his unspeakable power, who wonderfully determines the changes of times
and of men, and justly brings them to an uncertain end, according to
his pleasure; and who from the secret mysteries of nature mercifully
teaches us, how lasting, instead of fleeting and transitory, kingdoms
are to be obtained by the assistance of God: wherefore I Canute king
of England, and governor and ruler of the adjacent nations, by the
counsel and decree of our archbishop Ethelnoth, and of all the priests
of God, and by the advice of our nobility, do, for the love of heaven,
and the pardon of my sins, and the remission of the transgressions of
my brother, king Edmund, grant to the church of the holy mother of God,
Mary, at Glastonbury, its rights and customs throughout my kingdom, and
all forfeitures throughout its possessions, and that its lands shall
be free from all claim and vexation as my own are. Moreover, I inhibit
more especially, by the authority of the Almighty Father, Son, and
Holy Spirit, and the curse of the eternal Virgin, and so command it to
be observed by the judges and primates of my kingdom as they tender
their safety, every person, be they of what order or dignity they may,
from entering, on any account, that island;[239] but all causes,
ecclesiastical as well as secular, shall await the sole judgment of
the abbat and convent, in like manner as my predecessors have ratified
and confirmed by charters; that is to say, Kentwin, Ina, Cuthred,
Alfred, Edward, Ethelred, Athelstan, the most glorious Edmund, and the
equally glorious Edgar. And should any one hereafter endeavour, on any
occasion, to break in upon, or make void the enactment of this grant,
let him be driven from the communion of the righteous by the fan of
the last judgment; but should any person endeavour diligently, with
benevolent intention, to perform these things, to approve, and defend
them, may God increase his portion in the land of the living, through
the intercession of the most holy mother of God, Mary, and the rest of
the saints. The grant of this immunity was written and published in the
Wooden Church, in the presence of king Canute, in the year of our Lord
1032, the second indiction.”
By the advice of the said archbishop also, the king, sending money
to foreign churches, very much enriched Chartres, where at that time
flourished bishop Fulbert, most renowned for sanctity and learning.
Who, among other demonstrations of his diligence, very magnificently
completed the church of our lady St. Mary, the foundations of which he
had laid: and which moreover, in his zeal to do every thing he could
for its honour, he rendered celebrated by many musical modulations. The
man who has heard his chants, breathing only celestial vows, is best
able to conceive the love he manifested in honour of the Virgin. Among
his other works, a volume of epistles is extant; in one of which,[240]
he thanks that most magnificent king Canute, for pouring out the bowels
of his generosity in donations to the church of Chartres.
In the fifteenth year of Canute’s reign, Robert king of France, of
whom we have before briefly spoken, departed this life: a man so much
given to alms, that when, on festival days, he was either dressing, or
putting off the royal robes, if he had nothing else at hand, he would
give even these to the poor, if his attendants did not purposely drive
away the needy who were importuning him. He had two sons, Odo, and
Henry: the elder, Odo,[241] was dull: the other crafty and impetuous.
Each parent had severally divided their affections on their children:
the father loved the first-born, often saying that he should succeed
him: the mother regarded the younger, to whom the sovereignty was
justly due, if not for his age, yet certainly for his ability. It
happened, as women are persevering in their designs, that she did
not cease until, by means of presents, and large promises, she had
gotten to her side all the chief nobility who are subject to the power
of France. In consequence, Henry, chiefly through the assistance of
Robert the Norman, was crowned ere his father had well breathed his
last. Mindful of this kindness, when, as I before related, Robert went
to Jerusalem, Henry most strenuously espoused the cause of William,
his son, then a youth, against those who attempted to throw off his
yoke. In the meantime Canute, finishing his earthly career, died at
Shaftesbury, and was buried at Winchester.
CHAP. XII.
_Of king Harold and Hardecanute._ [A.D. 1036-1042.]
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1036.] HAROLD AND HARDECANUTE.]
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1041.] EXPULSION OF A BISHOP.]
In the year of our Lord’s incarnation 1036,[242] Harold, whom fame[243]
reported to be the son of Canute, by the daughter of earl Elfelm,
succeeded, and reigned four years and as many months. He was elected
by the Danes and the citizens of London, who, from long intercourse
with these barbarians, had almost entirely adopted their customs. The
English resisted for a long time, rather wishing to have one of the
sons of Ethelred, who were then in Normandy, or else Hardecanute, the
son of Canute by Emma, at that time in Denmark, for their king. The
greatest stickler for justice, at this juncture, was earl Godwin; who
professing himself the defender of the fatherless, and having queen
Emma and the royal treasures in his custody, for some time restrained
his opponents by the power of his name: but at last, overcome by
numbers and by violence, he was obliged to give way. Harold, secure in
his sovereignty, drove his mother-in-law into exile. Not thinking she
should be safe in Normandy, where, her brother and nephews being dead,
disgust at the rule of a deserted orphan created great disorders, she
passed over into Flanders, to earl Baldwin, a man of tried integrity:
who afterwards, when king Henry died leaving a young son, Philip,
for some years nobly governed the kingdom of France, and faithfully
restored it to him, for he had married his aunt, when he came of age.
Emma passed three years securely under the protection of this man,
at the expiration of which, Harold dying at Oxford, in the month of
April,[244] was buried at Westminster. The Danes and the English
then uniting in one common sentiment of sending for Hardecanute, he
came, by way of Normandy, into England in the month of August. For
Ethelred’s sons were held in contempt nearly by all, more from the
recollection of their father’s indolence, than the power of the Danes.
Hardecanute, reigning two years except ten days, lost his life amid
his cups at Lambeth nigh London, and was buried near his father at
Winchester: a young man who evinced great affection towards his brother
and sister. For his brother, Edward, wearied with continual wandering,
revisiting his native land in the hope of fraternal kindness, was
received by him with open arms, and entertained most affectionately.
He was rash, however, in other respects, and at the instigation of
Elfric, archbishop of York, and of others whom I am loath to name, he
ordered the dead body of Harold to be dug up, the head to be cut off,
and thrown into the Thames, a pitiable spectacle to men! but it was
dragged up again in a fisherman’s net, and buried in the cemetery of
the Danes at London. He imposed a rigid, and intolerable tribute upon
England, in order that he might pay, according to his promise, twenty
marks to the soldiers of each of his vessels. While this was harshly
levied throughout the kingdom, two of the collectors, discharging
their office rather too rigorously, were killed by the citizens of
Worcester; upon which, burning and depopulating the city by means of
his commanders, and plundering the property of the citizens, he cast a
blemish on his fame and diminished the love of his subjects. But here
I will not pass over in silence, what tattlers report of Alfred the
first-born of Ethelred. Doubtful what to do between Harold’s death and
the arrival of Hardecanute, he came into the kingdom, and was deprived
of his eyes by the treachery of his countrymen, and chiefly of Godwin,
at Gillingham: from thence being sent to the monastery of Ely, he
supported, for a little time, a wretched subsistence upon homely food;
all his companions, with the exception of the tenth, being beheaded:
for by lot every tenth man was saved.[245] I have mentioned these
circumstances, because such is the report; but as the Chronicles are
silent, I do not assert them for fact. For this reason, Hardecanute,
enraged against Living, bishop of Crediton, whom public opinion pointed
out as author of the transaction, expelled him from his see: but,
soothed with money, he restored him within the year. Looking angrily
too upon Godwin, he obliged him to clear himself by oath; but he, to
recover his favour entirely, added to his plighted oath a present of
the most rich and beautiful kind; it was a ship beaked with gold,
having eighty soldiers on board, who had two bracelets on either arm,
each weighing sixteen ounces of gold; on their heads were gilt helmets;
on their left shoulder they carried a Danish axe, with an iron spear in
their right hand; and, not to enumerate everything, they were equipped
with such arms, as that splendour vying with terror, might conceal
the steel beneath the gold. But farther, as I had begun to relate,
his sister Gunhilda, the daughter of Canute by Emma, a young woman of
exquisite beauty, who was sighed for, but not obtained, by many lovers
in her father’s time, was by Hardecanute given in marriage to Henry,
emperor of the Germans. The splendour of the nuptial pageant was very
striking, and is even in our times frequently sung in ballads about
the streets: where while this renowned lady was being conducted to the
ship, all the nobility of England were crowding around and contributing
to her charges whatever was contained in the general purse, or royal
treasury. Proceeding in this manner to her husband, she cherished for
a long time the conjugal tie; at length being accused of adultery,
she opposed in single combat to her accuser, a man of gigantic size,
a young lad of her brother’s[246] establishment, whom she had brought
from England, while her other attendants held back in cowardly
apprehension. When, therefore, they engaged, the impeacher, through
the miraculous interposition of God, was worsted, by being ham-strung.
Gunhilda, exulting at her unexpected success, renounced the marriage
contract with her husband; nor could she be induced either by threats
or by endearments again to share his bed: but taking the veil of a nun,
she calmly grew old in the service of God.
This emperor possessed many and great virtues; and nearly surpassed
in military skill all his predecessors: so much so, that he subdued
the Vindelici and the Leutici,[247] and the other nations bordering
on the Suevi, who alone, even to the present day, lust after pagan
superstitions: for the Saracens and Turks worship God the Creator,
looking upon Mahomet not as God, but as his prophet. But the Vindelici
worship fortune, and putting her idol in the most eminent situation,
they place a horn in her right hand, filled with that beverage, made
of honey and water, which by a Greek term we call “hydromel.” St.
Jerome proves, in his eighteenth book on Isaiah, that the Egyptians
and almost all the eastern nations do the same. Wherefore on the last
day of November, sitting round in a circle, they all taste it; and if
they find the horn full, they applaud with loud clamours: because in
the ensuing year, plenty with her brimming horn will fulfil their
wishes in everything: but if it be otherwise, they lament. Henry made
these nations in such wise tributary to him, that upon every solemnity
on which he wore his crown, four of their kings were obliged to carry
a cauldron in which flesh was boiled, upon their shoulders, to the
kitchen, by means of levers passed through rings.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1041.] ANECDOTES OF EMPEROR HENRY III.]
Frequently, when disengaged from the turmoils of his empire, Henry
gave himself up to good fellowship and merriment, and was replete with
humour; this may be sufficiently proved by two instances. He was so
extremely fond of his sister, who was a nun, that he never suffered
her to be from his side, and her chamber was always next his own. As
he was on a certain time, in consequence of a winter remarkable for
severe frost and snow, detained for a long while in the same place, a
certain clerk[248] about the court, became too familiar with the girl,
and often passed the greatest part of the night in her chamber. And
although he attempted to conceal his crime by numberless subterfuges,
yet some one perceived it, for it is difficult not to betray guilt
either by look or action, and the affair becoming notorious, the
emperor was the only person in ignorance, and who still believed
his sister to be chaste. On one particular night, however, as they
were enjoying their fond embraces, and continuing their pleasures
longer than usual, the morning dawned upon them, and behold snow
had completely covered the ground. The clerk fearing that he should
be discovered by his track in the snow, persuades his mistress to
extricate him from his difficulty by carrying him on her back. She,
regardless of modesty so that she might escape exposure, took her
paramour on her back, and carried him out of the palace. It happened at
that moment, that the emperor had risen for a necessary purpose, and
looking through the window of his chamber, beheld the clerk mounted. He
was stupified at the first sight, but observing still more narrowly,
he became mute with shame and indignation. While he was hesitating
whether he should pass over the crime unpunished, or openly reprehend
the delinquents, there happened an opportunity for him to give a vacant
bishopric to the clerk, which he did: but at the same time whispered in
his ear, “Take the bishopric, but be careful you do not let women carry
you any more.” At the same time he gave his sister the rule over a
company of nuns, “Be an abbess,” said he, “but carry clerks no longer.”
Both of them were confused, and feeling themselves grievously stricken
by so grave an injunction, they desisted from a crime which they
thought revealed by God.
He had also a clergyman about his palace, who abused the depth of his
learning and the melody of his voice by the vicious propensities of
the flesh, being extremely attached to a girl of bad character, in the
town; with whom having passed one festival night, he stood next morning
before the emperor at mass, with countenance unabashed. The emperor
concealing his knowledge of the transaction, commanded him to prepare
himself to read the gospel, that he might be gratified with the melody
of his voice: for he was a deacon. Conscious of his crime, he made use
of a multitude of subterfuges, while the emperor, to try his constancy,
still pressed him with messages. Refusing, however, to the very last,
the emperor said, “Since you will not obey me in so easy a command, I
banish you from the whole of my territories.” The deacon, yielding to
the sentence, departed directly. Servants were sent to follow him, and
in case he should persist in going, to bring him back after he had left
the city. Gathering, therefore, immediately all his effects together,
and packing them up, he had already gone a considerable distance,
when he was brought back, not without extreme violence, and placed in
the presence of Henry, who smiled and said: “You have done well, and
I applaud your integrity for valuing the fear of God more than your
country, and regarding the displeasure of heaven more than my threats.
