BOOK IV.

PREFACE.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1072.] PREFACE TO BOOK IV.]

I am aware, that many persons think it unwise in me, to have written

the history of the kings of my own time; alleging, that in such a

work, truth is often made shipwreck of, while falsehood meets with

support: because to relate the crimes of contemporaries, is attended

with danger; their good actions with applause. Whence it arises, say

they, that, as all things have, now, a natural tendency to evil rather

than to good, the historian passes over any disgraceful transaction,

however obvious, through timidity; and, for the sake of approbation,

feigns good qualities, when he cannot find them. There are others,

who, judging of us by their own indolence, deem us unequal to so great

a task, and brand our undertaking with malignant censure. Wherefore,

impelled by the reasoning of the one, or the contempt of the other,

I had long since voluntarily retired to leisure and to silence: but,

after indulging in them for a time, the accustomed inclination for

study again strongly beset me; as it was impossible for me to be

unoccupied, and I knew not how to give myself up to those forensic

avocations, which are beneath the notice of a literary character.

To this was to be added the incitements of my friends, to whose

suggestions, though only implied, I ought to pay regard: and they

indeed gently urged me, already sufficiently disposed, to prosecute

my undertaking. Animated, therefore, by the advice of those whom I

love most affectionately, I advance to give them a lasting pledge of

friendship from the stores of my research. Grateful also to those who

are in fear for me, lest I should either excite hatred, or disguise

the truth, I will, by the help of Christ, make such a return for their

kindness, as neither to become odious, nor a falsifier. For I will

describe, both what has been done well, or otherwise, in such wise, and

so safely steer between Scylla and Charybdis, that my opinions shall

not be concealed, though some matters may be omitted in my history.

Moreover, to those who undervalue the labours of others, I make the

same answer as St. Jerome formerly did to his critics; “Let them read

if they like: if not, let them cast it aside; because I do not obtrude

my work on the fastidious, but I dedicate it, if any think it worth

their notice, to the studious;” which even these men will readily

pronounce to be consonant to equity, unless they are of the number of

those, of whom it is said; “Fools are easy to confute, but not so easy

to restrain.” I will relate, then, in this, the fourth book of my work,

every thing which may be said of William, son of William the Great, in

such manner that neither shall the truth suffer, nor shall the dignity

of the prince be obscured. Some matters also will be inserted in these

pages, which in his time were calamitous in this country, or glorious

elsewhere, as far as my knowledge extends. More especially, the

pilgrimage of the Christians to Jerusalem, which it will be proper to

annex in this place; because an expedition, so famous in these times,

is well worth hearing, and will also be an incitement to valour. Not

indeed that I have any confidence these transactions will be better

treated by me than by others who have written on the subject, but that,

what many write, many may read. Yet, lest so long a preface should

disgust my reader, I will immediately enter on my work.

CHAP. I.

_Of William the Second._ [A.D. 1087-1100.]

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1087.] BIRTH OF WILLIAM II.]

William then, the son of William, was born in Normandy many years

before his father came to England; and being educated with extreme care

by his parents, as he had naturally an ambitious mind, he at length

reached the summit of dignity. He would no doubt have been a prince

incomparable in our time, had not his father’s greatness eclipsed him;

and had not the fates cut short his years too early for his maturer

age to correct errors, contracted by the licentiousness of power, and

the impetuosity of youth. When childhood was passed, he spent the

period of youth in military occupations; in riding, throwing the dart,

contending with his elders in obedience, with those of his own age in

action: and he esteemed it injurious to his reputation, if he was not

the foremost to take arms in military commotions; unless he was the

first to challenge the adversary, or when challenged, to overcome him.

To his father he was ever dutiful; always exerting himself in his sight

in battle, ever at his side in peace. His hopes gradually expanding,

he already aspired after the succession, especially on the rejection

of his elder brother, while the tender age of the younger gave him no

uneasiness. Thus, adopted as his successor by his father during his

last illness, he set out to take possession of the kingdom ere the

king had breathed his last: where being gladly received by the people,

and obtaining the keys of the treasury, he by these means subjected

all England to his will. Archbishop Lanfranc, the grand mover of

every thing, had educated him, and made him a knight,[342] and now he

favoured his pretensions to the throne; by his authority and assistance

William was crowned on the day of the saints Cosmas and Damian,[343]

and passed the remainder of the winter quietly and with general favour.

At the expiration of this period, in the beginning of spring, his

first contention was with his uncle, Odo, bishop of Bayeux. For when

Odo, on his release from confinement, as I have related, had firmly

established his nephew, Robert, in the duchy of Normandy, he came to

England, and received from the king the earldom of Kent. But when he

saw every thing in the kingdom managed, not at his own pleasure, as

formerly, for the administration of public affairs was now committed

to William, bishop of Durham, he was moved with envy, and having

revolted from the king, he tainted many others by insinuating, that the

kingdom belonged to Robert, who was of gentler disposition, and whose

youthful follies had been corrected by many adversities; that William,

delicately brought up, and overbearing from that ferocity of mind which

was manifest in his countenance, would dare every thing, in defiance of

right and equity: that it must soon come to pass, that they would lose

the honours they had already obtained with so much difficulty: that

nothing was gained by the father’s death, if those whom he had cast

into prison, were to be killed by the son. To this effect he used, at

first, secretly to mutter, together with Roger Montgomery, Gosfrith,

bishop of Coutances, with his nephew Robert earl of Northumberland, and

others; afterwards they were more open in their clamours, repeating

and disseminating them by letters and by emissaries. Moreover, even

William, bishop of Durham, the confidential minister of the king, had

joined in their treachery. This was matter of great concern to William,

it is said; because, together with the breach of friendship, he was

disappointed of the resources of the distant provinces. Odo now carried

off booty of every kind to Rochester, plundering the king’s revenues

in Kent, and especially the lands of the archbishop; breathing eternal

hatred against him, because, he said, it was by his advice, that his

brother had cast him into chains. Nor was this assertion false: for

when William the elder formerly complained to Lanfranc, that he was

deserted by his brother: “Seize, and cast him into chains,” said he.

“What!” replied the king, “he is a clergyman!” Then the archbishop with

playful archness, as Persius says, “balancing the objection with nice

antithesis,”[344] rejoined, “you will not seize the bishop of Bayeux,

but confine the earl of Kent.”

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1088.] CONSPIRACY OF THE NOBLES.]

Bishop Gosfrith with his nephew, depopulating Bath, and Berkeley, and

part of the county of Wilts, treasured up their spoils at Bristol.

Roger Montgomery sending out his army with the Welsh from Shrewsbury,

plundered Worcestershire. They had now hostilely approached Worcester,

when the king’s soldiers who guarded it, relying on the blessing of

bishop Wulstan, to whom the custody of the castle was committed, though

few in number, dispersed this multitude; and after wounding and killing

many, took some of them prisoners. Moreover, Roger Bigod at Norwich,

and Hugo de Grentmeisnil at Leicester, each with their party, were

plundering in their respective neighbourhoods. In vain, however, did

the whole power of revolt rage against a man, who was deficient neither

in prudence nor in good fortune. For seeing almost all the Normans

leagued in one furious conspiracy, he sent alluring letters, summoning

to him such brave and honest English as yet remained; and complaining

to them on the subject of his wrongs, he bound them to his party, by

promising them wholesome laws, a diminution of tribute, and free leave

to hunt.[345] With equal cunning he circumvented Roger Montgomery, when

riding with him, with dissembled perfidy; for taking him aside, he

loaded him with odium, saying, that he would willingly retire from the

government, if it seemed meet to him and to the rest whom his father

had left as his guardians; that he could not understand, why they were

so outrageous; if they wanted money, they might have what they pleased;

if an increase of their estates, they might have that also; in short,

they might have whatever they chose; only let them be careful that the

judgment of his father was not called in question: for, if they thought

it ought to be disregarded in the instance of himself, it might be a

bad example for them: for the same person made him king, who had made

them earls. Excited by these words and promises, the earl, who, next to

Odo, had been the chief leader of the faction, was the first to desert.

Proceeding, therefore, immediately against the rebels, he laid siege

to the castles of his uncle at Tunbridge and at Pevensey, and seizing

him in the latter compelled him to swear, as he dictated, that he would

depart England, and deliver up Rochester. To fulfil this promise he

sent him forward with a party he could rely on, intending to follow

at his leisure. At that time almost all the young nobility of England

and Normandy were at Rochester: three sons of earl Roger, Eustace the

younger of Boulogne, and many others not deserving notice. The royal

party, accompanying the bishop, were few and unarmed, for who could

fear treachery where he was present? and going round the walls, they

called the townsmen to open the gates; for so the bishop in person, and

the absent king commanded. Observing from the wall, however, that the

countenance of the bishop ill agreed with the language of the speakers,

they suddenly sallied out, took horse in an instant, and carried off,

together with the bishop, the whole party, captive. The report of this

transaction quickly reached the king. Fierce from the injury, and

smothering his indignation, he calls together his faithful English

subjects, and orders them to summon all their countrymen to the siege,

unless any wished to be branded with the name of “Nidering,”[346] which

implies “abandoned.” The English who thought nothing more disgraceful

than to be stigmatised by such an appellation, flocked in troops to

the king, and rendered his army invincible. Nor could the townsmen

longer delay submission; experiencing, that a party, however noble,

or however numerous, could avail nothing against the king of England.

Odo, now taken a second time, abjured England for ever: the bishop of

Durham of his own accord retired beyond sea, the king allowing him to

escape uninjured out of regard to his former friendship: the rest were

all admitted to fealty. During the interval of this siege, some of the

king’s fleet destroyed a party which the earl of Normandy had sent to

assist the traitors, partly by slaughter, and partly by shipwreck; the

remainder, intent on escaping, endeavoured to make sail; but being soon

after disappointed by its falling calm, they became matter for laughter

to our people, but their own destruction; for, that they might not be

taken alive, they leaped from their vessels into the sea.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1088.] TREATY WITH ROBERT.]

The next year, as the sense of injuries ever grows keener from

reconsideration, the king began carefully to examine, how he might

revenge his griefs, and repay his brother for this insult. In

consequence, by his practices, he bribed the garrison, and obtained

possession of the castle of St. Vallery, the adjoining port, and the

town which is called Albemarle. The earl had not the courage to resist,

but, by means of ambassadors, acquainted his lord, the king of France,

with the violence of his brother, and begged his assistance. The French

king, inactive, and surfeited with daily gluttony, came hiccupping,

through repletion, to the war: but, as he was making great professions,

the money of the king of England met him by the way; with which his

resolution being borne down, he unbuckled his armour, and went back to

his gormandizing. In this manner, Normandy, for a long time, groaned

under intestine war, sometimes one party, sometimes the other being

victorious: the nobility, men of fickle temper, and faithful to neither

brother, exciting their mutual fury. A few, better advised, attentive

to their own advantage, for they had possessions in both countries,

were mediators of a peace: the basis of which was, that the king

should get possession of Maine for the earl; and the earl should cede

to the king those castles which he already held, and the monastery of

Feschamp. The treaty was ratified and confirmed by the oath of the

nobles on both sides.

