CHAPTER XVI.

THE INTERREGNUM.[1503]

October 15–December 25, 1066.

[Sidenote: The throne vacant.]

England was thus again without a King. For the second time within this

memorable year the throne had become vacant. But the vacancy of October

differed widely in every way from the vacancy of January. Then a King

had gone to his grave in peace, and the election of his successor

could be made by the free voices of the English people. That successor

had now given his life for England, and, as in the days of Swend and

Cnut, a foreign invader was again in the land, claiming the votes of

the Witan with a victorious army to back his [Sidenote: William not

yet King.] claims. For we must remember that still, after the day of

Senlac, William was only a candidate for the Crown. He claimed an

exclusive right to become King, but he did not claim to be King as

yet. One flatterer only[1504] ventures to give him the kingly title

before his formal election and consecration. Till those ceremonies

had been performed, William was not King _de jure_, and he was as

yet very far from being King _de facto_. All that he had as yet was

military possession of part of one shire. But [Sidenote: His success

practically certain.] his work was practically over; he had now simply

to bide his time and slowly to gather in his harvest. He had already

in effect conquered England, for the one man was gone who could still

have saved her from conquest. With Harold the true hope and strength of

England had fallen.[1505]

[Sidenote: William’s expectation of immediate submission disappointed.]

No one knew this better than the Conqueror himself. His expectation was

that all England would at once submit to him.[1506] And though he was

mistaken in that expectation, the mistake was not one which carried

him very far away from the truth. He simply expected that to happen

at once, which was sure to happen before long, [Sidenote: No idea of

submission among the English as yet.] and which did happen within two

months. But for the moment no Englishman dreamed of submission.[1507]

Men as little thought of acknowledging the Norman after a single

victory as their fathers had thought of acknowledging the Dane in the

like case. Ælfred and Eadmund had fought battle after battle with the

invaders, and it was only after a long alternation of victory and

defeat that Guthrum and Cnut had obtained a settlement, and after all

only a partial settlement, in the land. No man therefore who was not

actually within the reach of William’s hand thought, in the first days

after the fight of Senlac, of submitting to the Conqueror. William

had returned to his camp at Hastings, and he there tarried, ready

to receive the allegiance of those whom he looked on as his lawful

subjects. But not a single Englishman came to his camp to bow to him

and become his man.[1508] The voice of Englishmen, the voice at least

of all who were neither too far off to hear the news nor too near to

be practically within William’s power, called for another King to lead

them forth to another battle.

[Sidenote: The news reaches London.]

The news of the defeat of the English army and of the death of the

King was brought to London by some of the fugitives from Senlac.[1509]

Before long, the wounded Sheriff Esegar contrived to make his way

thither from the hill of [Sidenote: Eadwine and Morkere hear the

news, and hasten to London.] slaughter.[1510] Meanwhile the two

Northern Earls were on their tardy march, waiting to see what course

events might take. The news of Harold’s fall reached them on their

way. They hastened to London,[1511] and, as their first [Sidenote:

They send Ealdgyth to Chester.] measure of precaution, they sent

their sister, the Lady Ealdgyth, to the distant city of Chester in

the Earldom [Sidenote: Gemót in London for the election of a King.]

of Eadwine.[1512] Men were now flocking together from the lands

immediately threatened by William to seek for safety in the great

city.[1513] It was therefore possible to hold an Assembly which

might fairly represent the national will. The Witan, among whom the

citizens of London and the sailors are specially mentioned, met to

choose a King.[1514] The choice was far from being so easy in October

as it [Sidenote: No qualified candidate forthcoming. Harold’s sons

unqualified.] had been in January. There was now no one man who could,

either by his birth or by his personal merits, command the unanimous

vote of the nation. The late King had left sons, but they were not born

Æthelings, sons of a crowned King; indeed they were most likely not

even born in lawful wedlock.[1515] They had therefore no claim even

to a constitutional preference, and young and undistinguished as they

were, they could have no claim on the score of personal merit. We have

no evidence that the names of Eadmund, Magnus, and Godwine, the three

sons of Harold, were so much as mentioned[1516] in the debates of the

Witan. The Crown thus passed away for ever from the newly [Sidenote:

Loss of Gyrth and Leofwine.] chosen dynasty. Had Harold’s two brothers

lived, things might have gone otherwise. One cannot doubt that Gyrth

was in every way worthy to reign, and we can believe that the voice

of Wessex and East-Anglia at least would have been raised in favour

either of him or of Leofwine. But the two heroes had fallen with their

King and brother; young Wulfnoth was personally undistinguished and

was far away in the hands of the enemy; no candidate from [Sidenote:

Waltheof not yet distinguished.] the House of Godwine was forthcoming.

Looking to the other great Houses, there was one whose name was soon

to become famous and honoured among Englishmen; but as yet Waltheof

the son of Siward had not shown himself as a leader of men,[1517] and

the Earldom which he ruled was the [Sidenote: Candidature of Eadwine

and Morkere.] smallest in the Kingdom. In the House of Leofric indeed

there was no lack of candidates. Eadwine and Morkere were open to

receive any crowns that they could get. In their eyes no doubt the

happy moment had come, when Mercian hands might grasp the sceptre, if

possible of the whole realm, at any rate of its northern half. We do

not hear what arrangements were to be made between the two brothers;

but the two together were urgent with the men of London to raise one

or other of them to the Imperial Crown.[1518] But their hopes were

disappointed. There was in truth no general feeling to which they could

appeal. The candidature of Eadwine or Morkere could have presented no

sort of attraction to the men of London, [Sidenote: Election of the

Ætheling Eadgar.] of Wessex, or of East-Anglia. In the absence then of

any better qualified candidate, of any one leader on whom all could

agree, the sentiment of hereditary descent prevailed. There was one in

the land who, whatever else he was, was the grandson of Ironside, the

heir of Ælfred and Ecgberht, the last male of the stock of Cerdic and

Woden. To fill the vacancy caused by the death of Harold, the Witan of

England called on the young Ætheling Eadgar to ascend the throne of his

fathers.[1519]

[Sidenote: The choice bad, but unavoidable.]

It is vain to discuss the merits of the choice. It could be justified

only by the sad truths that any King was better than no King at all,

and that at that moment no better King was forthcoming. There may

even have been a faint hope that William might be satisfied with the

overthrow of his personal enemy, and that he would not press his claims

against a boy who had never wronged him, a boy who might pass as the

heir, who was certainly the next of kin, of the deceased King for whom

he professed so deep a reverence. How far the choice was strictly

[Sidenote: Eadwine and Morkere agree to the election.] unanimous we

know not. There is no doubt that Eadwine and Morkere, seeing no hopes

of their own elevation, gave a formal consent to the election of

Eadgar.[1520] On the [Sidenote: Opposition of some of the Bishops.]

other hand we find it hinted that the Bishops opposed the choice of the

Ætheling.[1521] We know not how many of the English Bishops were at

this time in London. It [Sidenote: The two Archbishops for Eadgar.] is

certain that the two Primates, Stigand and Ealdred, were both present,

and that both concurred in the election of Eadgar.[1522] It would

appear also that Wulfstan of Worcester and Walter of Hereford were

also in the city.[1523] [Sidenote: The opposition probably made by the

foreign Bishops.] Now we may be sure that any influence which belonged

to the Bishop of the Diocese, the Norman William, would be exerted to

hinder the election of Eadgar. A Norman Prelate might now, without

dishonour, recommend submission to the armed candidate of his own race.

Even Wulfstan, the friend of Harold, might not feel himself equally

bound to Eadgar, and his later conduct may perhaps show that, in face

of the invasion of William, he was not unlikely to play the part of

Jeremiah in face of the invasion of Nabuchodonosor. We may suspect too

that the Lotharingian Prelate of Hereford, and his brethren of Wells

and Sherborne, would not be specially zealous in the national cause. We

need not suspect them of actual treason, but to exhort to submission

to the Conqueror after the death of Harold would bear an aspect quite

different from an attempt to weaken the national power of resistance

while the King still lived. Even a national and patriotic writer,

speaking with the experience of a few weeks later, argues that an

early submission would have been the wisest course.[1524] The minds of

foreign churchmen would be specially open to those spiritual influences

which William had contrived to array on his side. Nothing could be

easier than to argue that, in the great assize of Senlac, the judgement

of God had been visibly given on behalf of the invader, and that those

who continued to fight against him would incur the guilt of fighting

against God.

[Sidenote: Eadgar seemingly not crowned.]

But such arguments, if used, were as yet of none effect. Young

Eadgar was regularly elected King. Whether he was crowned we are not

distinctly told. Every motive of policy would plead for a coronation

as speedy as the coronation of Harold. But the election of Harold had

taken place during one of the Church’s solemn seasons, and it was

possible to perform the ceremony before the festival was over. But if

the coronation of Eadgar was to take place on one of the days usually

chosen for such solemnities, it would have to be delayed till the

Feast [Sidenote: The coronation probably delayed till Christmas.] of

Christmas. In all probability the rite was fixed for that festival,

and, when the festival came, the rite had to be performed on another.

Eadgar then never was full King, King crowned and anointed. But his

authority was acknowledged, and he performed at least one kingly act.

The Golden Borough of Saint Peter lacked an [Sidenote: Death of Abbot

Leofric, November 1.] Abbot. The patriot Leofric, wounded in the great

battle, had found his way home, and had died on the Festival of All

Saints.[1525] The monks of his house forthwith chose [Sidenote: Brand

elected Abbot, and confirmed by Eadgar.] their Provost Brand as his

successor, and sent him to Eadgar for the royal confirmation.[1526]

His reception was favourable; he received his staff from the hands of

the Ætheling.[1527] But we shall see that this acknowledgement of the

national candidate on the part of the monks of Peterborough was a

crime in the eyes of the invader which called for a heavy atonement.

[Sidenote: The Londoners and others prepare for another battle.]

The nation had thus chosen a successor to the King who had died on

Senlac. The cry of every patriotic heart was for a vigorous carrying on

the war with the invader. The citizens of London, above all, were eager

to hazard [Sidenote: Chances of resistance.] another battle.[1528]

The chances of such an enterprise were still far from being hopeless.

The slaughter of Fulford, of Stamfordbridge, and of Senlac had indeed

been frightful, and, as ever, it had fallen most heavily on the best

portions of the army, on the King’s Thegns and the Housecarls. Still

the strength of England was far from being broken, and we may be sure

that Ælfred or Eadmund would have been perfectly ready to risk a fourth

battle. But there was no Ælfred or Eadmund now to lead the forces of

England. The King-elect was young and inexperienced,[1529] and those

whom England looked to as her leaders again [Sidenote: Eadwine and

Morkere withdraw their forces.] proved faithless. Eadwine and Morkere

had consented to the election of Eadgar, as nine months before they

had consented to the election of Harold. But of giving loyal support

to either prince they never dreamed. The forces of Northumberland were

again refused to the defence of Wessex. For Wessex, for East-Anglia,

Eadgar and William might strive as they would. William would perhaps

be content with that portion of the realm which formed the immediate

possession of the personal foe whom he had overthrown. With the House

of Leofric, with the men of Northumberland, William had no quarrel.

Perhaps he might be content not to attack them. At all events, the

forces of Northumberland and North-western Mercia would be better

reserved for the defence of their own homes. Eadwine and Morkere then,

with the levies of their Earldoms, withdrew to Northumberland, and left

Eadgar and England to their fate.[1530]

[Sidenote: Resistance hopeless after the defection of the Earls.]

This was the consummation of the manifold treasons of the sons of

Ælfgar. An united England might yet have resisted; for a divided

England there was no hope. A people who could not agree under any

leader of their own race, became of necessity the prey of the

stranger.[1531] But the fault rested wholly with the men who preferred

their own selfish interests to the public welfare. The patriotic zeal

of the men of London was thwarted by the base secession [Sidenote: No

further general combination against William.] of the Northern traitors.

By their act all was lost. After the day of Senlac William never again

met Englishmen in a pitched battle. He experienced much gallant local

resistance before his power was fully established over the whole land.

But never again did he see the forces of all England, or even the

forces of all Wessex, drawn out against him. Indeed it does not seem

that any English weapon, save those of the great city itself, was again

lifted against him till his formal investiture with the kingship of

England enabled him to treat all further opposition as rebellion.

[Sidenote: William returns to Hastings. October 15.]

While England was thus betrayed and ruined within the walls of London,

the Conqueror was, step by step, taking possession of the devoted

land. He had returned, as we have seen, to Hastings, in the hope of

receiving an immediate submission.[1532] In that hope he remained in

his camp for five days.[1533] During that time he also received some

reinforcements from Normandy to supply the serious losses which the

battle had inflicted on his army.[1534] As no English homagers came

in to him, he now thought it time to set [Sidenote: He does not march

at once on London.] forth to follow up his great success by force of

arms. But he had no intention of marching at once upon London. It again

was William’s policy to bide his time. He no doubt fully understood

the state of the case; he felt certain that the divided land, deprived

of its one born leader, would never organize any general or effective

resistance. He knew that in a short time he would either be able to

overcome local resistance piecemeal, or else the English, unable

to unite under a single native chief, would submit to him in sheer

despair. It was therefore his policy not to hasten. But it was equally

his policy not to remain idle. His policy in fact was much the same in

England as it had been in Maine. Political and military reasons alike

bade him to secure the south-eastern portions of England before he

hazarded any attack on the great city. Six days therefore after the

battle, William began his eastward march along the south coast.

[Sidenote: He marches to Romney. October 20,]

The first point which he reached was Romney, where he was within the

borders of the ancient Kingdom of Kent. Romney was, in those days, no

less than Pevensey, a famous haven, but the physical agencies which

have wrought so much change along that whole line of coast, have

destroyed the importance of the town by removing the sea from its

immediate neighbourhood. Like most of the havens of this coast, it was

endowed with special privileges, and in return for them it was expected

to take its share in the naval defence of the land.[1535] The men of

Romney had not been [Sidenote: Norman stragglers killed at Romney.]

slack in the discharge of that duty. They had, as we have seen, at some

time before the great battle,[1536] cut in pieces a body of Norman

stragglers, for whose blood William now came to take vengeance. It was

his policy now, as ever, to be harsh wherever he met with resistance

and gentle to [Sidenote: William’s politic ravages.] all who submitted

easily. The line of his march was marked by ceaseless ravage,[1537]

ravage inflicted, no doubt, like the ravages before the battle, with a

deliberate purpose. Before the battle, he had wished to provoke Harold

to come to the rescue of his suffering subjects.[1538] He now wished

to strike terror, and thereby to bring about submission. Harrying

then as he went, William reached [Sidenote: His vengeance at Romney.]

Romney. The words which describe his doings there are short, pithy, and

terrible. “He took what vengeance he would for the slaughter of his

men.”[1539]

The next point of his march was one where he might [Sidenote: He

marches to Dover. October 21.] expect to be checked by an obstacle

such as he would seldom meet with in any part of the land which he

had entered.[1540] The famous cliff of Dover was already defended

[Sidenote: Dover Castle.] by a castle before which William might have

looked for a siege as long and as weary as those which he had gone

through before Brionne, Domfront, and Arques. The town of Dover lies,

like that of Hastings, between two heights. The easternmost of the two

had been made a post of defence in the days of the ancient conquerors,

and it had not been neglected either by the Kentish Kings or by the

West-Saxon rulers who succeeded them. The tower of Roman work, the

famous Pharos, is still there; there too is an ancient church, lately

recovered from desecration, which dates from the earliest days of

English Christianity.[1541] Few buildings in England show us so well

how the first believers of our race strove, under the guidance of

Roman missionaries, to reproduce the works of [Sidenote: Works of

Harold at Dover.] Roman skill in their lowlier temples. The eye of Earl

Harold had marked the importance of the site, and the spot which lay

so temptingly open to an invading enemy had been made secure against

all attack.[1542] It may well be that the evil deed of Eustace had

called special attention to the necessity of strengthening the town.

And Harold, the observant pilgrim and traveller, who had so carefully

studied all that Gaul had to offer him, as he introduced the latest

improvements of Norman ecclesiastical art into his church at Waltham,

introduced also the latest improvements of Norman military art into his

castle at Dover.[1543] [Sidenote: Strength of the fortress.] A fortress

arose, of whose strength, both from its position and from its defences,

Norman writers speak with all respect; a fortress whose fame had

crossed the sea, and whose surrender William was said to have specially

demanded as being the surrender of one of the keys of England.[1544]

The castle on the cliff was commonly deemed to be safe against all

assailants, and a vast crowd of people from the surrounding country had

sought for shelter within its precincts, when the invading host drew

nigh.[1545]

[Sidenote: Dover surrenders without resistance.]

