbert, bishop of the city of Cologne, released us from the

tie wherewith our hands were bound, and reconciled us before the altar

of St. Magnus. The daughter of the priest, with the other two women,

died immediately; the rest of us slept three whole days and nights:

some died afterwards, and are famed for miracles: the remainder betray

their punishment by the trembling of their limbs. This narrative was

given to us by the lord Peregrine, the successor of Herbert, in the

year of our Lord 1013.”

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1002.] THE ARCHBISHOP OF COLOGNE.]

In that city, which formerly was called Agrippina, from Agrippa the

son-in-law of Augustus, but afterwards named Colonia by the emperor

Trajan, because being there created emperor he founded in it a colony

of Roman citizens; in this city, I repeat, there was a certain bishop,

famed for piety, though to a degree hideous in his person; of whom I

shall relate one miracle, which he predicted when dying, after having

first recorded what a singular chance elevated him to such an eminent

station. The emperor of that country going to hunt on Quinquagesima

Sunday, came alone, for his companions were dispersed, to the edge

of a wood, where this rural priest, deformed and almost a monster,

had a church. The emperor, feigning himself a soldier, humbly begs a

mass, which the priest immediately begins. The other in the meantime

was revolving in his mind why God, from whom all beautiful things

proceed, should suffer so deformed a man to administer his sacraments.

Presently, when that verse in the tract occurred, “Know ye that the

Lord himself is God,” the priest looked behind him, to chide the

inattention of an assistant, and said with a louder voice, as if in

reply to the emperor’s thoughts, “He made us; and not we ourselves.”

Struck with this expression, the emperor esteeming him a prophet,

exalted him, though unwilling and reluctant, to the archbishopric of

Cologne, which, when he had once assumed, he dignified by his exemplary

conduct; kindly encouraging those who did well, and branding with the

stigma of excommunication such as did otherwise, without respect of

persons. The inhabitants of that place proclaim a multitude of his

impartial acts; one of which the reader will peruse in that abbreviated

form which my work requires. In a monastery of nuns in that city, there

was a certain virgin who had there grown up, more by the kindness of

her parents than through any innate wish for a holy life: this girl,

by the attraction of her beauty and her affable language to all,

allured many lovers; but while others, through fear of God or the

censure of the world, restrained their desires, there was one who,

excited to wantonness by the extent of his wealth and the nobility

of his descent, broke through the bounds of law and of justice, and

despoiled her of her virginity; and carrying her off kept her as his

lawful wife. Much time elapsed while the abbess entreated, and his

friends admonished him not to persevere in so dreadful a crime. Turning

a deaf ear, however, to his advisers, he continued as immoveable as

a rock. By chance at this time the prelate was absent, occupied in

business at Rome; but on his return the circumstance was related to

him. He commands the sheep to be returned to the fold directly; and

after much altercation the woman was restored to the monastery. Not

long after, watching an opportunity when the bishop was absent, she

was again carried away. Excommunication was then denounced against the

delinquent, so that no person could speak to, or associate with him.

This, however, he held in contempt, and retired to one of his estates

afar off, not to put the command in force, but to elude its power:

and there, a turbulent and powerful man, he lived in company with his

excommunicated paramour. But when it pleased God to take the bishop

to himself, and he was lying in extreme bodily pain upon his bed,

the neighbours flocked around him that they might partake the final

benediction of this holy man. The offender alone not daring to appear,

prevailed on some persons to speak for him. The moment the bishop

heard his name he groaned, and then, I add his very words, spoke to

the following effect, “If that wretched man shall desert that accursed

woman, he shall be absolved; but if he persist, let him be ready to

give account before God, the following year, at the very day and hour

on which I shall depart: moreover, you will see me expire when the

bell shall proclaim the sixth hour.” Nor were his words vain; for he

departed at the time which he had predicted; and the other, together

with his mistress, at the expiration of the year, on the same day, and

at the same hour, was killed by a stroke of lightning.

But king Ethelred, after the martyrdom of Elphege, as we have related,

gave his see to a bishop named Living.[211] Moreover, Turkill, the

Dane, who had been the chief cause of the archbishop’s murder, had

settled in England, and held the East Angles in subjection. For the

other Danes, exacting from the English a tribute of eight thousand

pounds, had distributed themselves, as best suited their convenience,

in the towns, or in the country; and fifteen of their ships, with the

crews, had entered into the king’s service. In the meantime Thurkill

sent messengers to Sweyn, king of Denmark, inviting him to come to

England; telling him that the land was rich and fertile, but the king

a driveller; and that, wholly given up to wine and women, his last

thoughts were those of war: that in consequence he was hateful to his

own people and contemptible to foreigners: that the commanders were

jealous of each other, the people weak, and that they would fly the

field, the moment the onset was sounded.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1013.] MASSACRE OF THE DANES.]