Accept, therefore, the first bishopric, which shall be vacant in my
empire; only renounce your dishonourable amour.”
As nothing however is lasting in human enjoyments, I shall not pass
over in silence a certain dreadful portent which happened in his time.
The monastery of Fulda, in Saxony, is celebrated for containing the
body of St. Gall, and is enriched with very ample territories. The
abbat of this place furnishes the emperor with sixty thousand warriors
against his enemies; and possesses from ancient times the privilege
of sitting at his right hand on the most distinguished festivals.
This Henry we are speaking of was celebrating Pentecost at Mentz. A
little before mass, while the seats were preparing in the church, a
quarrel arose between the attendants of the abbat, and those of the
archbishop, which of their masters should sit next the sovereign: one
party alleging the dignity of the prelate, the other ancient usage.
When words made but little for peace, as the Germans and Teutonians
possess untractable spirits, they came to blows. Some snatched up
staves, others threw stones, while the rest unsheathed their swords:
finally each used the weapon that his anger first supplied. Thus
furiously contending in the church, the pavement soon streamed with
blood: but the bishops hastening forward, peace was restored amid
the remains of the contending parties. The church was cleansed, and
mass performed with joyful sound. But now comes the wonder: when
the sequence was chanted, and the choir paused at that verse, “Thou
hast made this day glorious:” a voice in the air replied aloud, “I
have made this day contentious.” All the others were motionless with
horror, but the emperor the more diligently attended to his occupation,
and perceiving the satisfaction of the enemy: “You,” said he, “the
inventor and also the instigator of all wickedness, have made this day
contentious and sorrowful to the proud; but we, by the grace of God,
who made it glorious, will make it gracious to the poor.” Beginning the
sequence afresh, they implored the grace of the Holy Spirit by solemn
lamentation. You might suppose he had come upon them, for some were
singing, others weeping, and all beating their breasts. When mass was
over, assembling the poor by means of his officers, he gave them the
whole of the entertainment which had been prepared for himself and his
courtiers: the emperor placing the dishes before them, standing at a
distance according to the custom of servants, and clearing away the
fragments.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1042.] HENRY’S BENEFICENCE.]
In the time of his father, Conrad, he had received a silver pipe, such
as boys in sport spirt water with, from a certain clerk, covenanting to
give him a bishopric, when he should become emperor. This, when he was
of man’s estate, on his application he readily gave to him. Soon after
he was confined to his bed with severe sickness: his malady increasing,
he lay for three days insensible and speechless, while the vital breath
only palpitated in his breast: nor was there any other sign of life,
than the perception of a small degree of breathing, on applying the
hand to his nostrils. The bishops being present, enjoined a fast for
three days, and entreated heaven with tears and vows, for the life of
the king. Recovering by these remedies, as it is right to think, he
sent for the bishop whom he had so improperly appointed, and deposed
him by the judgment of a council: confessing, that for three whole days
he saw malignant demons blowing fire upon him through a pipe; fire so
furious that ours in comparison would be deemed a jest, and have no
heat: that afterwards there came a young man half scorched, bearing a
golden cup of immense size, full of water; and that being soothed by
the sight of him, and bathed by the water, the flame was extinguished,
and he recovered his health: that this young man was St. Laurence, the
roof of whose church he had restored when gone to decay; and, among
other presents, had honoured it with a golden chalice.
Here many extraordinary things occur, which are reported of this man;
for instance, of a stag, which took him on its back, when flying from
his enemies, and carried him over an unfordable river: and some others
which I pass by because I am unwilling to go beyond the reader’s
belief. He died when he had completed the eighteenth year of his
empire, and was buried at Spires, which he re-built, and called by that
name, on the site of the very ancient and ruined Nemetum: his epitaph
is as follows:
Cæsar, as was the world once great,
Lies here, confin’d in compass straight.
Hence let each mortal learn his doom;
No glory can escape the tomb.
The flower of empire, erst so gay,
Falls with its Cæsar to decay,
And all the odours which it gave
Sink prematurely to the grave.
The laws which sapient fathers made,
A listless race had dared evade,
But thou reforming by the school
Of Rome, restor’dst the ancient rule.
Nations and regions, wide and far,
Whom none could subjugate by war,
Quell’d by thy sword’s resistless strife,
Turn’d to the arts of civil life.
What grief severe must Rome engross,
Widow’d at first by Leo’s loss,
And next by Cæsar’s mournful night,
Reft of her other shining light;
Living, what region did not dread,
What country not lament thee, dead?
So kind to nations once subdued,
So fierce to the barbarians rude,
That, those who fear’d not, must bewail,
And such as griev’d not, fears assail.
Rome, thy departed glory moan,
And weep thy luminaries gone.
This Leo, of whom the epitaph speaks, had been Roman pontiff, called to
that eminence from being Bruno bishop of Spires. He was a man of great
and admirable sanctity; and the Romans celebrate many of his miracles.
He died before Henry, when he had been five years pope.
CHAP. XIII.
_Of St. Edward, son of king Ethelred._ [A.D. 1042-1066.]
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1042, 1043.] EDWARD THE CONFESSOR.]
In the year of our Lord’s incarnation 1042, St. Edward, the son of
Ethelred, assumed the sovereignty, and held it not quite twenty-four
years; he was a man from the simplicity of his manners little
calculated to govern; but devoted to God, and in consequence directed
by him. For while he continued to reign, there arose no popular
commotions, which were not immediately quelled; no foreign war; all was
calm and peaceable both at home and abroad; which is the more an object
of wonder, because he conducted himself so mildly, that he would not
even utter a word of reproach to the meanest person. For when he had
once gone out to hunt, and a countryman had overturned the standings by
which the deer are driven into the toils, struck with noble indignation
he exclaimed, “By God and his mother, I will serve you just such a
turn, if ever it come in my way.” Here was a noble mind, who forgot
that he was a king, under such circumstances, and could not think
himself allowed to injure a man even of the lowest condition. In the
meantime, the regard his subjects entertained for him was extreme,
as was also the fear of foreigners; for God assisted his simplicity,
that he might be feared, for he knew not how to be angry. But however
indolent or unassuming himself might be esteemed, he had nobles capable
of elevating him to the highest pitch: for instance, Siward, earl of
the Northumbrians; who, at his command, engaging with Macbeth, the
Scottish king, deprived him both of life and of his kingdom, and placed
on the throne Malcolm, who was the son of the king of Cumbria:[249]
again, Leofric, of Hereford; he, with liberal regard, defended him
against the enmity of Godwin, who trusting to the consciousness of his
own merits, paid little reverence to the king. Leofric and his wife
Godifa, generous in their deeds towards God, built many monasteries,
as, Coventry, St. Mary’s at Stow, Wenlock, Leon, and some others; to
the rest he gave ornaments and estates; to Coventry he consigned his
body, with a very large donation of gold and silver. Harold too, of
the West Saxons, the son of Godwin; who by his abilities destroyed
two brothers, kings of the Welsh, Rees and Griffin; and reduced all
that barbarous country to the state of a province under fealty to the
king. Nevertheless, there were some things which obscured the glory of
Edward’s times: the monasteries were deprived of their monks; false
sentences were passed by depraved men; his mother’s property, at his
command, was almost entirely taken from her. But the injustice of these
transactions was extenuated by his favourers in the following manner:
the ruin of the monasteries, and the iniquity of the judges, are said
to have taken place without his knowledge, through the insolence of
Godwin and his sons, who used to laugh at the easiness of the king:
but afterwards, on being apprised of this, he severely avenged it by
their banishment: his mother had for a long time mocked at the needy
state of her son, nor ever assisted him; transferring her hereditary
hatred of the father to the child; for she had both loved Canute more
when living, and more commended him when dead: besides, accumulating
money by every method, she had hoarded it, regardless of the poor,
to whom she would give nothing, for fear of diminishing her heap.
Wherefore that which had been so unjustly gathered together, was not
improperly taken away, that it might be of service to the poor, and
replenish the king’s exchequer. Though much credit is to be attached
to those who relate these circumstances, yet I find her to have been
a religiously-disposed woman, and to have expended her property on
ornaments for the church of Winchester, and probably upon others.[250]
But to return: Edward receiving the mournful intelligence of the death
of Hardecanute, was lost in uncertainty what to do, or whither to
betake himself. While he was revolving many things in his mind, it
occurred as the better plan to submit his situation to the opinion
of Godwin. To Godwin therefore he sent messengers, requesting, that
he might in security have a conference with him. Godwin, though for
a long time hesitating and reflecting, at length assented, and when
Edward came to him and endeavoured to fall at his feet, he raised
him up; and when relating the death of Hardecanute, and begging his
assistance to effect his return to Normandy, Godwin made him the
greatest promises. He said, it was better for him to live with credit
in power, than to die ingloriously in exile: that he was the son of
Ethelred, the grandson of Edgar: that the kingdom was his due: that
he was come to mature age, disciplined by difficulties, conversant in
the art of well-governing from his years, and knowing, from his former
poverty, how to feel for the miseries of the people: if he thought
fit to rely on him, there could be no obstacle; for his authority so
preponderated in England, that wherever he inclined, there fortune was
sure to favour: if he assisted him, none would dare to murmur; and just
so was the contrary side of the question: let him then only covenant a
firm friendship with himself; undiminished honours for his sons, and a
marriage with his daughter, and he who was now shipwrecked almost of
life and hope, and imploring the assistance of another, should shortly
see himself a king.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1043.] EARL GODWIN.]
There was nothing which Edward would not promise, from the exigency of
the moment: so, pledging fidelity on both sides, he confirmed by oath
every thing which was demanded. Soon after convening an assembly at
Gillingham, Godwin, unfolding his reasons, caused him to be received
as king, and homage was paid to him by all. He was a man of ready
wit, and spoke fluently in the vernacular tongue; powerful in speech,
powerful in bringing over the people to whatever he desired. Some
yielded to his authority; some were influenced by presents; others
admitted the right of Edward; and the few who resisted in defiance of
justice and equity, were carefully marked, and afterwards driven out of
England.
Edward was crowned with great pomp at Winchester, on Easter-day, and
was instructed by Eadsine,[251] the archbishop, in the sacred duties
of governing. This, at the time, he treasured up with readiness in
his memory, and afterwards displayed in the holiness of his conduct.
The above-mentioned Eadsine, in the following year, falling into
an incurable disease, appointed as his successor Siward, abbat of
Abingdon; communicating his design only to the king and the earl, lest
any improper person should aspire to so great an eminence, either by
solicitation or by purchase. Shortly after the king took Edgitha, the
daughter of Godwin, to wife; a woman whose bosom was the school of
every liberal art, though little skilled in earthly matters: on seeing
her, if you were amazed at her erudition, you must absolutely languish
for the purity of her mind, and the beauty of her person. Both in her
husband’s life-time, and afterwards, she was not entirely free from
suspicion of dishonour; but when dying, in the time of king William,
she voluntarily satisfied the by-standers of her unimpaired chastity,
by an oath. When she became his wife, the king acted towards her so
delicately, that he neither removed her from his bed, nor knew her
after the manner of men. I have not been able to discover, whether he
acted thus from dislike to her family, which he prudently dissembled
from the exigency of the times, or out of pure regard to chastity: yet
it is most notoriously affirmed, that he never violated his purity by
connexion with any woman.