Not long after the king went abroad to execute these conditions. Each

leader made great efforts to invade Maine; but when they had completed

their preparations, and were just ready to proceed, an obstacle arose,

through the spirit of Henry, the younger brother, loudly remonstrating

against their covetousness, which had shared their paternal possessions

between themselves, and blushed not at having left him almost

destitute. In consequence he took possession of Mount St. Michael, and

harassed, with constant sallies, the besieging forces of his brothers.

During this siege, a noble specimen of disposition was exhibited,

both by the king and by the earl: of compassion in the one, and of

magnanimity in the other. I shall subjoin these instances, for the

information of my readers.

The king, going out of his tent, and observing the enemy at a distance,

proudly prancing, rushed unattended against a large party; spurred

on by the impetuosity of his courage, and at the same time confident

that none would dare resist him. Presently his horse, which he had

that day purchased for fifteen marks of silver, being killed under

him, he was thrown down, and for a long time dragged by his foot; the

strength of his mail, however, prevented his being hurt. The soldier

who had unhorsed him, was at this instant drawing his sword to strike

him, when, terrified at the extremity of his danger, he cried out,

“Hold, rascal, I am the king of England.” The whole troop trembled at

the well-known voice of the prostrate monarch, and immediately raised

him respectfully from the ground, and brought him another horse.

Leaping into the saddle without waiting assistance, and darting a keen

look on the by-standers: “Who unhorsed me?” said he. While the rest

were silent through fear, the bold perpetrator of the deed readily

defended himself, saying, “’Twas I, who took you, not for a king, but

for a soldier.” The king, soothed, and regaining the serenity of his

countenance, exclaimed, “By the crucifix[347] at Lucca,” for such was

his oath, “henceforth thou shalt be mine, and, placed on my roll,

shalt receive the recompence of this gallant service.” Nobly done,

magnanimous king! what encomium shall I pass on this speech! Equal to

Alexander the Great in glory; who, through admiration of his courage,

preserved, unhurt, a Persian soldier, who had attempted to strike him

from behind, but was frustrated in his design by the treachery of his

sword.

But now to relate the compassion of the earl. When the blockade had

so far proceeded that the besieged were in want of water, Henry sent

messengers to Robert, to expostulate with him on the thirst he endured,

and to represent, that it was impious to deprive him of water, the

common right of mankind: let him try his courage another way if he

chose; and not employ the violence of the elements, but the valour of

a soldier. On which, wrought upon by the natural tenderness of his

disposition, he ordered his party to be more remiss in their duty where

they kept guard, that his thirsty brother might not be deprived of

water. This circumstance, when related to the king, who was always

inclined to warmth of temper, made him say to the earl, “You well know

how to carry on war indeed, who allow your enemies plenty of water: and

pray, how shall we subdue them, if we indulge them in food and drink?”

But he smiling, uttered this kind and truly laudable expression, “Oh,

shame! should I suffer my brother to die with thirst? and where shall

we find another, if we lose him?” On this the king, deriding the mild

temper of the man, put an end to the war without accomplishing his

design; and as the commotions of the Scots and Welsh required his

presence, he retired with both his brothers to his kingdom.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1091.] EXPEDITION AGAINST SCOTLAND.]

Immediately he led an expedition, first against the Welsh, and then

against the Scots, in which he performed nothing worthy of his

greatness; but lost many of his soldiers, and had his sumpter-horses

intercepted. And, not only at that time, but frequently, in Wales, was

fortune unfavourable to him; which may seem strange to any one, when

the chance of war was generally on his side in other places. But it

appears to me that the unevenness of the country, and the badness of

the weather, as it assisted their rebellion, was also an impediment

to his valour. But king Henry, who now reigns, a man of excellent

talents, discovered a mode of counteracting their designs: which

was, by stationing in their country the Flemings, to be a barrier to

them, and constantly keep them within bounds. At that time, by the

industry of earl Robert, who had long since gained the good graces of

the Scot, the basis of a peace was laid between Malcolm and William.

But various grounds of difference still existing on both sides, and

justice wavering through their mutual animosity, Malcolm came of his

own accord to Gloucester, a hearty solicitor for peace, so that it

were on equitable conditions. He obtained, however, nothing more than

permission to return uninjured to his kingdom: for the king disdained

to take a man by subtlety, whom he might have conquered by arms. But

the next winter he was dispatched by the party of Robert, earl of

Northumberland, rather through stratagem than force. When his wife,

Margaret, a woman distinguished for almsgiving and for chastity, heard

of his death, disgusted with the continuance of life, she earnestly

entreated of God to die. They were both remarkable for piety, but the

queen more especially. For during her whole life, wherever she might

be, she had twenty-four poor persons whom she supplied with meat and

clothing. In Lent, waiting for the singing of the priests, she used to

watch all night in the church, herself assisting at triple matins, of

the Trinity, of the Cross, of St. Mary, and afterwards repeating the

Psalter; with tears bedewing her garments, and agitating her breast.

Departing from the church, she used to feed the poor; first three, then

nine, then twenty-four, at last three hundred: herself standing by

with the king, and pouring water on their hands. Edgar his son, when

expelled by his uncle, was restored by William; assuredly with a noble

compassion, and worthy of so great a personage, who, forgetting the

injuries of the father, replaced the son, when suppliant, on his throne.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1093.] CHARACTER OF WILLIAM II.]

Greatness of soul was pre-eminent in the king, which, in process of

time, he obscured by excessive severity; vices, indeed, in place

of virtues, so insensibly crept into his bosom, that he could not

distinguish them. The world doubted, for a long time, whither he would

incline; what tendency his disposition would take. At first, as long

as archbishop Lanfranc survived, he abstained from every crime; so

that it might be hoped, he would be the very mirror of kings. After

his death, for a time, he showed himself so variable, that the balance

hung even betwixt vices and virtues. At last, however, in his latter

years, the desire after good grew cold, and the crop of evil increased

to ripeness: his liberality became prodigality; his magnanimity pride;

his austerity cruelty. I may be allowed, with permission of the royal

majesty, not to conceal the truth; for he feared God but little, man

not at all. If any one shall say this is undiscerning, he will not

be wrong; because wise men should observe this rule, “God ought to

be feared at all times; man, according to circumstances.” He was,

when abroad, and in public assemblies, of supercilious look, darting

his threatening eye on the by-stander; and with assumed severity

and ferocious voice, assailing such as conversed with him. From

apprehension of poverty, and of the treachery of others, as may be

conjectured, he was too much given to lucre, and to cruelty. At home

and at table, with his intimate companions, he gave loose to levity

and to mirth. He was a most facetious railer at any thing he had

himself done amiss, in order that he might thus do away obloquy, and

make it matter of jest. But I shall dilate somewhat on that liberality,

in which he deceived himself; and afterwards on his other propensities,

that I may manifest what great vices sprang up in him under the

semblance of virtues.

For, in fact, there are two kinds of givers: the one is denominated

prodigal, the other liberal. The prodigal are such as lavish their

money on those things, of which they will leave either a transient,

or perhaps no memory in this world; neither will they gain mercy by

them from God. The liberal, are those who redeem the captive from the

plunderer, assist the poor, or discharge the debts of their friends.

We must give, therefore, but with discrimination and moderation; for

many persons have exhausted their patrimony by giving inconsiderately.

“For what can be more silly, than to take pains to be no longer able

to do that which you do with pleasure?”[348] Some, therefore, when

they have nothing to give turn to rapine, and get more hatred from

those from whom they take, than good will from those to whom they

give. We lament that thus it happened to this king; for, when in the

very beginning of his reign, through fear of tumults, he had assembled

soldiers, and denied them nothing, promising still greater remuneration

hereafter; the consequence was, that as he had soon exhausted his

father’s treasures, and had then but moderate revenues, his substance

failed, though the spirit of giving remained, which, by habit, had

almost become nature. He was a man who knew not how to take off from

the price of any thing, or to judge of the value of goods; but the

trader might sell him his commodity at whatever rate, or the soldier

demand any pay he pleased. He was anxious that the cost of his clothes

should be extravagant, and angry if they were purchased at a low price.

One morning, indeed, while putting on his new boots, he asked his

chamberlain what they cost; and when he replied, “Three shillings,”

indignantly and in a rage he cried out, “You son of a whore, how long

has the king worn boots of so paltry a price? go, and bring me a pair

worth a mark of silver.” He went, and bringing him a much cheaper

pair, told him, falsely, that they cost as much as he had ordered:

“Aye,” said the king, “these are suitable to royal majesty.” Thus

his chamberlain used to charge him what he pleased for his clothes;

acquiring by these means many things for his own advantage.

The fame of his generosity, therefore, pervaded all the West, and

reached even to the East. Military men came to him out of every

province on this side of the mountains, whom he rewarded most

profusely. In consequence, when he had no longer aught to bestow, poor

and exhausted, he turned his thoughts to rapine. The rapacity of his

disposition was seconded by Ralph, the inciter of his covetousness;

a clergyman of the lowest origin, but raised to eminence by his wit

and subtilty. If at any time a royal edict issued, that England

should pay a certain tribute, it was doubled by this plunderer of the

rich, this exterminator of the poor, this confiscator of other men’s

inheritance. He was an invincible pleader, as unrestrained in his

words as in his actions; and equally furious against the meek or the

turbulent. Wherefore some people used to laugh,[349] and say, that he

was the only man who knew how to employ his talents in this way, and

cared for no one’s hatred, so that he could please his master. At this

person’s suggestion, the sacred honours of the church, as the pastors

died, were exposed to sale: for whenever the death of any bishop or

abbat was announced, directly one of the king’s clerks was admitted,

who made an inventory of every thing, and carried all future rents

into the royal exchequer. In the meantime some person was sought out

fit to supply the place of the deceased; not from proof of morals,

but of money; and, at last, if I may so say, the empty honour was

conferred, and even that purchased, at a great price. These things

appeared the more disgraceful, because, in his father’s time, after

the decease of a bishop or abbat, all rents were reserved entire, to

be given up to the succeeding pastor; and persons truly meritorious,

on account of their religion, were elected. But in the lapse of a very

few years, every thing was changed. There was no man rich except the

money-changer; no clerk, unless he was a lawyer; no priest, unless (to

use a word which is hardly Latin[350]) he was a farmer. Men of the

meanest condition, or guilty of whatever crime, were listened to, if

they could suggest any thing likely to be advantageous to the king: the

halter was loosened from the robber’s neck, if he could promise any

emolument to the sovereign. All military discipline being relaxed, the

courtiers preyed upon the property of the country people, and consumed

their substance, taking the very meat from the mouths of these wretched

creatures.[351] Then was there flowing hair and extravagant dress; and

then was invented the fashion of shoes[352] with curved points; then

the model for young men was to rival women in delicacy of person, to

mince their gait, to walk with loose gesture, and half naked. Enervated

and effeminate, they unwillingly remained what nature had made them;

the assailers of others’ chastity, prodigal of their own. Troops of

pathics, and droves of harlots, followed the court; so that it was

said, with justice, by a wise man, that England would be fortunate if

Henry could reign;[353] led to such an opinion, because he abhorred

obscenity from his youth.