Sweyn[212] was naturally cruel, nor did he require much persuasion;

preparing his ships, therefore, he hastened his voyage. Sandwich was

the port he made, principally designing to avenge his sister Gunhilda.

This woman, who possessed considerable beauty, had come over to England

with her husband Palling, a powerful nobleman, and by embracing

Christianity, had made herself a pledge of the Danish peace. In his

ill-fated fury, Edric had commanded her, though proclaiming that the

shedding her blood would bring great evil on the whole kingdom, to be

beheaded with the other Danes. She bore her death with fortitude; and

she neither turned pale at the moment, nor, when dead, and her blood

exhausted, did she lose her beauty; her husband was murdered before

her face, and her son, a youth of amiable disposition, was transfixed

with four spears. Sweyn then proceeding through East Anglia against

the Northumbrians, received their submission without resistance: not

indeed, that the native ardour of their minds, which brooked no master,

had grown cool, but because Utred, their prince, was the first to give

example of desertion. On their submission all the other people who

inhabit England on the north, gave him tribute and hostages. Coming

southward, he compelled those of Oxford and Winchester, to obey his

commands; the Londoners alone, protecting their lawful sovereign

within their walls, shut their gates against him. The Danes, on the

other hand, assailing with greater ferocity, nurtured their fortitude

with the hope of fame; the townsmen were ready to rush on death for

freedom, thinking they ought never to be forgiven, should they desert

their king, who had committed his life to their charge. While the

conflict was raging fiercely on either side, victory befriended the

juster cause; for the citizens made wonderful exertions, every one

esteeming it glorious to show his unwearied alacrity to his prince,

or even to die for him. Part of the enemy were destroyed, and part

drowned in the river Thames, because in their headlong fury, they had

not sought a bridge. With his shattered army Sweyn retreated to Bath,

where Ethelmer, governor of the western district, with his followers,

submitted to him. And, although all England was already bending to

his dominion, yet not even now would the Londoners have yielded, had

not Ethelred withdrawn his presence from among them. For being a man

given up to indolence, and, through consciousness of his own misdeeds,

supposing none could be faithful to him, and at the same time wishing

to escape the difficulties of a battle and a siege, he by his departure

left them to their own exertions. However, they applied the best remedy

they could to their exigencies, and surrendered after the example of

their countrymen. They were men laudable in the extreme, and such as

Mars himself would not have disdained to encounter, had they possessed

a competent leader. Even while they were supported by the mere shadow

of one, they risked every chance of battle, nay even a siege of several

months’ continuance. He in the meantime giving fresh instance of his

constitutional indolence, fled from the city, and by secret journeys

came to Southampton, whence he passed over to the Isle of Wight. Here

he addressed those abbats and bishops who, even in such difficulties,

could not bring themselves to desert their master, to the following

effect: “That they must perceive in what dreadful state his affairs,

and those of his family were; that he was banished from his paternal

throne by the treachery of his generals, and that he, in whose hands

their safety was formerly vested, now required the assistance of

others; that though lately a monarch and a potentate, he was now

an outcast and a fugitive; a melancholy change for him, because it

certainly is more tolerable never to have had power, than to have lost

it when possessed; and more especially disgraceful to the English, as

this instance of deserting their prince would be noised throughout the

world; that through mere regard to him they had exposed their houses

and property to plunderers, and, unprovided, taken to a voluntary

flight; food was matter of difficulty to all; many had not even

clothing; he commended their fidelity indeed, but still could find no

security from it; the country was now so completely subdued, the coast

so narrowly watched, that there was no escape unattended with danger:

that they should, therefore, confer together, what was to be done:

were they to remain, greater peril was to be apprehended from their

countrymen, than from their enemies, for perhaps they might purchase

the favour of their new master by joining to distress them; and

certainly to be killed by an enemy was to be ascribed to fortune, to be

betrayed by a fellow citizen was to be attributed to want of exertion;

were they to fly to distant nations, it would be with the loss of

honour; if to those who knew them, the dread would be, lest their

dispositions should take a tinge from their reverse of fortune; for

many great and illustrious men had been killed on similar occasions;

but, however, he must make the experiment, and sound the inclinations

of Richard, duke of Normandy, who, if he should kindly receive his

sister and nephews, might probably not unwillingly afford him his

protection. His favour shown to my wife and children,” continued he,

“will be the pledge of my own security. Should he oppose me, I am

confident, nay fully confident, I shall not want spirit to die here

with honour, in preference to living there with ignominy. Wherefore

this very month of August, while milder gales are soothing the ocean,

let Emma make a voyage to her brother, and take our children, our

common pledges, to be deposited with him. Let their companions be the

bishop of Durham and the abbat of Peterborough; I myself will remain

here till Christmas, and should he send back a favourable answer, I

will follow directly.”

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1013.] ETHELRED’S CONFERENCE.]

On the breaking up of the conference, all obeyed; they set sail for

Normandy, while he remained anxiously expecting a favourable report.