But since I have gotten thus far, I wish to admonish my reader, that
the track of my history is here but dubious, because the truth of
the facts hangs in suspense. It is to be observed, that the king had
sent for several Normans, who had formerly slightly ministered to
his wants when in exile. Among these was Robert, whom, from being a
monk of Jumièges, he had appointed bishop of London, and afterwards
archbishop of Canterbury. The English of our times vilify this person,
together with the rest, as being the impeacher of Godwin and his sons;
the sower of discord; the purchaser of the archbishopric: they say
too, that Godwin and his sons were men of liberal mind, the stedfast
promoters and defenders of the government of Edward; and that it was
not to be wondered at, if they were hurt at seeing men of yesterday,
and strangers, preferred to themselves: still, that they never uttered
even a harsh word against the king, whom they had formerly exalted to
the throne. On the opposite hand the Normans thus defended themselves:
they allege, that both himself and his sons acted with the greatest
want of respect, as well as fidelity, to the king and his party; aiming
at equal sovereignty with him; often ridiculing his simplicity; often
hurling the shafts of their wit against him: that the Normans could not
endure this, but endeavoured to weaken their power as much as possible;
and that God manifested, at last, with what kind of purity Godwin had
served him. For, after his piratical ravages, of which we shall speak
hereafter, when he had been reinstated in his original favour, and was
sitting with the king at table, the conversation turning on Alfred,
the king’s brother, “I perceive,” said he, “O king, that on every
recollection of your brother, you regard me with angry countenance; but
God forbid that I should swallow this morsel, if I am conscious of any
thing which might tend, either to his danger or your disadvantage.” On
saying this, he was choked with the piece he had put into his mouth,
and closed his eyes in death: being dragged from under the table by
Harold his son, who stood near the king, he was buried in the cathedral
of Winchester.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1044-1052.] PARTIES AND FEUDS.]
On account of these feuds, as I have observed, my narrative labours
under difficulties, for I cannot precisely ascertain the truth, by
reason either of the natural dislike of these nations for each other,
or because the English disdainfully bear with a superior, and the
Normans cannot endure an equal. In the following book, however, when
the opportunity occurs for relating the arrival of the Normans in
England, I shall proceed to speak of their habits; at present I shall
glance, with all possible truth, at the grudge of the king against
Godwin and his sons.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1050.] GODWIN BANISHED.]
Eustace,[252] earl of Boulogne, the father of Godfrey and Baldwin, who,
in our times, were kings of Jerusalem, had married the king’s sister,
Goda, who had borne a son, named Ralph, to her former husband, Walter
of Mantes. This son, at that time earl of Hereford, was both indolent
and cowardly; he had been beaten in battle by the Welsh, and left his
county and the city, together with the bishop, to be consumed with fire
by the enemy; the disgrace of which transaction was wiped off by the
valour of Harold, who arrived opportunely. Eustace, therefore, crossing
the channel, from Whitsand to Dover, went to king Edward on some
unknown business. When the conference was over, and he had obtained his
request, he was returning through Canterbury,[253] where one of his
harbingers, dealing too fiercely with a citizen, and demanding quarters
with blows, rather than entreaty or remuneration, irritated him to
such a degree, that he put him to death. Eustace, on being informed
of the fact, proceeded with all his retinue to revenge the murder of
his servant, and killed the perpetrator of the crime, together with
eighteen others: but the citizens flying to arms, he lost twenty-one
of his people, and had multitudes wounded; himself and one more with
difficulty making their escape during the confusion. Thence returning
to court and procuring a secret audience, he made the most of his own
story, and excited the anger of the king against the English. Godwin,
being summoned by messengers, arrived at the palace. When the business
was related, and the king was dwelling more particularly on the
insolence of the citizens of Canterbury, this intelligent man perceived
that sentence ought not to be pronounced, since the allegations had
only been heard on one side of the question. In consequence, though the
king ordered him directly to proceed with an army into Kent, to take
signal vengeance on the people of Canterbury, still he refused: both
because he saw with displeasure, that all foreigners were gaining fast
upon the favour of the king; and because he was desirous of evincing
his regard to his countrymen. Besides, his opinion was more accordant,
as it should seem, with equity, which was, that the principal people
of that town should be mildly summoned to the king’s court, on account
of the tumult; if they could exculpate themselves, they should depart
unhurt; but if they could not, they must make atonement, either by
money, or by corporal punishment, to the king, whose peace they had
broken, and to the earl, whom they had injured: moreover, that it
appeared unjust to pass sentence on those people unheard, who had a
more especial right to protection. After this the conference broke
up; Godwin paying little attention to the indignation of the king, as
merely momentary. In consequence of this, the nobility of the whole
kingdom were commanded to meet at Gloucester, that the business might
there be canvassed in full assembly. Thither came those, at that time,
most renowned Northumbrian earls, Siward and Leofric, and all the
nobility of England. Godwin and his sons alone, who knew that they
were suspected, not deeming it prudent to be present unarmed, halted
with a strong force at Beverstone, giving out that they had assembled
an army to restrain the Welsh, who, meditating independence on the
king, had fortified a town in the county of Hereford, where Sweyn,
one of the sons of Godwin, was at that time in command. The Welsh,
however, who had come beforehand to the conference, had accused them of
a conspiracy, and rendered them odious to the whole court; so that a
rumour prevailed, that the king’s army would attack them in that very
place. Godwin, hearing this, sounded the alarm to his party; told them
that they should not purposely withstand their sovereign lord; but
if it came to hostilities, they should not retreat without avenging
themselves. And, if better counsels had not intervened, a dreadful
scene of misery, and a worse than civil war, would have ensued. Some
small share of tranquillity, however, being restored, it was ordered
that the council should be again assembled at London; and that Sweyn,
the son of Godwin, should appease the king’s anger by withdrawing
himself: that Godwin and Harold should come as speedily as possible to
the council, with this condition: that they should be unarmed, bring
with them only twelve men, and deliver up to the king the command of
the troops which they had throughout England. This on the other hand
they refused; observing, that they could not go to a party-meeting
without sureties and pledges; that they would obey their lord in the
surrender of the soldiers, as well as in every thing else, except
risking their lives and reputation: should they come unarmed, the loss
of life might be apprehended; if attended with few followers, it would
detract from their glory. The king had made up his mind too firmly, to
listen to the entreaties of those who interceded with him; wherefore an
edict was published, that they should depart from England within five
days. Godwin and Sweyn retired to Flanders, and Harold to Ireland. His
earldom was given to Elgar, the son of Leofric, a man of active habits;
who, receiving, governed it with ability, and readily restored it to
him on his return; and afterwards, on the death of Godwin, when Harold
had obtained the dukedom of his father, he boldly reclaimed it, though,
by the accusation of his enemies, he was banished for a time. All
the property of the queen was seized, and herself delivered into the
custody of the king’s sister at Wherwell, lest she alone should be void
of care, whilst all her relations were sighing for their country.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1051.] RETURN OF GODWIN.]
The following year, the exiles, each emerging from his station,
were now cruising the British sea, infesting the coast with piracy,
and carrying off rich booty from the substance of their countrymen.
Against these, on the king’s part, more than sixty sail lay at anchor.
Earls Odo and Ralph, relations of the king, were commanders of the
fleet. Nor did this emergency find Edward himself inactive; since
he would pass the night on ship-board, and watch the sallies of the
plunderers; diligently compensating, by the wisdom of his counsel,
for that personal service which age and infirmity denied. But when
they had approached each other, and the conflict was on the eve of
commencing, a very thick mist arose, which in a moment obscured the
sight of the opponents, and repressed the pitiable audacity of men.
At last Godwin and his companions were driven, by the impetuosity of
the wind, to the port they had left; and not long after returning to
their own country with pacific dispositions, they found the king at
London, and were received by him on soliciting pardon. The old man,
skilled in leading the minds of his audience by his reputation and his
eloquence, dexterously exculpated himself from every thing laid to
his charge; and in a short time prevailed so far, as to recover his
honours, undiminished, for himself and for his children; to drive all
the Normans, branded with ignominy, from England; and to get sentence
passed on Robert, the archbishop, and his accomplices, for disturbing
the order of the kingdom and stimulating the royal mind against his
subjects. But he, not waiting for violent measures, had fled of his
own accord while the peace was in agitation, and proceeding to Rome,
and appealing to the apostolical see on his case, as he was returning
through Jumièges, he died there, and was buried in the church of St.
Mary, which he chiefly had built at vast expense. While he was yet
living, Stigand, who was bishop of Winchester, forthwith invaded the
archbishopric of Canterbury: a prelate of notorious ambition, who
sought after honours too keenly, and who, through desire of a higher
dignity, deserting the bishopric of the South Saxons, had occupied
Winchester, which he held with the archbishopric. For this reason he
was never honoured with the pall by the papal see, except that one
Benedict, the usurper, as it were, of the papacy, sent him one; either
corrupted by money to grant a thing of this kind, or else because bad
people are pleased to gratify others of the same description. But
he, through the zeal of the faithful, being expelled by Nicholas,
who legally assumed the papacy from being bishop of Florence, laid
aside the title he so little deserved. Stigand, moreover, in the
time of king William, degraded by the Roman cardinals and condemned
to perpetual imprisonment, could not fill up the measure of his
insatiable avidity even in death. For on his decease, a small key was
discovered among his secret recesses, which on being applied to the
lock of a chamber-cabinet, gave evidence of papers, describing immense
treasures, and in which were noted both the quality and the quantity of
the precious metals which this greedy pilferer had hidden on all his
estates: but of this hereafter: I shall now complete the history of
Godwin which I had begun.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1065.] GODWIN’S FAMILY.]
When he was a young man he had Canute’s sister to wife, by whom he
had a son, who in his early youth, while proudly curveting on a horse
which his grandfather had given him, was carried into the Thames,
and perished in the stream: his mother, too, paid the penalty of her
cruelty; being killed by a stroke of lightning. For it is reported,
that she was in the habit of purchasing companies of slaves in England,
and sending them into Denmark; more especially girls, whose beauty and
age rendered them more valuable, that she might accumulate money by
this horrid traffic. After her death, he married another wife,[254]
whose descent I have not been able to trace; by her he had Harold,
Sweyn, Wulnod, Tosty, Girth, and Leofwine. Harold became king for a few
months after Edward; and being overcome by William at Hastings, there
lost his life and kingdom, together with his two younger brothers.
Wulnod, given by his father as an hostage, was sent over to Normandy
by king Edward, where he remained all that king’s time in inextricable
captivity; and being sent back into England during William’s reign,
grew old in confinement at Salisbury: Sweyn being of an obstinate
disposition, and faithless to the king, frequently revolted from his
father, and his brother Harold, and turning pirate, tarnished the
virtues of his forefathers, by his depredations on the coast: at last
struck with remorse for the murder of Bruno,[255] a relation, or as
some say, his brother, he went to Jerusalem, and returning thence was
surprised by the Saracens, and put to death: Tosty, after the death of
Siward, was preferred to the earldom of Northumbria by king Edward,
and presided over that province for nearly ten years; at the end of
which he impelled the Northumbrians to rebel, by the asperity of his
manners. For finding him unattended, they drove him from the district;
not deeming it proper to kill him, from respect to his dignity: but
they put to death his attendants both English and Danes, appropriating
to their own use, his horses, his arms, and his effects. As soon as
this rumour, and the distracted state of the country reached the king,
Harold set forward to avenge the outrage. The Northumbrians, though not
inferior in point of numbers, yet preferring peace, excused themselves
to him for the transaction; averring, that they were a people
free-born, and freely educated, and unable to put up with the cruelty
of any prince; that they had been taught by their ancestors either to
be free, or to die; did the king wish them to be obedient, he should
appoint Morcar, the son of Elgar, to preside over them, who would
experience how cheerfully they could obey, provided they were treated
with gentleness. On hearing this, Harold, who regarded the quiet of
the country more than the advantage of his brother, recalled his
army, and, after waiting on the king, settled the earldom on Morcar.
Tosty, enraged against every one, retired with his wife and children
to Flanders, and continued there till the death of Edward: but this I
shall delay mentioning, while I record what, as I have learned from
ancient men, happened in his time at Rome.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1065.] CHARACTER OF GREGORY VI.]