Here, were it necessary, I could add, that archbishop Anselm attempted

to correct these abuses; but failing of the co-operation of his

suffragans, he voluntarily quitted the kingdom, yielding to the

depravity of the times. Anselm, than whom none ever was more tenacious

of right; none in the present time so thoroughly learned; none so

completely spiritual; the father of his country, the mirror of the

world: he, when just about to set sail, after waiting in port for a

wind, was rifled, as though he had been a public robber; all his bags

and packages being brought out and ransacked. Of this man’s injuries I

could speak farther, had the sun witnessed any thing more unjust than

this single transaction, or were it not necessary to omit a relation,

which has been anticipated by the eloquence of the very reverend

Edmer.[354]

Hence may be perceived how fierce a flame of evil burst forth from

what the king conceived to be liberality. In repressing which as he

did not manifest so much diligence as negligence, he incurred a degree

of infamy, not only great, but scarcely to be wiped out. I think

undeservedly, however; because he never could have exposed himself to

such disgrace, had he only recollected the dignity of his station.

I pass over, therefore, these matters slightly, and hasten in my

composition, because I blush to relate the crimes of so great a king;

rather giving my attention to refute and extenuate them.

The Jews in his reign gave proofs of their insolence towards God. At

one time, at Rouen, they endeavoured to prevail, by means of presents,

on some converted Jews, to return to Judaism;[355] at another, at

London, entering into controversy with our bishops; because the

king, in jest, as I suppose, had said, that if they mastered the

Christians in open argument, he would become one of their sect. The

question therefore was agitated with much apprehension on the part

of the bishops and clergy, fearful, through pious anxiety, for the

Christian faith. From this contest, however, the Jews reaped nothing

but confusion: though they used repeatedly to boast that they were

vanquished, not by argument, but by power.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1096.] ROBERT PAWNS NORMANDY.]

In later times, that is, about the ninth year of his reign, Robert,

earl of Normandy, at the admonition of pope Urban, as will be related

hereafter, took the resolution of going to Jerusalem, and pawned

Normandy to his brother, for the sum of ten thousand marks. In

consequence, an edict for an intolerable tax was circulated throughout

England. On this the bishops and abbats, in great numbers, went to

court, to complain of the injury; observing that they could not raise

so great an impost, unless they drove away their wretched husbandmen

altogether. To this the courtiers, with angry countenance, as usual,

replied, “Have you not shrines adorned with gold and silver, full

of dead men’s bones?” deigning the petitioners no other answer. In

consequence, perceiving the drift of the reply, they took off the gold

from the shrines of their saints; robbed their crucifixes; melted their

chalices; not for the service of the poor, but of the king’s exchequer.

For almost every thing, which the holy parsimony of their ancestors had

saved, was consumed by the rapacity of these freebooters.

Just so, too, were their proceedings against their vassals; first

taking their money, then their land: neither the poor man’s poverty,

nor the rich man’s abundance, protecting him. He so restricted the

right of hunting, which he had formerly allowed, that it became a

capital offence to take a stag. This extreme severity, which was

tempered by no affability, was the cause of many conspiracies, among

the nobility, against his safety: one of whom, Robert de Mowbray earl

of Northumberland, in consequence of very high words between him

and the king, retired to his province, with the intention of making

powerful efforts against his lord; but William pursuing him, he was

taken, and doomed to perpetual captivity. Another, William de Hou,

being accused of treachery towards the king, challenged his accuser to

single combat; but being unable to justify himself in the duel, he was

deprived of his sight, and of his manhood. The same accusation involved

many innocent and honourable men; among whom was William de Aldrey, a

man of handsome person, who had stood godfather[356] with the king.

Being sentenced to be hanged, he made his confession to Osmund bishop

of Salisbury, and was scourged at every church of the town. Parting his

garments to the poor, he went naked to the gallows, often making the

blood gush from his delicate flesh by falling on his knees upon the

stones. He satisfied the minds of the bishop, and of the people who

followed him to the place of punishment, by exclaiming, “God help my

soul, and deliver it from evil, as I am free from the charge, of which

I am accused: the sentence, indeed, passed upon me will not be revoked,

but I wish all men to be certified of my innocence.” The bishop then,

commending his soul to heaven, and sprinkling him with holy water,

departed. At his execution, he manifested an admirable degree of

courage; neither uttering a groan before, nor even a sigh, at the

moment of his death.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1096.] WILLIAM’S MAGNANIMITY.]

But still there are some proofs of noble magnanimity in the king, the

knowledge of which, I will not deny posterity. As he was once engaged

in hunting in a certain forest, a foreign messenger acquainted him

that the city of Mans, which he had lately added to his dominions on

the departure of his brother, was besieged. Unprepared as he was, he

turned his horse instantly, and shaped his journey to the sea. When his

nobles reminded him, that it would be necessary to call out his troops,

and put them in array; “I shall see,” said he, “who will follow me: do

you think I shall not have people enough? If I know the temper of the

young men of my kingdom, they will even brave shipwreck to come to me.”

In this manner he arrived, almost unattended, at the sea-coast. The

sky at that time was overcast, the wind contrary, and a tempest swept

the surface of the deep. When he determined to embark directly, the

mariners besought him, to wait till the storm should subside, and the

wind be favourable. “Why,” said William, “I have never heard of a king

perishing by shipwreck: no, weigh anchor immediately, and you shall

see the elements conspire to obey me.” When the report of his having

crossed the sea reached the besiegers, they hastily retreated. One

Helias, the author of the commotion, was taken; to whom, when brought

before him, the king said jocularly, “I have you, master.” But he,

whose haughty spirit, even in such threatening danger, knew not how to

be prudent, or to speak submissively, replied, “You have taken me by

chance; if I could escape, I know what I would do.” At this William,

almost beside himself with rage, and seizing Helias, exclaimed, “You

scoundrel! and what would you do? Begone, depart, fly: I give you leave

to do whatever you can; and by the crucifix at Lucca, if you should

conquer me, I will ask no return for this favour.” Nor did he falsify

his word, but immediately suffered him to escape; rather admiring

than following the fugitive. Who could believe this of an unlettered

man? And perhaps there may be some person, who, from reading Lucan,

may falsely suppose, that William borrowed these examples from Julius

Cæsar;[357] but he had neither inclination, nor leisure to attend

to learning; it was rather the innate warmth of his temper, and his

conscious valour which prompted him to such expressions. And indeed,

if our religion would allow it, as the soul of Euphorbus was formerly

said to have passed into Pythagoras of Samos, so might it equally be

asserted, that the soul of Julius Cæsar had migrated into king William.

He began and completed one very noble edifice, the palace[358] in

London; sparing no expense to manifest the greatness of his liberality.

His disposition therefore the reader will be able to discover from the

circumstances we have enumerated.

Should any one be desirous, however, to know the make of his person,

he is to understand, that he was well set; his complexion florid, his

hair yellow; of open countenance; different-coloured eyes, varying with

certain glittering specks; of astonishing strength, though not very

tall, and his belly rather projecting; of no eloquence, but remarkable

for a hesitation of speech, especially when angry. Many sudden and

sorrowful accidents happened in his time, which I shall arrange singly,

according to the years of his reign; chiefly vouching for their truth

on the credit of the Chronicles.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1092-1100.] ADVERSE EVENTS.]

In the second year of his reign, on the third before the ides of

August, a great earthquake terrified all England with a horrid

spectacle; for all the buildings were lifted up, and then again settled

as before. A scarcity of every kind of produce followed; the corn

ripened so slowly, that the harvest was scarcely housed before the

feast of St. Andrew.

In his fourth year was a tempest of lightning, and a whirlwind:

finally, on the ides of October, at Winchcombe, a stroke of lightning

beat against the side of the tower with such force, that, shattering

the wall where it joined to the roof, it opened a place wide enough to

admit a man; entering there, it struck a very large beam, and scattered

fragments of it over the whole church; moreover it cast down the head

of the crucifix, with the right leg, and the image of St. Mary. A

stench so noisome followed, as to be insufferable to human nostrils.

At length, the monks, with auspicious boldness, entering, defeated

the contrivances of the devil, by the sprinkling of holy water. But

what could this mean? such a thing was unknown to every previous age.

A tempest of contending winds, from the south-east, on the sixteenth

before the kalends of November, destroyed more than six hundred houses

in London. Churches were heaped on houses, and walls on partitions. The

tempest proceeding yet farther, carried off altogether the roof of the

church of St. Mary le Bow, and killed two men. Rafters and beams were

whirled through the air, an object of surprise to such as contemplated

them from a distance; of alarm, to those who stood nigh, lest they

should be crushed by them. For four rafters, six and twenty feet long,

were driven with such violence into the ground, that scarcely four feet

of them were visible. It was curious to see how they had perforated

the solidity of the public street, maintaining there the same position

which they had occupied in the roof from the hand of the workman,

until, on account of their inconvenience to passengers, they were cut

off level with the ground, as they could not be otherwise removed.

In his fifth year, a similar thunder-storm at Salisbury entirely

destroyed the roof of the church-tower, and much injured the wall, only

five days after Osmund, the bishop of famed memory, had consecrated it.

In his sixth year there was such a deluge from rain, and such incessant

showers as none had ever remembered. Afterwards, on the approach of

winter, the rivers were so frozen, that they bore horsemen and waggons;

and soon after, when the frost broke, the bridges were destroyed by the

drifting of the ice.

In his seventh year, on account of the heavy tribute which the king,

while in Normandy, had levied, agriculture failed; of which failure

the immediate consequence was a famine. This also gaining ground a

mortality ensued, so general, that the dying wanted attendance, and the

dead, burial. At that time, too, the Welsh, fiercely raging against the

Normans, and depopulating the county of Chester and part of Shropshire,

obtained Anglesey by force of arms.

In his tenth year, on the kalends of October, a comet appeared for

fifteen days, turning its larger train to the east, and the smaller

to the south-east. Other stars also appeared, darting, as it were, at

each other. This was the year in which Anselm, that light of England,

voluntarily escaping from the darkness of error, went to Rome.

In his eleventh year, Magnus, king of Norway, with Harold, son of

Harold, formerly king of England, subdued the Orkney, Mevanian, and

other circumjacent isles; and was now obstinately bent against England

from Anglesey. But Hugh, earl of Chester, and Hugh, earl of Shrewsbury,

opposed him; and ere he could gain the continent, forced him to retire.