Shortly after he learned from abroad, that Richard had received his

sister with great affection, and that he invited the king also to

condescend to become his inmate. Ethelred, therefore, going into

Normandy, in the month of January, felt his distresses soothed by

the attentions of his host. This Richard was son of Richard the

first, and equalled his father in good fortune and good qualities;

though he certainly surpassed him in heavenly concerns. He completed

the monastery at Feschamp, which his father had begun. He was more

intent on prayer and temperance, than you would require in any monk,

or hermit. He was humble to excess, in order that he might subdue by

his patience, the petulance of those who attacked him. Moreover it

is reported, that at night, secretly escaping the observation of his

servants, he was accustomed to go unattended to the matins[213] of

the monks, and to continue in prayer till day-light. Intent on this

practice, one night in particular, at Feschamp, he was earlier than

customary, and finding the door shut, he forced it open with unusual

violence, and disturbed the sleep of the sacristan. He, astonished at

the noise of a person knocking in the dead of night, got up, that he

might see the author of so bold a deed; and finding only a countryman

in appearance, clothed in rustic garb, he could not refrain from laying

hands on him; and, moved with vehement indignation, he caught hold of

his hair, and gave this illustrious man a number of severe blows, which

he bore with incredible patience, and without uttering a syllable.

The next day, Richard laid his complaint before the chapter,[214] and

with counterfeited anger, summoned the monk to meet him at the town of

Argens, threatening that, “he would take such vengeance for the injury,

so that all France should talk of it.” On the day appointed, while the

monk stood by, almost dead with fear, he detailed the matter to the

nobility, largely exaggerating the enormity of the transaction, and

keeping the culprit in suspense, by crafty objections to what he urged

in mitigation. Finally, after he had been mercifully judged by the

nobility, he pardoned him; and to make his forgiveness more acceptable,

he annexed all that town, with its appurtenances, reported to be

abundant in the best wine, to the office of this sacristan: saying,

“That he was an admirable monk, who properly observed his appointed

charge, and did not break silence, though roused with anger.” In the

twenty-eighth year of his dukedom, he died, having ordered his body to

be buried at the door of the church, where it would be subjected to the

feet of such as passed by, and to the spouts of water which streamed

from above. In our time, however, William, third abbat of that place,

regarding this as disgraceful, removed the long-continued reproach, and

taking up the body, placed it before the high altar. He had a brother,

Robert, whom he made archbishop of Rouen, though by this he tarnished

his reputation. For he, cruelly abusing this honour, at first,

committed many crimes and many atrocious acts; but growing in years,

he certainly wiped off some of them by his very liberal almsgiving.

After Richard, his son of the same name obtained the principality, but

lived scarcely a year. A vague opinion indeed has prevailed, that, by

the connivance of his brother Robert, whom Richard the second begat on

Judith, daughter of Conan, earl of Brittany, a certain woman, skilled

in poisons, took the young man off. In atonement for his privity to

this transaction he departed for Jerusalem, after the seventh year of

his earldom; venturing on an undertaking very meritorious at that time,

by commencing, with few followers, a journey, exposed to incursions of

barbarians, and strange, by reason of the customs of the Saracens. He

persevered nevertheless, and did not stop, but safely completed the

whole distance, and purchasing admission at a high price, with bare

feet, and full of tears, he worshipped at that glory of the Christians,

the sepulchre of our Lord. Conciliating the favour of God, as we

believe, by this labour, on his return homewards he ended his days at

Nice, a city of Bithynia; cut off, as it is said, by poison. This was

administered by his servant Ralph, surnamed Mowin, who had wrought

himself up to the commission of this crime, from a hope of obtaining

the dukedom. But on his return to Normandy, the matter becoming known

to all, he was detested as a monster, and retired to perpetual exile.

To Robert succeeded William, his son, then a child, of whom as I shall

have to speak hereafter, I shall now return to my narrative.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1013.] THE DUKES OF NORMANDY.]

In the meantime Sweyn, as I have before related, oppressed England

with rapine and with slaughter: the inhabitants were first plundered

of their property, and then proscribed. In every city it was matter of

doubt what should be done: if revolt was determined on, they had none

to take the lead; if submission was made choice of, they would have

a harsh ruler to deal with. Thus their public and private property,

together with their hostages, was carried to the fleet; as he was not

a lawful sovereign, but a most cruel tyrant. The Deity, however, was

too kind to permit England to fluctuate long in such keen distress, for

the invader died shortly after, on the purification of St. Mary,[215]