Pope Gregory the Sixth,[256] first called Gratian, was a man of equal
piety and strictness. He found the power of the Roman pontificate so
reduced by the negligence of his predecessors, that, with the exception
of a few neighbouring towns, and the offerings of the faithful, he had
scarcely anything whereon to subsist. The cities and possessions at a
distance, which were the property of the church, were forcibly seized
by plunderers; the public roads and highways throughout all Italy were
thronged with robbers to such a degree, that no pilgrim could pass in
safety unless strongly guarded. Swarms of thieves beset every path,
nor could the traveller devise any method of escaping them. Their rage
was equally bent against the poor and the rich; entreaty or resistance
were alike unavailing. The journey to Rome was discontinued by every
nation, as each had much rather contribute his money to the churches in
his own country, than feed a set of plunderers with the produce of his
labours. And what was the state of that city which of old was the only
dwelling-place of holiness? Why there an abandoned set of knaves and
assassins thronged the very forum. If any one by stratagem eluded the
people who lay in wait upon the road, from a desire even at the peril
of destruction to see the church of the apostle; yet then, encountering
these robbers, he was never able to return home without the loss either
of property or of life. Even over the very bodies of the holy apostles
and martyrs, even on the sacred altars were swords unsheathed, and the
offerings of pilgrims, ere well laid out of their hands, were snatched
away and consumed in drunkenness and fornication. By such evils was
the papacy of Gregory beset. At first he began to deal gently with his
subjects; and, as became a pontiff, rather by love than by terror; he
repressed the delinquents more by words than by blows; he entreated
the townsmen to abstain from the molestation of pilgrims, and the
plunder of sacred offerings. The one, he said, was contrary to nature,
that the man who breathed the common air could not enjoy the common
peace; that Christians surely ought to have liberty of proceeding
whither they pleased among Christians, since they were all of the same
household, all united by the tie of the same blood, redeemed by the
same price: the other, he said, was contrary to the command of God,
who had ordained, that “they who served at the altar, should live by
the altar;” moreover, that “the house of God ought to be the house of
prayer, not a den of thieves,” nor an assembly of gladiators; that
they should allow the offerings to go to the use of the priests, or
the support of the poor; that he would provide for those persons whom
want had compelled to plunder, by giving them some honest employment to
procure their subsistence; that such as were instigated by avaricious
desire, should desist immediately for the love of God and the credit of
the world. He invited, by mandates and epistles, those who had invaded
the patrimony of the church, to restore what did not belong to them, or
else to prove in the Roman senate, that they held it justly; if they
would do neither, they must be told that they were no longer members
of the church, since they opposed St. Peter, the head of the church,
and his vicar. Perpetually haranguing to this effect, and little or
nothing profiting by it, he endeavoured to cure the inveterate disorder
by having recourse to harsher remedies. He then separated from the body
of the church, by the brand of excommunication, all who were guilty of
such practices, and even those who associated or conversed with the
delinquents. Though he acted strictly according to his duty, yet his
diligence in this business had well nigh proved his destruction; for
as one says, “He who accuses a mocker, makes himself an enemy,” so the
abandoned crew began to kick against this gentle admonition; to utter
their threats aloud; to clash their arms around the walls of the city,
so as nearly even to kill the pope. Finding it now absolutely necessary
to cut short the evil, he procured arms and horses from every side,
and equipped troops of horse and foot. Taking possession, in the first
place, of the church of St. Peter, he either killed or put to flight
the plunderers of the oblations. As fortune appeared to favour his
designs, he proceeded farther; and despatching all who dared resist,
restored to their original jurisdiction all the estates and towns which
had been for a considerable time lost, In this manner, peace, which
had been long driven into banishment by the negligence of many, was
restored to the country by the exertions of an individual. Pilgrims now
began securely to travel on the public ways, which had been deserted;
they feasted their eyes with pleasure on the ancient wonders within
the city; and, having made their offerings, they returned home with
songs of joy. In the meantime the common people of Rome, who had been
accustomed to live by theft, began to call him sanguinary, and not
worthy to offer sacrifice to God, since he was stained by so many
murders; and, as it generally happens that the contagion of slander
spreads universally, even the cardinals themselves joined in the
sentiments of the people; so that, when this holy man was confined by
the sickness which proved his death, they, after consulting among
themselves, with matchless insolence recommended him not to think of
ordering himself to be buried in the church of St. Peter with the rest
of the popes, since he had polluted his office by being accessory
to the death of so many men. Resuming spirit, however, and sternly
regarding them, he addressed them in the following manner:
“If you possessed either a single spark of human reason, or of the
knowledge of divine truth, you would hardly have approached your
pontiff with so inconsiderate an address; for, throughout my whole
life, I have dissipated my own patrimony for your advantage, and at
last have sacrificed the applause of the world for your rescue. If any
other persons were to allege what you urge in defamation of me, it
would become you to silence them by explaining away the false opinions
of fools. For whom, I pray you, have I laid up treasure? For myself
perhaps? and yet I already possessed the treasures of my predecessors,
which were enough for any man’s covetousness. To whom have I restored
safety and liberty? You will reply, to myself perhaps? And yet I
was adored by the people, and did, without restraint, whatever I
pleased; entire orations teemed with my praises; every day resounded
my applause. These praises and these applauses have been lost to me,
through my concern for your poverty. Towards you I turned my thoughts;
and found that I must adopt severer measures. A sacrilegious robber
fattened on the produce of your property, while your subsistence was
only from day to day. He, from the offerings belonging to you, was clad
in costly silk; while you, in mean and tattered clothing, absolutely
grieved my sight. In consequence, when I could endure this no longer, I
acted with hostility to others, that I might get credit for the clergy,
though at the loss of the citizens. However, I now find I have lavished
my favours on the ungrateful; for you publicly proclaim what others
mutter only in secret. I approve, indeed, your freedom, but I look
in vain for your affection. A dying parent is persecuted by his sons
concerning his burial. Will you deny me the house common to all living?
The harlot, the usurer, the robber, are not forbidden an entrance
to the church, and do you refuse it to the pope? What signifies it
whether the dead or the living enter the sanctuary, except it be, that
the living is subject to many temptations, so that he cannot be free
from spot even in the church; often finding matter of sin in the very
place where he had come to wash it away; whereas the dead knows not
how, nay, he who wants only his last sad office, has not the power to
sin. What savage barbarity then is it to exclude from the house of God
him in whom both the inclination and the power of sinning have ceased!
Repent, then, my sons, of your precipitate boldness, if perchance God
may forgive you this crime, for you have spoken both foolishly and
bitterly even to this present hour. But that you may not suppose me to
rest merely on my own authority, listen to reason. Every act of man
ought to be considered according to the intention of his heart, that
the examination of the deed may proceed to that point whence the design
originated; I am deceived if the Truth does not say the same; ‘If thine
eye be simple thy whole body shall be full of light; if evil, all thy
body shall be dark.’ A wretched pauper hath often come to me to relieve
his distress. As I knew not what was about to happen, I have presented
him with divers pieces of money, and dismissed him. On his departure
he has met with a thief on the public road, has incautiously fallen
into conversation with him, proclaimed the kindness of the apostolical
see, and, to prove the truth of his words, produced the purse. On
their journey the way has been beguiled with various discourse, until
the dissembler, loitering somewhat behind, has felled the stranger
with a club, and immediately despatched him; and, after carrying off
his money, has boasted of a murder which his thirst for plunder had
excited. Can you, therefore, justly accuse me for giving that to a
stranger which was the cause of his death? for even the most cruel
person would not murder a man unless he hoped to fill his pockets with
the money. What shall I say of civil and ecclesiastical laws? By these
is not the self-same fact both punished and approved under different
circumstances? The thief is punished for murdering a man in secret,
whereas the soldier is applauded who destroys his enemy in battle; the
homicide, then, is ignominious in one and laudable in the other, as
the latter committed it for the safety of his country, the former for
the gratification of his desire for plunder. My predecessor Adrian the
First, of renowned memory, was applauded for giving up the investiture
of the churches to Charles the Great; so that no person elected could
be consecrated by the bishop till the king had first dignified him with
the ring and staff: on the other hand the pontiffs of our time have
got credit for taking away these appointments from the princes. What
at that time, then, might reasonably be granted, may at the present
be reasonably taken away. But why so? Because the mind of Charles the
Great was not assailable by avarice, nor could any person easily find
access unless he entered by the door. Besides, at so vast a distance,
it could not be required of the papal see to grant its consent to each
person elected, so long as there was a king at hand who disposed of
nothing through avarice, but always appointed religious persons to
the churches, according to the sacred ordinances of the canons. At
the present time luxury and ambition have beset every king’s palace;
wherefore the spouse of Christ deservedly asserts her liberty, lest
a tyrant should prostitute to an ambitious usurper. Thus, on either
side, may my cause be denied or affirmed; it is not the office of a
bishop either himself to fight, or to command others to do so; but it
belongs to a bishop’s function, if he see innocence made shipwreck of,
to oppose both hand and tongue. Ezekiel accuses the priests for not
strongly opposing and holding forth a shield for the house of Israel in
the day of the Lord. Now there are two persons in the church of God,
appointed for the purpose of repressing crimes; one who can rebuke
sharply; the other, who can wield the sword. I, as you can witness for
me, have not neglected my part; as far as I saw it could profit, I
did rebuke sharply. I sent a message to him whose business it was to
bear the sword; he wrote me word back, that he was occupied in his war
with the Vandals, entreating me not to spare my labour nor his expense
in breaking up the meetings of the plunderers. If I had refused,
what excuse could I offer to God after the emperor had delegated his
office to me? Could I see the murder of the townspeople, the robbery
of the pilgrims, and slumber on? But he who spares a thief, kills the
innocent. Yet it will be objected that it is not the part of a priest
to defile himself with the blood of any one: I grant it. But he does
not defile himself, who frees the innocent by the destruction of the
guilty. Blessed, truly blessed, are they who always keep judgment and
do justice. Phineas and Mattathias were priests most renowned in fame,
both crowned with the sacred mitre, and both habited in sacerdotal
garb; and yet they both punished the wicked with their own hands. The
one transfixed the guilty couple with a javelin: the other mingled the
blood of the sacrificer with the sacrifice. If then those persons,
regarding, as it were, the thick darkness of the law, were, through
divine zeal, transported for mysteries, the shadows only of those which
were to be; shall we, who see the truth with perfect clearness, suffer
our sacred things to be profaned? Azarias the priest drove away king
Ozias, when offering incense, and no doubt would have killed him, had
he not quickly departed; the divine vengeance, however, anticipated
the hand of the priest, for a leprosy preyed on the body of the man
whose mind had coveted unlawful things; the devotion of a king was
disturbed, and shall not the desires of a thief be so? It is not enough
to excuse, I even applaud this my conduct; indeed I have conferred a
benefit on the very persons I seem to have destroyed. I have diminished
their punishment in accelerating their deaths. The longer a wicked man
lives the more he will sin, unless he be such as God hath graciously
reserved for a singular example. Death in general is good for all;
for by it the just man finds repose in heaven,--the unjust ceases
from his crimes,--the bad man puts an end to his guilt,--the good
proceeds to his reward,--the saint approaches to the palm,--the sinner
looks forward to pardon, because death has fixed a boundary to his
transgressions. They then surely ought to thank me, who through my
conduct have been exempted from so many sufferings. I have urged these
matters in my own defence, and to invalidate your assertions: however,
since both your reasoning and mine may be fallacious, let us commit
all to the decision of God. Place my body, when laid out in the manner
of my predecessors, before the gates of the church; and let them be
secured with locks and bars. If God be willing that I should enter, you
will hail a miracle; if not, do with my dead body according to your
inclination.”
Struck by this address, when he had breathed his last, they carried
out the remains of the departed prelate before the doors, which were
strongly fastened; and presently a whirlwind, sent by God, broke every
opposing bolt, and drove the very doors, with the utmost violence,
against the walls. The surrounding people applaud with joy, and the
body of the pontiff was interred, with all due respect, by the side of
the other popes.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1065.] STORY OF THE BERKELEY WITCH.]
At the same time something similar occurred in England, not by divine
miracle, but by infernal craft; which when I shall have related,
the credit of the narrative will not be shaken, though the minds of
the hearers should be incredulous; for I have heard it from a man
of such character, who swore he had seen it, that I should blush to
disbelieve. There resided at Berkeley a woman addicted to witchcraft,
as it afterwards appeared, and skilled in ancient augury: she was
excessively gluttonous, perfectly lascivious, setting no bounds to
her debaucheries, as she was not old, though fast declining in life.
On a certain day, as she was regaling, a jack-daw, which was a very
great favourite, chattered a little more loudly than usual. On hearing
which the woman’s knife fell from her hand, her countenance grew pale,
and deeply groaning, “This day,” said she, “my plough has completed
its last furrow; to-day I shall hear of, and suffer, some dreadful
calamity.” While yet speaking, the messenger of her misfortunes
arrived; and being asked, why he approached with so distressed an air?
“I bring news,” said he, “from that village,” naming the place, “of
the death of your son, and of the whole family, by a sudden accident.”