Here fell Hugh of Shrewsbury, being struck from a distance with a fatal

arrow.

In his twelfth year an excessive tide flowed up the Thames, and

overwhelmed many villages, with their inhabitants.

In his thirteenth year, which was the last of his life, there were many

adverse events; but the most dreadful circumstance was that the devil

visibly appeared to men in woods and secret places, and spoke to them

as they passed by. Moreover in the county of Berks, at the village of

Finchampstead, a fountain so plentifully flowed with blood for fifteen

whole days, that it discoloured a neighbouring pool. The king heard of

it and laughed; neither did he care for his own dreams, nor for what

others saw concerning him.

They relate many visions and predictions of his death, three of which,

sanctioned by the testimony of credible authors, I shall communicate to

my readers. Edmer, the historian of our times, noted for his veracity,

says that Anselm, the noble exile, with whom all religion was also

banished, came to Marcigny that he might communicate his sufferings

to Hugo, abbat of Clugny. There, when the conversation turned upon

king William, the abbat aforesaid observed, “Last night that king

was brought before God; and by a deliberate judgment, incurred the

sorrowful sentence of damnation.” How he came to know this he neither

explained at the time, nor did any of his hearers ask: nevertheless,

out of respect to his piety, not a doubt of the truth of his words

remained on the minds of any present. Hugh led such a life, and had

such a character, that all regarded his discourse and venerated his

advice, as though an oracle from heaven had spoken. And soon after, the

king being slain as we shall relate, there came a messenger to entreat

the archbishop to resume his see.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1100.] DEATH OF WILLIAM II.]

The day before the king died, he dreamed that he was let blood by

a surgeon; and that the stream, reaching to heaven, clouded the

light, and intercepted the day. Calling on St. Mary for protection,

he suddenly awoke, commanded a light to be brought, and forbade his

attendants to leave him. They then watched with him several hours until

daylight. Shortly after, just as the day began to dawn, a certain

foreign monk told Robert Fitz Hamon, one of the principal nobility,

that he had that night dreamed a strange and fearful dream about the

king: “That he had come into a certain church, with menacing and

insolent gesture, as was his custom, looking contemptuously on the

standers by; then violently seizing the crucifix, he gnawed the arms,

and almost tore away the legs: that the image endured this for a long

time, but at length struck the king with its foot in such a manner

that he fell backwards: from his mouth, as he lay prostrate, issued

so copious a flame that the volumes of smoke touched the very stars.”

Robert, thinking that this dream ought not to be neglected, as he

was intimate with him, immediately related it to the king. William,

repeatedly laughing, exclaimed, “He is a monk, and dreams for money

like a monk: give him a hundred shillings.” Nevertheless, being greatly

moved, he hesitated a long while whether he should go out to hunt, as

he had designed: his friends persuading him not to suffer the truth

of the dreams to be tried at his personal risk. In consequence, he

abstained from the chase before dinner, dispelling the uneasiness of

his unregulated mind by serious business. They relate, that, having

plentifully regaled that day, he soothed his cares with a more than

usual quantity of wine. After dinner he went into the forest, attended

by few persons; of whom the most intimate with him was Walter, surnamed

Tirel, who had been induced to come from France by the liberality of

the king. This man alone had remained with him, while the others,

employed in the chase, were dispersed as chance directed. The sun was

now declining, when the king, drawing his bow and letting fly an arrow,

slightly wounded a stag which passed before him; and, keenly gazing,

followed it, still running, a long time with his eyes, holding up his

hand to keep off the power of the sun’s rays. At this instant Walter,

conceiving a noble exploit, which was while the king’s attention was

otherwise occupied to transfix another stag which by chance came near

him, unknowingly, and without power to prevent it, Oh, gracious God!

pierced his breast with a fatal arrow.[359] On receiving the wound,

the king uttered not a word; but breaking off the shaft of the weapon

where it projected from his body, fell upon the wound, by which he

accelerated his death. Walter immediately ran up, but as he found him

senseless and speechless, he leaped swiftly upon his horse, and escaped

by spurring him to his utmost speed. Indeed there was none to pursue

him: some connived at his flight; others pitied him; and all were

intent on other matters. Some began to fortify their dwellings; others

to plunder; and the rest to look out for a new king. A few countrymen

conveyed the body, placed on a cart, to the cathedral at Winchester;

the blood dripping from it all the way. Here it was committed to the

ground within the tower, attended by many of the nobility, though

lamented by few. Next year,[360] the tower fell; though I forbear to

mention the different opinions on this subject, lest I should seem

to assent too readily to unsupported trifles, more especially as the

building might have fallen, through imperfect construction, even though

he had never been buried there. He died in the year of our Lord’s

incarnation 1100, of his reign the thirteenth, on the fourth before the

nones of August, aged above forty years. He formed mighty plans, which

he would have brought to effect, could he have spun out the tissue of

fate, or broken through, and disengaged himself from, the violence of

fortune. Such was the energy of his mind, that he was bold enough to

promise himself any kingdom whatever. Indeed the day before his death,

being asked where he would keep his Christmas, he answered, in Poitou;

because the earl of Poitou, wishing anxiously to go to Jerusalem, was

said to be about to pawn his territory to him. Thus, not content with

his paternal possessions, and allured by expectation of greater glory,

he grasped at honours not pertaining to him. He was a man much to be

pitied by the clergy, for throwing away a soul which they could not

save; to be beloved by stipendiary soldiers, for the multitude of his

gifts; but not to be lamented by the people, because he suffered their

substance to be plundered. I remember no council being held in his

time, wherein the health of the church might be strengthened through

the correction of abuses. He hesitated a long time ere he bestowed

ecclesiastical honours, either for the sake of emolument, or of

weighing desert. So that on the day he died, he held in his own hands

three bishoprics, and twelve vacant abbeys. Besides, seeking occasion

from the schism between Urban in Rome and Guibert at Ravenna, he

forbade the payment of the tribute[361] to the holy see: though he was

more inclined to favour Guibert; because the ground and instigation of

the discord between himself and Anselm was, that this man, so dear to

God, had pronounced Urban to be pope, the other an apostate.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1100.] OF THE CISTERTIAN ORDER.]

In his time began the Cistertian order, which is now both believed and

asserted to be the surest road to heaven.[362] To speak of this does

not seem irrelevant to the work I have undertaken, since it redounds

to the glory of England to have produced the distinguished man who

was the author and promoter of that rule. To us he belonged, and in

our schools passed the earlier part of his life. Wherefore, if we

are not envious, we shall embrace his good qualities the more kindly

in proportion as we knew them more intimately. And, moreover, I am

anxious to extol his praise, “because it is a mark of an ingenuous

mind to approve that virtue in others, of which in yourself you regret

the absence.” He was named Harding, and born in England of no very

illustrious parents. From his early years, he was a monk at Sherborne;

but when secular desires had captivated his youth, he grew disgusted

with the monastic garb, and went first to Scotland, and afterwards

to France. Here, after some years’ exercise in the liberal arts, he

became awakened to the love of God. For, when manlier years had put

away childish things, he went to Rome with a clerk who partook of his

studies; neither the length and difficulty of the journey, nor the

scantiness of their means of subsistence by the way, preventing them,

both as they went and returned, from singing daily the whole psalter.

Indeed the mind of this celebrated man was already meditating the

design which soon after, by the grace of God, he attempted to put in

execution. For returning into Burgundy, he was shorn at Molesmes, a new

and magnificent monastery. Here he readily admitted the first elements

of the order, as he had formerly seen them; but when additional matters

were proposed for his observance, such as he had neither read in the

rule nor seen elsewhere, he began, modestly and as became a monk, to

ask the reason of them, saying: “By reason the supreme Creator has

made all things; by reason he governs all things; by reason the fabric

of the world revolves; by reason even the planets move; by reason the

elements are directed; and by reason, and by due regulation, our

nature ought to conduct itself. But since, through sloth, she too often

departs from reason, many laws were, long ago, enacted for her use;

and, latterly, a divine rule has been promulgated by St. Benedict, to

bring back the deviations of nature to reason. In this, though some

things are contained the design of which I cannot fathom, yet I deem it

necessary to yield to authority. And though reason and the authority of

the holy writers may seem at variance, yet still they are one and the

same. For since God hath created and restored nothing without reason,

how can I believe that the holy fathers, no doubt strict followers of

God, could command anything but what was reasonable, as if we ought to

give credit to their bare authority. See then that you bring reason,

or at least authority, for what you devise; although no great credit

should be given to what is merely supported by human reason, because

it may be combated with arguments equally forcible. Therefore from

that rule, which, equally supported by reason and authority, appears

as if dictated by the spirit of all just persons, produce precedents,

which if you fail to do, in vain shall you profess his rule, whose

regulations you disdain to comply with.”

Sentiments of this kind, spreading as usual from one to another,

justly moved the hearts of such as feared God, “lest haply they should

or had run in vain.” The subject, then, being canvassed in frequent

chapters, ended by bringing over the abbat himself to the opinion that

all superfluous matters should be passed by, and merely the essence of

the rule be scrutinized. Two of the fraternity, therefore, of equal

faith and learning, were elected, who, by vicarious examination,

were to discover the intention of the founder’s rule; and when they

had discovered it, to propound it to the rest. The abbat diligently

endeavoured to induce the whole convent to give their concurrence,

but “as it is difficult to eradicate from men’s minds, what has early

taken root, since they reluctantly relinquish the first notions they

have imbibed,” almost the whole of them refused to accept the new

regulations, because they were attached to the old. Eighteen only,

among whom was Harding, otherwise called Stephen, persevering in their

holy determination, together with their abbat, left the monastery,

declaring that the purity of the institution could not be preserved in

a place where riches and gluttony warred against even the heart that

was well inclined. They came therefore to Citeaux; a situation formerly

covered with woods, but now so conspicuous from the abundant piety

of its monks, that it is not undeservedly esteemed conscious of the

Divinity himself. Here, by the countenance of the archbishop of Vienne,

who is now pope, they entered on a labour worthy to be remembered and

venerated to the end of time.

Certainly many of their regulations seem severe, and more particularly

these: they wear nothing made with furs or linen, nor even that finely

spun linen garment, which we call Staminium;[363] neither breeches,

unless when sent on a journey, which at their return they wash and

restore. They have two tunics with cowls, but no additional garment in

winter, though, if they think fit, in summer they may lighten their

garb. They sleep clad and girded, and never after matins return to

their beds: but they so order the time of matins that it shall be light

ere the lauds[364] begin; so intent are they on their rule, that they

think no jot or tittle of it should be disregarded. Directly after

these hymns they sing the prime, after which they go out to work for

stated hours. They complete whatever labour or service they have to

perform by day without any other light. No one is ever absent from the

daily services, or from complines, except the sick. The cellarer and

hospitaller, after complines, wait upon the guests, yet observing the

strictest silence. The abbat allows himself no indulgence beyond the

others,--every where present,--every where attending to his flock;

except that he does not eat with the rest, because his table is with

the strangers and the poor. Nevertheless, be he where he may, he is

equally sparing of food and of speech; for never more than two dishes

are served either to him or to his company; lard and meat never but to

the sick. From the Ides of September till Easter, through regard for

whatever festival, they do not take more than one meal a day, except on

Sunday. They never leave the cloister but for the purpose of labour,

nor do they ever speak, either there or elsewhere, save only to the

abbat or prior. They pay unwearied attention to the canonical[365]

services, making no addition to them except the vigil for the defunct.