though it is uncertain by what death. It is reported, that while

devastating the possessions of St. Edmund,[216] king and martyr, he

appeared to him in a vision, and gently addressed him on the misery of

his people; that on Sweyn’s replying insolently, he struck him on the

head; and that, in consequence of the blow, he died, as has been said,

immediately after. The Danes then elected Canute, the son of Sweyn,

king; while the Angles, declaring that their natural sovereign was

dearer to them, if he could conduct himself more royally than he had

hitherto done, sent for king Ethelred out of Normandy. He despatched

Edward, his son, first, to sound the fidelity of the higher orders

and the inclination of the people, on the spot; who, when he saw the

wishes of all tending in his favour, went back in full confidence for

his father. The king returned, and, being flattered by the joyful

plaudits of the Angles, that he might appear to have shaken off his

constitutional indolence, he hastened to collect an army against

Canute, who was at that time in Lindsey, where his father had left him

with the ships and hostages, and was levying fresh troops and horses,

that, mustering a sufficient force, he might make a vigorous attack

upon his enemies unprepared: vowing most severe vengeance, as he used

to say, on the deserters. But, circumvented by a contrivance similar

to his own, he retreated. Escaping at that time with much difficulty,

and putting to sea with his remaining forces, he coasted the British

ocean from east to south, and landed at Sandwich. Here, setting all

divine and human laws at defiance, he mutilated his hostages, who were

young men of great nobility and elegance, by depriving them of their

ears, and nostrils, and some even of their manhood. Thus tyrannizing

over the innocent, and boasting of the feat, he returned to his own

country. In the same year the sea-flood, which the Greeks call Euripus,

and we Ledo,[217] rose to so wonderful a height, that none like it was

recollected in the memory of man, for it overflowed the villages, and

destroyed their inhabitants, for many miles.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1015.] COUNCIL AT OXFORD.]

The year following a grand council of Danes and English, was assembled

at Oxford, where the king commanded two of the noblest Danes,

Sigeferth, and Morcar, accused of treachery to him by the impeachment

of the traitor Edric, to be put to death. He had lured them, by his

soothing expressions, into a chamber, and deprived them, when drunk

to excess, of their lives, by his attendants who had been prepared

for that purpose. The cause of their murder was said to be, his

unjustifiable desire for their property. Their dependants, attempting

to revenge the death of their lords by arms, were worsted, and driven

into the tower of St. Frideswide’s church at Oxford, where, as they

could not be dislodged, they were consumed by fire: however, shortly

after, the foul stain was wiped out by the king’s penitence, and the

sacred place repaired. I have read the history of this transaction,

which is deposited in the archives of that church. The wife of

Sigeferth, a woman remarkable for her rank and beauty, was carried

prisoner to Malmesbury; on which account, Edmund, the king’s son,

dissembling his intention, took a journey into those parts. Seeing her,

he became enamoured; and becoming enamoured, he made her his wife;

cautiously keeping their union secret from his father, who was as

much an object of contempt to his family as to strangers. This Edmund

was not born of Emma, but of some other person, whom fame has left in

obscurity. With that exception, he was a young man in every respect of

noble disposition; of great strength both of mind and person, and, on

this account, by the English, called “Ironside:” he would have shrouded

the indolence of his father, and the meanness of his mother, by his own

conspicuous virtue, could the fates have spared him. Soon after, at

the instigation of his wife, he asked of his father the possessions

of Sigeferth, which were of large extent among the Northumbrians, but

could not obtain them; by his own exertions, however, he procured them

at last, the inhabitants of that province willingly submitting to his

power.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1016.] DEATH OF ETHELRED.]

The same summer Canute, having settled his affairs in Denmark, and

entered into alliance with the neighbouring kings, came to England,

determined to subdue it or perish in the attempt. Proceeding from

Sandwich into Kent, and thence into West Saxony, he laid every thing

waste with fire and slaughter, while the king was lying sick at

Cosham.[218] Edmund indeed attempted to oppose him, but being thwarted

by Edric, he placed his forces in a secure situation. Edric, however,

thinking it unnecessary longer to dissemble, but that he might, now,

openly throw off the mask, revolted to Canute with forty ships, and

all West Saxony following his example, delivered hostages, and gave up

their arms. Yet the Mercians repeatedly assembling stood forward to

resist: and if the king would but come, and command whither they were

to march, and bring with him the leading men of London, they were ready

to shed their blood for their country. But he, accustomed to commit

his safety to fortifications, and not to attack the enemy, remained

in London; never venturing out, for fear, as he said, of traitors.

On the contrary, Canute was gaining towns and villages over to his

party; and was never unemployed; for he held consultations by night,

and fought battles by day. Edmund, after long deliberation, esteeming

it best, in such an emergency, to recover, if possible, the revolted

cities by arms, brought over Utred, an earl, on the other side of the

Humber, to the same sentiments. They imagined too, that such cities

as were yet doubtful which side to take, would determine at once, if

they would only inflict signal vengeance on those which had revolted.