That a fortress like this should have been surrendered without a blow

not only moves our indignation, but moves our amazement also, when we

think of the valour which Englishmen had just before shown at Senlac

and which they were again to show at York and at Ely.[1546] Englishmen

were undoubtedly far better used to fighting pitched battles than they

were to either the defence or the attack of fortified places. And it

has been conjectured with some probability that the garrison placed

to defend the castle against attack from the sea might, when the

invader had actually landed at another point, have joined the King’s

muster and have fought and died along with the rest of his personal

following.[1547] Whatever was the cause, the fact is certain. Before

William had thrown up a bank or shot an arrow against the castle of

Dover, town [Sidenote: William’s clemency.] and castle were freely

surrendered into his hands.[1548] It was now as plainly his policy to

show himself mild and debonair as it had been his policy at Romney

to show himself beyond measure stark.[1549] The men of Dover were,

according to William’s code, rebels who had laid down their arms,

and who were therefore entitled to pardon. To do them any wanton

harm was wholly against his scheme of conduct. [Sidenote: The town

accidentally burned.] But some of the unruly soldiers of his army felt

themselves defrauded of their expected plunder, and they had recourse

to the usual Norman means of destruction. Fire was as freely used

at Dover as it had been at Mayenne or at Dinan, but this time it was

used without any order from Duke William for its use. A large part of

the town was [Sidenote: William makes good the loss to the owners.]

burned.[1550] But the politic liberality of the Duke made good their

losses to the owners of the destroyed houses,[1551] and the offenders

were only sheltered from punishment by their numbers and by the

baseness of their condition.[1552] William [Sidenote: He strengthens

the castle.] remained at Dover eight days. He further strengthened the

fortifications of the castle,[1553] which now received that Norman

garrison with which Harold had failed to people it. The sick, who were

a numerous body, were left behind, and William marched on, ready to

receive other surrenders or to subdue other opponents.[1554]

[Sidenote: The Kentish towns submit.]

The politic severity of William at Romney and his no less politic

lenity at Dover did their work effectually. There was no King, no

national army, in the field; each town or district had to shift for

itself and to defend itself how it could. The examples of Romney and

Dover showed that, for each isolated place, submission was a safer

course than [Sidenote: He marches towards Canterbury (October 29),

and receives the submission of the city on the road.] resistance. The

fear of William’s name fell upon all the towns and villages of Kent,

and they were not slow in making their submission.[1555] First among

them was the head of the ancient Kingdom, the famous metropolis of

England.[1556] As William was on his march from Dover to Canterbury,

messengers met him bearing the submission of the city. They brought

hostages and the tribute due by custom from the citizens to the

King.[1557] The example of the local capital was soon followed by the

other towns of the shire. From all parts of Kent men came to do their

homage to the Conqueror, to offer him gifts, and, as his own poet adds,

to kiss his feet.[1558] At an unknown point in [Sidenote: He encamps

at the Broken Tower. October 31.] the neighbourhood of Canterbury,

known as the Broken Tower, William pitched his camp, and, like his

rival earlier in the year,[1559] he was here somewhat checked in his

progress by a severe sickness.[1560] Like Harold, he is said to have

[Sidenote: His sickness.] struggled with all his power against the

weakness of the flesh; but it is plain that his sickness acted as a

real check to his advance, for he remained in the neighbourhood of

the Kentish capital for a whole month.[1561] But even this time of

constrained inaction was not wasted. Where William could not be present

in the flesh, he could be present by the terror of his name and in the

persons of his messengers. Kent and Sussex might now be looked on as

conquered. [Sidenote: He sends an embassy to Winchester.] William now

stretched forth his hands to the West, and sought for the submission of

the ancient capital of the West-Saxon [Sidenote: Position of Eadgyth.]

Kings. Winchester, the city of Ælfred and Cnut, once the morning-gift

of Emma, was now again the morning-gift and the dwelling-place of the

widowed Eadgyth.[1562] It was on every ground, political and military,

a great object to obtain early possession of so important a city.

It was also a manifest part of William’s policy to put himself into

friendly relations with the widow of the King whose lawful successor he

gave himself out to be. Out of deference, we are told, to the widowed

Lady, he would not appear before the city in any military array; he

simply sent messengers to the magistrates of Winchester asking for

submission and tribute.[1563] Eadgyth, as we have seen, was perhaps

actually William’s partizan; at all events she had no motive to run

any risk either on behalf of the young Eadgar [Sidenote: Winchester

submits.] or on behalf of the Mercian brothers. She took counsel with

the chief men of her city, and the result of their debates was at once

to offer their submission to the Duke, accompanied with gifts both

from the Lady and from the citizens.[1564] William had not yet been

two months in England; since his great victory he had had no occasion

to strike a blow; and the strongest fortress in England, the ancient

ecclesiastical metropolis, and the ancient temporal capital, were

already in his hands.

[Sidenote: London still holds out.]

But there was one spot where another spirit reigned; there was one city

which even now had no mind to bow to the invader. The men of London,

whose forefathers had beaten back Swend and Cnut, whose brothers had

died around the Standard of Harold, were not men to surrender their

mighty city, defended by its broad river and its [Sidenote: William

sets out for London, c. December 1.] Roman walls,[1565] without at

least meeting the invader in the field. William, master of Dover,

Canterbury, and Winchester, now directed his march along the old Roman

road, directly on the great city.[1566] He marched on, ravaging,

burning, and slaughtering as he went,[1567] and drew near to the

southern bank of the river. One account seems to describe him as

occupying Westminster—therefore as crossing the river—as planting his

military engines by Saint Peter’s minster, and as beginning, or at

least threatening, a formal siege of the city.[1568] But nothing in the

whole story is plainer than that William did not cross the river till

long after. A more credible version represents him as sending before

him a body of five hundred knights, whether simply to reconnoitre or in

the hope of gaining anything by a [Sidenote: Skirmish, and burning of

Southwark.] sudden attack. The citizens sallied; a skirmish followed;

the English were beaten back within the walls; the southern suburb of

the city, Southwark, where Godwine had waited in his own house for the

gathering of two memorable assemblies, was given to the flames.[1569]

The pride of the citizens was supposed to be somewhat lowered by

this twofold blow;[1570] but it is plain that William did not yet

venture any direct attack on the city. His ships were far away, and

the bridge of London would have been a spot even less suited for an

onslaught of Norman cavalry than the hill-side of Senlac. He trusted

to the gradual working of fear and of isolation even on the hearts of

those valiant [Sidenote: He keeps on the right bank of the Thames, and

marches to Wallingford.] citizens. He kept on the right bank of the

Thames, harrying as he went, through Surrey, Hampshire, and Berkshire,

till at Wallingford a ford and a bridge supplied safe and convenient

means of crossing for his army.[1571] He was now in the shire of the

brave Sheriff Godric, in a King’s town, part of which seems to have

been set aside as a sort of special barrack or garrison for the King’s

Housecarls.[1572] But the stout heart of the lord of Fifhide had ceased

to beat; Sheriff and Housecarls alike had dealt their last blow for

England on the far South-Saxon hill. No force was ready on the bridge

of Wallingford to bar the approach of [Sidenote: He crosses the Thames

into Mercia.] the invader. He passed the great border stream, and

for the first time set foot on Mercian soil. He was now on the old

battle-ground of Bensington, where Angle and Saxon, now being fast

united in one common bondage, had in other days fought out their border

quarrels.[1573] He passed beneath the hills, so marked in the distance

by their well-known clumps, where the Briton had, in yet earlier days,

bid defiance to the conquerors of the world. He was now within the

Diocese whence the voice of England had driven his unworthy countryman,

the Norman Ulf, the Bishop who did nought bishoplike.[1574] He was now

within the Earldom which his own hand had made vacant, when he avenged

the fall of his Spanish horse by the fall of a son of Godwine.[1575]

[Sidenote: He still does not march on London; reason of his course.]

But he still did not march straight upon London. His plan evidently

was to surround the city with a wide circle of conquered and desolated

country, till sheer isolation should compel its defenders to submit.

South and west of London, he was master from Dover to Wallingford;

his course was now to march on, keeping at some distance from the

city, till the lands north and east of London should be as thoroughly

wasted and subdued as the lands south of the [Sidenote: He reaches

Berkhampstead.] Thames. He followed out this plan till he reached

Berkhampstead in Hertfordshire.[1576] But by this time the spirit of

London itself had failed. The blow which had been dealt at Senlac had

at last reached the heart of England. At Berkhampstead the second act

of William’s great work was played out. The Conquest there received the

formal ratification of the conquered.[1577]

[Sidenote: Esegar chief in command in London.]

The chief military command in London was in the hands of the wounded

Staller Esegar, the Sheriff of the Middle-Saxons. His wound was so

severe that he could neither walk nor ride, but was carried about the

city in a litter.[1578] But he is spoken of as being the soul of all

the counsels taken by the defenders of London.[1579] The defection

of the Northern Earls had left him the layman of highest rank in

the city, the natural protector and military adviser of [Sidenote:

Tale of his communications] the young King-elect. A tale is told of

messages which are said to have gone to and fro between Esegar and

[Sidenote: with William.] William. But it is hard to know how far

we ought to believe a story which implies that London was besieged

by William, which it certainly was not.[1580] William, we [Sidenote:

William’s secret message.] are told, sent a secret message to Esegar.

He asked only for a formal acknowledgement of his right. Let William

have the name of King, and all things in the Kingdom should be ruled

according to the bidding of the Sheriff of the Middle-Saxons.[1581]

Esegar listens; he has no intention of yielding even thus far, but he

thinks it prudent to dissemble. [Sidenote: Esegar summons an assembly,

and proposes a feigned submission to William] He summons an Assembly,

among the members of which we may possibly discern the forerunners of

the famous Aldermen of London.[1582] He sets forth the general sad

estate of the country and the special dangers of the besieged city.

It would be prudent to send a cunning messenger who should entrap the

invader with wily words. Let him offer a feigned submission, which

might at least cause delay and stave off the immediate danger.[1583]

The [Sidenote: Esegar’s messenger deceived by William.] messenger

went; but to deceive William was found to be no such easy matter. The

fox—it is his own poetical panegyrist who makes the comparison—is not

to be caught in a trap laid in open day.[1584] William pretends to

accept the proposals of Esegar, the exact details of which are not told

us.[1585] But he wins over the messenger by crafty speeches, backed by

gifts and by promises greater than the gifts.[1586] The messenger goes

back to London to enlarge on the might, the wisdom, the just rights,

and the various excellences of William.[1587] The invader is one whom

it is on every ground hopeless to resist. His intentions are friendly;

he offers peace to the city; wisdom [Sidenote: Submission to William

agreed on.] dictates one course only, that of immediate submission to

such a candidate for the Kingdom.[1588] The people applaud; the Senate

approves; both orders—their distinct action is clearly marked—vote at

once to forsake the cause of the young Ætheling,[1589] and to make

their submission to the conquering Duke.

[Sidenote: Eadgar, Ealdred, and others submit to William at

Berkhampstead.]

Whatever truth there may be in this story, it is certain that a

resolution to the same effect as that described by the poet was

actually come to within the walls of London. While William was at

Berkhampstead, an embassy came to submit and to do homage to him, an

embassy which might be fairly looked upon as having a right to speak

in the name of at least Southern England. Thither came Eadgar, a King

deposed before he was full King. Thither came the Metropolitan of York,

perhaps also the Metropolitan of Canterbury. Thither came at least

two other Bishops, Wulfstan of Worcester and Walter of Hereford, and

with them came the best men of London, and many other of the chief

men of England.[1590] And on a sad and shameful errand they came.

They came to make their submission to the invader and to pray him to

accept the Crown of England. The defection of the Northern Earls, the

terror struck into men’s hearts by William’s ravages, had done their

work. They bowed to him for need.[1591] Hard indeed the need was,

but the need stared them in the face; men of cold wisdom even said

that they ought to have bowed to William long before.[1592] They sware

oaths to him [Sidenote: William’s promises and gracious reception of

Eadgar.] and gave him hostages.[1593] William received his new subjects

graciously; to the young rival who had so easily fallen before him he

was specially gracious. The kiss of peace was given by the Conqueror

to Eadgar and to his companions,[1594] and he pledged his word that

he would be good Lord to them.[1595] Such a submission on the part of

so many men of such lofty rank might of itself be deemed [Sidenote:

William invited to accept crown.] equivalent to an election to the

Crown. But a more direct requisition seems not to have been wanting. It

was probably at Berkhampstead[1596] that William was, as we are told,

prayed by the chief men of England, spiritual and temporal, to accept

the vacant Crown. They needed a King; they had always been used to

submit to a crowned King and to none other.[1597] Here we may clearly

see the almost superstitious [Sidenote: Feelings of Englishmen at

the moment.] importance which was then attached to the ceremony of

coronation. The uncrowned Eadgar had been no full King, and he had

been unable to defend his people. The armed candidate who was encamped

at Berkhampstead [Sidenote: Policy of submission.] was no longer to

be withstood by force of arms. The best course was to acknowledge and

receive him at once, and by the mystic rite of consecration to change

him from a [Sidenote: Example of Cnut.] foreign invader into an English

King. We must bear in mind that men were living who could remember how

an earlier foreign invader had been changed into an English King, into

a King who had won his place among the noblest of England’s native

worthies. England had accepted Cnut the Dane, and she had flourished

under him as she had never flourished before or since. Men might hope

that the like good luck would follow on their [Sidenote: Comparison

between William and Cnut.] acceptance of William the Norman. William in

truth promised better than Cnut in every way. Instead of a half-heathen

Sea-king, he was the model prince of Europe, the valiant soldier,

the wise ruler, the pious son of the Church, the prince who, among

unparalleled difficulties, had raised his paternal Duchy to a state of

prosperity and good government which made it the wonder and the envy of

continental lands. The hopes of those who dreamed that William would

prove a second Cnut were doomed to be woefully disappointed. But such

hopes were at the time, if not reasonable, at all events plausible.

It is easy to understand how men may have been led away by them.

[Sidenote: Seeming judgement of God in William’s favour.] Men too,

especially churchmen, might easily argue that the event had proved that

it was God’s will that William should be received. Harold had appealed

to God’s judgement upon the field of battle,[1598] and the verdict

of God’s judgement had been given against him. Those who had fought

under the banner of the Fighting Man against the banner of the Apostle

were proved to have been in truth men fighting against God. All these

arguments, backed by the presence in the land of William’s victorious

army, would have their effect upon men’s minds. We can even understand

that they might produce something more than a mere sullen submission to

physical force. We can understand that men may have brought themselves

to a belief, unwilling indeed, but not either absolutely compulsory or

absolutely hypocritical, that the King who had been so visibly sent to

them by the hand of God ought to be [Sidenote: Artificial frame of mind

of Englishmen at the time.] frankly and loyally acknowledged. We can

believe that the request made by so many Englishmen that the Conqueror

would at once assume the English Crown was made in an artificial but

not a dishonest frame of mind. It was made in that state of artificial

hope, even of artificial eagerness, which is not uncommon in men who

are striving to make the best of a bad bargain. For the moment they

really wished for William as their King. But it was only for the moment

that the wish lasted.

[Sidenote: William calls a Council of his officers.]

The Crown was thus offered to William, but we are told that it was by

no means eagerly accepted by him. He summoned a Council of his chief

officers and advisers[1599]—we are hardly to suppose a Norman military

Gemót—and laid the matter before them. Possibly he merely wished to

prove the minds of his friends and followers; possibly the arguments

which they brought forward had real weight with him. [Sidenote: His

professed unwillingness to accept the Crown at once.] Was it, he

asked, expedient for him to take the Crown, while he was still so

far from being in complete possession of the Kingdom?[1600] We must

remember that though the Prelates of York, Worcester, and Hereford

were in William’s camp, yet York, Worcester, and Hereford were not in

[Sidenote: Extent of William’s actual authority in England.] William’s

hands. William had actual possession only of the south-eastern shires.

His authority reached westward as far as Winchester, northward as far

as his plunderers could go from the spot where he was now encamped.

Was it prudent then, he argued, so hastily to assume a kingship which,

in the greater part of the land, would [Sidenote: He wishes his wife

to be crowned with him.] still be kingship only in name? He wished

moreover—and here we may believe that William spoke from the heart—that

whenever he should be raised into a crowned King, his beloved and

faithful Duchess might be there to share his honours.[1601] He asked

then the opinion of the Assembly as to the immediate acceptance of the

Crown which was pressed upon him.

The military Council was strongly in favour of William’s acceptance of

the Crown, but the decisive answer was given, not by any of William’s

native subjects, but by [Sidenote: Speech of Hamon of Thouars.] one

of the most eminent of the foreign volunteers. Hamon, Viscount of

Thouars, a man, we are told, as ready of speech as he was valiant in

fight,[1602] had, on the height of Telham, been the first to hail the

Duke as a future King.[1603] He was not unwilling that the words which

had then fallen from him as an omen should now assume full shape and

substance. The Aquitanian chief began in a courtly strain, by praising

the condescension of the general who deigned to take the opinion of

his soldiers on such a point. It was not, he said, a matter for much

deliberation, when all were united in one wish. It was the desire of

every man in William’s army to see his lord become a King as soon as

might be.[1604] To make William a King was the very object for which

all of them had crossed the sea, the object for which they had exposed

themselves to the dangers of the deep and of the battle.[1605] As for

England itself, the wisest men in England, the highest in rank and

character, were there, offering the kingship of their land to William.