They use in their divine service the Ambrosian chants[366] and hymns,

as far as they were able to learn them at Milan. While they bestow care

on the stranger and the sick, they inflict intolerable mortifications

on their own bodies, for the health of their souls.

The abbat, at first, both encountered these privations with much

alacrity himself, and compelled the rest to do the same. In process of

time, however, the man repented;[367] he had been delicately brought

up, and could not well bear such continued scantiness of diet. The

monks, whom he had left at Molesmes, getting scent of this disposition,

either by messages or letters, for it is uncertain which, drew him

back to the monastery, by his obedience to the pope, for such was

their pretext: compelling him to a measure to which he was already

extremely well-disposed. For, as if wearied out by the pertinacity of

their entreaties, he left the narrow confines of poverty, and resought

his former magnificence. All followed him from Citeaux, who had gone

thither with him, except eight. These, few in number but great in

virtue, appointed Alberic, one of their party, abbat, and Stephen

prior. The former not surviving more than eight years was, at the will

of heaven, happily called away. Then, doubtless by God’s appointment,

Stephen though absent was elected abbat; the original contriver of

the whole scheme; the especial and celebrated ornament of our times.

Sixteen abbeys which he has already completed, and seven which he

has begun, are sufficient testimonies of his abundant merit. Thus,

by the resounding trumpet of God, he directs the people around him,

both by word and deed, to heaven; acting fully up to his own precepts;

affable in speech, pleasant in look, and with a mind always rejoicing

in the Lord. Hence, openly, that noble joy of countenance; hence,

secretly, that compunction, coming from above; because, despising

this state of a sojourner, he constantly desires to be in a place

of rest. For these causes he is beloved by all; “For God graciously

imparts to the minds of other men a love for that man whom he loves.”

Wherefore the inhabitant of that country esteems himself happy if,

through his hands, he can transmit his wealth to God. He receives

much, indeed, but expending little on his own wants, or those of his

flock, he distributes the rest to the poor, or employs it immediately

on the building of monasteries; for the purse of Stephen is the public

treasury of the indigent. A proof of his abstinence is that you see

nothing there, as in other monasteries, flaming with gold, blazing with

jewels, or glittering with silver. For as a Gentile says, “Of what use

is gold to a saint?” We think it not enough in our holy vases, unless

the ponderous metal be eclipsed by precious stones; by the flame of

the topaz, the violet of the amethyst, and the green shade of the

emerald: unless the sacerdotal robes wanton with gold; and unless the

walls glisten with various coloured paintings, and throw the reflexion

of the sun’s rays upon the ceiling. These men, however, placing those

things which mortals foolishly esteem the first, only in a secondary

point of view, give all their diligence to improve their morals, and

love pure minds, more than glittering vestments; knowing that the

best remuneration for doing well, is to enjoy a clear conscience.

Moreover, if at any time the laudable kindness of the abbat either

desires, or feigns a desire, to modify aught from the strict letter

of the rule, they are ready to oppose such indulgence, saying, that

they have no long time to live, nor shall they continue to exist so

long as they have already done; that they hope to remain stedfast in

their purpose to the end, and to be an example to their successors, who

will transgress if they should give way. And, indeed, through human

weakness, the perpetual law of which is that nothing attained, even by

the greatest labour, can long remain unchanged, it will be so. But to

comprise, briefly, all things which are or can be said of them,--the

Cistertian monks at the present day are a model for all monks, a mirror

for the diligent, a spur to the indolent.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1100.] HERBERT, BISHOP OF NORWICH.]

At this time three sees in England were transferred from their ancient

situations; Wells to Bath, by John; Chester to Coventry, by Robert;

Thetford to Norwich, by Herbert; all through greater ambition, than

ought to have influenced men of such eminence. Finally, to speak

of the last first: Herbert, from his skill in adulation, surnamed

Losinga,[368] was first abbat of Ramsey, and then purchased the

bishopric of Thetford, while his father, Robert, surnamed as himself,

was intruded on the abbey of Winchester. This man, then, was the great

source of simony in England; having craftily procured by means of his

wealth, both an abbey and a bishopric. For he hood-winked the king’s

solicitude for the church by his money, and whispered great promises

to secure the favour of the nobility: whence a poet of those times

admirably observes,

“A monster in the church from Losing rose,

Base Simon’s sect, the canons to oppose.

Peter, thou’rt slow; see Simon soars on high;

If present, soon thou’d’st hurl him from the sky.[369]

Oh grief, the church is let to sordid hire,

The son a bishop, abbat is the sire.

All may be hoped from gold’s prevailing sway,

Which governs all things; gives and takes away;

Makes bishops, abbats, basely in a day.”

Future repentance, however, atoned for the errors of his youth: he

went to Rome, when he was of a more serious age, and there resigning

the staff and ring which he had acquired by simony, had them restored

through the indulgence of that most merciful see; for the Romans

regard it both as more holy and more fitting, that the dues from each

church should rather come into their own purse, than be subservient

to the use of any king whatever. Herbert thus returning home, removed

the episcopal see, which had formerly been at Helmham, and was then

at Thetford, to a town, celebrated for its trade and populousness,

called Norwich. Here he settled a congregation of monks, famous for

their numbers and their morals; purchasing everything for them out of

his private fortune. For, having an eye to the probable complaints of

his successors, he gave none of the episcopal lands to the monastery,

lest they should deprive the servants of God of their subsistence,

if they found any thing given to them which pertained to their see.

At Thetford, too, he settled Clugniac monks, because the members

of that order, dispersed throughout the world, are rich in worldly

possessions, and of distinguished piety towards God. Thus, by the great

and extensive merit of his virtues, he shrouded the multitude of his

former failings; and by his abundant eloquence and learning, as well as

by his knowledge in secular affairs, he became worthy even of the Roman

pontificate. Herbert thus changed, as Lucan observes of Curio, became

the changer and mover of all things; and, as in the times of this king,

he had been a pleader in behalf of simony, so was he, afterwards, its

most strenuous opposer; nor did he suffer that to be done by others,

which he lamented he had ever himself done through the presumption of

juvenile ardour: ever having in his mouth, as they relate, the saying

of St. Jerome, “We have erred when young; let us amend now we are old.”

Finally, who can sufficiently extol his conduct, who, though not a very

rich bishop, yet built so noble a monastery; in which nothing appears

defective, either in the beauty of the lofty edifice, the elegance of

its ornaments, or in the piety and universal charity of its monks.

These things soothed him with joyful hope while he lived, and when

dead, if repentance be not in vain, conducted him to heaven.[370]

John was bishop of Wells; a native of Touraine, and an approved

physician, by practice, rather than education. On the death of the

abbat of Bath, he easily obtained the abbey from the king, both because

all things at court were exposed to sale, and his covetousness seemed

palliated by some degree of reason, that so famed a city might be still

more celebrated, by becoming the see of a bishop. He at first began to

exercise his severity against the monks, because they were dull, and

in his estimation, barbarians; taking away all the lands ministering

to their subsistence, and furnishing them with but scanty provision

by his lay dependants. In process of time, however, when new monks

had been admitted, he conducted himself with more mildness; and gave a

small portion of land to the prior, by which he might, in some measure,

support himself and his inmates. And although he had begun austerely,

yet many things were there by him both nobly begun and completed, in

decorations and in books; and more especially, in a selection of monks,

equally notable for their learning and kind offices. But still he could

not, even at his death, be softened far enough totally to exonerate

the lands from bondage; leaving, in this respect, an example not to be

followed by his successors.

There was in the diocese of Chester, a monastery, called Coventry,

which, as I have before related, the most noble earl Leofric, with his

lady Godiva, had built; so splendid for its gold and silver, that the

very walls of the church seemed too scanty to receive the treasures,

to the great astonishment of the beholders. This, Robert bishop of

the diocese eagerly seized on, in a manner by no means episcopal;

stealing from the very treasures of the church wherewith he might fill

the hand of the king, beguile the vigilance of the pope, and gratify

the covetousness of the Romans. Continuing there many years, he gave

no proof of worth whatever: for, so far from rescuing the nodding

roofs from ruin, he wasted the sacred treasures, and became guilty

of peculation; and a bishop might have been convicted of illegal

exactions, had an accuser been at hand. He fed the monks on miserable

fare, made no attempts to excite in them a love for their profession,

and suffered them to reach only a very common degree of learning; lest

he should make them delicate by sumptuous living, or strictness of rule

and depth of learning should spirit them up to oppose him. Contented

therefore with rustic fare, and humble literary attainments, they

deemed it enough, if they could only live in peace. Moreover, at his

death, paying little attention to the dictates of the canons, by which

it is enacted, that bishops ought to be buried in their cathedrals,

he commanded himself to be interred, not at Chester, but at Coventry;

leaving to his successors by such a decision, the task, not of claiming

what was not due to them, but as it were, of vindicating their proper

right.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1100.] JOSCELYN.]

Here, while speaking of the times of William, I should be induced to

relate the translation of the most excellent Augustine, the apostle of

the English and of his companions, had not the talents of the learned

Joscelyn, anticipated me:[371] of Joscelyn, who being a monk of St.

Bertin, formerly came to England with Herman bishop of Salisbury,

skilled equally in literature and music. For a considerable time he

visited the cathedrals and abbeys, and left proofs of uncommon learning

in many places; he was second to none after Bede in the celebration of

the English saints; next to Osberne[372] too, he bore away the palm

in music. Moreover he wrote innumerable lives of modern saints, and

restored, in an elegant manner, such of those of the ancients as had

been lost through the confusion of the times, or had been carelessly

edited. He also so exquisitely wrought the process of this translation,

that he may be said to have realized it to the present race, and given

a view of it to posterity. Happy that tongue, which ministered to so

many saints! happy that voice, which poured forth such melody! more

especially as in his life, his probity equalled his learning. But, as I

have hitherto recorded disgraceful transactions of certain bishops, I

will introduce others of different lives and dispositions, who were in

being at the same time; that our age may not be said to have grown so

negligent as not to produce one single saint. Such as are desirous, may

find this promise completed in a subsequent book, after the narrative

of king Henry’s transactions.

CHAP. II.

_The Expedition to Jerusalem._ [A.D. 1095-1105.]