At this intelligence, the woman, sorely afflicted, immediately took to
her bed, and perceiving the disorder rapidly approaching the vitals,
she summoned her surviving children, a monk, and a nun, by hasty
letters; and, when they arrived, with faltering voice, addressed them
thus: “Formerly, my children, I constantly administered to my wretched
circumstances by demoniacal arts: I have been the sink of every vice,
the teacher of every allurement: yet, while practising these crimes, I
was accustomed to soothe my hapless soul with the hope of your piety.
Despairing of myself, I rested my expectations on you; I advanced
you as my defenders against evil spirits, my safeguards against my
strongest foes. Now, since I have approached the end of my life, and
shall have those eager to punish, who lured me to sin, I entreat you
by your mother’s breasts, if you have any regard, any affection, at
least to endeavour to alleviate my torments; and, although you cannot
revoke the sentence already passed upon my soul, yet you may, perhaps,
rescue my body, by these means: sew up my corpse in the skin of a stag;
lay it on its back in a stone coffin; fasten down the lid with lead
and iron; on this lay a stone, bound round with three iron chains of
enormous weight; let there be psalms sung for fifty nights, and masses
said for an equal number of days, to allay the ferocious attacks of my
adversaries. If I lie thus secure for three nights, on the fourth day
bury your mother in the ground; although I fear, lest the earth, which
has been so often burdened with my crimes, should refuse to receive
and cherish me in her bosom.” They did their utmost to comply with her
injunctions: but alas! vain were pious tears, vows, or entreaties; so
great was the woman’s guilt, so great the devil’s violence. For on
the first two nights, while the choir of priests was singing psalms
around the body, the devils, one by one, with the utmost ease bursting
open the door of the church, though closed with an immense bolt, broke
asunder the two outer chains; the middle one being more laboriously
wrought, remained entire. On the third night, about cock-crow, the
whole monastery seemed to be overthrown from its very foundation, by
the clamour of the approaching enemy. One devil, more terrible in
appearance than the rest, and of loftier stature, broke the gates to
shivers by the violence of his attack. The priests grew motionless with
fear,[257] their hair stood on end, and they became speechless. He
proceeded, as it appeared, with haughty step towards the coffin, and
calling on the woman by name, commanded her to rise. She replying that
she could not on account of the chains: “You shall be loosed,” said he,
“and to your cost:” and directly he broke the chain, which had mocked
the ferocity of the others, with as little exertion as though it had
been made of flax. He also beat down the cover of the coffin with his
foot, and taking her by the hand, before them all, he dragged her out
of the church. At the doors appeared a black horse, proudly neighing,
with iron hooks projecting over his whole back; on which the wretched
creature was placed, and, immediately, with the whole party, vanished
from the eyes of the beholders; her pitiable cries, however, for
assistance, were heard for nearly the space of four miles. No person
will deem this incredible, who has read St. Gregory’s Dialogues;[258]
who tells, in his fourth book, of a wicked man that had been buried
in a church, and was cast out of doors again by devils. Among the
French also, what I am about to relate is frequently mentioned. Charles
Martel, a man of renowned valour, who obliged the Saracens, when they
had invaded France, to retire to Spain, was, at his death, buried in
the church of St. Denys; but as he had seized much of the property of
almost all the monasteries in France for the purpose of paying his
soldiers, he was visibly taken away from his tomb by evil spirits, and
has nowhere been seen to his day. At length this was revealed to the
bishop of Orleans, and by him publicly made known.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1137.] THE PRIEST PALUMBUS.]
But to return to Rome: there was a citizen of this place, youthful,
rich, and of senatorial rank, who had recently married; and, who
calling together his companions, had made a plentiful entertainment.
After the repast, when by moderate drinking they had excited hilarity,
they went out into the field to promote digestion, either by leaping,
or hurling, or some other exercise. The master of the banquet, who was
leader of the game, called for a ball to play with, and in the meantime
placed the wedding ring on the outstretched finger of a brazen statue
which stood close at hand. But when almost all the others had attacked
him alone, tired with the violence of the exercise, he left off playing
first, and going to resume his ring, he saw the finger of the statue
clenched fast in the palm. Finding, after many attempts, that he was
unable either to force it off, or to break the finger, he retired in
silence; concealing the matter from his companions, lest they should
laugh at him at the moment, or deprive him of the ring when he was
gone. Returning thither with some servants in the dead of night, he was
surprised to find the finger again extended, and the ring taken away.
Dissembling his loss, he was soothed by the blandishments of his bride.
When the hour of rest arrived, and he had placed himself by the side
of his spouse, he was conscious of something dense, and cloud-like,
rolling between them, which might be felt, though not seen, and by
this means was impeded in his embraces: he heard a voice too, saying,
“Embrace me, since you wedded me to-day; I am Venus, on whose finger
you put the ring; I have it, nor will I restore it.” Terrified at such
a prodigy, he had neither courage, nor ability to reply, and passed a
sleepless night in silent reflection upon the matter. A considerable
space of time elapsed in this way: as often as he was desirous of the
embraces of his wife, the same circumstance ever occurred; though
in other respects, he was perfectly equal to any avocation, civil
or military. At length, urged by the complaints of his consort, he
detailed the matter to her parents; who, after deliberating for a time,
disclosed it to one Palumbus, a suburban priest. This man was skilled
in necromancy, could raise up magical figures, terrify devils, and
impel them to do anything he chose. Making an agreement, that he should
fill his purse most plentifully, provided he succeeded in rendering
the lovers happy, he called up all the powers of his art, and gave the
young man a letter which he had prepared; saying, “Go, at such an hour
of the night, into the high road, where it divides into four several
ways, and stand there in silent expectation. There will pass by human
figures of either sex, of every age, rank, and condition; some on
horseback, some on foot; some with countenances dejected, others elated
with full-swollen insolence; in short, you will perceive in their
looks and gestures, every symptom both of joy and of grief: though
these should address you, enter into conversation with none of them.
This company will be followed by a person taller, and more corpulent
than the rest, sitting in a chariot; to him you will, in silence, give
the letter to read, and immediately your wish will be accomplished,
provided you act with resolution.” The young man took the road he was
commanded; and, at night, standing in the open air, experienced the
truth of the priest’s assertion by everything which he saw; there
was nothing but what was completed to a tittle. Among other passing
figures, he beheld a woman, in meretricious garb, riding on a mule; her
hair, which was bound above in a golden fillet, floated unconfined on
her shoulders; in her hand was a golden wand, with which she directed
the progress of her beast; she was so thinly clad, as to be almost
naked, and her gestures were wonderfully indecent. But what need of
more? At last came the chief, in appearance, who, from his chariot
adorned with emeralds and pearls, fixing his eyes most sternly on the
young man, demanded the cause of his presence. He made no reply, but
stretching out his hand, gave him the letter. The demon, not daring to
despise the well-known seal, read the epistle, and immediately, lifting
up his hands to heaven, “Almighty God,” said he, “in whose sight every
transgression is as a noisome smell, how long wilt thou endure the
crimes of the priest Palumbus?” The devil then directly sent some of
those about him to take the ring by force from Venus, who restored it
at last, though with great reluctance. The young man thus obtaining his
object, became possessed of his long desired pleasures without farther
obstacle; but Palumbus, on hearing of the devil’s complaint to God
concerning him, understood that the close of his days was predicted. In
consequence, making a pitiable atonement by voluntarily cutting off all
his limbs, he confessed unheard-of crimes to the pope in the presence
of the Roman people.
At that time the body of Pallas, the son of Evander, of whom Virgil
speaks, was found entire at Rome, to the great astonishment of all, for
having escaped corruption so many ages. Such, however, is the nature of
bodies embalmed, that, when the flesh decays, the skin preserves the
nerves, and the nerves the bones. The gash which Turnus had made in the
middle of his breast measured four feet and a half. His epitaph was
found to this effect,
Pallas, Evander’s son, lies buried here
In order due, transfix’d by Turnus’ spear.
Which epitaph I should not think made at the time, though Carmentis the
mother of Evander is reported to have discovered the Roman letters, but
that it was composed by Ennius, or some other ancient poet.[259] There
was a burning lamp at his head, constructed by magical art; so that no
violent blast, no dripping of water could extinguish it. While many
were lost in admiration at this, one person, as there are always some
people expert in mischief, made an aperture beneath the flame with an
iron style, which introducing the air, the light vanished. The body,
when set up against the wall, surpassed it in height, but some days
afterwards, being drenched with the drip of the eves, it acknowledged
the corruption common to mortals; the skin and the nerves dissolving.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1065.] PRODIGY NEAR NORMANDY.]
At that time too, on the confines of Brittany and Normandy, a prodigy
was seen in one, or more properly speaking, in two women: there were
two heads, four arms, and every other part two-fold to the navel;
beneath, were two legs, two feet, and all other parts single. While
one was laughing, eating, or speaking, the other would cry, fast, or
remain silent: though both mouths ate, yet the excrement was discharged
by only one passage. At last, one dying, the other survived, and the
living carried about the dead, for the space of three years, till she
died also, through the fatigue of the weight, and the stench of the
dead carcass.[260] Many were of opinion, and some even have written,
that these women represented England and Normandy, which, though
separated by position, are yet united under one master. Whatever wealth
these countries greedily absorb, flows into one common receptacle,
which is either the covetousness of princes, or the ferocity of
surrounding nations. England, yet vigorous, supports with her wealth
Normandy now dead and almost decayed, until she herself perhaps shall
fall through the violence of spoilers. Happy, if she shall ever again
breathe that liberty, the mere shadow of which she has long pursued!
She now mourns, borne down with calamity, and oppressed with exactions;
the causes of which misery I shall relate, after I have despatched some
things pertaining to my subject. For since I have hitherto recorded
the civil and military transactions of the kings of England, I may be
allowed to expatiate somewhat on the sanctity of certain of them; and
at the same time to contemplate what splendour of divine love beamed
on this people, from the first dawning of their faith: since I believe
you can no where find the bodies of so many saints entire after death,
typifying the state of final incorruption. I imagine this to have
taken place by God’s agency, in order that a nation, situated, as it
were, almost out of the world, should more confidently embrace the
hope of a resurrection from the contemplation of the incorruption of
the saints. There are, altogether, five which I have known of, though
the residents in many places boast of more; Saint Etheldrida,[261] and
Werburga, virgins; king Edmund; archbishop Elphege;[262] Cuthbert the
ancient father: who with skin and flesh unwasted, and their joints
flexile, appear to have a certain vital warmth about them, and to be
merely sleeping. Who can enumerate all the other saints, of different
ranks and professions? whose names and lives, singly to describe, I
have neither intention nor leisure: yet oh that I might hereafter have
leisure! But I will be silent, lest I should seem to promise more than
I can perform. In consequence, it is not necessary to mention any of
the commonalty, but merely, not to go out of the path of my subject
history, the male and female scions of the royal stock, most of them
innocently murdered; and who have been consecrated martyrs, not by
human conjecture, but by divine acknowledgment. Hence may be known how
little indulgence they gave to the lust of pleasure, who inherited
eternal glory by means of so easy a death.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1035.] OSWALD, KING AND MARTYR.]
In the former book, my history dwelt for some time on the praises of
the most holy Oswald, king and martyr; among whose other marks of
sanctity, was this, which, according to some copies, is related in the
History of the Angles.[263] In the monastery at Selsey, which Wilfrid
of holy memory had filled with Northumbrian monks, a dreadful malady
broke out, and destroyed numbers; the remainder endeavoured to avert
the pestilence by a fast of three days. On the second day of the fast,
the blessed apostles Peter and Paul, appearing to a youth who was sick
with the disorder, animated him by observing: “That he should not fear
approaching death, as it would be a termination of his present illness,
and an entrance into eternal life; that no other person of that
monastery would die of this disorder, because God had granted this to
the merits of the noble king Oswald, who was that very day supplicating
for his countrymen: for it was on this day that the king, murdered by
the faithless, had in a moment ascended to the heavenly tribunal: that
they should search, therefore, in the scroll, in which the names of
the dead were written, and if they found it so, they should put an end
to the fast, give loose to security and joy, and sing solemn masses
to God, and to the holy king.” This vision being quickly followed by
the death of the boy, and the anniversary of the martyr being found in
the martyrology, and at the same time the cessation of the disorder
being attested by the whole province, the name of Oswald was from that
period inserted among the martyrs, which before, on account of his
recent death, had only been admitted into the list of the faithful.
Deservedly, I say, then, deservedly is he to be celebrated, whose glory
the divine approbation so signally manifested, as to order him to be
dignified with masses, in a manner, as I think, not usual among men.