But Canute, possessed of equal penetration, circumvented them by a

similar contrivance. Giving over the West Saxons and that part of

Mercia which he had subjugated, to the custody of his generals, he

proceeded himself against the Northumbrians; and, by depopulating the

country, compelled Utred to retire, to defend his own possessions; and

notwithstanding he surrendered himself, yet with inhuman levity he

ordered him to be put to death. His earldom was given to Eric, whom

Canute afterwards expelled England, because he pretended to equal power

with himself. Thus all being subdued, he ceased not pursuing Edmund,

who was gradually retreating, till he heard that he was at London with

his father. Canute then remained quiet till after Easter, that he might

attack the city with all his forces. But the death of Ethelred preceded

the attempt: for in the beginning of Lent, on St. Gregory’s day,[219]

he breathed out a life destined only to labours and misery: he lies

buried at St. Paul’s in London. The citizens immediately proclaimed

Edmund king, who, mustering an army, routed the Danes at Penn,[220]

near Gillingham, about Rogation-day. After the festival of St. John,

engaging them again at Sceorstan,[221] he retired from a drawn-battle.

The English had begun to give way, at the instance of Edric; who being

on the adversaries’ side, and holding in his hand a sword stained

with the blood of a fellow whom he had dexterously slain, exclaimed,

“Fly, wretches! fly! behold, your king was slain by this sword!” The

Angles would have fled immediately, had not the king, apprised of this

circumstance, proceeded to an eminence, and taking off his helmet,

shown his face to his comrades. Then brandishing a dart with all his

forces, he launched it at Edric; but being seen, and avoided, it missed

him, and struck a soldier standing near; and so great was its violence,

that it even transfixed a second. Night put a stop to the battle, the

hostile armies retreating as if by mutual consent, though the English

had well-nigh obtained the victory.

After this the sentiments of the West Saxons changed, and they

acknowledged their lawful sovereign. Edmund proceeded to London,

that he might liberate those deserving citizens whom a party of the

enemy had blocked up immediately after his departure; moreover they

had surrounded the whole city, on the parts not washed by the river

Thames, with a trench; and many men lost their lives on both sides in

the skirmishes. Hearing of the king’s approach, they precipitately

took to flight; while he pursuing directly, and passing the ford called

Brentford, routed them with great slaughter. The remaining multitude

which were with Canute, while Edmund was relaxing a little and getting

his affairs in order, again laid siege to London both on the land and

river side; but being nobly repulsed by the citizens, they wreaked

their anger on the neighbouring province of Mercia, laying waste the

towns and villages, with plunder, fire, and slaughter. The best of the

spoil was conveyed to their ships assembled in the Medway; which river

flowing by the city of Rochester, washes its fair walls with a strong

and rapid current. They were attacked and driven hence also by the king

in person; who suddenly seizing the ford, which I have before mentioned

at Brentford,[222] dispersed them with signal loss.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1016.] BATTLE OF ASSINGDON.]

While Edmund was preparing to pursue, and utterly destroy the last

remains of these plunderers, he was prevented by the crafty and

abandoned Edric, who had again insinuated himself into his good graces;

for he had come over to Edmund, at the instigation of Canute, that he

might betray his designs. Had the king only persevered, this would have

been the last day for the Danes; but misled by the insinuations of a

traitor, who affirmed that the enemy would make no farther attempt,

he brought swift destruction upon himself, and the whole of England.