I shall now describe the expedition to Jerusalem, relating in my own

words what was seen and endured by others. Besides too, as opportunity

offers, I shall select from ancient writers, accounts of the situation

and riches of Constantinople, Antioch, and Jerusalem; in order that he

who is unacquainted with these matters, and meets with this work, may

have something to communicate to others. But for such a relation there

needs a more fervent spirit, in order to complete effectually, what

I begin with such pleasure. Invoking, therefore, the Divinity, as is

usual, I begin as follows.

In the year of the incarnation 1095, pope Urban the second, who then

filled the papal throne, passing the Alps, came into France. The

ostensible cause of his journey, was, that, being driven from home

by the violence of Guibert, he might prevail on the churches on this

side of the mountains to acknowledge him. His more secret intention

was not so well known; this was, by Boamund’s advice, to excite almost

the whole of Europe to undertake an expedition into Asia; that in

such a general commotion of all countries, auxiliaries might easily

be engaged, by whose means both Urban might obtain Rome; and Boamund,

Illyria and Macedonia. For Guiscard, his father, had conquered those

countries from Alexius, and also all the territory extending from

Durazzo to Thessalonica; wherefore Boamund claimed them as his due,

since he obtained not the inheritance of Apulia, which his father had

given to his younger son, Roger. Still nevertheless, whatever might

be the cause of Urban’s journey, it turned out of great and singular

advantage to the Christian world. A council, therefore, was assembled

at Clermont,[373] which is the most noted city of Auvergne. The number

of bishops and abbats was three hundred and ten. Here at first, during

several days, a long discussion was carried on concerning the catholic

faith, and the establishing peace among contending parties.[374] For,

in addition to those crimes in which every one indulged, all, on this

side of the Alps, had arrived at such a calamitous state, as to take

each other captive on little or no pretence; nor were they suffered to

go free, unless ransomed at an enormous price. Again too, the snake of

simony had so reared her slippery crest, and cherished, with poisonous

warmth, her deadly eggs, that the whole world became infected with her

mortal hissing, and tainted the honours of the church. At that time, I

will not say bishops to their sees merely, but none aspired even to any

ecclesiastical degree, except by the influence of money. Then too, many

persons putting away their lawful wives, procured divorces, and invaded

the marriage-couch of others. Wherefore, as in both these cases, there

was a mixed multitude of offenders, the names of some powerful persons

were singled out for punishment. Not to be tedious, I will subjoin

the result of the whole council, abbreviating some parts, in my own

language.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1095.] COUNCIL OF CLERMONT.]

In a council at Clermont, in the presence of pope Urban, these articles

were enacted. “That the catholic church shall be pure in faith; free

from all servitude: that bishops, or abbats, or clergy of any rank,

shall receive no ecclesiastical dignity from the hand of princes,

or of any of the laity: that clergymen shall not hold prebends in

two churches or cities: that no one shall be bishop and abbat at the

same time: that ecclesiastical dignities shall be bought and sold

by no one: that no person in holy orders shall be guilty of carnal

intercourse: that such as not knowing the canonical prohibition had

purchased canonries, should be pardoned: but that they should be taken

from such as knew they possessed them by their own purchase, or that

of their parents: that no layman from Ash-Wednesday, no clergyman from

Quadragesima, to Easter, shall eat flesh: that, at all times, the first

fast of the Ember Weeks, should be in the first week of Lent: that

orders should be conferred, at all times, on the evening of Saturday,

or on a Sunday, continuing fasting:[375] that on Easter-eve, service

should not be celebrated till after the ninth hour: that the second

fast should be observed in the week of Pentecost: that from our Lord’s

Advent, to the octave of the Epiphany; from Septuagesima to the octaves

of Easter; from the first day of the Rogations to the octaves of

Pentecost; and from the fourth day of the week at sunset, at all times,

to the second day in the following week at sunrise, the Truce of God be

observed:[376] that whoever laid violent hands on a bishop should be

excommunicated; that whoever laid violent hands on clergymen or their

servants should be accursed: that whoever seized the goods of bishops

or clergymen at their deaths, should be accursed: that whoever married

a relation, even in the sixth degree of consanguinity, should be

accursed: that none should be chosen bishop, except a priest, deacon,

or subdeacon who was of noble descent, unless under pressing necessity,

and licence from the pope: that the sons of priests and concubines

should not be advanced to the priesthood, unless they first made their

vow: that whosoever fled to the church, or the cross, should, being

insured from loss of limb, be delivered up to justice; or if innocent,

be released: that every church should enjoy its own tithes, nor pass

them away to another: that laymen should neither buy nor sell tithes;

that no fee should be demanded for the burial of the dead. In this

council the pope excommunicated Philip, king of France, and all who

called him king or lord, and obeyed or spoke to him, unless for the

purpose of correcting him: in like manner too his accursed consort,

and all who called her queen or lady, till they so far reformed as

to separate from each other: and also Guibert of Ravenna, who calls

himself pope: and Henry, emperor of Germany, who supports him.”

Afterwards, a clear and forcible discourse, such as should come from a

priest, was addressed to the people, on the subject of an expedition of

the Christians, against the Turks. This I have thought fit to transmit

to posterity, as I have learned it from those who were present,

preserving its sense unimpaired. For who can preserve the force of that

eloquence? We shall be fortunate, if, treading an adjacent path, we

come even by a circuitous route to its meaning.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1095.] POPE URBAN’S SPEECH.]

“You recollect,”[377] said he, “my dearest brethren, many things which

have been decreed for you, at this time; some matters, in our council,

commanded; others inhibited. A rude and confused chaos of crimes

required the deliberation of many days; an inveterate malady demanded

a sharp remedy. For while we give unbounded scope to our clemency, our

papal office finds numberless matters to proscribe; none to spare.

But it has hitherto arisen from human frailty, that you have erred,

and that, deceived by the speciousness of vice, you have exasperated

the long suffering of God, by too lightly regarding his forbearance.

It has arisen too from human wantonness, that, disregarding lawful

wedlock, you have not duly considered the heinousness of adultery.

From too great covetousness also, it has arisen, that, as opportunity

offered, making captive your brethren, bought by the same great price,

you have outrageously extorted from them their wealth. To you, however,

now suffering this perilous shipwreck of sin, a secure haven of rest

is offered, unless you neglect it. A station of perpetual safety will

be awarded you, for the exertion of a trifling labour against the

Turks. Compare, now, the labours which you underwent in the practice

of wickedness, and those which you will encounter in the undertaking

I advise. The intention of committing adultery, or murder, begets

many fears; for, as Soloman says, ‘There is nothing more timid than

guilt:’ many labours; for what is more toilsome than wickedness?

But, ‘He who walks uprightly, walks securely.’ Of these labours, of

these fears, the end was sin; the wages of sin is death; the death

of sinners is most dreadful. Now the same labours and apprehensions

are required from you, for a better consideration. The cause of these

labours, will be charity; if thus warned by the command of God, you

lay down your lives for the brethren: the wages of charity will be

the grace of God; the grace of God is followed by eternal life. Go

then prosperously: Go, then, with confidence, to attack the enemies of

God. For they long since, oh sad reproach to Christians! have seized

Syria, Armenia, and lastly, all Asia Minor, the provinces of which

are Bithynia, Phrygia, Galatia, Lydia, Caria, Pamphylia, Isauria,

Lycia, Cilicia; and, now they insolently domineer over Illyricum, and

all the hither countries, even to the sea which is called the Straits

of St. George. Nay, they usurp even the sepulchre of our Lord, that

singular assurance of our faith; and sell to our pilgrims admissions

to that city, which ought, had they a trace of their ancient courage

left, to be open to Christians only. This alone might be enough to

cloud our brows; but now, who except the most abandoned, or the most

envious of Christian reputation, can endure that we do not divide the

world equally with them? They inhabit Asia, the third portion of the

world, as their native soil, which was justly esteemed by our ancestors

equal, by the extent of its tracts and greatness of its provinces, to

the two remaining parts. There, formerly, sprang up the first germs

of our faith; there, all the apostles, except two, consecrated their

deaths; there, at the present day, the Christians, if any survive,

sustaining life by a wretched kind of agriculture, pay these miscreants

tribute, and even with stifled sighs, long for the participation of

your liberty, since they have lost their own. They hold Africa also,

another quarter of the world, already possessed by their arms for more

than two hundred years; which on this account I pronounce derogatory

to Christian honour, because that country was anciently the nurse of

celebrated geniuses, who, by their divine writings, will mock the rust

of antiquity as long as there shall be a person who can relish Roman

literature:[378] the learned know the truth of what I say. Europe, the

third portion of the world remains; of which, how small a part do we

Christians inhabit? for who can call all those barbarians who dwell in

remote islands of the Frozen Ocean, Christians, since they live after a

savage manner? Even this small portion of the world, belonging to us,

is oppressed by the Turks and Saracens. Thus for three hundred years,

Spain and the Balearic isles have been subjugated to them, and the

possession of the remainder is eagerly anticipated by feeble men, who,

not having courage to engage in close encounter, love a flying mode

of warfare. For the Turk never ventures upon close fight; but, when

driven from his station, bends his bow at a distance, and trusts the

winds with his meditated wound; and as he has poisoned arrows, venom,

and not valour, inflicts the death on the man he strikes. Whatever he

effects, then, I attribute to fortune, not to courage, because he wars

by flight, and by poison. It is apparent too, that every race, born in

that region, being scorched with the intense heat of the sun, abounds

more in reflexion, than in blood; and, therefore, they avoid coming to

close quarters, because they are aware how little blood they possess.