They doubtless knew best what was for the good of their own country.

They clearly saw in William a fit man to reign over them, one under

whose rule themselves and their country would flourish.[1606] An offer

thus pressed on him [Sidenote: William determines to accept the Crown

at once.] from all sides it was clearly his duty to accept. William,

we are told, weighed what was said, and determined at once to accept

the Crown. He felt that, if he were once crowned King, the magic of the

royal name would have its effect. It would do something to damp the

spirit of resistance in the still unsubdued portions of the country.

Men who were eager to fight against a mere foreign invader, would be

less inclined to withstand a King formally chosen and consecrated

according to the Laws of the Kingdom.[1607] The Duke of the Normans

therefore signified to the English embassy his readiness at once to

assume [Sidenote: The coronation fixed for Christmas.] the kingship of

England. The day for the consecration of the King-elect was of course

fixed for the great Festival of the Church which was drawing near. The

Midwinter Feast was to be again held at Westminster by a crowned King.

On the Feast of the Nativity, within less than a full year from the

consecration of the minster itself, the church of Eadward was to behold

another King crowned and anointed within its walls. Events had indeed

followed fast on one another since the Christmas Gemót of the last year

had been held by the last King of the House of Cerdic.

[Sidenote: Position of William.]

The Conqueror was thus King-elect. His plans had [Sidenote: Triumph of

his policy.] answered. His arts and his arms had been alike successful.

And the triumph of his subtlety had been specially his own. It was the

chance shot of an arrow which had overcome the English King, but it was

William’s own policy which had overcome the English people. King in

truth only by the edge of the sword, he had so managed matters that he

had now the formal right to call himself King, not only by the bequest

of Eadward but by the election of the English people. But, having won

this great success of his craft, he was not inclined to jeopard what

he had won by the neglect of any needful military [Sidenote: He sends

to fortify a post in London.] precaution. He did not trust himself in

London till his position there was secured, till some steps had been

taken towards holding the lofty spirit of the citizens in check. He

sent on a detachment before him to prepare a fortress in or close to

the city.[1608] This was doubtless one of those hasty structures of

wood of which we have heard at Brionne[1609] and at Arques;[1610] but

it was the germ which grew into the noblest work of Norman military

art, the mighty Tower of Gundulf. Orders were also sent to make

everything ready for the reception of the new King and for the great

[Sidenote: Opposite accounts of William’s conduct.] ceremony of his

inauguration. Of William’s conduct meanwhile two exactly opposite

pictures are given us by the Norman and by the English writers. His

panegyrist tells us that all was quiet and peaceful; as there were no

longer any human foes to be slaughtered, William could carry on his

favourite warfare with the denizens of the air and of the forest.[1611]

The English writers, on the other hand, tell us how, notwithstanding

the submission of his new subjects, notwithstanding his own promises

to them, the King-elect still allowed his soldiers to harry the

country and burn the towns.[1612] There is probably truth [Sidenote:

Ravage probably not ordered, but much irregular damage done.] in both

accounts. William had no longer any motive for systematic ravages, such

as he had been guilty of before and after the battle. No records of

any devastations in Hertfordshire remain, such as the records which we

have seen of his devastations in Sussex.[1613] But we have seen also,

from what happened at Dover,[1614] how hard it was to control men,

many of whom doubtless thought that whatever was left to an Englishman

was something taken from themselves. We have seen also that, from

whatever cause, William, though he indemnified the sufferers, failed to

punish the criminals. We may believe that something of the same sort

took place now. Systematic ravages, carried on by the Duke’s order,

doubtless stopped, but the excesses of his army, the amount of burning

and plundering done without his order, but which he failed to check or

to punish, was doubtless considerable.

[Sidenote: William marches to London.]

From Berkhampstead to London, whatever was the amount of damage done

by the way, William marched on without opposition.[1615] When the

preparations which were to keep the city in subjection were completed,

William drew near in readiness for the great rite which was to change

the Conqueror into a King. As to the place of the ceremony there could

be no doubt. William was to be crowned in the church which had been

reared by his kinsman and predecessor, and where his mortal remains,

lifeless, yet undecayed, and already displaying their wonder-working

powers, lay as it were to welcome him.[1616] William was thus to be

consecrated within the same temple where Harold had been consecrated

less than a year before. He was to be consecrated with the same

[Sidenote: Alleged refusal of Stigand to consecrate William.] rites

and by the same hand. I wish we could believe, on the report of some

later English writers, that William sought for consecration at the

hands of Stigand, and that the high-souled Primate refused to pour

the holy unction on the head of an usurper and a man of blood.[1617]

But had William offered to be crowned by Stigand, he would indeed

have fallen away from his character as the reformer of English

ecclesiastical discipline.[1618] The act too would have been equivalent

to giving up one of his three counts against England;[1619] it would

have been an acknowledgement that Archbishop Robert had been lawfully

deposed. The scruple which had affected even the mind of Harold, would

probably be really felt by William with ten times as great force; it

would certainly be professed by him [Sidenote: Stigand not allowed to

consecrate William.] with ten times as great ostentation. The special

favourite and champion of Rome could not, in common consistency, ask

for consecration at the hands of a Primate whom Rome had declared

to be no Primate at all, and who had no pallium save that which he

had received from an usurper of [Sidenote: Position of Stigand; his

share in the ceremony.] the Holy See.[1620] Still Stigand, though not

a lawful Primate, was at least an ordained Priest and a consecrated

Bishop; he might perhaps even be recognized as the lawful occupant

of the see of Winchester. He was also personally the first man in

England, to whom it was William’s policy for the present to avoid

giving any needless offence. He was therefore allowed to take a part

in the ceremony second only to that of the actual celebrant. But the

sacramental rite itself was to be performed by the hands [Sidenote:

The actual consecration performed by Ealdred.] of Ealdred. The Northern

Primate was the only canonical Metropolitan in the realm, and he was

the man who, as having been the leader of the embassy at Berkhampstead,

might be looked on as having been the first Englishman to take a formal

part in making William King.[1621] The Primate of Northumberland had

thus in one year to anoint two Kings, the champion of England and her

Conqueror. He had to anoint both far away from his own province, and to

anoint both at a time when he could in no way pledge himself that the

willing consent of his province should confirm his own formal act.

[Sidenote: Coronation of William. December 25.]

The Christmas morn at last came; and once more, as on the day of the

Epiphany, a King-elect entered the portals of the West Minster to

receive his Crown. But [Sidenote: The approach to the church guarded

by Norman horseman.] now, unlike the day of the Epiphany, the approach

to the church was kept by a guard of Norman horsemen.[1622] Otherwise

all was peaceful. Within the church all was in readiness; a new

crown, rich with gems,[1623] was ready for the ceremony; a crowd of

spectators of both nations [Sidenote: The Coronation procession.]

filled the minster. The great procession then swept on.[1624] A crowd

of clergy bearing crosses marched first; then followed the Bishops;

lastly, surrounded by the chief men of his own land and of his new

Kingdom, came the renowned Duke himself, with Ealdred and Stigand on

either side of him.[1625] Amid the shouts of the people, William the

Conqueror passed on to the royal seat before the high altar, there to

go through the same solemn rites which had so lately been gone through

on the same spot by his fallen rival. The Te Deum which had been sung

[Sidenote: William elected before the altar.] over Harold was now again

sung over William. And now again, in ancient form, the crowd that

thronged the minster was asked whether they would that the candidate

who stood before them should be crowned King over the land. But now

a new thing, unknown to the coronation of Eadward or of Harold, had

to mark the coronation of William. A King was to be crowned who spake

not our ancient tongue, and, with him, many who knew not the speech of

England stood there to behold the rite. It was therefore not enough

for Ealdred to demand in his native tongue whether the assembled crowd

consented to the consecration of the Duke of the Normans. The question

had to be put a second time in French by Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances,

one of the Prelates who had borne his part in those rites in the camp

at Hastings which had ushered in the day of Saint Calixtus.[1626] The

assent of the assembled multitude of both nations was given in ancient

form. The voices which on the Epiphany had shouted “Yea, yea, King

Harold,” shouted at Christmas with equal apparent zeal, “Yea, yea,

King William.” Men’s hearts had not changed, but they had learned,

through the events of that awful year, to submit as cheerfully as might

be to the doom which could not be escaped.[1627] The shout rang loud

through the minster; it reached the ears of the Norman horsemen who

kept watch around the building. They had doubtless never before heard

the mighty voice of an assembled people. They deemed, or professed

to deem, that some evil was being done to the [Sidenote: The Norman

horsemen fire the houses near the church.] newly chosen sovereign.

Instead however of rushing in to his help, they hastened, with the

strange instinct of their nation, to set fire to the buildings around

the minster.[1628] [Sidenote: Scene of utter confusion; William and

the clergy left alone in the church.] At once all was confusion; the

glare was seen, the noise was heard, within the walls of the church.

Men and women of all ranks rushed forth to quench the flames or to save

their goods, some, it is said, to seek for their chance of plunder in

such a scene of terror.[1629] The King-elect, with the officiating

Prelates and clergy and the monks of the Abbey, alone remained before

the altar. They trembled, and, perhaps for the first and the last

time in his life, William trembled also.[1630] His heart had never

failed him either in council or in battle, but here was a scene the

like of which William [Sidenote: William’s coronation oath.] himself

was not prepared to brave. But the rite went on; the trembling Duke

took the oaths of an English King, the oaths to do justice and mercy

to all within his realm, and a special oath, devised seemingly to

meet the case of a foreign King, an oath that, if his people proved

loyal to him, he would rule them as well as the best of the Kings who

had gone before him.[1631] The prayers and litanies and hymns went

on; the rite, hurried and maimed of its splendour, lacked nothing of

sacramental virtue or of ecclesiastical [Sidenote: William crowned and

anointed King.] significance. All was done in order; while the flames

were raging around, amid the uproar and the shouts which surrounded the

holy place, Ealdred could still nerve himself to pour the holy oil upon

the royal head, to place the rod and the sceptre in the royal hands. In

the presence of that small band of monks and Bishops the great rite was

brought to its close, and the royal diadem with all its gleaming gems

rested firmly on the brow of William, King of the English.

[Sidenote: Summary.]

The work of the Conquest was now formally completed; the Conqueror sat

in the royal seat of England. He had claimed the Crown of his kinsman;

he had set forth his claim in the ears of Europe; he had maintained it

on the field of battle, and now it had been formally acknowledged by

the nation over which he sought to rule. As far as words and outward

rites went, nothing was now wanting; William was King, chosen, crowned,

and anointed. But how far he still was from being in truth ruler over

the whole land, the tale which is yet in store will set before us. We

have yet to see how gradually William won, how sternly yet how wisely,

he ruled, the land which he had conquered. We have to see how, one

by one, the native chiefs of England were subdued, won over, or cut

off, and how the highest offices and the richest lands of England were

parted out among strangers. We have to see the Conqueror in all his

might; we have to see him too in those later and gloomier years, when

home-bred sorrows gathered thickly around him, and when victory at last

ceased to wait upon his banners. At last, by a cycle as strange as any

in the whole range of history, we shall follow him to his burial as we

have followed him to his crowning, and we shall see the body of the

Conqueror lowered to his grave, in the land of his birth and in the

minster of his own rearing, amid a scene as wild and awful as that of

the day which witnessed his investiture with the royalty of England.

APPENDIX.

NOTE A. p. 3.

THE AUTHORITY OF THE BAYEUX TAPESTRY.

It will be seen that, throughout this volume, I accept the witness

of the Bayeux Tapestry as one of my highest authorities. I do not

hesitate to say that I look on it as holding the first place among

the authorities on the Norman side. That it is a contemporary work

I entertain no doubt whatever, and I entertain just as little doubt

as to its being a work fully entitled to our general confidence. I

believe the Tapestry to have been made for Bishop Odo, and to have been

most probably designed by him as an ornament for his newly rebuilt

cathedral church of Bayeux. In coming to these conclusions I have been

mainly guided by what seems to me the unanswerable internal evidence

of the Tapestry itself. Of that internal evidence I shall presently

state the more important points, but, as the age and antiquity of the

Tapestry have been made the subjects of a good deal of controversy, I

think it right to begin by giving a summary of the literature of that

controversy.

The earliest notice of the Tapestry is to be found in a communication

made by M. Lancelot in 1724 to the French Academy, which was printed

in the sixth volume of their Memoirs, p. 739 (Paris, 1729), and which,

in some sort, entitles him to the honour of being looked on as its

discoverer. Among the papers of M. Foucault, who had been Intendant

in Normandy, was found what Lancelot calls “un Monument de Guillaume

le Conquerant.” This was no other than a copy of the earlier scenes

of the Tapestry, as far down as the coming of William’s messengers

to Guy. The real nature of the monument was quite unknown; that it

might be tapestry was simply one conjecture out of many which Lancelot

made before the truth was found out. And he not unnaturally connected

his discovery with Caen rather than with Bayeux. But the description

which he gave of that part of the Tapestry which he had then seen, and

the historical disquisition which he added, showed a very creditable

knowledge of the original writers both English and Norman. His

conclusion was as follows;

“Plus j’ay examiné le monument qui a servi de sujet à ces remarques,

et plus je me suis persuadé qu’il estoit du temps à peu près où s’est

passé l’évenement qu’il represente; habits, armes, caractères de

lettres, ornements, goût dans les figures representées, tout sent le

siècle de Guillaume le Conquérant, ou celuy de ses enfants.” (p. 755.)

Lancelot then was the first to call attention to the Tapestry, but

without knowing that it was tapestry or where it was to be seen.

This discovery was owing to the diligence of Montfaucon, who first

conjectured, and afterwards found his conjecture to be right, that the

fragment published by Lancelot was a copy of part of a roll of tapestry

which used to be exhibited on certain feast-days in Bayeux Cathedral.

Montfaucon gave two accounts of it in his Monumens de la Monarchie

Françoise, at vol. i. p. 371, and at the beginning of vol. ii. He

decides (ii. 2), on the evidence of the style of the work, the form of

the armour, &c., that the work is a contemporary one, and he accepts as

probable, what he says was the common opinion at Bayeux, that it was

wrought by Queen Matilda. He thought that the Tapestry was designed to

go on to the coronation of William, and that its imperfect state was

owing to the Queen’s death in 1083.

The first volume of Montfaucon was published in 1729, the second in

1730. In the latter year Lancelot communicated to the Academy a second

paper, which appeared in the eighth volume of the Memoirs (Paris,

1733), p. 602. He had by that time found out another fact with regard

to the monument. The Tapestry, known locally as “la Toilette du Duc

Guillaume,” was thus mentioned in an inventory of the goods of the

Church of Bayeux of the date of 1476;

“Item. Une tente tres longue et etroite de telle à broderie de ymages

et eserpteaulx [escripteaulx] faisans representation du Conquest

d’Angleterre, laquelle est tendue environ la nef de l’Eglise le jour

et par les octaves des Reliques.”

A short notice of the Tapestry in Beziers’ History of Bayeux (Caen,

1773) is wholly founded on Lancelot and Montfaucon.

The first English mention of the Tapestry, as far as I can make out,

is to be found in Stukeley’s Palæographia Britannica, ii. 2. An

abridgement of Montfaucon’s account, by Smart Lethicullier, F.R.S. and

F.S.A., is added as an Appendix to Ducarel’s Anglo-Norman Antiquities,

No. I. But the earliest actual writers of English history who dealt

with the age and authority of the Tapestry were two authors who

hold such different places in the estimation of the scholar as Lord

Lyttelton and David Hume. Lyttelton (Hist. Henry II. i. 353, ed. 1769)

came to a conclusion unfavourable to the authority of the Tapestry;

but he did not come to it without really reading and thinking about

the matter. His main point of objection was the supposed discrepancy

between the Tapestry and the narrative of William of Poitiers with

regard to the details of the Breton war, an objection perfectly

reasonable as far as it goes, and the grounds of which I shall examine

elsewhere (see Note T). Assuming, I suppose, that the tradition which

ascribed the work to a Matilda must have some groundwork, Lyttelton

“judged” that it was made by the orders, not of William’s Queen

Matilda, but of her granddaughter the Empress.

This “judgement,” it should be noticed, was simply Lyttelton’s own

conjecture, thrown out on his own responsibility. It is curious to mark

the fate of this conjecture in the hands of Hume. It is due to Hume to

say that he seems to have had a clearer notion of the real value of

the Tapestry than Lyttelton. Yet in 1762, when he published the first

edition of his early history, he knew the Tapestry only as “a very

curious and authentic monument _lately discovered_. It is a tapestry,

_preserved in the ducal palace at Roüen_, and _supposed_ to have been

wrought by orders of _Matilda, wife to the Emperor_. At least it is of

very great antiquity.” (i. 128.)