The undoubted veracity of the historian precludes the possibility of
supposing this matter to be false; as does also the blessed bishop
Acca,[264] who was the friend of the author.
Egbert, king of Kent, the son of Erconbert, whom I have mentioned
before, had some very near relations, descended from the royal line;
their names were Ethelred[265] and Ethelbert, the sons of Ermenred his
uncle. Apprehensive that they might grow up with notions of succeeding
to the kingdom, and fearful for his safety, he kept them about him for
some time, with very homely entertainment: and, at last, grudging them
his regards, he removed them from his court. Soon after, when they had
been secretly despatched by one of his servants named Thunre, which
signifies Thunder, he buried them under heaps of rubbish, thinking
that a murder perpetrated in privacy would escape detection. The eye
of God however, which no secrets of the heart can deceive, brought
the innocents to light, vouchsafing many cures upon the spot; until
the neighbours, being roused, dug up the unsightly heaps of turf
and rubbish cast upon their bodies, and forming a trench after the
manner of a sepulchre, they erected a small church over it. There they
remained till the time of king Edgar, when they were taken up by St.
Oswald, archbishop[266] of Worcester, and conveyed to the monastery of
Ramsey; from which period, granting the petitions of the suppliant,
they have manifested themselves by many miracles.
Offa king of the Mercians murdered many persons of consequence for
the security, as he supposed, of his kingdom, without any distinction
of friend or foe; among these was king Ethelbert;[267] thereby being
guilty of an atrocious outrage against the suitor of his daughter.
His unmerited death, however, is thought to have been amply avenged
by the short reign of Offa’s son. Indeed God signalised his sanctity
by such evident tokens, that at this very day the episcopal church of
Hereford is consecrated to his name. Nor should any thing appear idle
or irrelevant, which our pious and religious ancestors have either
tolerated by their silence, or confirmed by their authority.
What shall my pen here trace worthy of St. Kenelm, a youth of tender
age? Kenulf, king of the Mercians, his father, had consigned him, when
seven years old, to his sister Quendrida, for the purpose of education.
But she, falsely entertaining hopes of the kingdom for herself, gave
her little brother in charge to a servant of her household, with an
order to despatch him. Taking out the innocent, under pretence of
hunting for his amusement or recreation, he murdered and hid him in
a thicket. But strange to tell, the crime which had been so secretly
committed in England, gained publicity in Rome, by God’s agency: for
a dove, from heaven, bore a parchment scroll to the altar of St.
Peter, containing an exact account both of his death and place of
burial. As this was written in the English language it was vainly
attempted to be read by the Romans and men of other nations who were
present. Fortunately, however, and opportunely, an Englishman was at
hand, who translated the writing to the Roman people, into Latin,
and gave occasion to the pope to write a letter to the kings of
England, acquainting them with the martyrdom of their countryman. In
consequence of this the body of the innocent was taken up in presence
of a numerous assembly, and removed to Winchcomb. The murderous woman
was so indignant at the vocal chaunt of the priests and loud applause
of the laity, that she thrust out her head from the window of the
chamber where she was standing, and, by chance, having in her hands a
psalter, she came in course of reading to the psalm “O God my praise,”
which, for I know not what charm, reading backwards, she endeavoured
to drown the joy of the choristers. At that moment, her eyes, torn
by divine vengeance from their hollow sockets, scattered blood upon
the verse which runs, “This is the work of them who defame me to the
Lord, and who speak evil against my soul.” The marks of her blood are
still extant, proving the cruelty of the woman, and the vengeance
of God. The body of the little saint is very generally adored, and
there is hardly any place in England more venerated, or where greater
numbers of persons attend at the festival; and this arising from the
long-continued belief of his sanctity, and the constant exhibition of
miracles.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1065.] SAINT WISTAN.]
Nor shall my history be wanting in thy praise, Wistan,[268] blessed
youth, son of Wimund, son of Withlaf king of the Mercians, and of
Elfleda, daughter of Ceolwulf, who was the uncle of Kenelm; I will
not, I say, pass thee over in silence, whom Berfert thy relation so
atrociously murdered. And let posterity know, if they deem this history
worthy of perusal, that there was nothing earthly more praiseworthy
than your disposition; at which a deadly assassin becoming irritated,
despatched you: nor was there any thing more innocent than your purity
towards God; invited by which, the secret Judge deemed it fitting to
honour you: for a pillar of light, sent down from heaven, piercing the
sable robe of night, revealed the wickedness of the deep cavern, and
brought to view the crime of the murderer. In consequence, Wistan’s
venerable remains were taken up, and by the care of his relations
conveyed to Rependun;[269] at that time a famous monastery, now a villa
belonging to the earl of Chester, and its glory grown obsolete with
age; but at present thou dwellest at Evesham, kindly favouring the
petitions of such as regard thee.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1065.] CHARACTER OF ST. EDMUND.]
Bede has related many anecdotes of the sanctity of the kings of the
East Saxons, and East Angles, whose genealogy I have in the first book
of this work traced briefly; because I could no where find a complete
history of the kings. I shall however, dilate somewhat on St. Edmund,
who held dominion in East Anglia, and to whom the time of Bede did
not extend. This province, on the south and east, is surrounded by
the ocean; on the north, by deep lakes, and stagnant pools, which,
stretching out a vast distance in length, with a breadth of two or
three miles, afford abundance of fish for the use of the inhabitants;
on the west it is continuous with the rest of the island, but defended
by the earth’s being thrown up in the form of a rampart.[270] The soil
is admirable for pasture, and for hunting; it is full of monasteries,
and large bodies of monks are settled on the islands of these stagnant
waters; the people are a merry, pleasant, jovial race, though apt
to carry their jokes to excess. Here, then, reigned Edmund; a man
devoted to God, ennobled by his descent from ancient kings, and though
he presided over the province in peace for several years, yet never
through the effeminacy of the times did he relax his virtue. Hingwar
and Hubba, two leaders of the Danes, came over to depopulate the
provinces of the Northumbrians and East Angles. The former of these
seized the unresisting king, who had cast away his arms and was lying
on the ground in prayer, and, after the infliction of tortures,[271]
beheaded him. On the death of this saintly man, the purity of his past
life was evidenced by unheard-of miracles. The Danes had cast away the
head, when severed from the body by the cruelty of the executioners,
and it had been hidden in a thicket. While his subjects, who had
tracked the footsteps of the enemy as they departed, were seeking it,
intending to solemnize with due honour the funeral rites of their
king, they were struck with the pleasing intervention of God: for the
lifeless head uttered a voice, inviting all who were in search of it
to approach. A wolf, a beast accustomed to prey upon dead carcasses,
was holding it in its paws, and guarding it untouched; which animal
also, after the manner of a tame creature, gently followed the bearers
to the tomb, and neither did nor received any injury. The sacred body
was then, for a time, committed to the earth; turf was placed over it,
and a wooden chapel, of trifling cost, erected. The negligent natives,
however, were soon made sensible of the virtue of the martyr, which
excited their listless minds to reverence him, by the miracles which
he performed. And though perhaps the first proof of his power may
appear weak and trivial, yet nevertheless I shall subjoin it. He bound,
with invisible bands, some thieves who had endeavoured to break into
the church by night: this was done in the very attempt; a pleasant
spectacle enough, to see the plunder hold fast the thief, so that he
could neither desist from the enterprise, nor complete the design. In
consequence, Theodred bishop of London, who lies at St. Paul’s, removed
the lasting disgrace of so mean a structure, by building a nobler
edifice over those sacred limbs, which evidenced the glory of his
unspotted soul, by surprising soundness, and a kind of milky whiteness.
The head, which was formerly divided from the neck, is again united to
the rest of the body showing only the sign of martyrdom by a purple
seam. One circumstance indeed surpasses human miracles, which is, that
the hair and nails of the dead man continue to grow: these, Oswen, a
holy woman, used yearly to clip and cut, that they might be objects of
veneration to posterity. Truly this was a holy temerity, for a woman
to contemplate and handle limbs superior to the whole of this world.
Not so Leofstan, a youth of bold and untamed insolence, who, with many
impertinent threats, commanded the body of the martyr to be shown to
him; for he was desirous, as he said, of settling the uncertainty of
report by the testimony of his own eyesight. He paid dearly, however,
for his audacious experiment; for he became insane, and shortly after,
died, swarming with vermin. He felt indeed that Edmund was now capable
of doing, what he before used to do; that is,
“To spare the suppliant, but confound the proud,”
by which means he so completely engaged the inhabitants of all Britain
to him, that every person looked upon himself as particularly happy,
in contributing either money or gifts to St. Edmund’s monastery:
even kings themselves, who rule others, used to boast of being his
servants, and sent him their royal crown; redeeming it, if they wished
to use it, at a great price. The exactors of taxes also, who, in other
places, gave loose to injustice, were there suppliant, and ceased their
cavilling at St. Edmund’s boundary,[272] admonished thereto by the
punishment of others who had presumed to overpass it.
My commendations shall also glance at the names of some maidens of the
royal race, though I must claim indulgence for being brief upon the
subject, not through fastidiousness, but because I am unacquainted
with their miracles. Anna king of the East Angles had three daughters,
Etheldrida, Ethelberga, and Sexberga. Etheldrida, though married to two
husbands, yet by means of saintly continence, as Bede relates, without
any diminution of modesty, without a single lustful inclination,
triumphantly displayed to heaven the palm of perpetual virginity.
Ethelberga, first a nun, and afterwards abbess, in a monastery in
France called Brigis,[273] was celebrated for unblemished chastity;
and it is well worthy of remark, that as both sisters had subdued the
lusts of the flesh while living, so, when dead, their bodies remained
uncorrupt, the one in England, and the other in France; insomuch, that
their sanctity, which is abundantly resplendent, may suffice
“To cast its radiance over both the poles.”
Sexberga was married to Erconbert king of Kent, and, after his death,
took the veil in the same monastery where her sister Etheldrida was
proclaimed a saint. She had two daughters by king Erconbert, Earcongota
and Ermenhilda. Of Ercongota, such as wish for information will find
it in Bede;[274] Ermenhilda married Wulfhere, king of the Mercians,
and had a daughter, Werburga, a most holy virgin. Both are saints: the
mother, that is to say, St. Ermenhilda, rests at Ely, where she was
abbess after her mother, Sexberga; and the daughter lies at Chester, in
the monastery of that city, which Hugo earl of Chester, ejecting a few
canons who resided there in a mean and irregular manner, has recently
erected. The praises and miracles of both these women, and particularly
of the younger, are there extolled and held in veneration; and though
they are favourable to all petitions without delay, yet are they more
especially kind and assistant to the supplications of women and youths.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1065.] SAINTS MILDRITHA AND MILBURGA.]
Merewald the brother of Wulfhere, by Ermenburga, the daughter of
Ermenred brother of Erconbert king of Kent, had two daughters:
Mildritha and Milburga. Mildritha, dedicating herself to celibacy,
ended her days in the Isle of Thanet in Kent, which king Egbert
had given to her mother, to atone for the murder of her brothers,
Ethelred and Ethelbert.[275] In after times, being transferred to St.
Augustine’s monastery at Canterbury, she is there honoured by the
marked attention of the monks, and celebrated equally for her kindness
and affability to all, as her name[276] implies. And although almost
every corner of that monastery is filled with the bodies of saints of
great name and merit, any one of which would be of itself sufficient to
irradiate all England, yet no one is there more revered, more loved,
or more gratefully remembered; and she, turning a deaf ear to none who
love her, is present to them in the salvation of their souls.
Milburga reposes at Wenlock:[277] formerly well known to the
neighbouring inhabitants; but for some time after the arrival of
the Normans, through ignorance of the place of her burial, she was
neglected. Lately, however, a convent of Clugniac monks being
established there, while a new church was erecting, a certain boy
running violently along the pavement, broke into the hollow of the
vault, and discovered the body of the virgin; when a balsamic odour
pervading the whole church, she was taken up, and performed so many
miracles, that the people flocked thither in great multitudes. Large
spreading plains could hardly contain the troops of pilgrims, while
rich and poor came side by side, one common faith impelling all. Nor
did the event deceive their expectations: for no one departed, without
either a perfect cure, or considerable abatement of his malady, and
some were even healed of the king’s evil, by the merits of this virgin,
when medical assistance was unavailing.