Whereas the people who are born amid the polar frosts, and distant from

the sun’s heat, are less cautious indeed; but, elate from their copious

and luxuriant flow of blood, they fight with the greatest alacrity. You

are a nation born in the more temperate regions of the world; who may

be both prodigal of blood, in defiance of death and wounds; and are not

deficient in prudence. For you equally preserve good conduct in camp,

and are considerate in battle. Thus endued with skill and with valour,

you undertake a memorable expedition. You will be extolled throughout

all ages, if you rescue your brethren from danger. To those present, in

God’s name, I command this; to the absent I enjoin it. Let such as are

going to fight for Christianity, put the form of the cross upon their

garments, that they may, outwardly, demonstrate the love arising from

their inward faith; enjoying by the gift of God, and the privilege of

St. Peter, absolution from all their crimes: let this in the meantime

soothe the labour of their journey; satisfied that they shall obtain,

after death, the advantages of a blessed martyrdom. Putting an end to

your crimes then, that Christians may at least live peaceably in these

countries, go, and employ in nobler warfare, that valour, and that

sagacity, which you used to waste in civil broils: Go, soldiers every

where renowned in fame, go, and subdue these dastardly nations. Let the

noted valour of the French advance, which, accompanied by its adjoining

nations, shall affright the whole world by the single terror of its

name. But why do I delay you longer by detracting from the courage of

the gentiles? Rather bring to your recollection the saying of God,

‘Narrow is the way which leadeth to life.’ Be it so then: the track to

be followed is narrow, replete with death, and terrible with dangers;

still this path will lead to your lost country. No doubt you must, ‘by

much tribulation enter into the kingdom of God.’ Place then, before

your imagination, if you shall be made captive, torments and chains;

nay, every possible suffering that can be inflicted. Expect, for the

firmness of your faith, even horrible punishments; that so, if it be

necessary, you may redeem your souls at the expense of your bodies. Do

you fear death? you men of exemplary courage and intrepidity. Surely

human wickedness can devise nothing against you, worthy to be put in

competition with heavenly glory: for the sufferings of the present

time are not worthy to be compared ‘to the glory which shall be

revealed in us.’ Know ye not, ‘that for men to live is wretchedness,

and happiness to die?’ This doctrine, if you remember, you imbibed

with your mother’s milk, through the preaching of the clergy: and this

doctrine your ancestors, the martyrs, held out by example. Death sets

free from its filthy prison the human soul, which then takes flight for

the mansions fitted to its virtues. Death accelerates their country

to the good: death cuts short the wickedness of the ungodly. By means

of death, then, the soul, made free, is either soothed with joyful

hope, or is punished without farther apprehension of worse. So long

as it is fettered to the body, it derives from it earthly contagion;

or to say more truly, is dead. For, earthly with heavenly, and divine

with mortal, ill agree. The soul, indeed, even now, in its state of

union with the body, is capable of great efforts; it gives life to

its instrument, secretly moving and animating it to exertions almost

beyond mortal nature. But when, freed from the clog which drags it to

the earth, it regains its proper station, it partakes of a blessed and

perfect energy, communicating after some measure with the invisibility

of the divine nature. Discharging a double office, therefore, it

ministers life to the body when it is present, and the cause of its

change, when it departs. You must observe how pleasantly the soul wakes

in the sleeping body, and, apart from the senses, sees many future

events, from the principle of its relationship to the Deity. Why then

do ye fear death, who love the repose of sleep, which resembles death?

Surely it must be madness, through lust of a transitory life, to deny

yourselves that which is eternal. Rather, my dearest brethren, should

it so happen, lay down your lives for the brotherhood. Rid God’s

sanctuary of the wicked: expel the robbers: bring in the pious. Let

no love of relations detain you; for man’s chiefest love is towards

God. Let no attachment to your native soil be an impediment; because,

in different points of view, all the world is exile to the Christian,

and all the world his country. Thus exile is his country, and his

country exile. Let none be restrained from going by the largeness of

his patrimony, for a still larger is promised him; not of such things

as soothe the miserable with vain expectation, or flatter the indolent

disposition with the mean advantages of wealth, but of such as are

shewn by perpetual example and approved by daily experience. Yet these

too are pleasant, but vain, and which, to such as despise them, produce

reward a hundred-fold. These things I publish, these I command: and

for their execution I fix the end of the ensuing spring. God will be

gracious to those who undertake this expedition, that they may have

a favourable year, both in abundance of produce, and in serenity of

season. Those who may die will enter the mansions of heaven; while the

living shall behold the sepulchre of the Lord. And what can be greater

happiness, than for a man, in his life-time, to see those places, where

the Lord of heaven was conversant as a man? Blessed are they, who,

called to these occupations, shall inherit such a recompence: fortunate

are those who are led to such a conflict, that they may partake of such

rewards.”

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1095.] EFFECT OF URBAN’S SPEECH.]

I have adhered to the tenor of this address, retaining some few things

unaltered, on account of the truth of the remarks, but omitting many.

The bulk of the auditors were extremely excited, and attested their

sentiments by a shout; pleased with the speech, and inclined to the

pilgrimage. And immediately, in presence of the council, some of the

nobility, falling down at the knees of the pope, consecrated themselves

and their property to the service of God. Among these was Aimar, the

very powerful bishop of Puy, who afterwards ruled the army by his

prudence, and augmented it through his eloquence. In the month of

November, then, in which this council was held, each departed to his

home: and the report of this good resolution soon becoming general,

it gently wafted a cheering gale over the minds of the Christians:

which being universally diffused, there was no nation so remote, no

people so retired, as not to contribute its portion. This ardent love

not only inspired the continental provinces, but even all who had heard

the name of Christ, whether in the most distant islands, or savage

countries. The Welshman left his hunting; the Scot his fellowship with

lice;[379] the Dane his drinking party; the Norwegian his raw fish.

Lands were deserted of their husbandmen; houses of their inhabitants;

even whole cities migrated. There was no regard to relationship;

affection to their country was held in little esteem; God alone was

placed before their eyes. Whatever was stored in granaries, or hoarded

in chambers, to answer the hopes of the avaricious husbandman, or the

covetousness of the miser, all, all was deserted; they hungered and

thirsted after Jerusalem alone. Joy attended such as proceeded; while

grief oppressed those who remained. But why do I say remained? You

might see the husband departing with his wife, indeed, with all his

family; you would smile to see the whole household laden on a carriage,

about to proceed on their journey.[380] The road was too narrow for the

passengers, the path too confined for the travellers, so thickly were

they thronged with endless multitudes. The number surpassed all human

imagination, though the itinerants were estimated at six millions.[381]

Doubtless, never did so many nations unite in one opinion; never did

so immense a population subject their unruly passions to one, and

almost to no, direction. For the strangest wonder to behold was, that

such a countless multitude marched gradually through various Christian

countries without plundering, though there was none to restrain them.

Mutual regard blazed forth in all; so that if any one found in his

possession what he knew did not belong to him, he exposed it everywhere

for several days to be owned; and the desire of the finder was

suspended, till perchance the wants of the loser might be repaired.[382]

The long-looked for month of March was now at hand, when, the hoary

garb of winter being laid aside, the world, clad in vernal bloom,

invited the pilgrims to the confines of the east; nor, such was the

ardour of their minds, did they seek delay. Godfrey, duke of Lorraine,

proceeded by way of Hungary: second to none in military virtue, and,

descended from the ancient lineage of Charles the Great, he inherited

much of Charles both in blood and in mind. He was followed by the

Frisons, Lorrainers, Saxons, and all the people who dwell between the

Rhine and the Garonne.[383] Raimund, earl of St. Giles, and Aimar,

bishop of Puy, nobly matched in valour, and alike noted for spirit

against the enemy and piety to God, took the route of Dalmatia. Under

their standard marched the Goths and Gascons, and all the people

scattered throughout the Pyrenees and the Alps. Before them, by a

shorter route, went Boamund, an Apulian by residence, but a Norman by

descent. For embarking at Brindisi, and landing at Durazzo, he marched

to Constantinople by roads with which he was well acquainted. Under his

command, Italy, and the whole adjacent province, from the Tuscan sea

to the Adriatic, joined in the war. All these assembling at the same

time at Constantinople, partook somewhat of mutual joy. Here, too, they

found Hugh the Great, brother of Philip, king of France: for having

inconsiderately, and with a few soldiers, entered the territories of

the emperor, he was taken by his troops, and detained in free custody.

But Alexius, emperor of Constantinople, alarmed at the arrival of

these chiefs, willingly, but, as it were, induced by their entreaties,

released him. Alexius was a man famed for his duplicity, and never

attempted any thing of importance, unless by stratagem. He had taken

off Guiscard, as I before related, by poison, and had corrupted his

wife by gold; falsely promising by his emissaries to marry her. Again,

too, he allowed William, earl of Poitou, to be led into an ambush of

the Turks, and, after losing sixty thousand soldiers, to escape almost

unattended; being incensed at his reply, when he refused homage to the

Greek. In after time, he laid repeated snares for Boamund, who was

marching against him to avenge the injuries of the crusaders; and when

these failed he bereaved him of his brother Guido, and of almost all

his army; making use of his usual arts either in poisoning the rivers,

or their garments: but of this hereafter. Now, however, removing the

army from the city, and mildly addressing the chiefs, his Grecian

eloquence proved so powerful, that he obtained from them all homage,

and an oath, that they would form no plot against him; and that if they

could subdue the cities pertaining to his empire, they would restore

them to him, thus purchasing another’s advantage at the expense of

their own blood. The credit of maintaining his liberty appeared more

estimable to Raimund alone; so that he neither did homage to him, nor

took the oath. Collecting, then, all their forces, they made an attack

on Nicea, a city of Bithynia: for they chose to assault this first,

both as it was an obstacle to the crusaders, and as they were eager to

revenge the death of those pilgrims who had recently been slain there.

For one Walter, a distinguished soldier, but precipitate, (for you

will scarcely see prudence and valour united in the same person, as

one retards what the other advances,) incautiously roaming around the

walls, had perished with a numerous party, which Peter the hermit had

allured, by his preaching, from their country.

Now, too, in the month of September, Robert earl of Normandy, brother

of king William whose name is prefixed to this book, earnestly desiring

to enter on the expedition, had as his companions Robert of Flanders,

and Stephen of Blois who had married his sister. They were earls of

noble lineage and corresponding valour. Under their command were the

English and Normans, the Western Franks and people of Flanders, and all

the tribes which occupy the continental tract from the British Ocean to

the Alps. Proceeding on their journey, at Lucca they found pope Urban,

who being enraged at Guibert, as I have said, was, by the assistance

of Matilda, carrying war into Italy and around the city of Rome. He had

now so far succeeded that the Roman people, inclining to his party,

were harassing that of Guibert, both by words and blows; nor did the

one faction spare the other, either in the churches or in the streets,

until Guibert, being weakest, left the see vacant for Urban, and fled

to Germany.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1097.] ANCIENT ROME.]

Of Rome, formerly the mistress of the globe, but which now, in

comparison of its ancient state, appears a small town; and of the

Romans, once “Sovereigns over all and the gowned nation,”[384] who are

now the most fickle of men, bartering justice for gold, and dispensing

with the canons for money; of this city and its inhabitants, I say,

whatever I might attempt to write, has been anticipated by the verses

of Hildebert, first, bishop of Mans, and afterwards archbishop of

Tours.[385] Which I insert, not to assume the honour acquired by

another man’s labour, but rather as a proof of a liberal mind, while

not envying his fame, I give testimony to his charming poetry.

Rome, still thy ruins grand beyond compare,

Thy former greatness mournfully declare,

Though time thy stately palaces around

Hath strewed, and cast thy temples to the ground.

Fall’n is the power, the power Araxes dire

Regrets now gone, and dreaded when entire;

Which arms and laws, and ev’n the gods on high

Bade o’er the world assume the mastery;

Which guilty Cæsar rather had enjoyed

Alone, than e’er a fostering hand employed.