When this was written, the first discovery of the Tapestry, at least of

the part of which Hume was speaking, was thirty-eight years old. Still

it was in Hume’s eyes “lately discovered,” because he had most likely

never before heard of it. The cathedral at Bayeux and the ducal palace

at Rouen were all one to him, just as Milan and Pavia, Guelf and

Ghibelin, were all one to him, when (p. 183) he turned Lanfranc into “a

Milanese monk.” The tradition of Bayeux and the conjecture of Lyttelton

are seemingly rolled together in the word “supposed,” and one might

almost guess that Hume, while writing the reign of Eadward, had not yet

learned to distinguish one Matilda from another; it clearly was quite

indifferent to him which Emperor it was that either of them married.

But the beginning of any really serious and critical enquiry into the

age and authority of the Tapestry was reserved for the present century.

Attention began to be called to it during the time of the French

Republic. Some curious letters on the subject are printed in Pluquet’s

“Essai Historique sur la ville de Bayeux,” pp. 76–81. It appears that

the Tapestry at one time narrowly escaped being cut into shreds to

adorn a civic car. It afterwards actually underwent a fate almost as

degrading. The elder Buonaparte, then “First Consul,” carried it off to

Paris, and showed it at the Louvre, to stir up his subjects—“citizens”

they are still called in the official letters—to another conquest of

England! But this kind of folly had at least the advantage of fixing

the thoughts of learned men on the Tapestry itself. The firstfruits

of their studies appeared in 1812, in the form of a paper by the Abbé

de la Rue, Professor at Caen and Canon of Bayeux, of which an English

translation by Mr. Douce is printed in the Archæologia, vol. xvii. p.

85. M. de la Rue followed Lyttelton in attributing the Tapestry to the

time and the orders of the Empress Matilda. Against the tradition which

attributed it to the wife of the Conqueror he brings several arguments.

It is nowhere mentioned in the will of Queen Matilda or in any other

wills or charters of her age or that of her sons. If it had been placed

in Bayeux Cathedral in Queen Matilda’s time, it must have perished in

the fire by which that church was destroyed in 1106. Some relics were

saved, but no one would have taken the trouble to save the Tapestry.

Some points of non-agreement between the accounts in the Tapestry and

the Roman de Rou show that Wace had never seen the Tapestry. But, as

a Canon of Bayeux, he could not fail to have seen it, if it had been

there in his time. The work again must be later than Queen Matilda’s

time, because the border contains references to fables of Æsop, which

were not known in the West till the time of the Crusades. It is shown

moreover to be of English work, from the occurrence of the mysterious

Ælfgyva. This name he takes to be an English way of describing the

Duchess, afterwards Queen, Matilda. Wadard again, whose name he takes

to be English, and the word “Ceastra” are brought as proofs of English

workmanship. Another point on which he strongly insists is that the

Normans are called _Franci_ in the Tapestry, which he argues would

not have been done by Norman artists. He concludes therefore that the

Tapestry was made in England by order of the Empress, at some time

between 1162, about which time Wace wrote, and 1167, the year of her

own death.

This communication led to several other papers on the subject in the

Archæologia, and to what was more valuable than all, to the publication

of the beautiful and accurate representation of the Tapestry itself,

made for the Society of Antiquaries by Stothard. At vol. xviii. p. 359

of the Archæologia is a letter written in 1816 by Mr. Hudson Gurney,

who had seen the Tapestry for himself. He argues in favour of the

antiquity attributed to the work by the local tradition. He insists on

various points of costume, and on the evident attempt at preserving a

likeness in the figures, especially in that of William. He concludes

that it was made for Queen Matilda by English workwomen. The nineteenth

volume of the Archæologia contains three papers on the Tapestry or on

subjects connected with it. The first by Mr. Amyot, at p. 88, does not

deal with the question of the age of the Tapestry itself, but only

with the evidence which it gives as to the cause of Harold’s voyage to

Normandy. The second, at p. 184, is a powerful argument by Stothard

in favour of the antiquity of the Tapestry, but in which he does not

commit himself to any connexion with Queen Matilda. Stothard was the

first to see that the one proposition did not involve the other. He

enlarges on the costume as belonging to the eleventh century and not to

the twelfth, and on the utter improbability that any mediæval artist

of a later age should attend to antiquarian accuracy in these matters.

He remarks also on the obscure persons represented on the Norman side,

Turold, Vital, and Wadard, as distinct proof that the Tapestry was a

contemporary Norman work.

In the hands of Stothard the subject had for the first time fallen into

hands really capable of dealing with it as it deserved. But Stothard

is well followed up in a second paper by Mr. Amyot in p. 192 of the

same volume, in which he disposes of most of the arguments of M. de

la Rue against the antiquity of the Tapestry. He still however seems

to think that, if it were a contemporary monument, it must have been

the work of Queen Matilda, or wrought by her order. Mr. Amyot also

points out that Wadard is not only, as Stothard had seen, a proper

name, but that it is the name of a real man who appears in Domesday,

and also that Wadard, Turold, and Vital were all tenants of Odo. Mr.

Amyot very appositely observes that “Franci” was the only name which

could properly express the whole of William’s mingled army, and that

“Franci” and “Francigenæ” are the words constantly opposed to “Angli”

in documents of the age of the Conqueror and much later.

In 1824 M. de la Rue republished at Caen his essay in the Archæologia,

with an Appendix containing an attempt at a refutation of Stothard and

Amyot. He was again briefly answered by another Norman antiquary, M.

Pluquet, in his Essai Historique sur la ville de Bayeux (Caen, 1829).

Pluquet was the first distinctly to assert that the work had nothing

to do with either Matilda, but that it was made by order of Bishop

Odo (p. 81). In 1840 Mr. Bolton Corney put forth a tract, in which he

attempted to show that the Tapestry was made by the Chapter of Bayeux

after the French Conquest of Normandy. He argues that, during the union

of England and Normandy, the _conquest_ of England, which William took

such pains to disguise under the semblance of legal right, would not

be thus ostentatiously set forth in Normandy. Some learned person, he

holds, was employed to keep the costume right, a degree of antiquarian

care for which it would be hard to find a parallel in the middle ages.

Thierry reprinted Lancelot’s account as a note at the end of his first

volume (p. 353, ed. 1840), adding two notes of his own. In the first he

accepts the Tapestry as a contemporary work, designed for the ornament

of the church of Bayeux, and quotes M. de la Rue as attributing the

work to the Empress Matilda. In the second he quotes him as attributing

it neither to William’s Queen Matilda nor to Matilda the Empress, but

to Eadgyth-Matilda, the wife of Henry the First. I do not know whether

this was a confusion of Thierry’s, or whether De la Rue ever came to

change his opinion. At any rate Thierry successively accepts these two

distinct theories as highly probable, and sees in one or other of them

the explanation of the alleged English words and forms which are found

in several places of the Tapestry.

Dr. Lingard (Hist. of England, i. 547, ed. 1849) gives a note to the

subject, for the substance of which he professes to be indebted to Mr.

Bolton Corney. But he does not commit himself to the more grotesque

parts of Mr. Corney’s theory. He altogether rejects the supposed

connexion between the Tapestry and any of the Matildas. He holds that

it was originally made as a decoration for the church of Bayeux, and

that it was designed to commemorate the share which the men of Bayeux

bore in the Conquest of England. This he infers from the prominence

given to Odo, and from the appearance of his retainers, Turold, Vital,

and Wadard. Rather than attribute the work to Matilda, he inclines to

believe that the Tapestry originated in the personal vanity of some of

these men, or of their descendants.

I suppose I am not expected to take any serious notice of some amusing

remarks on the Tapestry made by Miss Agnes Strickland (Queens of

England, i. 65, 66), who recommends “the lords of the creation” “to

leave the question of the Bayeux Tapestry to the decision of the

ladies, to whose province it belongs.” According to Miss Strickland,

the Tapestry was “in part at least designed for Matilda by Turold, a

dwarf artist.” Miss Strickland speaks of a Norman tradition to that

effect, but perhaps even a “lord of the creation” may venture to ask

where that Norman tradition is to be found.

I return into the every-day world in company with Dr. Collingwood

Bruce, who read a paper on the Tapestry before the Archæological

Institute at Chichester in 1853, which afterwards grew into a volume

called “The Bayeux Tapestry Elucidated” (London, 1856). Dr. Bruce

follows Stothard in the argument for the early date of the Tapestry,

drawn from the correctness of the costume. He argues further on the

same side from the manifest object of the Tapestry, namely to set forth

the right of William to the English Crown. He cleaves in a somewhat

unreasoning way to the tradition which attributes the work to the first

Matilda, but he fully grasps the manifest connexion of the Tapestry

with Bayeux and its church. He even goes so far as to attribute the

two or three apparently English forms which appear in the legends of

the Tapestry to the common use of the Teutonic language in the Bessin,

which he supposes, without any authority that I know of, to have lasted

as late as the reign of William. Dr. Bruce however thinks that the

designer of the Tapestry, as distinguished from those who wrought it in

the stitch-work, was an Italian.

Sir Francis Palgrave, in the posthumous part of his work (iii. 254),

has an incidental reference to the Tapestry, in which he takes for

granted that it is the work of Queen Matilda, without any hint that any

question has ever been raised about the matter.

Lastly, Mr. Planché published a paper “On the Bayeux Tapestry” in the

Journal of the British Archæological Association for June, 1867 (p.

134). Mr. Planché follows M. Pluquet, and gives a good summary of his

arguments; he then goes minutely through the Tapestry, giving his views

at each stage, to some of which I shall have to refer again. “The

report,” he says, “mentioned by Montfaucon that it was the work of

Queen Matilda and her handmaids, originated probably in the suggestion

of some antiquary of the sixteenth or seventeenth century repeated till

it assumed the consistency of a fact.”

I now go on to give my own reasons for accepting the early date of

the Tapestry. The arguments of Stothard drawn from the accurate

representation of the costume of the eleventh century seem to me

unanswerable. Dr. Bruce adds a good instance of his own in a comparison

of the Tapestry with a passage in the Roman de Rou. Wace (v. 12628)

speaks of the horse of William Fitz-Osbern as “all covered with iron,”

(see above, p. 455, and Taylor’s note, p. 162), whereas in the Tapestry

“not a single horse is equipped in steel armour; and if we refer to the

authors who lived at that period we shall find that not one of them

mentions any defensive covering for the horse.”

Mr. Amyot’s arguments with regard to Wadard, Vital, and Turold seem

to me distinctly to prove that the work was a contemporary one, and

one made for Bishop Odo and the church of Bayeux. As Dr. Lingard

says, it is quite inconceivable that these persons, who are of no

importance in the general history, whose reputation must have been

purely local, should have received such prominence in any but a purely

local work. The only persons on the Norman side who appear by name in

the representation of the landing and of the battle are the Duke and

his two brothers, Count Eustace of Boulogne, and these three obscure

retainers of Bishop Odo. We see them here in the Tapestry, and the

industry of Mr. Amyot and Dr. Lingard has traced them out in Domesday,

but no other mention survives of them. Ralph, the son of Turold, Vital,

Wadard “homo episcopi,” all occur in Domesday, 1, 6, 7, 8, 8 _a_, 9,

10, 32, 77, 155 _b_, 238 _b_, 342 _b_, and in every case their land is

held of Bishop Odo. It is plain that, in the mind of the designer of

the Tapestry, the Bishop of Bayeux and his favourite followers came

next after Duke William himself. This fact seems to me to be equally

decisive in favour of its being a contemporary work and against its

being a work of Matilda.

Here, I think, is abundant evidence both to establish the contemporary

date, and to show the object of the work. It was plainly a gift from

Odo to his own newly-built cathedral. But it is quite possible that

the work was done in England. The evidence is certainly very slight.

I believe it is wholly contained in the words “at Hastingaceastra”

(pl. 11). I cannot think that “at” for “ad” proves anything, but the

form “ceastra” goes a good way to prove that the work was English. The

notion of Dr. Bruce and Mr. Planché that these forms are not English

but Saxon of Bayeux, seems very fanciful. Besides, the form “ceaster”

is one which is not Nether-Dutch in a wide sense, but distinctly and

locally English. I know of no instance of its occurrence in the Bessin,

or indeed anywhere out of England.

Most of the objections made to the early date of the Tapestry are

well disposed of by M. Pluquet and Mr. Planché; but to one of their

arguments I must demur. M. de la Rue (see above, p. 566) objected that

the borders contain scenes from Æsop’s Fables, which he says were not

known in the West till afterwards. Mr. Planché, oddly enough, quotes

(p. 136) Freculf, Bishop of Lisieux, who, he tells us, “lived in the

eleventh century,” as saying that Eadward caused the Fables of Æsop to

be translated into English. He goes on with a reference to the false

Ingulf, which I need not discuss. As for Freculf, who died somewhere

about the year 853, if he said anything at all about our Eadward,

he must have enjoyed a prophetic power rivalling that of the saint

himself. But it is well known that Mary of France, the poetess of

the thirteenth century, professes to have made her French version of

the Fables from an English version made by an English King. Mary’s

knowledge of English will be a point of some importance in the last

stage of this work; at present I am concerned only with the words (ii.

401, ed. Roquefort. See Palgrave, iv. 225),

“Li rois Henris qui moult l’ama

Le translata puis en Engleiz.”

Other manuscripts however read Auvert, Auvres, &c., names which of

course mean Ælfred. The whole matter is discussed by M. de la Rue in

Roquefort’s Preface (ii. 34). If Ælfred be the right reading, there

is no doubt of the early knowledge of the Fables in England. If Henry

be the right reading, I certainly think that the King meant is Henry

the First, whose probable English education I shall have to discuss

hereafter. I think we may guess that, if Henry translated anything into

English, it was early in life that he did it, and Henry was born about

the time when the Tapestry must have been making.

For my own part I should reverse the argument. I have that confidence

in the Tapestry that I accept the figures wrought in its border as

proof that the Fables were known in Normandy and England in the

eleventh century.

The external evidence then seems to be complete. The work must be a

contemporary one; there is no evidence to connect it with Matilda;

there is every evidence to connect it with Odo. It was probably, but I

cannot say certainly, made in England. I now turn to that branch of the

question which to me is yet more interesting, the internal evidence for

looking on the Tapestry as I look on it, as a primary authority for the

subject of the present volume, as in fact the highest authority on the

Norman side.

I ground this belief on the way in which the story is told. It is

told from the Norman point of view, but it is told with hardly any of

the inventions, exaggerations, and insinuations of the other Norman

authorities. In fact the material has a certain advantage. Stitch-work

must tell its tale simply and straightforwardly; it cannot lose itself

in the rhetoric of Eadward’s Biographer or in the invective of William

of Poitiers. And the tale which the Tapestry tells us comes infinitely

nearer to the genuine English story than it does even to the narrative

of the Conqueror’s laureate. To the later romances, the tales for

instance of Eadward’s French Biographer, it gives no countenance

whatever. With regard to the great controversial points, those which

I shall go through in detail in future notes, the Tapestry nearly

always agrees with the authentic account. There is not a word or a

stitch which at all countenances any of the calumnious tales which were

afterwards current. In the Tapestry the bequest of Eadward to Harold,

his orderly acceptance of the Crown, his ecclesiastical coronation, all

appear as plainly as they do in the narrative of Florence. The only

point of diversity is that the Tapestry seems to represent Stigand, and

not Ealdred, as the consecrator. Now there was no absolute necessity

for a partizan of William to deny the facts of the case. William’s

claim rested rather on the invalidity of the bequest, the election, and

the coronation, than on any denial that the ceremonies themselves had

taken place. And accordingly, in the earlier Norman writers, most of

the facts are admitted in a kind of way. It is not till long afterwards

that we find the full developement of those strange fables which, in so

many modern histories, have supplanted the truth. Had the Tapestry been

a work of later date, it is hardly possible that it could have given

the simple and accurate account of these matters which it does give.

A work of the twelfth or thirteenth century would have brought in, as

even honest Wace does in some degree, the notions of the twelfth or

the thirteenth century. One cannot conceive an artist of the time of

Henry the Second, still less an artist later than the French Conquest

of Normandy, agreeing so remarkably with the authentic writings of the

eleventh century. The truth was in those days almost wholly forgotten,

and no one would have been likely to represent the story with any

accuracy.

But though the Tapestry perverts the story less than any other Norman

account, it is still essentially a Norman account. One main object of

the work is plainly to set forth the right of William to the English

Crown. This was of course the great object of William himself and of

his contemporary partizans. But it was not an object which greatly

occupied men’s minds in the days of Henry the Second or later. The

writers of that time, as I shall presently show, are as bitter,

perhaps more bitter, against Harold than the Norman writers of his

own time; but their bitterness comes from a different source. Under

the Angevin dynasty, descended, as it was, in a roundabout way from

Old-English royalty, men were beginning to look on Harold and William

as alike usurpers. We begin to hear of strict hereditary right and

of the exclusion of the lawful heir. Henry the Second encouraged his

panegyrists to set forth his lawful descent from ancient English Kings,

without any reference whatever to his descent from the Norman invader.

It was only in the female line that Henry was either Norman or English;

in his real ancestry, in his real feelings and character, he was as

little one as the other. It is most unlikely that any one should have

wrought, in the days of Henry or for Henry’s mother, a work which

throughout breathes the spirit of the earliest days of the Conquest.