Edward the Elder, of whom I have before spoken at large, had by his
wife Edgiva, several daughters. Among these was Eadburga, who, when
she was scarcely three years old, gave a singular indication of her
future sanctity. Her father was inclined to try whether the little
girl was inclined to God, or to the world, and had placed in a chamber
the symbols of different professions; on one side a chalice, and the
gospels; on the other, bracelets and necklaces. Hither the child was
brought in the arms of her indulgent attendant, and, sitting on her
father’s knee, was desired to choose which she pleased. Rejecting the
earthly ornaments with stern regard, she instantly fell prostrate
before the chalice and the gospels, and worshipped them with infant
adoration. The company present exclaimed aloud, and fondly hailed
the prospect of the child’s future sanctity; her father embraced the
infant in a manner still more endearing. “Go,” said he, “whither the
Divinity calls thee; follow with prosperous steps the spouse whom thou
hast chosen, and truly blessed shall my wife and myself be, if we are
surpassed in holiness by our daughter.” When clothed in the garb of
a nun, she gained the affection of all her female companions, in the
city of Winchester, by the marked attention she paid them. Nor did the
greatness of her birth elevate her; as she esteemed it noble to stoop
to the service of Christ. Her sanctity increased with her years, her
humility kept pace with her growth; so that she used secretly to steal
away the socks of the several nuns at night, and, carefully washing and
anointing them, lay them again upon their beds. Wherefore, though God
signalized her, while living, by many miracles, yet I more particularly
bring forward this circumstance, to show that charity began all her
works, and humility completed them: and finally, many miracles in her
life-time, and since her death, confirm the devotion of her heart and
the incorruptness of her body, which the attendants at her churches at
Winchester and Pershore relate to such as are unacquainted with them.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1065.] ST. EDITHA’S CHASTITY.]
St. Editha, the daughter of king Edgar, ennobles, with her relics, the
monastery of Wilton, where she was buried, and cherishes that place
with her regard, where, trained from her infancy in the school of
the Lord, she gained his favour by unsullied virginity, and constant
watchings: repressing the pride of her high birth by her humility. I
have heard one circumstance of her, from persons of elder days, which
greatly staggered the opinions of men: for she led them into false
conclusions from the splendour of her costly dress; being always
habited in richer garb than the sanctity of her profession seemed
to require. On this account, being openly rebuked by St. Ethelwold,
she is reported to have answered with equal point and wit, that
the judgment of God was true and irrefragable, while that of man,
alone, was fallible; for pride might exist even under the garb of
wretchedness: wherefore, “I think,” said she, “that a mind may be as
pure beneath these vestments, as under your tattered furs.” The bishop
was deeply struck by this speech; admitting its truth by his silence,
and blushing with pleasure that he had been chastised by the sparkling
repartee of the lady, he held his peace. St. Dunstan had observed her,
at the consecration of the church of St. Denys, which she had built
out of affection to that martyr, frequently stretching out her right
thumb, and making the sign of the cross upon her forehead; and being
extremely delighted at it, “May this finger,” he exclaimed, “never see
corruption:” and immediately, while celebrating mass, he burst into
such a flood of tears, that he alarmed with his faltering voice an
assistant standing near him; who inquiring the reason of it, “Soon,”
said he, “shall this blooming rose wither; soon shall this beloved bird
take its flight to God, after the expiration of six weeks from this
time.” The truth of the prelate’s prophecy was very shortly fulfilled;
for on the appointed day, this noble, firmly-minded lady, expired in
her prime, at the age of twenty-three years. Soon after, the same saint
saw, in a dream, St. Denys kindly taking the virgin by the hand, and
strictly enjoining, by divine command, that she should be honoured by
her servants on earth, in the same manner as she was venerated by her
spouse and master in heaven. Miracles multiplying at her tomb, it was
ordered, that her virgin body should be taken up, and exalted in a
shrine; when the whole of it was found resolved into dust, except the
finger, with the abdomen and parts adjacent. In consequence of which,
some debate arising, the virgin herself appeared, in a dream, to one
of those who had seen her remains, saying, “It was no wonder, if the
other parts of the body had decayed, since it was customary for dead
bodies to moulder to their native dust, and she, perhaps, as a girl,
had sinned with those members; but it was highly just, that the abdomen
should see no corruption which had never felt the sting of lust; as she
had been entirely free from gluttony or carnal copulation.”
Truly both these virgins support their respective monasteries by their
merits; each of them being filled with large assemblies of nuns, who
answer obediently to the call of their mistresses and patronesses,
inviting them to virtue. Happy the man, who becomes partaker of those
virgin orisons which the Lord Jesus favours with kind regard. For, as I
have remarked of the nuns of Shaftesbury, all virtues have long since
quitted the earth, and retired to heaven; or, if any where, (but this I
must say with the permission of holy men,) are to be found only in the
hearts of nuns; and surely those women are highly to be praised, who,
regardless of the weakness of their sex, vie with each other in the
preservation of their continence, and by such means ascend, triumphant,
to heaven.
I think it of importance to have been acquainted with many of the
royal family of either sex; as it may be gathered from thence that
king Edward, concerning whom I was speaking before I digressed, by
no means degenerated from the virtues of his ancestors. In fact he
was famed both for miracles, and for the spirit of prophecy, as I
shall hereafter relate. In the exaction of taxes he was sparing, and
he abominated the insolence of collectors: in eating and drinking he
was free from the voluptuousness which his state allowed: on the
more solemn festivals, though dressed in robes interwoven with gold,
which the queen had most splendidly embroidered, yet still he had such
forbearance, as to be sufficiently majestic, without being haughty;
considering in such matters, rather the bounty of God, than the pomp
of the world. There was one earthly enjoyment in which he chiefly
delighted; which was, hunting with fleet hounds, whose opening in the
woods he used with pleasure to encourage: and again, with the pouncing
of birds, whose nature it is to prey on their kindred species. In these
exercises, after hearing divine service in the morning, he employed
himself whole days. In other respects he was a man by choice devoted
to God, and lived the life of an angel in the administration of his
kingdom. To the poor and to the stranger, more especially foreigners
and men of religious orders, he was kind in invitation, munificent in
his presents, and constantly exciting the monks of his own country to
imitate their holiness. He was of a becoming stature; his beard and
hair milk-white; his countenance florid; fair throughout his whole
person; and his form of admirable proportion.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1065.] ORIGIN OF THE ROYAL TOUCH.]
The happiness of his times had been revealed in a dream to Brithwin
bishop of Wilton, who had made it public. For in the time of Canute,
when, at Glastonbury, he was once intent on heavenly watchings, and
the thought of the near extinction of the royal race of the Angles,
which frequently distressed him, came into his mind, sleep stole upon
him thus meditating; when behold! he was rapt on high, and saw Peter,
the chief of the apostles, consecrating Edward, who at that time was
an exile in Normandy, king; his chaste life too was pointed out, and
the exact period of his reign, twenty-four years, determined; and, when
inquiring about his posterity, it was answered, “The kingdom of the
English belongs to God; after you he will provide a king according to
his pleasure.”
But now to speak of his miracles. A young woman had married a husband
of her own age, but having no issue by the union, the humours
collecting abundantly about her neck, she had contracted a sore
disorder; the glands swelling in a dreadful manner. Admonished in
a dream to have the part affected washed by the king, she entered
the palace, and the king himself fulfilled this labour of love, by
rubbing the woman’s neck with his fingers dipped in water. Joyous
health followed his healing hand: the lurid skin opened, so that worms
flowed out with the purulent matter, and the tumour subsided. But as
the orifice of the ulcers was large and unsightly, he commanded her to
be supported at the royal expense till she should be perfectly cured.
However, before a week was expired, a fair, new skin returned, and
hid the scars so completely, that nothing of the original wound could
be discovered: and within a year becoming the mother of twins, she
increased the admiration of Edward’s holiness. Those who knew him more
intimately, affirm that he often cured this complaint in Normandy:
whence appears how false is their notion, who in our times assert, that
the cure of this disease does not proceed from personal sanctity, but
from hereditary virtue in the royal line.
A certain man, blind from some unknown mischance, had persisted in
asserting about the palace, that he should be cured, if he could touch
his eyes with the water in which the king’s hands had been washed. This
was frequently related to Edward, who derided it, and looked angrily
on the persons who mentioned it; confessing himself a sinner, and that
the works of holy men did not belong to him. But the servants, thinking
this a matter not to be neglected, tried the experiment when he was
ignorant of it, and was praying in church. The instant the blind man
was washed with the water, the long-enduring darkness fled from his
eyes, and they were filled with joyful light; and the king, inquiring
the cause of the grateful clamour of the by-standers, was informed of
the fact. Presently afterwards, when, by thrusting his fingers towards
the eyes of the man he had cured, and perceiving him draw back his
head to avoid them, he had made proof of his sight, he, with uplifted
hands, returned thanks to God. In the same way he cured a blind man at
Lincoln, who survived him many years, a proof of the royal miracle.
That you may know the perfect virtue of this prince, in the power of
healing more especially, I shall add something which will excite your
wonder. Wulwin, surnamed Spillecorn, the son of Wulmar of Nutgareshale,
was one day cutting timber in the wood of Bruelle, and indulging in a
long sleep after his labour, he lost his sight for seventeen years,
from the blood, as I imagine, stagnating about his eyes: at the end of
this time, he was admonished in a dream to go round to eighty-seven
churches, and earnestly entreat a cure of his blindness from the
saints. At last he came to the king’s court, where he remained for a
long time, in vain, in opposition to the attendants, at the vestibule
of his chamber. He still continued importunate, however, without being
deterred, till at last, after much difficulty, he was admitted by order
of the king. When he had heard the dream, he mildly answered, “By my
lady St. Mary, I shall be truly grateful, if God, through my means,
shall choose to take pity upon a wretched creature.” In consequence,
though he had no confidence in himself, with respect to miracles,
yet, at the instigation of his servants, he placed his hand, dipped
in water, on the blind man. In a moment the blood dripped plentifully
from his eyes, and the man, restored to sight, exclaimed with rapture,
“I see you, O king! I see you, O king!” In this recovered state, he
had charge of the royal palace at Windsor, for there the cure had been
performed, for a long time; surviving his restorer several years. On
the same day, from the same water, three blind men, and a man with
one eye, who were supported on the royal arms, received a cure; the
servants administering the healing water with perfect confidence.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1065.] KING EDWARD’S VISIONS.]
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1065.] POPES AND EMPERORS.]
On Easter-day, he was sitting at table at Westminster, with the crown
on his head, and surrounded by a crowd of nobles. While the rest were
greedily eating, and making up for the long fast of Lent by the newly
provided viands, he, with mind abstracted from earthly things, was
absorbed in the contemplation of some divine matter, when presently he
excited the attention of the guests by bursting into profuse laughter:
and as none presumed to inquire into the cause of his joy, he remained
silent as before, till satiety had put an end to the banquet. After
the tables were removed, and as he was unrobing in his chamber, three
persons of rank followed him; of these earl Harold was one, the second
was an abbat, and the third a bishop, who presuming on their intimacy
asked the cause of his laughter, observing, that it seemed just matter
of astonishment to see him, in such perfect tranquillity both of time
and occupation, burst into a vulgar laugh, while all others were
silent. “I saw something wonderful,” said he, “and therefore I did
not laugh without a cause.” At this, as is the custom of mankind,
they began to inquire and search into the matter more earnestly,
entreating that he would condescend to disclose it to them. After
much reluctance, he yielded to their persevering solicitations, and
related the following wonderful circumstance, saying, that the Seven
Sleepers in mount Cœlius had now lain for two hundred years on their
right side, but that, at the very hour of his laughter, they turned
upon their left; that they would continue to lie in this manner
for seventy-four years, which would be a dreadful omen to wretched
mortals. For every thing would come to pass, in these seventy-four
years, which the Lord had foretold to his disciples concerning the
end of the world; nation would rise against nation, and kingdom
against kingdom; earthquakes would be in divers places; pestilence
and famine, terrors from heaven and great signs; changes in kingdoms;
wars of the gentiles against the Christians, and also victories of the
Christians over the pagans. Relating these matters to his wondering
audience, he descanted on the passion of these sleepers, and the make
of their bodies, though totally unnoticed in history, as readily as
though he had lived in daily intercourse with them. On hearing this
the earl sent a knight; the bishop a clergyman; and the abbat a monk,
to Maniches the Constantinopolitan emperor, to investigate the truth
of his declaration; adding letters and presents from the king. After
being kindly entertained, Maniches sent them to the bishop of Ephesus,
giving them at the same time what is called a holy letter, that the
martyr-relics of the Seven Sleepers should be shown to the delegates of
the king of England.[278] It fell out that the presage of king Edward
was proved by all the Greeks, who could swear they had heard from their
fathers that the men were lying on their right side; but after the
entrance of the English into the vault, they published the truth of
the foreign prophecy to their countrymen. Nor was it long before the
predicted evils came to pass; for the Hagarens, and Arabs, and Turks,
nations averse to Christ, making havoc of the Christians, overran
Syria, and Lycia, and Asia Minor altogether, devastating many cities
too of Asia Major, among which was Ephesus, and even Jerusalem itself.