Which gave to foes, to vice, to friends its care,

Subdued, restrained, or bade its kindness share

This growing power the holy fathers reared,

Where near the stream the fav’ring spot appeared

From either pole, materials, artists meet,

And rising walls their proper station greet;

Kings gave their treasures, fav’ring too was fate,

And arts and riches on the structure wait.

Fall’n is that city, whose proud fame to reach,

I merely say, “Rome was,” there fails my speech.

Still neither time’s decay, nor sword, nor fire,

Shall cause its beauty wholly to expire.

Human exertions raised that splendid Rome,

Which gods in vain shall strive to overcome.

Bid wealth, bid marble, and bid fate attend,

And watchful artists o’er the labour bend,

Still shall the matchless ruin art defy

The old to rival, or its loss supply.

Here gods themselves their sculptur’d forms admire,

And only to reflect those forms aspire;

Nature unable such like gods to form,

Left them to man’s creative genius warm;

Life breathes within them, and the suppliant falls,

Not to the God, but statues in the walls.

City thrice blessed! were tyrants but away,

Or shame compelled them justice to obey.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1097.] DESCRIPTION OF ROME.]

Are not these sufficient to point out in such a city, both the dignity

of its former advantages, and the majesty of its present ruin? But that

nothing may be wanting to its honour, I will add the number of its

gates, and the multitude of its sacred relics; and that no person may

complain of his being deprived of any knowledge by the obscurity of the

narrative, the description shall run in an easy and familiar style.[386]

The first is the Cornelian gate, which is now called the gate of

St. Peter, and the Cornelian way. Near it is situated the church of

St. Peter, in which his body lies, decked with gold and silver, and

precious stones: and no one knows the number of the holy martyrs who

rest in that church. On the same way is another church, in which lie

the holy virgins Rufina and Secunda. In a third church, are Marius and

Martha, and Audifax and Abacuc, their sons.

The second is the Flaminian gate, which is now called the gate of St.

Valentine,[387] and the Flaminian way, and when it arrives at the

Milvian bridge, it takes the name of the Ravennanian way, because it

leads to Ravenna; and there, at the first stone without the gate, St.

Valentine rests in his church.

The third is called the Porcinian[388] gate, and the way the same; but

where it joins the Salarian, it loses its name, and there, nearly in

the spot which is called Cucumeris, lie the martyrs, Festus, Johannes,

Liberalis, Diogenes, Blastus, Lucina, and in one sepulchre, the Two

Hundred and Sixty,[389] in another, the Thirty.

The fourth is the Salarian[390] gate and way; now called St.

Silvester’s. Here, near the road, lie St. Hermes, and St. Vasella,

and Prothus, and Jacinctus, Maxilian, Herculan, Crispus; and, in

another place, hard by, rest the holy martyrs Pamphilus and Quirinus,

seventy steps beneath the surface. Next is the church of St. Felicity,

where she rests, and Silanus her son; and not far distant, Boniface

the martyr. In another church, there are Crisantus, and Daria, and

Saturninus, and Maurus, and Jason, and their mother Hilaria, and others

innumerable. And in another church, St. Alexander, Vitalis, Martialis,

sons of St. Felicity; and seven holy virgins, Saturnina, Hilarina,

Duranda, Rogantina, Serotina, Paulina, Donata. Next the church of

St. Silvester, where he lies under a marble tomb; and the martyrs,

Celestinus, Philippus, and Felix; and there too, the Three Hundred and

Sixty-five martyrs rest in one sepulchre; and near them lie Paulus and

Crescentianus, Prisca and Semetrius, Praxides and Potentiana.

The fifth is called the Numentan[391] gate. There lies St. Nicomede,

priest and martyr; the way too is called by the same name. Near the

road are the church and body of St. Agnes; in another church, St.

Ermerenciana, and the martyrs, Alexander, Felix, Papias; at the seventh

stone on this road rests the holy pope Alexander, with Euentius and

Theodolus.

The sixth is the Tiburtine[392] gate and way, which is now called

St. Lawrence’s: near this way lies St. Lawrence in his church, and

Habundius the martyr: and near this, in another church, rest these

martyrs, Ciriaca, Romanus, Justinus, Crescentianus; and not far from

hence the church of St. Hyppolitus, where he himself rests, and his

family, eighteen in number; there too repose, St. Trifonia, the wife

of Decius, and his daughter Cirilla, and her nurse Concordia. And in

another part of this way is the church of Agapit the martyr.

The seventh is called, at present, the Greater gate,[393] formerly the

Seracusan, and the way the Lavicanian, which leads to St. Helena. Near

this are Peter, Marcellinus, Tyburtius, Geminus, Gorgonius, and the

Forty Soldiers,[394] and others without number; and a little farther

the Four Coronati.[395]

The eighth is the gate of St. John,[396] which by the ancients was

called Assenarica. The ninth gate is called Metrosa;[397] and in

front of both these runs the Latin way. The tenth is called the

Latin gate,[398] and way. Near this, in one church, lie the martyrs,

Gordianus and Epimachus, Sulpicius, Servilianus, Quintinus, Quartus,

Sophia, Triphenus. Near this too, in another spot, Tertullinus, and

not far distant, the church of St. Eugenia, in which she lies, and her

mother Claudia, and pope Stephen, with nineteen of his clergy, and

Nemesius the deacon.

The eleventh is called the Appian gate[399] and way. There lie St.

Sebastian, and Quirinus, and originally the bodies of the apostles

rested there. A little nearer Rome, are the martyrs, Januarius,

Urbanus, Xenon, Quirinus, Agapetus, Felicissimus; and in another

church, Tyburtius, Valerianus, Maximus. Not far distant is the church

of the martyr Cecilia; and there are buried Stephanus, Sixtus,

Zefferinus, Eusebius, Melchiades, Marcellus, Eutychianus, Dionysius,

Antheros, Pontianus, pope Lucius, Optacius, Julianus, Calocerus,

Parthenius, Tharsicius, Politanus, martyrs: there too is the church

and body of St. Cornelius: and in another church, St. Sotheris: and

not far off, rest the martyrs, Hippolytus, Adrianus, Eusebius, Maria,

Martha, Paulina, Valeria, Marcellus, and near, pope Marcus in his

church. Between the Appian and Ostiensian way, is the Ardeatine way,

where are St. Marcus, and Marcellianus. And there lies pope Damasus in

his church; and near him St. Petronilla, and Nereus, and Achilleus, and

many more.

The twelfth gate and way is called the Ostiensian, but, at present, St.

Paul’s,[400] because he lies near it in his church. There too is the

martyr Timotheus: and near, in the church of St. Tecla, are the martyrs

Felix, Audactus, and Nemesius. At the Three Fountains[401] is the head

of the martyr St. Anastasius.

The thirteenth is called the Portuan[402] gate and way; near which in

a church are the martyrs, Felix, Alexander, Abdon and Sennes, Symeon,

Anastasius, Polion, Vincentius, Milex, Candida, and Innocentia.

The fourteenth is the Aurelian[403] gate and way, which now is called

the gate of St. Pancras, because he lies near it in his church, and

the other martyrs, Paulinus, Arthemius, St. Sapientia, with her three

daughters, Faith, Hope, and Charity. In another church, Processus and

Martinianus; and, in a third, two Felixes; in a fourth Calixtus, and

Calepodius; in a fifth St. Basilides. At the twelfth milliary within

the city, on Mount Celius, are the martyrs Johannes, and Paulus, in

their dwelling, which was made a church after their martyrdom: and

Crispin and Crispinianus, and St. Benedicta. On the same mount, is

the church of St. Stephen, the first martyr; and there are buried the

martyrs Primus, and Felicianus; on Mount Aventine St. Boniface; and on

Mount Nola, St. Tatiana rests.

Such are the Roman sanctuaries; such the sacred pledges upon earth: and

yet in the midst of this heavenly treasure, as it were, a people drunk

with senseless fury, even at the very time the crusaders arrived, were

disturbing everything with wild ambition, and, when unable to satisfy

their lust of money, pouring out the blood of their fellow citizens

over the very bodies of the saints.[404] The earls, confiding then in

Urban’s benediction, having passed through Tuscany and Campania, came

by Apulia to Calabria, and would have embarked immediately had not the

seamen, on being consulted, forbade them, on account of the violence

of the southerly winds. In consequence, the earls of Normandy and

Blois passed the winter there; sojourning each among their friends, as

convenient. The earl of Flanders, alone, ventured to sea, experiencing

a prosperous issue to a rash attempt: wherefore part of this assembled

multitude returned home through want; and part of them died from the

unwholesomeness of the climate. The earls who remained however, when

by the vernal sun’s return they saw the sea sufficiently calm for

the expedition, committed themselves to the ocean, and, by Christ’s

assistance, landed safely at two ports. Thence, through Thessaly,

the metropolis of which is Thessalonica, and Thracia, they came to

Constantinople. Many of the lower order perished on the march through

disease and want; many lost their lives at the Devil’s Ford, as it is

called from its rapidity; and more indeed would have perished, had

not the advanced cavalry been stationed in the river, to break the

violence of the current; by which means the lives of some were saved,

and the rest passed over on horseback. The whole multitude then, to

solace themselves for their past labours, indulged in rest for fifteen

days, pitching their camp in the suburbs of the city; of which, as the

opportunity has presented itself, I shall briefly speak.

[Sidenote: [A.D. 1097.] CONSTANTINOPLE--ITS ORIGIN.]

Constantinople was first called Byzantium: which name is still

preserved by the imperial money called Bezants. St. Aldhelm, in his

book On Virginity,[405] relates that it changed its appellation by

divine suggestion: his words are as follow. As Constantine was sleeping

in this city, he imagined that there stood before him an old woman,

whose forehead was furrowed with age; but, that presently, clad in an

imperial robe, she became transformed into a beautiful girl, and so

fascinated his eyes, by the elegance of her youthful charms, that he

could not refrain from kissing her: that Helena, his mother, being

present, then said, “She shall be yours for ever; nor shall she die,

till the end of time.” The solution of this dream, when he awoke, the

emperor extorted from heaven, by fasting and almsgiving. And behold,

within eight days, being cast again into a deep sleep, he thought

he saw pope Silvester, who died some little time before, regarding

his convert[406] with complacency, and saying, “You have acted with

your customary prudence, in waiting for a solution, from God, of that

enigma which was beyond the comprehension of man. The old woman you

saw, is this city, worn down by age, whose time-struck walls, menacing

approaching ruin, require a restorer. But you, renewing its walls, and

its affluence, shall signalize it also with your name; and here shall

the imperial progeny reign for ever. You shall not, however, lay the

foundations at your own pleasure; but mounting the horse on which,

when in the novitiate of your faith, you rode round the churches of

the apostles at Rome, you shall give him the rein, and liberty to

go whither he please: you shall have, too, in your hand, your royal

spear,[407] whose point shall describe the circuit of the wall on the

ground. You will be regulated, therefore, in what manner to dispose the

foundations of the wall by the track of the spear on the earth.”