In like manner, the representation of William’s landing and of the

great battle could have come only from the hand of a contemporary.

The mere fulness of detail, the evident delight with which the artist

dwells on all the little incidents of the campaign, point it out as

the work of one in whose memory they were all vividly retained. The

notices of insignificant people, like Turold, Wadard, and Vital, while

they point to the place for which the Tapestry was designed, point

also to a time when these retainers of Bishop Odo were still living.

In the days of the Empress Matilda their fame is not likely to have

been great, even at Bayeux. So again every antiquarian detail is

accurate; the nose-pieces, the lack of armour on the horses, the care

taken to represent every man bearded, moustached, or close-shaven,

according to his age and nation (see vol. ii. p. 27), all bespeak

the work of a contemporary artist. The idea of Mr. Corney that the

Chapter of Bayeux in the thirteenth century would specially order its

artists to attend to such points is ludicrous beyond measure, and it

had been disposed of beforehand in the masterly argument of Stothard.

But the Tapestry is equally accurate in greater matters. The English

army is an English army of the eleventh century and nothing else. The

two classes of warriors, the _here_ and the _fyrd_, the Housecarls in

their coats of mail with their great axes, the peasantry armed almost

anyhow, are nowhere more clearly marked. The utter absence of horses,

except as a means, as in the days of Brihtnoth (see vol. i. pp. 299,

301), for reaching or leaving the field—the King himself fighting on

foot—the ensign of the West-Saxon Dragon—all these are touches from

a contemporary hand, which it is utterly inconceivable that any

artist working a hundred or a hundred and fifty years later could have

preserved. It is worth while to mark the remarkable contrast between

the Battle of Senlac as represented in the Tapestry, and the Battle

of Stamfordbridge as described by Snorro. The contemporary artist

represented things as he saw them; the writer of the thirteenth century

described things as he saw them also; but then they did not see the

same things. The Bayeux Tapestry represents Harold’s army at Senlac as

Harold’s army really was. The narrative in the Heimskringla describes

Harold’s army at Stamfordbridge after the pattern of an army of the

thirteenth century.

This precious monument is now well preserved and cared for. After its

ridiculous journey to Paris, it came back safe to its Norman home,

but it was kept for a while in a way which did not tend much to its

preservation. It was wound round a sort of windlass, and was unwound

and handled whenever anybody looked at it. It is now in a much better

position. It is kept under glass in the public Library at Bayeux, where

it is stretched out round the room at a convenient height, where it

may be studied with the greatest ease. I have there examined it three

times, once in 1861, and twice in 1867, and I may say that, fully

to realize its value and importance, it should be seen. Stothard’s

reduction is admirable in every way, and serves for every ordinary

purpose of study, but I doubt whether any one thoroughly takes in what

the Tapestry is till he has seen it with his own eyes. I had myself

learned to value the Tapestry long before I saw it, but my examination

of it certainly made my confidence in it far stronger and clearer.

It is no small matter to spell over the details of the story in the

picture itself, and the process reaches its height at the last stage.

I think no one can see the end of the battle, the Housecarls every one

lying dead in his harness, while the light-armed are taking to flight,

some of them on the horses of the fallen, and not feel that he is in

the presence of a work traced out by one who had himself seen the

scenes which he thus handed down to later ages.

NOTE B. p. 14.

EADWARD’S BEQUEST OF THE CROWN TO HAROLD.

At this stage of my history, I need hardly say that every point has

been matter of dispute from the time of the events themselves down to

our own day. I give in the text the narrative which I believe to be

the accurate one, adding references to the particular authorities on

which I found it. In this and the following notes I purpose to examine

minutely into the different statements made at the time and soon after.

I purpose also to go a little more fully than usual into the statements

of later writers. Mere copyists or compilers, writing some ages after

the events, are in no sense authorities; they can add nothing to our

knowledge of the events themselves. But, on a point of our history of

such paramount importance, and one which has been so fiercely disputed,

it does in a certain way add to our knowledge of history to see how the

facts of those times looked in the eyes of men of various later ages.

I need not tell any reader of mine that I hold that King Harold was

a King as lawful as any King—I might almost say more lawful than any

other King—that ever reigned over England. No other King in our history

ever reigned so distinctly by the national will. But there is no King,

there is hardly any man, in our history who has been made the object

of such ceaseless calumny from his own time to ours. The hostile

faction triumphed, not only on the field of battle, but in the pages

of pretended history, and, for eight hundred years, the name of Harold

has been constantly branded with the appellations of “perjurer” and

“usurper.” My object is to do what I can to undo this great wrong, to

bring back the true history of a great man and of a great time, and to

set forth Harold and his acts as they appeared to his countrymen in his

own days. This I have endeavoured to do in my text. In this and the

following notes I intend to go systematically through all the points in

which the witness of contemporary English writers on these matters has

been obscured and forgotten through notions drawn from less trustworthy

sources.

Of the two great charges brought against Harold, those of usurpation

and perjury, both can be traced up to his own time. Both come from the

tongues and pens of contemporary Norman accusers. But, of the two, the

charge of perjury was the one which was the more insisted on in the

times nearest to his own. In Harold’s own day, and for some generations

after, the charge which told most against him was the charge of breach

of faith, aggravated by irreverence to the relics of the saints. In

the eyes of Harold’s contemporary enemies, and in the eyes of the

later writers who look on him from the same point of view, Harold is

a faithless vassal, breaking his plighted faith to his liege lord. He

is something even worse; he is one who did not shrink from breaking an

oath of unusual solemnity, and who thereby drew on himself the wrath

of a number of holy persons whose wonder-working relics he thus set at

nought. But modern writers who take a view unfavourable to Harold have

commonly dwelt less on the perjury and more on the usurpation. In their

eyes Harold is a violator of constitutional order, who ascended the

throne to the prejudice of the lawful heir. In the one view the injured

party is the Norman Duke; in the other it is the English Ætheling.

The two charges, though often mixed together, are in themselves quite

distinct. The charge of usurpation affects the right to the Crown; the

charge of perjury does not touch it. Let Harold’s perjury have been

of the blackest kind, it could not give either William or Eadgar any

right to the Crown which they would not have had if Harold had not

sworn at all. If the Crown was hereditary, no engagement, no breach of

any engagement, between William and Harold could bar the indefeasible

rights of the natural heir. If the Crown could pass by bequest, no

such engagement could bar the right of Eadward to bequeath it to

whom he would. If the Crown was elective, no such engagement could

bar the right of the electors to choose whom they would. Nowhere is

the wonderful skill of William more clearly shown than in the way in

which he made men forget these very obvious distinctions. I therefore

put aside the question of perjury from the present question. I have

elsewhere discussed Harold’s oath at length, both as it bears on the

facts of the history and as it bears on the character of Harold (see

p. 240 et seqq. and Appendix R). But the oath has nothing to do with

the present subject. It bears only indirectly on the rightfulness of

Harold’s accession; on the facts of his accession it does not bear at

all.

As to the facts of Harold’s accession, the strictly English writers

make three distinct assertions;

First, That Harold was named as his successor by Eadward;

Secondly, That he was regularly elected King by the Witan;

Thirdly, That he was regularly consecrated King by Archbishop Ealdred.

These three assertions are made by the best English writers in a

perfectly plain and unmistakeable way. They stand before us as

assertions about which there can be no question, except the question

whether they are true or false. All three are more or less directly

traversed by Norman writers and by later writers who followed Norman

traditions. But the contradiction is by no means so plain and

unmistakeable as the assertion. The Norman writers seem afraid of

looking the facts in the face. They shroud themselves in a cloud of

vague and declamatory phrases. They use language which serves to put

their own colour on the story, without venturing directly to deny the

assertions made by the English writers. They admit some nomination,

some election, some consecration; only they attach some vague epithet,

they add some ambiguous qualification, insinuating rather than

asserting that there was something invalid about each of the processes.

I will now go through the statements on each side in detail.

I take as my text the narrative of Florence (1066), who puts forth our

three propositions in the clearest and tersest shape. His account runs

thus;

“Quo [Eadwardo] tumulato, Subregulus Haroldus, Godwini Ducis filius,

quem Rex ante suam decessionem regni successorem elegerat, a totius

Angliæ primatibus ad regale culmen electus, die eodem ab Aldredo

Eboracensi Archiepiscopo in Regem est honorificè consecratus.”

This passage may be looked on as a formal manifesto on the English

side. It is the most remarkable and the most important of several

passages of Florence (see vol. ii. p. 607) in which he does more than

merely record an event, in which he evidently has other statements

before his eye, and chooses his words so as distinctly, though

silently, to contradict them. Though no other version of the facts is

spoken of, yet every word is evidently weighed with careful reference

to other versions; every word, in short, disposes of some Norman

calumny or other. Harold reigns according to the last will of Eadward;

that last will therefore was not in favour of William or of any other

candidate. To express Eadward’s action in the matter, a word is used

(“elegerat”) which is evidently meant to express free and deliberate

choice, and to exclude any tales about an unwilling nomination wrung

from him in his last moments. Again, Harold reigns by the election

of the chief men of all England; this excludes the stories about his

seizing the Crown without election, or with the approbation of a few of

his own partizans only. Lastly, Harold is crowned, on the day indeed

of the burial of Eadward, but after the funeral rites are finished,

and evidently in the same building, the new minster of Saint Peter.

This excludes the tale of his seizing the moment when the people were

intent on the burial of the late King in order to be crowned in some

hasty and irregular way at Saint Paul’s or elsewhere. He is solemnly

consecrated King; this excludes the stories about his not being crowned

at all, about his being crowned without any religious ceremony, about

his putting the Crown on his own head. He is consecrated by Ealdred,

by an Archbishop to whose position there was no canonical objection;

therefore not by Stigand, whom strict churchmen looked on as an

usurper. Nothing can be more evident than that Florence knew all

the hostile inventions and perversions, and that he framed his own

narrative so as to contradict the greatest possible number of them.

In the same spirit, he goes on, at this point, to give that splendid

panegyric on Harold’s government which is clearly meant as an answer

to Norman calumnies of another kind. No passage in any writer of any

age was ever written with more scrupulous care; in none does every word

deserve to be more attentively weighed.

Now for the time which we have now reached the authority of Florence

is all but the highest possible. He was a contemporary, in so far as

he must have been born before 1066, though he could hardly have been

old enough to record the events of that year from personal knowledge.

But he had every opportunity of hearing of them from eye-witnesses

and actors. As a member of the church of Worcester, he had the

special advantage of being able to hear the story from his own Bishop

Saint Wulfstan, the chosen friend of King Harold. His testimony

therefore, even if it stood alone, is of that kind which even very

sceptical critics allow to be thoroughly trustworthy. His statement

is clear, terse, and forcible, and evidently designed to set aside

other statements which he thought untrustworthy. But this is not

all. The testimony of Florence does not stand alone. It is confirmed

by the absolutely contemporary Chroniclers. It is confirmed, as far

as the form of his work allows, by the Biographer of Eadward. Now

the Biographer was not only a contemporary, but if not himself an

eye-witness, he had his information from eye-witnesses, and that, not

years after, but at the very time. The testimony of Florence again is

confirmed by a witness more unexceptionable than all, by the earliest

and most trustworthy witness on the Norman side, by the contemporary

Tapestry. By one or more of these authorities Florence is borne out

in every statement but one. He affirms that Harold was consecrated by

Ealdred. The Chroniclers are silent as to the consecrator; the Tapestry

implies—it can hardly be said directly to affirm—that the consecrator

was Stigand. On all other points every jot and tittle of his story is

confirmed by authorities still higher than his own, and on this one

point he is not contradicted by the highest of all. Here is evidence of

an amount and of a kind which the historian is lucky when he can get.

Florence wrote with two at least of the Chronicles before him, those

namely of Abingdon and Worcester. Their narratives he translated and

harmonized, and, when he thought it needful, he expanded them. In this

case he thought a large expansion needful, in order to contradict the

misstatements of enemies. But these Chronicles themselves assert,

though in a less pointed and controversial form, two at least of the

facts which Florence himself asserts. The Peterborough Chronicle,

which Florence most probably had not before him, is only less distinct

and emphatic than Florence himself as to all three. The bequest, the

election, the consecration, are all distinctly asserted by one or more

of the three Chroniclers. The only assertion which rests wholly on the

authority of Florence himself is the assertion that Ealdred was the

consecrator.

The two Chronicles which Florence followed distinctly assert that

Eadward named Harold as his successor. I have already quoted the

poetical passage in full at vol. ii. p. 537 (see also above, p. 19).

The words which now immediately concern us are those in which the

bequest is distinctly asserted; Eadward “made fast the Kingdom to

Harold the noble Earl.” Then in the prose entry which follows, both

Chronicles assert Harold’s royal consecration; “Her wearð Harold Eorl

eac to Cynge gehalgod.” These words would certainly not be used of any

but the regular ecclesiastical ceremony. These two Chroniclers however

do not distinctly speak of the election. We may perhaps say that it was

quite in character with their general political views to insist more on

the royal bequest than on the popular election. (See vol. ii. pp. 12,

13, 600.) But this was a point on which the democrat of Peterborough

was not likely to hold his peace. His account of the reign of Harold is

much shorter than those of either of the other two annalists, but his

account of his accession is fuller and more emphatic. He is also, as

usual, more careful than his brethren as to his dates. And his words

have a sort of triumphant ring as if they were written down at the

moment. The poem preserved by the Abingdon and Worcester Chroniclers

shows the same feeling. It was doubtless composed soon after the death

of Eadward, by a gleeman eager on behalf of the new King. But their

prose entries, with their remark on the “little stillness” of Harold’s

reign (see above, p. 47), could not have been made till all was over.

The entry in the Peterborough Chronicle runs thus;

“On þissum geare man halgode þet mynster æt Westmynstre on Cyldamæsse

dæg. And se Cyng Eadward forðferde on Twelfta mæsse æfen, and hine mann

bebyrgede on Twelftan mæssedæg, innan þære niwa halgodre circean on

Westmynstre. And Harold Eorl feng to Englalandes cynerice, _swa swa se

Cyng him geuðe, and eac men hine þærto gecuron_, and wæs gebletsod to

Cyng on Twelftan mæssedæg.”

Here we have bequest, election, and consecration as clearly expressed

as by Florence himself. Earl Harold is blessed to King over the Kingdom

of England, as the King had granted to him and—words written with

delight by that patriotic pen—as men eke chose him thereto.

The further examination of the election and coronation I leave to

future notes. I now go on with my more immediate subject, namely the

bequest. On this point the words of the Biographer should be very

carefully marked, and they should be no less carefully compared with

the picture in the Tapestry. It is from these two sources that I have

drawn the narrative in the text (p. 14). We cannot too often remember

the Biographer’s peculiar position. He was a courtier, probably a

foreigner, writing to Eadgyth under the reign of William. He could not

be expected to trumpet forth the nomination and election of Harold

with all the glee of the Peterborough Chronicler. On the election

indeed he was not in any case likely to be eloquent; it is, as we have

often seen, his invariable tendency to put the monarchical element

forward on all occasions, just as the Peterborough writer always

delights to dwell on the popular side of every public act. But to put

even the bequest forward in any prominent way did not suit either

his position or the scheme of his work. We have seen that he nowhere

directly mentions the fact that either Harold or William ever reigned.

William is never mentioned, never alluded to in any intelligible way.

The only allusion to Harold’s reign is to be found in his mention of

“Reges æquivoci” (p. 426) fighting near the Humber. One who writes

in this sort of way could not be expected to insist at all strongly

on Eadward’s nomination of Harold as his successor. A distinct and

formal announcement that Harold was the choice of Eadward was to the

Peterborough Chronicler a present fact which he delighted to record.

To Florence it was a fact of national history which it was important

to preserve in the face of contradictory fictions. To the Biographer

it was a fact which it did not suit his scheme prominently to dwell

on, while any prominent dwelling on it might not have been specially

agreeable to his patroness. He therefore records the fact in a way,

but he keeps it in the background; he mixes up the commendation of

England to Harold with the commendation of Eadgyth, and he tries as

it were to hide the Kingdom under the skirts of the Lady. Harold is,

first of all, to be faithful and respectful to his sister; the Kingdom

is given him as something quite secondary, perhaps as an incidental

means of doing the more honour to Eadgyth. Yet the words after all

really amount to a bequest. Eadward, in this narrative, enlarges on

the merits of Eadgyth; he then stretches forth his hand to Harold,

and says, “Hanc _cum omni regno_ tutandam commendo.” The words alone

might perhaps not strike a casual reader, but, when we read them by

the light of the known facts and of the words of the contemporary

Chroniclers, we at once see their meaning. The Biographer so chose his

expressions as distinctly to imply a fact which it was not convenient

for him directly to assert. He chose also a somewhat remarkable and a

somewhat ambiguous word, “commendare.” As applied to Eadgyth and to

Eadward’s Norman friends it would simply mean, “I entrust them to your

protection;” but, as applied to a Kingdom, the word is a technical

word, and carries a technical meaning. As a man, like the “commendati

homines” of Domesday, _commended_ himself to his lord, so the lord was

often said to _commend_ to his man the estate which he granted to him

(see vol. i. p. 136). One can hardly doubt that the word was chosen on

purpose. Eadward doubtless used, as I have ventured to make him in the

text, some form of words, which the Biographer, even in slurring over

the matter, expressed by the technical term “commendare,” and which the

Chroniclers expressed by the words “geuðe”—most likely the actual word

used, if Eadward spoke English—and “befæste þæt rice.” The case, under

the circumstances, seems very plain, and what follows makes it plainer

still. Eadward, having commended to Harold his wife and his Kingdom,

goes on to make to him a series of requests (see p. 15) which imply

that his own royal authority will, on his death, pass to Harold. They

are requests which could be made only to a future King, or to one who

was about to be clothed with the authority of a King. They would indeed

be equally in place if addressed to a Regent. According to modern

ideas, we should probably have expected the last wishes of Eadward to

be that the young Eadgar should reign, but that Harold should govern.