At the same time, on the death of Maniches emperor of Constantinople,
Diogenes, and Michaelius, and Bucinacius, and Alexius, in turn hurled
each other headlong from the throne; the last of whom, continuing till
our time, left for heir his son John more noted for cunning and deceit
than worth. He contrived many hurtful plots against the pilgrims on
their sacred journey; but venerating the fidelity of the English,
he showed them every civility, and transmitted his regard for them
to his son.[279] In the next seven years were three popes, Victor,
Stephen, Nicholas,[280] who diminished the vigour of the papacy by
their successive deaths. Almost immediately afterwards too died Henry,
the pious emperor of the Romans, and had for successor Henry his son,
who brought many calamities on the city of Rome by his folly and his
wickedness. The same year Henry, king of France, a good and active
warrior, died by poison. Soon after a comet, a star denoting, as they
say, change in kingdoms, appeared trailing its extended and fiery
train along the sky. Wherefore a certain monk of our monastery,[281]
by name Elmer, bowing down with terror at the sight of the brilliant
star, wisely exclaimed, “Thou art come! a matter of lamentation to
many a mother art thou come; I have seen thee long since; but I now
behold thee much more terrible, threatening to hurl destruction on this
country.” He was a man of good learning for those times, of mature age,
and in his early youth had hazarded an attempt of singular temerity.
He had by some contrivance fastened wings to his hands and feet, in
order that, looking upon the fable as true, he might fly like Dædalus,
and collecting the air on the summit of a tower, had flown for more
than the distance of a furlong; but, agitated by the violence of the
wind and the current of air, as well as by the consciousness of his
rash attempt, he fell and broke his legs, and was lame ever after. He
used to relate as the cause of his failure, his forgetting to provide
himself a tail.
Another prophecy similar to this, Edward uttered when dying, which I
shall here anticipate. When he had lain two days speechless, on the
third, sadly and deeply sighing as he awoke from his torpor, “Almighty
God,” said he, “as this shall be a real vision, or a vain illusion,
which I have seen, grant me the power of explaining it, or not, to the
by-standers.” Soon after speaking fluently, “I saw just now,” continued
he, “two monks near me, whom formerly, when a youth in Normandy, I knew
both to have lived in a most religious manner, and to have died like
perfect Christians. These men, announcing themselves as the messengers
of God, spake to the following effect: ‘Since the chiefs of England,
the dukes, bishops, and abbats, are not the ministers of God, but of
the devil, God, after your death, has delivered this kingdom for a year
and a day, into the hand of the enemy, and devils shall wander over all
the land.’ And when I said that I would show these things to my people;
and promised that they should liberate themselves by repentance, after
the old example of the Ninevites; ‘Neither of these,’ said they, ‘shall
take place; for they will not repent, nor will God have mercy on them.’
When then, said I, may cessation from such great calamities be hoped
for? They replied, ‘Whenever a green tree shall be cut through the
middle, and the part cut off, being carried the space of three acres
from the trunk, shall, without any assistance, become again united to
its stem, bud out with flowers, and stretch forth its fruit, as before,
from the sap again uniting; then may a cessation of such evils be at
last expected.’”
Though others were apprehensive of the truth of this prediction, yet
Stigand, at that time archbishop, received it with laughter; saying,
that the old man doted through disease. We, however, find the truth
of the presage experimentally; for England is become the residence of
foreigners, and the property of strangers: at the present time, there
is no Englishman, either earl, bishop, or abbat; strangers all, they
prey upon the riches and vitals of England; nor is there any hope of
a termination to this misery. The cause of which evil, as I have long
since promised, it is now high time that my narrative should endeavour
briefly to disclose.
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1065.] DEATH OF EDWARD.]
[Sidenote: [A.D. 1066.] HAROLD.]
King Edward declining into years, as he had no children himself, and
saw the sons of Godwin growing in power, despatched messengers to the
king of Hungary, to send over Edward, the son of his brother Edmund,
with all his family: intending, as he declared, that either he, or his
sons, should succeed to the hereditary kingdom of England, and that his
own want of issue should be supplied by that of his kindred. Edward
came in consequence, but died almost immediately at St. Paul’s[282]
in London: he was neither valiant, nor a man of abilities. He left
three surviving children; that is to say, Edgar, who, after the death
of Harold, was by some elected king; and who, after many revolutions
of fortune, is now living wholly retired in the country, in extreme
old age: Christina, who grew old at Romsey in the habit of a nun:
Margaret, whom Malcolm king of the Scots espoused. Blessed with a
numerous offspring, her sons were Edgar, and Alexander, who reigned
in Scotland after their father in due succession: for the eldest,
Edward, had fallen in battle with his father; the youngest, David,
noted for his meekness and discretion, is at present king of Scotland.
Her daughters were, Matilda, whom in our time king Henry has married,
and Maria, whom Eustace the younger, earl of Boulogne, espoused. The
king, in consequence of the death of his relation, losing his first
hope of support, gave the succession of England to William earl of
Normandy.[283] He was well worthy of such a gift, being a young man
of superior mind, who had raised himself to the highest eminence by
his unwearied exertion: moreover, he was his nearest relation by
consanguinity, as he was the son of Robert, the son of Richard the
second, whom we have repeatedly mentioned as the brother of Emma,
Edward’s mother. Some affirm that Harold himself was sent into Normandy
by the king for this purpose: others, who knew Harold’s more secret
intentions, say, that being driven thither against his will, by the
violence of the wind, he imagined this device, in order to extricate
himself. This, as it appears nearest the truth, I shall relate. Harold
being at his country-seat at Boseham,[284] went for recreation on
board a fishing boat, and, for the purpose of prolonging his sport,
put out to sea; when a sudden tempest arising, he was driven with his
companions on the coast of Ponthieu. The people of that district, as
was their native custom, immediately assembled from all quarters; and
Harold’s company, unarmed and few in number, were, as it easily might
be, quickly overpowered by an armed multitude, and bound hand and
foot. Harold, craftily meditating a remedy for this mischance, sent a
person, whom he had allured by very great promises, to William, to say,
that he had been sent into Normandy by the king, for the purpose of
expressly confirming, in person, the message which had been imperfectly
delivered by people of less authority; but that he was detained in
fetters by Guy earl of Ponthieu, and could not execute his embassy:
that it was the barbarous and inveterate custom of the country, that
such as had escaped destruction at sea, should meet with perils on
shore: that it well became a man of his dignity, not to let this pass
unpunished: that to suffer those to be laden with chains, who appealed
to his protection, detracted somewhat from his own greatness: and that
if his captivity must be terminated by money, he would gladly give
it to earl William, but not to the contemptible Guy. By these means,
Harold was liberated at William’s command, and conducted to Normandy
by Guy in person. The earl entertained him with much respect, both in
banqueting and in vesture, according to the custom of his country; and
the better to learn his disposition, and at the same time to try his
courage, took him with him in an expedition he at that time led against
Brittany. There, Harold, well proved both in ability and courage, won
the heart of the Norman; and, still more to ingratiate himself, he of
his own accord, confirmed to him by oath the castle of Dover, which was
under his jurisdiction, and the kingdom of England, after the death
of Edward. Wherefore, he was honoured both by having his daughter,
then a child, betrothed to him, and by the confirmation of his ample
patrimony, and was received into the strictest intimacy. Not long after
his return home, the king was crowned[285] at London on Christmas-day,
and being there seized with the disorder of which he was sensible he
should die, he commanded the church of Westminster to be dedicated on
Innocents-day.[286] Thus, full of years and of glory, he surrendered
his pure spirit to heaven, and was buried on the day of the Epiphany,
in the said church, which he, first in England, had erected after that
kind of style which, now, almost all attempt to rival at enormous
expense. The race of the West Saxons, which had reigned in Britain five
hundred and seventy-one years, from the time of Cerdic, and two hundred
and sixty-one from Egbert, in him ceased altogether to rule. For while
the grief for the king’s death was yet fresh, Harold, on the very
day of the Epiphany, seized the diadem, and extorted from the nobles
their consent; though the English say, that it was granted him by the
king: but I conceive it alleged, more through regard to Harold, than
through sound judgment, that Edward should transfer his inheritance to
a man of whose power he had always been jealous. Still, not to conceal
the truth, Harold would have governed the kingdom with prudence and
with courage, in the character he had assumed, had he undertaken it
lawfully. Indeed, during Edward’s lifetime, he had quelled, by his
valour, whatever wars were excited against him; wishing to signalize
himself with his countrymen, and looking forward with anxious hope
to the crown. He first vanquished Griffin king of the Welsh, as I
have before related, in battle; and, afterwards, when he was again
making formidable efforts to recover his power, deprived him of his
head; appointing as his successors, two of his own adherents, that is,
the brothers of this Griffin, Blegent and Rivallo, who had obtained
his favour by their submission. The same year Tosty arrived on the
Humber, from Flanders, with a fleet of sixty ships, and infested with
piratical depredations those parts which were adjacent to the mouth
of the river; but being quickly driven from the province by the joint
force of the brothers, Edwin and Morcar, he set sail towards Scotland;
where meeting with Harold Harfager king of Norway, then meditating an
attack on England with three hundred ships, he put himself under his
command. Both, then, with united forces, laid waste the country beyond
the Humber; and falling on the brothers, reposing after their recent
victory and suspecting no attack of the kind, they first routed, and
then shut them up in York. Harold, on hearing this, proceeded thither
with all his forces, and, each nation making every possible exertion, a
bloody encounter followed: but the English obtained the advantage, and
put the Norwegians to flight. Yet, however reluctantly posterity may
believe it, one single Norwegian for a long time delayed the triumph
of so many, and such great men. For standing on the entrance of the
bridge, which is called Standford Brigge,[287] after having killed
several of our party, he prevented the whole from passing over. Being
invited to surrender, with the assurance that a man of such courage
should experience the amplest clemency from the English, he derided
those who entreated him; and immediately, with stern countenance,
reproached the set of cowards who were unable to resist an individual.
No one approaching nearer, as they thought it unadvisable to come to
close quarters with a man who had desperately rejected every means
of safety, one of the king’s followers aimed an iron javelin at him
from a distance; and transfixed him as he was boastfully flourishing
about, and too incautious from his security, so that he yielded the
victory to the English. The army immediately passing over without
opposition, destroyed the dispersed and flying Norwegians. King
Harfager and Tosty were slain; the king’s son, with all the ships, was
kindly sent back to his own country. Harold, elated by his successful
enterprise, vouchsafed no part of the spoil to his soldiers. Wherefore
many, as they found opportunity, stealing away, deserted the king, as
he was proceeding to the battle of Hastings. For with the exception
of his stipendiary and mercenary soldiers, he had very few of the
people[288] with him; on which account, circumvented by a stratagem of
William’s, he was routed, with the army he headed, after possessing
the kingdom nine months and some days. The effect of war in this
affair was trifling; it was brought about by the secret and wonderful
counsel of God: since the Angles never again, in any general battle,
made a struggle for liberty, as if the whole strength of England had
fallen with Harold, who certainly might and ought to pay the penalty
of his perfidy, even though it were at the hands of the most unwarlike
people. Nor in saying this, do I at all derogate from the valour of
the Normans, to whom I am strongly bound, both by my descent, and for
the privileges I enjoy. Still[289] those persons appear to me to err,
who augment the numbers of the English, and underrate their courage;
who, while they design to extol the Normans, load them with ignominy. A
mighty commendation indeed! that a very warlike nation should conquer
a set of people who were obstructed by their multitude, and fearful
through cowardice! On the contrary, they were few in number and brave
in the extreme; and sacrificing every regard to their bodies, poured
forth their spirit for their country. But, however, as these matters
await a more detailed narrative, I shall now put a period to my second
book, that I may return to my composition, and my readers to the
perusal of it, with fresh ardour.