Being thus allowed to escape, they again assembled; attacked the East

Angles, and, at Assandun,[223] compelled the king himself, who came to

their assistance, to retreat. Here again, the person I am ashamed to

mention so frequently, designedly gave the first example of flight. A

small number, who, mindful of their former fame, and encouraging each

other, had formed a compact body, were cut off to a man. On this field

of battle Canute gained the kingdom; the glory of the Angles fell; and

the whole flower of the country withered. Amongst these was Ulfkytel,

earl of East Anglia, who had gained immortal honour in the time of

Sweyn, when first attacking the pirates, he showed that they might

be overcome: here fell, too, the chief men of the day, both bishops

and abbats. Edmund flying hence almost alone, came to Gloucester,

in order that he might there re-assemble his forces, and attack the

enemy, indolent, as he supposed, from their recent victory. Nor was

Canute wanting in courage to pursue the fugitive. When everything

was ready for battle, Edmund demanded a single combat; that two

individuals might not, for the lust of dominion, be stained with the

blood of so many subjects, when they might try their fortune without

the destruction of their faithful adherents: and observing, that it

must redound greatly to the credit of either to have obtained so vast a

dominion at his own personal peril. But Canute refused this proposition

altogether; affirming that his courage was surpassing, but that he was

apprehensive of trusting his diminutive person against so bulky an

antagonist: wherefore, as both had equal pretensions to the kingdom,

since the father of either of them had possessed it, it was consistent

with prudence that they should lay aside their animosity, and divide

England.[224] This proposition was adopted by either army, and

confirmed with much applause, both for its equity and its beneficent

regard to the repose of the people who were worn out with continual

suffering. In consequence, Edmund, overcome by the general clamour,

made peace, and entered into treaty with Canute, retaining West Saxony

himself and giving Mercia to the other. He died soon after on the

festival of St. Andrew,[225] though by what mischance is not known, and

was buried at Glastonbury near his grandfather Edgar. Fame asperses

Edric, as having, through regard for Canute, compassed his death by

means of his servants: reporting that there were two attendants on the

king to whom he had committed the entire care of his person, and, that

Edric seducing them by promises, at length made them his accomplices,

though at first they were struck with horror at the enormity of the

crime; and that, at his suggestion, they drove an iron hook into his

posteriors, as he was sitting down for a necessary purpose. Edwin,

his brother on the mother’s side, a youth of amiable disposition, was

driven from England by Edric, at the command of Canute, and suffering

extremely for a considerable time, “both by sea and land,” his body, as

is often the case, became affected by the anxiety of his mind, and he

died in England, where he lay concealed after a clandestine return, and

lies buried at Tavistock. His sons, Edwy and Edward, were sent to the

king of Sweden to be put to death; but being preserved by his mercy,

they went to the king of Hungary, where, after being kindly treated

for a time, the elder died; and the younger married Agatha, the sister

of the queen. His brothers by Emma, Alfred and Edward, lay securely

concealed in Normandy for the whole time that Canute lived.

I find that their uncle Richard took no steps to restore them to their

country: on the contrary, he married his sister Emma to the enemy

and invader; and it may be difficult to say, whether to the greater

ignominy of him who bestowed her, or of the woman who consented to

share the nuptial couch of that man who had so cruelly molested her

husband, and had driven her children into exile. Robert, however, whom

we have so frequently before mentioned as having gone to Jerusalem,

assembling a fleet and embarking soldiers, made ready an expedition,

boasting that he would set the crown on the heads of his grand-nephews;

and doubtlessly he would have made good his assertion, had not, as we

have heard from our ancestors, an adverse wind constantly opposed him:

but assuredly this was by the hidden counsel of God, in whose disposal

are the powers of all kingdoms. The remains of the vessels, decayed

through length of time, were still to be seen at Rouen in our days.

CHAP. XI.

_Of king Canute._ [A.D. 1017-1031.]

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1017.] OF KING CANUTE.]

Canute began to reign in the year of our Lord 1017, and reigned twenty

years. Though he obtained the sovereignty unjustly, yet he conducted

himself with great affability and firmness. At his entrance on the

government, dividing the kingdom into four parts, himself took the

West Saxons, Edric the Mercians, Thurkill the East Angles, and Eric

the Northumbrians. His first care was to punish the murderers of

Edmund, who had, under expectation of great recompence, acknowledged

the whole circumstances: he concealed them for a time, and then brought

them forward in a large assembly of the people, where they confessed

the mode of their attack upon him, and were immediately ordered to

execution. The same year, Edric, whom words are wanting to stigmatize

as he deserved, being, by the king’s command, entrapped in the same

snare which he had so frequently laid for others, breathed out his

abominable spirit to hell. For a quarrel arising, while they were

angrily discoursing, Edric, relying on the credit of his services, and

amicably, as it were, reproaching the king, said, “I first deserted

Edmund for your sake, and afterwards even despatched him in consequence

of my engagements to you.” At this expression the countenance of Canute

changed with indignation, and he instantly pronounced this sentence:

“Thou shalt die,” said he, “and justly; since thou art guilty of

treason both to God and me, by having killed thy own sovereign, and

my sworn brother; thy blood be upon thy head, because thy mouth hath

spoken against thee, and thou hast lifted thy hand against the Lord’s

anointed:” and immediately, that no tumult might be excited, the

traitor was strangled in the chamber where they sat, and thrown out

of the window into the river Thames: thus meeting the just reward of

his perfidy. In process of time, as opportunities occurred, Thurkill

and Eric were driven out of the kingdom, and sought their native land.

The first, who had been the instigator of the murder of St. Elphege,

was killed by the chiefs the moment he touched the Danish shore.[226]

When all England, by these means, became subject to Canute alone, he

began to conciliate the Angles with unceasing diligence; allowing

them equal rights with the Danes, in their assemblies, councils, and

armies: on which account, as I have before observed, he sent for the

wife of the late king out of Normandy, that, while they were paying

obedience to their accustomed sovereign, they should the less repine

at the dominion of the Danes. Another design he had in view by this,

was, to acquire favour with Richard; who would think little of his

nephews, so long as he supposed he might have others by Canute. He

repaired, throughout England, the monasteries, which had been partly

injured, and partly destroyed by the military incursions of himself,

or of his father; he built churches in all the places where he had

fought, and more particularly at Assingdon, and appointed ministers

to them, who, through the succeeding revolutions of ages, might pray

to God for the souls of the persons there slain. At the consecration

of this edifice, himself was present, and the English and Danish

nobility made their offerings: it is now, according to report, an

ordinary church, under the care of a parish priest. Over the body of

the most holy Edmund, whom the Danes of former times had killed, he

built a church with princely magnificence, appointed to it an abbat,

and monks: and conferred on it many large estates. The greatness of

his donation, yet entire, stands proudly eminent at the present day;