But such an arrangement was not in accordance with the customs of the

time. A Regency seems never to have been thought of; not a word in any

of our authorities leads us to believe that such a scheme entered the

head of any man. The words then, if not addressed to a future Regent,

must be addressed to a future King. In short, I have no doubt that

the Biographer, the highest authority for Eadward’s personal acts,

who had his information directly from persons who were present by

Eadward’s death-bed (see p. 10, note 1), meant to imply that Eadward

made a death-bed recommendation in favour of Harold. But I believe

also that, partly through his own rhetorical turn, partly through the

circumstances under which he wrote, he chose to wrap up his tale in a

certain degree of obscurity of language.

With the Biographer before us, we better understand the Tapestry. Each

explains the other; the two agree in the smallest points of detail.

The Biographer describes four persons as being in immediate attendance

on the King, and he gives us their names. They are the Lady Eadgyth,

Archbishop Stigand, Earl Harold, and Robert the Staller. These four

exactly answer to the four in the Tapestry. Of the two laymen no one

can doubt that the one who is personally attending on the King is

the court-officer, the Staller Robert. The other, who stands by the

bed-side opposite to the Archbishop, is of course the Earl of the

West-Saxons. To him, and to no one else, the King is stretching forth

his hand. The action thus wrought in the stitch-work is actually

recorded in the Life (see p. 14). And from the Life we know with what

object Eadward then stretched forth his hand to Harold. It was not

“simply to hid him farewell;” still less was it “to bid him to respect

his oath to William” (see Planché, Journal of British Archæological

Association, June 1867, p. 146). It was to commend to him his wife and

his Kingdom; it was to make his last requests to the future King on

behalf of his personal friends.

Such is the plain result of a comparison between the Tapestry and the

Life. I do not think that any one who minutely makes the comparison

will attach much importance to the sceptical remarks of Mr. Planché

in the article to which I have just referred. But those who, with

Mr. Planché, do not take in the difference between contemporary and

secondary authorities, may, instead of the Life, use the account in

Æthelred of Rievaux (X Scriptt. 400), who (or rather his guide Osbert)

clearly copied from the Life.

Another smaller point may be noticed, namely the arrangement of the

scenes in the Tapestry. It has been remarked by Mr. Planché and others

that, at this point, the order of time is forsaken; the burial of

Eadward is placed before his deathbed and death. On this Dr. Bruce

(p. 75) says, very truly; “The seeming inconsistency is very easily

explained. A new subject is now entered upon, and that subject is

the right of succession. One important element in it is the grant of

the King.” The designer of the Tapestry puts in close and pointed

neighbourhood the last speech of Eadward, the death of Eadward, the

offering of the Crown to Harold, the actual coronation. In this sort of

picture-writing it would have disturbed the thread of the story if the

burial of Eadward had been put in its right place, between the offering

of the Crown and the coronation. The meaning of the order which is

followed is plainly this; “Eadward left the Crown to Harold; he died;

the Crown, in pursuance of his wishes, was offered to Harold; Harold

was formally crowned.” It is hard to find any other explanation for the

otherwise strange displacement of the funeral.

Explaining then, as we most fairly may, one contemporary witness by

another, explaining the Tapestry by the Life and the Life by the

Chronicles, we get a most distinct agreement of our best authorities

in favour of the position that Eadward’s dying recommendation was made

in favour of Harold. Some may perhaps be surprised to find the fact

so distinctly set forth in the Norman Tapestry. But we shall soon see

that all the earliest and best Norman writers fully admit the fact of

the recommendation. What they do is to try to explain away its force

as they best may. Stitch-work had so far the advantage over pen and

ink that it was well nigh obliged to confine itself to facts, or at

least to choose between facts and positive lies. The needle was a bad

instrument for surmises and insinuations, and it is only once or twice

in the story that it attempts them.

I now go on to the chain of later writers who repeat the contemporary

English statement. They of course add nothing to its direct authority;

still it is important and interesting to trace the existence of the

two opposite traditions, side by side. Simeon of Durham (X Scriptt.

193), Ralph of Diss (479), Roger of Howden (i. 108, ed. W. Stubbs),

Thomas Stubbs (X Scriptt. 1702), and the Ely historian (ii. 43, 44),

all copy the words of Florence with regard to Harold’s accession, and

most of them go on to copy his panegyric on Harold’s government. The

account given by Peter of Langtoft is worth notice. He makes (i. 374 of

the new ed., i. 53 of Robert of Brunne’s English version published by

Hearne) Eadward settle the Crown on William in the days of the first

Harold, immediately after the murder of Ælfred (see vol. ii. p. 302).

Afterwards (i. 390, i. 61) he changed his mind, he forgot his promise

to William, and settled the Crown on the Ætheling Eadward. So now on

his death-bed, he again forgets both William and, I suppose, also

forgets Eadward’s son Eadgar. He now makes a settlement in favour of

Harold, nobody reminding him of the Duke’s claim (i. 398);

“Countes et barouns devaunt ly appelayt,

A Harald fiz Godewyn sun regne devisayt,

Le duk de Normendye ublyez avayt,

Du covenaunt k’il ly fist nul ly mentyvayt.”

His English translator was a little puzzled at this, and thus sets

forth his difficulty (i. 65);

“Þe barons before him kald, and said unto þam alle,

‘Tille Harald, Godwyn sonne, þe regne wille best falle.’

Me mervailes of my boke, I trowe, he wrote not right

þat he forgate Wiliam of forward þat him hight.”

He then goes on to moralize out of Eadward’s speech (see above, p.

11), which is not given in Peter of Langtoft. Ralph Higden (284), after

his manner, copies Florence, but copies other accounts as well.

To go back a good many generations, Eadmer (5) states the fact of the

bequest in his own words; “In brevi post hæc obiit Edwardus. Juxta

quod ille ante mortem statuerat, in regnum ei successit Haraldus.” He

is followed by Walter of Hemingburgh (i. 8) in nearly the same words.

Bromton (957) gives a most strange and confused account, made up from

all manner of quarters, but in which the words of Eadmer are still

imbedded. He says that some of the English wished to elect Eadgar; “Sed

quia puer erat, et tanto oneri minùs idoneus, Haraldus Comes, filius

supradicti Godwini, viribus et genere fretus, contra sacramentum quod

Willielmo Duci Normanniæ præstiterat, regni diadema sinistro omine

illico invasit, et sic perjurus Sancto Edwardo successit, juxta quod

idem Edwardus, ut quidam aiunt, ante mortem suam statuerat.” He goes on

to say that this bequest of Eadward was made “non obstante” two earlier

bequests to William; he then mentions the alternative statements that

Harold crowned himself and that he was crowned by Ealdred, and ends

with Florence’s panegyric in a shortened form.

The writer whom we call Bromton was thus, it is plain, fairly puzzled

among contradictory accounts. The compiler of the Waverley Annals

found himself in yet greater straits. The early part of his history is

formed by the process of translating the Peterborough Chronicle, and

sticking in bits, partly from other writers, especially from Henry of

Huntingdon, partly out of his own head. This process is indeed the same

as that by which the early parts of most Annals are put together. But

the odd thing is that this annalist should have chosen as his chief

authorities two writers who, at this point, are so specially hard to

reconcile as the Peterborough Chronicler and Henry of Huntingdon. This

indeed puts him in difficulties. He translates the important sentence

in the Chronicle fairly enough, but in the midst of it he sticks in

an epithet of abuse from Henry of Huntingdon. This process gives us

the following statement (188 ed. Luard). Eadward is buried; “Eodem

die Consul Haraldus, Consul perjurus, sicut Rex ei concesserat, et

etiam populi electione, [swa swa se Cyng hit him geuðe, and eac men

hine þærto gecuron] sacratus est in Regem.” Somehow or other this

did not seem satisfactory; so he states William’s three causes of

offence out of Henry of Huntingdon (see p. 282), and then returns to

give another account of Harold’s accession; “Mortuo itaque Edwardo,

ut supra diximus, Rege Anglorum pacifico, Haraldus, perjurus filius

Godwini potentissimi Consulis, invasit regnum Anglorum et diadema in

perjurio; qui regnavit uno anno, et non pleno, quia propriâ injustitiâ

regnum, quod injustè surripuit, Deo nolente, perdidit.” Here is a

characteristic contrast between the clear statement of facts translated

from the contemporary writer and the vague reviling and moralizing

which seems to have been a necessary offering to the orthodoxy of the

compiler’s own time.

We will now turn to the writers on the other side. William of Poitiers,

in his actual narrative of Harold’s accession (p. 121 Giles), evades

the subject of Eadward’s bequest; we get only the vague talk about

“occupavit” and the like. But in two later passages he distinctly

shows that he knew that a bequest of Eadward was asserted by Harold

and his advocates. In his account of the messages sent between William

and Harold before the battle (129), he makes Harold admit an earlier

bequest in favour of William, but he describes him as going on to argue

that this earlier bequest was cancelled by a later bequest in favour of

himself. The passage is a remarkable one;

“Meminit quidem [Heraldus] quod Rex Edwardus te [Willelmum] Anglici

regni hæredem fore pridem decreverit, et quod ipse in Normanniâ de hâc

successione securitatem tibi firmaverit. Novit autem jure suum esse

regnum idem, ejusdem Regis, domini sui, dono in extremis illius sibi

concessum. Etenim ab eo tempore, quo beatus Augustinus in hanc venit

regionem, communem gentis hujus fuisse consuetudinem, donationem quam

in ultimo fine suo quis fecerit, eam ratam haberi.”

The historical value of these accounts of messages and answers I shall

discuss in another note (see Appendix GG). The value of the passage

for my present purpose is twofold. It shows that the Normans were

thoroughly aware of the fact of Eadward’s recommendation of Harold. It

shows also that the fact was one which they found it hard to get over.

For, in the answer which William is made to give to Harold’s words

just quoted, though he has much to say in the way of setting forth his

own claim, he has nothing to say in answer to Harold’s fact or to the

legal argument founded on it.

The other passage is to be found in the wild invective which William of

Poitiers (139) pours forth over the grave of Harold; “Arguunt extrema

tua quam rectè sublimatus fueris _Edwardi dono in ipsius fine_.” This

is a perfectly incidental witness. It seems to imply some such story as

those which I shall presently quote from Orderic and Wace.

William of Jumièges (vii. 31) slurs over the facts both of the bequest

and of the election. They are lost in the usual vague talk about

“regnum invasit.” William of Malmesbury, in one of those remarkable

passages in which he compares two statements together (ii. 228), allows

that the English version of the story asserted a bequest in favour of

Harold. Harold, he tells us in the usual style, “extortâ a principibus

fide, arripuit diadema.” He then adds, “quamvis Angli dicant a Rege

concessum.” He then argues _à priori_ against the English statement

from the imaginary ill-will of Eadward towards Harold; “Quod tamen

magis benevolentiâ quam judicio allegari existimo, ut illi hæreditatem

transfunderet suam cujus semper suspectam habuerat potentiam.” The

expression “benevolentiâ” is of importance, as showing that, in William

of Malmesbury’s time, English affection still clave to Harold’s memory,

in opposition to all Norman calumnies. Indeed William himself, in that

spirit of fairness which often pierces through all his prejudices, goes

on to say; “quamvis, ut non celetur veritas, pro personâ quam gerebat,

regnum prudentiâ et fortitudine gubernaret si legitimè suscepisset.”

As usual, the further we get from the time the more our informants

know about the matter, the more new particulars they have to tell us.

There is nothing in any of our three Williams to imply any death-bed

nomination of the Norman Duke or to shut out a death-bed nomination

of the English Earl. The latter is allowed to be at least the English

version of the facts. There is nothing in any of the three to imply

that the succession of William was so much as discussed by the bed-side

of Eadward. The case is the reverse of the case with regard to the oath

of Harold and the earlier promise to William. There the Norman writers

assert a fact which the English writers do not venture to deny. Here

the English writers assert a fact which the contemporary Norman writers

do not venture to deny. But, as we get further away from the time,

we come, first to ingenious explanations of the fact, and lastly to

express denials of it.

Thus Orderic (492 B) admits the fact of the bequest to Harold, but he

has a highly elaborate way of accounting for it. He connects it with

the story of Harold’s oath and of his engagement to marry William’s

daughter. Harold comes back to Eadward and tells him that William has

made over to him his right to the Kingdom of England as the dowry of

his daughter. Eadward wonders at such an arrangement, but he believes

the story, and decrees the succession accordingly. The words are as

follows;

“Regem Eduardum, qui morbo ingravescente jam morti proximus erat,

circumvenit [Heraldus], eique transfretationis suæ et profectionis

in Normanniam ac legationis seriem rettulit. Deinde fraudulentis

assertionibus adjecit quod Willelmus Normanniæ sibi filiam suam in

conjugium dederit, et totius Anglici regni jus, utpote genero suo,

concessit. Quod audiens ægrotus princeps miratus est, tamen credidit,

et concessit quod vafer tyrannus commentatus est.”

It must be this story of Orderic which formed the groundwork of the

strange tale which we find in the French Life of Eadward. The subject

is mentioned twice. Eadward, in the early days of the Christmas Gemót,

before his final illness begins (3615–3634), calls Harold, and asks him

what he means to do about the Kingdom (“Du regne queus tis purpos?”).

It must be remembered that this immediately follows the legend (see

vol. ii. p. 513) according to which Eadward’s days were already

numbered. Harold says that the Crown belongs to William, that he has

sworn to William’s succession, that he has no intention of interfering

with it or of setting up any claim of his own, unless William should

give him the Crown along with his daughter.

“Unc ne me vint en curage

D’aver vostre heritage;

Li ducs Willame de Normendie,

Ki droit i a e en mei se fie

L’avra, si cum il vus plest.

Juré l’ai, e il seur en est;

Cuvenant e leuté tendrai,

Vers vus ne trespasserai;

Au regne n’ai ne cleim ne dreit,

Si of sa fille nel me otreit.”

Harold then swears, and the other chief men swear with him. It will be

seen that, in this account, the usual story of the oath is taken for

granted, though it is nowhere directly told in the French Life. And

Eadward’s promise to William seems also to be taken for granted; at any

rate William is said to have a right, and it is not said in what that

right consists. But there is no mention of any death-bed bequest to

William, Harold, or anybody else.

The subject is introduced again later in the story (3895–3922), when

Eadward is on his death-bed. It is Harold who volunteers a second

mention of the matter. He says of his own free will that he has sworn

not to disturb the succession to the Crown. The words put into his

mouth are in some respects clearer and in some respects darker than the

former passage. The succession belongs to William, both by Eadward’s

earlier grant (“Granté l’avez au duc Willame”), and also by right of

blood. But the right of blood is strangely enough (see Mr. Luard’s

Preface, p. xix.) made to belong to William’s daughter rather than to

William himself. This cannot refer to the descent of William’s children

from Ælfred (see p. 81, and vol. ii. p. 304), because the right is

distinctly said to come through Emma. The title of Queen, given to

William’s daughter, whether given to her as William’s daughter or as

Harold’s possible wife, is also very strange. The words are,

“Droit a par Emme ta mère

La reine ki sa fille ere.”

Still, if William does not make over the Crown to his daughter, the

right belongs to William himself, and that right Harold will in no way

disturb. Still he seems to imply that he has a fair hope that William

will give him his daughter, and that he may reign in her right.

“Si a sa fille ne le dune,

Droiz est k’il eit la curune;

Kar jo si vus dire le os,

De espuser la ai en purpos;

A la pucele afiancé,

E au duc sui alliancé.”

(vv. 3907–3912.)

To this King Eadward answers not a word, but Archbishop Stigand takes

up his parable in a somewhat unexpected way. He warns Harold that,

if he does not keep to this covenant, neither he, to whose office it

belongs to perform the rite—it is expressly called a sacrament—nor any

other Prelate of the Kingdom will ever give him the royal unction, nor

will any “man of our commons”—the expression is a very singular one—put

the Crown on his head.

“Pur moi le di, a ki apent

A fere ceu seint sacrement,

N’ert prélat en la regiun

Ki fus face la enuncciun;

N’ert humme de nostre commune,

Ki vus mette en chef curune.”

According to this view, Harold had a fair chance of a Crown

matrimonial, and his chief fault lay in not marrying William’s

daughter. This leads us into questions which I shall consider in later

notes.

Wace (Roman de Rou, 10872–10970) fully admits the fact of a bequest,

though perhaps an unwilling one, or rather he makes Eadward leave it to

the nation to decide between William and Harold. In his account Eadward

is at the point of death, and is very anxious that William should

succeed him.

“Mult li fust vel se il péust,

Ke Guillealme sun regne éust.”

Harold gets together his kinsfolk and friends and whomsoever he thought

good, and they go into the chamber of the sick man. An Englishman,

whose name is not given, but who speaks by Harold’s instructions (“Si

com Herout out comandé”), makes a long speech, setting forth the merits

of Eadward’s government, and also how he has no son or daughter or

other natural heir.

“Vielz hoem es jà, pose as vescu,

E si n’as nul enfant éu;

Filz u fille ne nul altre eir,

Ki por tei poisse remaneir,

Ki nos gart è ki nos maintienge,

E par lignage Rei devienge.”

(vv. 10899–10904.)

But a King they must have; there can be no peace in the land without

one, and they have no way of getting a King but through him.

“Kar jà sanz Rei paiz n’averon,

Ne Rei n’aron se par tei non.”

(vv. 10909–10910.)

He prays Eadward then, while he still lives, to give them a King,

who will be able to work peace and justice in the land. The speaker

gradually comes nearer to the point. Eadward’s best friends are there;

they have come together to ask a prayer of him, a prayer which, if

he fails to grant, holy as his life has been, he will never see the

face of God. There is something comforting in these words, something

which one fancies that Wace must have learned from English tradition.

They are words worthy of Savonarola by the death-bed of Lorenzo. It is

pleasant to hear, by the bed-side of Eadward, the doctrine that to obey

is better than sacrifice, that a man’s first business is to do his duty

in that state of life to which it has pleased God to call him, and that

no amount of ceremonial piety will avail a King who does not make the

welfare of his Kingdom his first thought.

“Bien es, bien as fet, bien feras,

Deus as servi è Deus auras.

Ci est li mielx de tes païs,

Tut li mielx de tes amis;

Trestuit te sunt venu preïer,

E tu lor deiz bien otreïr,

Ço poise nos ke jà t’en vas,

Se por ço non ke Deus auras.”

(vv. 10919–10926.)

The prayer thus solemnly urged is that Eadward will agree to the

unanimous wish of the nation and give them Harold for their King. As

the speaker uttered the name of Harold, every Englishman in the room

cried aloud that he had well spoken, and that, without Harold to her

King, the land could have no peace.

“Ci tuit te viegnent hui requerre

Ke Heraut seit Rei de la terre;

Ne te savom mielx cunseillier,

Ne tu ne poz mielx espleitier.

Dez ke cil out Heraut nomé,

Par la chambre ont Engleiz crié

Ke bien parlout è bien diseit,

E li Reis creire le debveit:

Sire, dient-il, se tu nel’ faiz,

Jà en noz vies n’aron paiz.”

(vv. 10927–10936.)

The King hesitates; he sits up in his bed, and reminds the English

lords that he had promised his Crown to the Duke of the Normans, and

that some of themselves had sworn to that settlement. Harold then

himself steps forward; he seems to use the same argument which is put

into his mouth by William of Poitiers (see p. 587), namely the force of

the last will and testament to revoke all former wills.

“Donc dist Heraut, ki fu en piez;

‘Ki ke vos, sire, fet aiez,

Otréiez mei ke jo Rei seie,

E ke vostre terre seit meie;

Jo ne quier ne maiz vostre dreit,

Jà mar plus por mei en fereit.’”

(vv. 10945–10950.)

The King then says that Harold shall have the Crown (“Heraut, dist li

Reis, tu l’auras”); but he knows that he will die for it. He knows the

Duke and his Barons and all the folk that will come at his bidding; God

alone can guard Harold against them. Harold is ready to run the risk;

he fears neither Norman nor anybody else. Eadward then turns himself,

and says—whether of his free will or no the poet will not warrant—that

the English may choose either Harold or William as they will.

“Dunc se turna li Reis, si dist,

Ne sai se par boen cuer le fist:

Ore facent Engleis Duc u Rei,

Herault u altre, jo l’otrei.”

(vv. 10961–10964.)

Such a licence was the same as a nomination of Harold. The poet calls

it making Harold his heir, and he seems to excuse the act on the ground

that the land must have some King, and that William was not at hand.

Eadward therefore let his Barons have their own will.

“Issi a fet Heraut sun eir

Quant Willame ne pout aveir.

Rei à regne aveir estuet,

Regne sanz Rei estre ne puet.

A sez Barunz a graanté

K’il en facent lor volenté.”

(vv. 10965–10970.)

This account does, as most of his accounts do, high honour to the

honest and enquiring spirit of Master Wace. When he wrote, calumny was

a hundred years old yet he is throughout far less influenced by it than

party writers at the time, who had better means than he of learning the

exact truth. Here is no reviling of Harold, no gross misrepresentation

of facts. In opposition to the talk of William of Poitiers, and even

to that of Orderic, Wace clearly understands and honestly sets forth

how thoroughly Harold had the heart of England on his side. The story

is well conceived and well told, and it is quite possible that it may

rest to some extent on trustworthy tradition. Yet a certain amount of

misconception runs through Wace’s story. He implies throughout that

Eadward’s own wishes were still in favour of William, and he adds the

common Norman misstatement, that the settlement in favour of William

was confirmed by the Witan or, at any rate, by some of the chief Earls.

One or two smaller points may be noticed. The speaker in Wace mentions

Eadward’s lack of children as a misfortune to himself and his country,

not at all as the unavoidable result of a religious vow. Again,

both he and the writer of the French Life evidently look on female

succession as a possibility. Eadward, says the speaker, has neither

son nor daughter, as if a daughter could possibly have succeeded. The

French Biographer treats it as not unlikely that William will deal

with England as Philip the Second did with the Low Countries, that he

will make the whole Kingdom over to his daughter and her husband. He

indeed almost seems, though his language is very strange and dark, to

recognize some right by blood in William’s daughter which did not exist

in William himself. This notion of passing crowns by the spindle-side

was strange to Englishmen, and even to Normans, in the eleventh

century. The nearest approach to it is William’s own half-claim, not

exactly as heir, but as next of kin through Emma. But, at the courts

of the Henries, no doctrine could be more orthodox and acceptable.

Henry the First actually did something very like what is here spoken of

as likely to be done by his father. He endeavoured to settle, though

not indeed in his lifetime, his whole dominion on his daughter. When

both Wace and the French Biographer wrote, the descendants of that

daughter, by male descent mere Counts of Anjou—more truly (see p. 181)

mere Counts of the Gatinois—but scions through her both of Rolf and

of Ælfred, reigned over England, reigned over or claimed Normandy,

as their inheritance by female succession. The Angevin Kings had no

dislike to be complimented on their descent from the old royal stock

of England. Æthelred of Rievaux (Gen. Regg. X Scriptt. 350), tracing

by the spindle-side only, addresses Henry the Second as the son of

Matilda, the daughter of Matilda, the daughter of Margaret, the

daughter of Eadmund, and so on—Normans and Angevins being kept out

of sight—to Ælfred, Cerdic, Woden, and Adam. The vision of Eadward,

as explained by Æthelred and others (see above, p. 12), implies the

unlawfulness of the rule of Harold and both Williams, and gives Henry

the First only a Crown matrimonial, which he hands on to the grandson

of Eadgyth-Matilda. On all this Æthelred, an English flatterer of Henry

the Second, would naturally dwell. The French Biographer, writing to

Henry the Third, would find the same general doctrine acceptable. Still

the conception of William, as the founder of the existing dynasty, held

too firm a possession of men’s minds for his pretensions to be openly

denied. The direct assertion of the rights of Eadgar belongs to a later

stage still, to which we shall come presently. As for Wace, he was a

Norman born, and was not likely to dwell by choice on any of these

points. As a subject of Henry the Second, he was bound to admit female

succession both for England and for Normandy, but he had no special

temptation to enlarge on it.

A still more wonderful view of the Crown matrimonial is to be found in

Gervase of Tilbury (Otia Imperialia, ii. 20, ap. Leibnitz, Scriptt.

Rer. Brunsw. i. 945); but I reserve the passage for later quotation, as

it is altogether the most amazing account on record of the whole matter

between William and Harold.

From honest Wace it is unpleasant to turn to the author of the Brevis

Relatio (Giles, 4). In his version Harold, during Eadward’s illness,

asks him for a grant of the Crown. The King, mindful of his promise to

William, refuses it. This however he mentions only as a report.

“Dicunt autem quidam tunc quod Heraldus, quasi oblitus sacramentorum

quæ Willelmo Comiti in Normanniâ fecerat, antequam Rex Edwardus obiret,

ad eum pervenit, eumque rogavit ut ei coronam regni Angliæ concederet.

Quo audito, Rex Edwardus, non immemor quod Willelmo Comiti Normannorum,

cognato suo, regnum Angliæ jamdudum concessisse, respondit Heraldo

nullo modo hoc se posse facere, quia Willelmum Comitem Normannorum idem

hæredem fecerat.”

Lastly, the Hyde writer (p. 290) goes one step further, and makes

Eadward bequeath the Crown to William by his last will; “Regnum moriens

Willelmo Comiti consobrino suo reliquit.”

Among the Northern writers the only one who has anything to say about

the bequest is Snorro. It could hardly be looked for in Saxo (203),

who makes Harold murder Eadward. Adam of Bremen (iii. 51) has only

Norman-sounding talk about “sceptrum invasit.” Harold’s one Norwegian

admirer, whom I shall have to quote again, the Biographer of Olaf

Tryggwesson, speaks of his election by the people, but has nothing

to say about any bequest by the King. But Snorro knew more about

the matter than almost anybody else. His account (Laing, iii. 77;

Johnstone, 192) is short, but remarkable. It must be remembered that it

is connected with Snorro’s notion about Harold being the youngest son

of Godwine and the personal favourite of Eadward, and with his notion

that Tostig was still in England and seeking the Kingdom by fair means.

Just before Eadward’s last moments, Harold and a few other men are

by him. Harold leans over the King; then he turns to his companions,

and calls them to witness that the King has given him the Kingdom of

England (“Þá laut Haralldr ysir Konung oc mællti; ‘því skírskota ec

undir alla ydor, at Konungrinn gaf mer nu Konungdóminn, oc allt ríki í

Englandi’”). The same day a meeting is held to choose a King; Harold

appears with his witnesses and claims the Crown by virtue of Eadward’s

dying bequest. The issue is that he is chosen King (“Þann sama dag var

þar höfdingia-stefna, var þá rætt um Konungs-tekio, let þá Haralldr

bera fram vitni sín þau, er Játvardr Konungr gaf hönom ríkit á deyianda

degi; lauk sva þeirri stefno, at Haralldr var til Konungs tekinn”).

It will be seen that, though there is some colouring here, there is

no gross misrepresentation of fact. Snorro writes in the interest of

Tostig, not in the interest of William. Of a bequest to William, of

an oath of homage from Harold to William, he knows nothing. With him

(Laing, iii. 94; Johnstone, 216) William’s claim is derived wholly from

his kindred to Eadward, his wrath being embittered by Harold’s breach

of his promise to marry his daughter.

I think then that there is no fact in history better attested than the

fact of Eadward’s dying recommendation in favour of Harold. The best

informed contemporary writers assert it. The most careful and judicious

compilers of later days, from Florence and Simeon onwards, accept their

statement. The hostile contemporary writers never distinctly deny

the fact. They either slur the matter over, or wrap it up in vague

and declamatory words, or else admit the fact, while they explain

and colour it after their own fashion. The fact then I hold to be

undoubted. Whatever constitutional influence a King of the English had

in the appointment of his successor, that influence was exercised on

behalf of Harold. But we must beware of attaching any undue importance

to Eadward’s nomination. It was of real constitutional value, but it

was not everything. It was, after all, a mere recommendation to the

Witan, and Harold’s real title to the Crown was that the Witan accepted

that recommendation. Writers who, either at the time or afterwards,

did not fully understand the English Constitution, were apt to lay too

much stress on the bequest to either candidate. Men who wrote either

in times or in countries where the idea of elective kingship was not

familiar, did not take in how completely the kingship of England was

simply the highest office in the land, an office which the people gave

and which the people could take away. To them a kingdom seemed like

a private estate, which, in ordinary cases, would pass according to

the laws of succession, and which, in case of the failure of heirs,

the owner could bequeath or even sell. These notions of succeeding to

kingdoms and of bequeathing and selling kingdoms like private estates

gradually took root, and many of the dynastic wars of the later middle

age arose out of bequests or purchases of this kind. How foreign they

were to the ideas of Englishmen in the eleventh century I need not

again set forth. The main value of the proofs which I have collected is

as an _argumentum ad hominem_ against William and the supporters of his

claims. Against them the argument is perfect. Whatever right William

might have by virtue of an earlier bequest was taken away by the later

bequest in favour of Harold. Eadward then made Harold his successor as

far as he could constitutionally make any one his successor; but this

nomination was only a very small part of Harold’s right. The far more

important examination of the evidence on the great question of Harold’s

election by the Witan of all England will form the subject of my next

note.

NOTE C. p. 21.

THE ELECTION OF HAROLD.

The passage of Florence which I took as my text in my last note will

serve as my text in the present note also. Harold was, according to

that passage, “a totius Angliæ primatibus ad regale culmen electus.”

According to the Peterborough Chronicle he took the Kingdom, not only

as the King granted it to him, but as men chose him thereto (“swa swa

se Cyng hit him geuðe, _and eac men hine þærto gecuron_”). That this

means a regular election by the Witan there can be no reasonable doubt.

The Peterborough Chronicler, writing at the moment, without any thought

of possible controversies, used the vague word “men.” Expressions

of the like sort are not uncommon to express the action of a Gemót.

Florence, writing when calumny was rife, and wishing to answer all

misstatements of every kind, uses the most emphatic words that he could

find. Harold was chosen “a totius Angliæ primatibus.” He was chosen

then, and did not simply seize the Crown by force or fraud. He was

chosen, not by some small or packed assembly, but by the chief men of

the land. And he was chosen, not by this or that shire or Earldom, but

by the chief men of the whole land. However small might be the number

of Northumbrians actually present in the Assembly, Northumberland

was constitutionally bound by their vote, no less than Wessex and

East-Anglia. All this is implied in the weighty and carefully chosen

words of Florence. Harold was elected by the only power which had a

right to dispose of the Crown, by that Great Council of the Nation,

which made and repealed laws, which laid on and took off taxes,

which declared war and made peace, which elected and deposed Earls,

Bishops, and Kings. Such is the undoubted meaning of the words of the

two highest of all the authorities which mention the matter. That the

Abingdon and Worcester Chroniclers, while they assert the bequest and

the coronation, are silent about the election, is in no way wonderful.

They do not at any time take that pleasure in putting forth the popular

side of our Constitution which was clearly felt by Florence, and by

the Peterborough writer still more keenly. The Peterborough Chronicler

wrote at the moment in the fulness of his heart; Florence wrote as a

grave and judicial harmonizer many years later. Both tell the same

story.

These two authorities are to my mind quite enough to establish the fact

of Harold’s legal and regular election; still I will go on, as before,

to trace out such subsidiary evidence as we have in its favour, before

we see what is said on the other side.

The Biographer, who formed so important a part of our evidence for

establishing the bequest of Eadward, now fails us altogether. As I have

before said, he does not directly record any event after Eadward’s

death.

The Tapestry (pl. 7) contains a scene, of which I have made much use

in the text (p. 22), in which the Crown is offered to Harold by two

persons. This scene is highly important. It is of itself an answer

to all the vague Norman talk about Harold seizing the Crown by fraud

or force—all the declamation about “invasit,” “arripuit,” and the

like. The Crown is offered to him very quietly, and he is evidently

represented as still doubting whether to take it or no. The scene too

is put (see p. 584) in a position which is evidently meant to connect

it with Eadward’s death-bed bequest. But in this scene in the Tapestry,

though there is nothing to exclude, there is nothing to assert any

formal election. The Crown is evidently brought from the chamber of

the dead King, and the story would run just as well if it were brought

simply in obedience to his dying orders, without reference to the

choice of any one else. One can easily understand that, without the

least intention to falsify the story, the designers of the Tapestry,

just like the Abingdon and Worcester Chroniclers, might not feel

specially called upon to dwell on the actual election, a scene, one

may add, which it would be by no means easy to represent in worsted

work. But, interpreting one authority by another, we are fully

justified in taking the scene in the Tapestry to be the result of the

election spoken of by the Peterborough Chronicler and by Florence. The

Crown was offered to Harold; that fact is represented in the Tapestry.

Our other authorities enable us to add that it was offered to Harold in

pursuance of a vote of the Witan.