for that place surpasses almost all the monasteries of England. He

took up, with his own hands, the body of St. Elphege, which had been

buried at St. Paul’s in London, and sending it to Canterbury, honoured

it with due regard. Thus anxious to atone for the offences of himself

or of his predecessors, perhaps he wiped away the foul stain of his

former crimes with God: certainly he did so with man. At Winchester,

he displayed all the magnificence of his liberality: here he gave so

largely, that the quantity of precious metals astonished the minds

of strangers; and the glittering of jewels dazzled the eyes of the

beholders: this was at Emma’s suggestion, who with pious prodigality

exhausted his treasures in works of this kind, while he was meditating

fierce attacks on foreign lands. For his valour, incapable of rest, and

not contented with Denmark, which he held from his father, and England,

which he possessed by right of war, transferred its rage against the

Swedes. These people are contiguous to the Danes, and had excited the

displeasure of Canute by their ceaseless hostility. At first he fell

into an ambush, and lost many of his people, but afterwards recruiting

his strength, he routed his opponents, and brought the kings of that

nation, Ulf and Eglaf, to terms of peace. The English, at the instance

of earl Godwin, behaved nobly in this conflict. He exhorted them, not

to forget their ancient fame, but clearly to display their valour to

their new lord: telling them, that it must be imputed to fortune,

that they had formerly been conquered by him, but it would be ascribed

to their courage, if they overcame those who had overcome him. In

consequence, the English put forth all their strength, and gaining

the victory, obtained an earldom for their commander, and honour for

themselves. Thence, on his return home, he entirely subdued the kingdom

of Norway, putting Olave, its king, to flight; who, the year following,

returning with a small party into his kingdom, to try the inclinations

of the inhabitants, found them faithless, and was slain with his

adherents.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1030, 1031.] CANUTE’S EPISTLE.]

In the fifteenth year of his reign, Canute went to Rome, and after

remaining there some time, and atoning for his crimes by giving alms to

the several churches, he sailed back to England.[227] Soon after, with

little difficulty, he subdued Scotland, then in a state of rebellion,

and Malcolm her king, by leading an army thither. I trust it will not

appear useless, if I subjoin the epistle, which he transmitted to the

English, on his departure from Rome, by the hands of Living, abbat

of Tavistock, and afterwards bishop of Crediton, to exemplify his

reformation of life, and his princely magnificence.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1031.] CANUTE’S EPISTLE.]

“_Canute, king of all England, Denmark, Norway, and part of the Swedes,

to Ethelnoth, metropolitan, and Elfric archbishop of York, and to

all bishops, nobles, and to the whole nation of the English high and

low, health._ I notify to you, that I have lately been to Rome, to

pray for the forgiveness of my sins; for the safety of my dominions,

and of the people under my government. I had long since vowed such a

journey to God, but, hitherto hindered by the affairs of my kingdom,

and other causes preventing, I was unable to accomplish it sooner. I

now return thanks most humbly to my Almighty God, for suffering me,

in my lifetime, to approach the holy apostles Peter and Paul, and all

the holy saints within and without the city of Rome, wherever I could

discover them, and there, present, to worship and adore according to

my desire. I have been the more diligent in the performance of this,

because I have learned from the wise, that St. Peter, the apostle,

has received from God, great power in binding and in loosing: that

he carries the key of the kingdom of heaven; and consequently I have

judged it matter of special importance to seek his influence with God.

Be it known to you, that at the solemnity of Easter, a great assembly

of nobles was present with pope John, and the emperor Conrad, that

is to say, all the princes of the nations from mount Garganus[228]

to the neighbouring sea. All these received me with honour, and

presented me with magnificent gifts. But more especially was I

honoured by the emperor, with various gifts and offerings, in gold

and silver vessels, and palls and costly garments. Moreover, I spoke

with the emperor himself, and the sovereign pope and the nobles who

were there, concerning the wants of all my people, English as well as

Danes; observing that there ought to be granted to them more equitable

regulations, and greater security on their passage to Rome; that

they should not be impeded by so many barriers[229] on the road, nor

harassed with unjust exactions. The emperor assented to my request, as

did Rodolph the king, who has the chief dominion over those barriers;