The election of Harold being thus admitted, the question follows, Was

that election absolutely unanimous? Were any votes given, any speeches

made, any feelers thrown out, on behalf of William, Eadgar, or any

other possible candidate? It is quite possible that such was the

case, but the contemporary writers who mention the election do not go

minutely enough into details to prove anything either way. Something

like a candidature on the part both of William and of Eadgar is

implied by several later writers, but not in terms which make us feel

very positive about it. In any case Harold must have had a triumphant

majority.

It is not so easy to put together a catena of later writers in

favour of Harold’s election as it is to do so in favour of Eadward’s

recommendation on his behalf. Two or three hundred years after the

time, the idea of bequest was more familiar than the idea of election.

We have indeed the string of writers, beginning with Simeon, who copy

the whole passage from Florence in full. But we have no independent

witnesses to the tradition of the election answering to Eadmer and

Walter of Hemingburgh, who assert the bequest in words of their own,

not borrowed from Florence (p. 586). The entry in the Waverley Annals

I have already quoted (ib.). There the first entry, translated from

the Peterborough Chronicle, asserts the election in the strongest

terms, but it is immediately qualified by the strange Normannizing

passage which follows. We should remember also that such an expression

as that of Eadmer, who simply says that Harold “succeeded according

to Eadward’s will,” though it does not assert the election, yet in no

way excludes it. And the use of a word like “successit” is of itself

important, in the teeth of words like “invasit” and “arripuit,” which

we shall presently come to.

It was, as we might have expected, in Harold’s own College at Waltham

that the tradition of the popular election of its great Founder lasted

longest. There, down into the thirteenth century, it was still a thing

to be remembered and gloried in. And, what we might have been less

prepared for, it comes out very strongly in at least one Scandinavian

writer.

Of the two Waltham books, the De Inventione (c. 20) asserts the

election in the strongest terms;

“Post obitum itaque sanctissimi Regis, Comes Haroldus _unanimi omnium

consensu in Regem eligitur_, quia non erat eo prudentior in terrâ,

armis strenuus magis, legum terræ sagacior, in omni genere probitatis

cultior, ita ut huic electioni non possent contradicere, qui eum summo

odio persequuti fuissent usque ad tempora illa, quoniam tanto operi

adeò insignem in omnibus non genuerit Anglia.”

I do not quite understand the last part of the passage, which is

perhaps purposely obscure. It may mean that Eadwine and Morkere

consented to the election; when we remember what the writer had said

about “Normanni et Gallici” in c. 14 (see vol. ii. p. 39), we may

perhaps rather think that the allusion is to the Norman favourites. At

any rate an unanimous election is asserted as strongly as words can put

it.

The romantic biographer of Harold may be fairly quoted on such a matter

as this, because he carries on the local tradition which we find in

the writer De Inventione. He twice mentions the accession of his

hero. The first time it is spoken of merely in general terms (Chron.

Ang. Norm. ii. 167); “Ubique fere terrarum celebri sermone vulgatum

est quemadmodùm, Edwardo sanctissimo ad cœleste translato, in regno

terreno successerit Haroldus.” The second passage (ii. 187, 188) is

very remarkable, whether anybody chooses to believe the story or not.

The writer asserts an unanimous election of Harold, and that under

very singular circumstances. He records Harold’s oath, and argues at

great length that it was an oath which ought not to be kept. He then

says that, as soon as Harold came back from Normandy, he laid the case

before the Witan, who declared the oath not binding, and with one

consent elected him King. This would almost seem to be during Eadward’s

lifetime; at least the heading of the Chapter (manifestly corrupt)

contains these words, “Domino favente et faveto [sic] convivente

Edwardo ipsum regnâsse affirmant.” This I do not profess to explain,

unless the writer supposed some settlement in Harold’s favour to have

been made during Eadward’s life-time (cf. vol. ii. p. 421 et seqq.).

The actual passage in the text runs as follows;

“Haroldus ... suis demum redditus, quid pertulerit, quid egerit,

cunctis palam exponit. Exponentem ut audit, universitas in irâ

excandescit, initam mediante sacramento pactionem improbat, ne

observeretur vehementer reclamat. ‘Absit,’ inquiunt, ‘absit ut

serviamus Normannis. Absit ut fastûs Normannici jugo barbarico

nobilitatis Anglicæ urbana libertas nullatenùs substernatur.’ Quid

multa?

Conclamant omnes, sedet hæc sententia cunctis.

Posthabitoque juramenti, quod nullum esse credebatur, periculo,

Haroldus demum unanimi omnium consensu sublimatur in Regem.”

I do not rely on this as history, though possibly the statement is not

to be cast aside without thought. The main value of the passage is to

show how strong and enduring the local tradition was. This account,

asserting Harold’s popular election in the strongest terms, is not very

many years older than the French Life of Eadward.

Later still, we have Peter of Langtoft (i. 398) distinctly asserting

both the fact and the lawfulness of Harold’s election;

“Après la mort Eduuarde, Harald est elu

Ray par la commune, la coroune ad resceu;

En drayture et ley leaus est-il tenu.”

Again Robert of Brunne (i. 66) is puzzled, and adds a comment of his

own;

“After Saẏnt Edward, Harald Kẏng þei ches,

Þorgh conseile of þam alle, and he þe scheld les

Right and in lawe, þe barons held him trewe.

_Neverles his falshed brought us sorowe alle newe._”

Of the two Scandinavian writers of whom I have here to speak, I

have already quoted the passage from Snorro (see above, p. 595).

He distinctly asserts an election, though he makes the election be

obtained through an alleged will of Eadward, on which he seems inclined

to throw some doubt. The other Northern writer is the Biographer of

Olaf Tryggwesson, whom I have already quoted (vol. ii. p. 542) as the

only writer who seems anxious to canonize Harold. He says distinctly

(263) that “after Eadward, Harold the son of Godwine, whom some call

a saint, took the Kingdom by the will of all the folk in the land”

(“Eptir Jatvard Kong toc riki, af vild alz landfolksins, Haraldur

Gudina son, er sumir kallan helgan vera”). I shall have to quote this

writer again at another stage.

I now turn to the writers who are more or less decidedly hostile to

Harold. These sometimes deny the fact of the election, sometimes they

wrap up the fact, just as they do the fact of Eadward’s recommendation,

in vague and declamatory phrases. I will quote first the purely Norman

writers, and then those who represent a certain mixture of Norman and

English traditions.

First comes William of Poitiers (Giles, p. 121), who denies that there

was any election at all;

“Verus namque rumor insperatò venit, Anglicam terram Rege Edwardo

orbatam esse, et ejus coronâ Heraldum ornatum. _Nec sustinuit vesanus

Anglus, quid electio publica statueret consulere_; sed in die lugubri,

quo optimus ille humatus est, quum gens universa plangeret, perjurus

regium solium _cum plausu occupavit_, quibusdam iniquis faventibus.

Ordinatus est non sanctâ consecratione Stigando, justo zelo Apostolici

et anathemate ministerio sacerdotum privati.”

William of Jumièges (vii. 31) is shorter and still vaguer, but, by

complaining that Harold beguiled away the whole English nation from

their allegiance to Duke William, he admits that Harold had the hearts

of the nation with him, and does in effect imply the election. His

words are,

“Cujus [Edwardi] regnum Heraldus _continuò invasit_, ex fidelitate

pejeratus, quam juraverat Duci. Ad quem Dux protinùs legatos direxit,

hortans ut ab hâc insaniâ resipisceret, et fidem quam juramento

spoponderat condignâ subjectione servaret. At ille non solùm hoc audire

contempsit, verùm omnem Anglorum gentem ab illo infideliter avertit.”

Orderic (492 C), who, higher up in the same page (see vol. ii. p.

541), showed some signs of generous feeling towards Harold, becomes

at this point more savage against him than anybody else. He affirms,

in apparent contradiction to William of Jumièges, that Harold’s

accession was against the will of a large part of the English nation.

This I believe to be a confused account of the temporary refusal of

Northumberland to acknowledge Harold. Orderic mentions Eadward’s death

and burial, and then goes on;

“Tunc Heraldus, ipso tumulationis die, dum plebs in exsequiis dilecti

Regis adhuc maderet fletibus, à solo Stigando Archiepiscopo (quem

Romanus Papa suspenderat a divinis officiis pro quibusdam criminibus)

_sine communi consensu aliorum Præsulum et Comitum procerumque

consecratus, furtim præripuit diadematis et purpuræ decus_. Audientes

autem [_Angli_, I presume] _temerariam invasionem_ quam Heraldus

fecerat, irati sunt; et potentiorum nonnulli fortiter obsistere parati

a subjectione ejus omnino abstinuerunt. Alii verò, nescientes qualiter

tyrannidem ejus, quæ jam super eos nimis excreverat, evaderent, et è

contra considerantes quòd nec illum dejicere, nec alium Regem, ipso

regnante, ad utilitatem regni substituere valerent, colla ejus jugo

submiserunt, viresque facinori quod inchoaverat auxerunt. Mox ipse

regnum, quod nequiter invaserat, horrendis sceleribus maculavit.”

To these we may add, as speaking in the same spirit, the Verdun

Chronicle of Abbot Hugh (Labbé, i. 194);

“Etuuardus Anglorum Rex obiit, qui, quia sine filiis fuit,

consanguineum suum Wilelmum Normannorum Comitem post se regnare

instituit. Sed Heroldus, contra sacramentum quod Willelmo fecerat,

regnum invasit.”

Of the poetical writers, Wace (10977) speaks of a coronation and of

homage received by Harold. He says nothing of election; but, as usual,

there is nothing in him of the brutal violence so common in the other

Norman writers.

“Dez ke li Reis Ewart fu morz,

Heraut ki ert manant è forz

Se fist énoindre è coroner;

Unkes al Duc n’en volt parler,

Homages prist è féeltez

Des plus riches è des ainz nez.”

Benoît (36656) is characteristically much fiercer; he distinctly denies

both all election and all ecclesiastical consecration, and mixes up the

supposed wrongs of Tostig with those of William.

“Heraut, de coveitise espris,

Senz autre conseil qui’n fust pris,

Saisi le reigne demaneis;

Parjurez e faus se fist reis

Eissi, senz icele unction

E senz cele sacration

Qu’en deit faire à rei saintement

Le jor de son coronement.

Eissi, senz nule autre devise,

Parjur, faus, pleins de coveitise,

Se fist coroner à grant tort:

Por c’en fu puis destruit e mort.

Ne tint envers le duc fiance

Ne ostage ne covenance,

De son frere ne li sovint;

Eissi out le reaume e tint.”

We now come to the other class of writers, those who wrote in England

under more or less of Norman influence, and who contrast remarkably

with those who, like Simeon and Roger of Howden, are content to follow

Florence. First comes William of Malmesbury, who gives two accounts

in different parts of his work. The former passage (ii. 228) I have

already quoted (see above, p. 588). At a later stage (iii. 238) he

comes back to the subject again and gives quite a different account.

The English were divided between Harold, William, and Eadgar; but it is

now neither Harold nor William, but Eadgar, in whose favour Eadward had

made his final bequest. Notwithstanding this bequest, notwithstanding

a real diversity of sentiment among themselves, all give Harold an

outward support, and he obtains the Crown. This is very vague and

obscure. It may possibly mean that Harold was elected by a large

majority, though some votes were given for other candidates. The words

are,

“Rex Edwardus fato functus fuerat. Anglia dubio favore nutabat, cui

se rectori committeret incerta, an Haroldo an Willelmo an Edgaro; nam

et illum, pro genere proximum regno, proceribus Rex commendaverat,

tacito scilicet mentis judicio, sed prono in clementiam animo. Quarè,

ut prædixi, Angli diversis votis ferebantur, _quamvis palàm cuncti bona

Haroldo imprecarentur_: et ille quidem, diademate fastigiatus, nihil de

pactis inter se et Willelmum cogitabat.”

This passage of William of Malmesbury is our first distinct mention

of the rights of Eadgar. It is the first hint of a doctrine whose

partizans were, as time went on, largely to increase. According to this

account, Eadward’s wishes are in favour of Eadgar, and his wishes are

supported by a party among the Witan. This is the first setting forth

of Eadgar as an actual candidate; but there is a passage of Orderic

(598 A), in which he seems to think it necessary to explain why William

came to the Crown rather than any one of the English royal family;

“Guillelmus Dux Normannorum, _deficiente stirpe Regis Edgari quæ idonea

esset ad tenendum sceptrum regale_, cum multis millibus armatorum ad

Anglos transfretavit, et in campo Senlac invasorem regni Albionis

Heraldum bello peremit.” Here we clearly see the first glimmering of

the new view, which gets a little plainer in William of Malmesbury,

and much plainer in those who came after him. William’s two accounts

became stock passages, which were copied by the inferior writers who

followed him, just as Florence’s description was copied by Simeon and

other more judicious compilers. For instance, William’s description is

taken as the groundwork of that given by Roger of Wendover (i. 513),

which however is well worthy of notice. The hereditary right of Eadgar

is now put much more prominently forward than it was a hundred years

earlier.

“Defuncto, ut prædictum est, Eadwardo, Anglorum Rege sanctissimo,

fluctuabant proceres regni, quem sibi Regem præficerent et rectorem.

Quidam enim Willelmo Normannorum Duci, quidam Comiti Haroldo filio

Godwini, alii autem favebant Eadgaro filio Eadwardi. Eadmundus verò

Latus-Ferreum, _Rex naturalis de stirpe Regum_, genuit Eadwardum,

Eadwardus Eadgarum, _cui de jure regnum debebatur Anglorum_. Sed

Haroldus, vir callidus et astutus, intelligens quia ‘nocuit semper

differre paratis,’ in die Epiphaniæ, quâ Rex Eadwardus sepultus est,

extortâ fide a majoribus, capiti proprio imposuit diadema.”

This account of Roger of Wendover is followed in nearly the same words

by Matthew Paris (2 ed. Wats), and in the Winchester History by Thomas

Rudborne (Ang. Sacr. i. 241), who makes some most singular comments

which I shall consider in another note. It implies more distinctly

than William of Malmesbury does that the Duke was supported by a

party—whether of native Englishmen or not—who had influence in England.

But the rights of William are now much less dwelt on than the rights

of Eadgar. Indeed there is another version, which leaves out William

altogether, and dwells wholly on the rights of Eadgar. The nation, or

a part of it, is in favour of the Ætheling, but Harold, by his wealth,

his popularity, his vigour and energy, by some means of some sort, good

or bad, contrives to supplant him. We first find this view where we

should hardly have looked for it, namely in Henry of Huntingdon (M. H.

B. 761 D), whom we elsewhere see (vol. i. p. 332) firmly believing in

the hereditary rights of William. His account is very short, but it has

become, like those of Florence and William of Malmesbury, one of the

stock passages for later writers to copy. The West Minster is hallowed,

Eadward dies and is buried; then

“Quidam Anglorum Eadgar Atheling promovere volebant in Regem. Haraldus

verò, viribus et genere fretus, regni diadema invasit.”

This is followed in one of the alternative accounts in Bromton and

R. Higden (see above, p. 586), but they add a very sound reason why

Eadgar was passed by, namely “quia puer erat, et tanto oneri minùs

idoneus.” The means of Harold’s influence is described in different

words by different copyists, but the fullest is that into which it

swells in Knighton (2339). He had Higden before him, and Higden gave,

as an alternative statement, Florence’s account of the recommendation

of Eadward and the election of Harold. “Tradit tamen Marianus,” says

Higden (284), after giving the other account, “quod Rex Edwardus ante

obitum suum _designaverit_ Haraldum Regem futurum, quem proceres mox in

Regem erexerunt.” The unlucky use of the doubtful word “designaverit”

instead of Florence’s “elegerat” led Knighton astray, and he turned the

recommendation into a prophecy. He kept however the distinct statement

of the election by the “proceres,” but mixed it up with the usual talk

about “occupavit” and with the mention of Eadgar, out of Henry of

Huntingdon. The result is worth giving in full;

“Tradunt quidam quod Rex Edwardus, ante obitum suum, Haroldum

_prædixit_ futurum Regem post se, quem proceres mox in Regem erexerunt.

Mox Haroldus regnum occupavit, quod per novem menses circiter tenuit.

Quidam enim Edgarum Adelyng, filium Edwardi filii Edmundi Ferrei

Lateris, Regem constituere moliebantur, sed quia puer erat tanto

regimini inidoneus et in bursâ minus refertus, Haraldus Comes, cui

erat mens astutior, crumena fecundior, et miles copiosior et pompis

gloriosior, sinistro omine regnum occupavit.”

This is a good specimen of the way in which later compilers put

together those accounts which we often see quoted in modern books as

if they were of equal authority with the Chronicles. It is amusing to

see how Eadward’s recommendation of Harold, the best political act of

his life, is changed, through the stages of “elegerat,” “designaverit,”

“prædixit,” into an exercise of the prophetic powers of the saint.

Still it is some comfort to see, standing forth in the midst of all

this, the bit of true history which is set forth in the words, “quem

proceres in Regem erexerunt.”