and all the princes confirmed by an edict, that my subjects, traders,

as well as those who went on a religious account, should peaceably go

and return from Rome, without any molestation from warders of barriers,

or tax-gatherers. Again I complained before the pope, and expressed my

high displeasure, that my archbishops were oppressed by the immense

sum of money which is demanded from them when seeking, according to

custom, the apostolical residence to receive the pall: and it was

determined that it should be so no longer. Moreover, all things which

I requested for the advantage of my kingdom, from the sovereign pope,

and the emperor, and king Rodolph, and the other princes, through whose

territories our road to Rome is situated, they have freely granted,

and confirmed by oath, under the attestation of four archbishops, and

twenty bishops, and an innumerable multitude of dukes and nobles who

were present. Wherefore I give most hearty thanks to God Almighty, for

having successfully completed all that I had wished, in the manner I

had designed, and fully satisfied my intentions. Be it known then, that

since I have vowed to God himself, henceforward to reform my life in

all things, and justly, and piously to govern the kingdoms and the

people subject to me, and to maintain equal justice in all things;

and have determined, through God’s assistance, to rectify any thing

hitherto unjustly done, either through the intemperance of my youth,

or through negligence; therefore I call to witness, and command my

counsellors, to whom I have entrusted the counsels of the kingdom,

that they by no means, either through fear of myself, or favour to any

powerful person, suffer, henceforth, any injustice, or cause such,

to be done in all my kingdom. Moreover, I command all sheriffs, or

governors throughout my whole kingdom, as they tender my affection,

or their own safety, not to commit injustice towards any man, rich or

poor, but to allow all, noble and ignoble, alike to enjoy impartial

law, from which they are never to deviate, either on account of royal

favour, the person of any powerful man, or for the sake of amassing

money for myself: for I have no need to accumulate money by unjust

exaction. Be it known to you therefore, that returning by the same

way that I went, I am now going to Denmark, through the advice of all

the Danes, to make peace and firm treaty with those nations, who were

desirous, had it been possible, to deprive me both of life and of

sovereignty: this, however, they were not able to perform, God, who by

his kindness preserves me in my kingdom and in my honour, and destroys

the power of all my adversaries, bringing their strength to nought.

Moreover, when I have established peace with the surrounding nations,

and put all our sovereignty here in the East in tranquil order, so that

there shall be no fear of war or enmity on any side, I intend coming

to England, as early in the summer as I shall be able to get my fleet

prepared. I have sent this epistle before me, in order that my people

may rejoice at my prosperity; because, as yourselves know, I have never

spared, nor will I spare, either myself or my pains for the needful

service of my whole people. I now therefore adjure all my bishops, and

governors, throughout my kingdom, by the fidelity they owe to God and

me, to take care that, before I come to England, all dues owing by

ancient custom be discharged: that is to say, plough-alms,[230] the

tenth of animals born in the current year,[231] and the pence owing to

Rome for St. Peter, whether from cities or villages: and in the middle

of August, the tenth of the produce of the earth: and on the festival

of St. Martin, the first fruits of seeds, to the church of the parish

where each one resides, which is called in English ‘Circscet.’[232] If

these and such like things are not paid before I come to England, all

who shall have offended will incur the penalty of a royal mulct,[233]

to be exacted without remission, according to law.” Nor was this

declaration without effect; for he commanded all the laws which had

been enacted by ancient kings, and chiefly by his predecessor Ethelred,

to be observed for ever, under the penalty of a royal mulct: in the

observance of which,[234] the custom even at the present day, in the

time of good kings, is to swear by the name of king Edward, not that he

indeed appointed, but that he observed them.

At that time there were in England very great and learned men, the

principal of whom was Ethelnoth, archbishop after Living. He was

appointed primate from being dean,[235] and performed many works truly

worthy to be recorded: encouraging even the king himself in his good

actions by the authority of his sanctity, and restraining him in his

excesses: he first exalted the archiepiscopal cathedral by the presence

of the body of St. Elphege, and afterwards personally at Rome, restored

it to its pristine dignity.[236] Returning home, he transmitted to

Coventry the arm of St. Augustine[237] the teacher, which he had

purchased at Pavia, for an hundred talents of silver, and a talent of

gold. Moreover, Canute took a journey to the church of Glastonbury,

that he might visit the remains of his brother Edmund, as he used to

call him; and praying over his tomb, he presented a pall, interwoven,

as it appeared, with party-coloured figures of peacocks. Near the

king stood the before-named Ethelnoth, who was the seventh monk of

Glastonbury that had become archbishop of Canterbury: first Berthwald:

second Athelm, first bishop of Wells: third his nephew Dunstan: fourth

Ethelgar, first abbat of the New-minster at Winchester, and then bishop

of Chichester:[238] fifth Siric, who, when he was made archbishop,

gave to this his nursing-mother seven palls, with which, upon his

anniversary, the whole ancient church is ornamented: sixth Elphege,

who from prior of Glastonbury was, first, made abbat of Bath, and then

bishop of Winchester: seventh Ethelnoth, who upon showing to the king

the immunities of predecessors, asked, and obtained from the king’s own

hand a confirmation of them, which was to the following effect.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1031.] CHARTER OF GLASTONBURY.]