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IkU/vcr&ty rf  %a/tf<>r7i<a> 


Cbas.  fi.  g&uh2l 


HENRY  MORS*.  3TEPHEI 


fiX 47 DO 


NOTICE. 


THE  following  pages  make  no  pretension  to  be 
anything  more  than  a  very  slight  sketch  of  the  history 
of  one  who,  as  a  thinker,  a  Christian  leader,  and  a 
man,  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable  and  most  at- 
tractive characters  of  the  Middle  Ages.  In  him  are 
combined,  in  a  singular  degree,  with  the  interest  grow- 
ing out  of  a  pure  and  noble  religious  life,  governed  by 
an  unswerving  purpose  and  fruitful  in  varied  goodness, 
the  scientific  and  literary  interest  attaching  to  one 
who  opened  a  new  line  of  thought  in  philosophy,  and 
the  historical  interest  attaching  to  one  who  took  a 
leading  and  decisive  part  in  the  events  of  his  time  ; 
and  what  we  behold  in  him  is  not  the  less  impressive, 
when  it  is  observed  that  this  prominent  part  in  high 
affairs  of  Church  and  State  in  a  great  nation  was  in 
the  strongest  contrast  with  his  plan  of  life,  with  his 
cherished  pursuits,  and  with  what  seemed  to  be  his 
special  gifts  and  calling.  Others  are  to  be  met  with 
in  the  Middle  Ages  who  were  Anselm's  equals,  or  his 
superiors,  in  the  separate  aspects  of  his  character; 
but  it  would  not  be  easy  to  find  one  who  so  joined 

b 

50        5 


NOTICE. 


the  largeness  and  daring  of  a  powerful  and  inquiring 
intellect,  with  the  graces  and  sweetness  and  unselfish- 
ness of  the  most  loveable  of  friends,  and  with  the 
fortitude,  clear-sightedness,  and  dauntless  firmness  of 
a  hero,  forced  into  a  hero's  career  in  spite  of  himself, 
and  compelled,  by  no  seeking  of  his  own,  to  control 
and  direct  the  issues  of  eventful  conflicts  between  the 
mightiest  powers  of  his  time. 

I  have  told  the  story  before.  I  wish  I  could  tell  it 
as  it  ought  to  be  told — with  due  justice  to  one  who 
impressed  permanently  on  the  traditions  of  Christen- 
dom fresh  and  higher  conceptions  of  Christian  saint- 
liness,  Christian  philosophy,  and  the  obligations  of  a 
Christian  teacher  ;  with  a  due  sense  of  what  is  acci- 
dental, imperfect,  or  belonging  to  a  particular  and  an 
early  social  stage,  and  likewise  with  due  allowance  for 
it;  with  an  adequate  and  equitable  perception  of  what 
is  rudimentary  or  uncouth  in  a  character  developed 
in  times  so  far  from  our  own,  and  so  unlike  them, 
but  also  of  what  it  has  of  a  rare  beauty  and  com- 
pleteness, which  all  times  must  feel  and  admire  and 
revere ;  not  raising  its  imperfections  into  patterns 
and  standards,  or  giving  them  an  unreal  aspect  and 
colour,  to  recommend  them  to  the  judgment  of  our 
own  time,  nor  warped  by  what  is  of  our  own  time 
to  miss,  in  what  at  first  sight  is  uncongenial  and 
strange,  the  essential  notes  of  goodness,  truth,  and 
strength,  or,  what  is  worse,  to  distort  and  disfigure 
them.     But  it  is  a  difficult  task,  the  difficulty  of  which 


NOTICE. 


does  not  diminish  with  the  increase  of  our  knowledge, 
for  the  men  of  one  age  to  enter  into  the  conditions  of 
another,  removed  far  from  them  not  only  by  time,  but 
still  more  by  vast  revolutions  in  history,  and  sweep- 
ing changes  in  society ;  to  catch  and  understand  what 
is  real,  with  all  its  surrounding  circumstances,  in  long 
past  times  ;  to  be  fair  to  them,  and  to  be  fair  also  to 
ourselves. 

The  plan  of  this  series  of  works  allows  but  few 
footnotes,  or  references  to  authorities.  My  materials 
are  to  be  found  chiefly  in  the  memoirs  of  Eadmer, 
Anselm's  friend  and  companion  in  days  of  peace  and 
days  of  trouble,  and  in  the  contemporary  chroniclers, 
Orderic  of  St.  Evroul  in  Normandy,  Florence  of  Wor- 
cester, the  English  Chronicle,  and  William  of  Malms- 
bury  in  England.  I  have  made  free  use,  wherever  I  have 
found  it  convenient,  of  what  I  have  written  before.  I 
need  hardly  say  that  I  have  had  before  me  constantly 
the  history  which  Sir  Francis  Palgrave,  unfortunately, 
left  half  finished,  and  that  later  one,  soon,  we  may 
hope,  to  be  complete,  in  which  Mr.  Freeman  has 
taught  all  students  of  history  so  great  a  lesson,  and 
has  shown  how  the  most  exact  care  in  the  use  of 
materials  and  the  most  inexorable  criticism  of 
evidence  may  be  united  with  philosophical  breadth 
and  boldness,  with  generous  sympathies,  with  clear- 
ness of  narrative,  and  vigorous  eloquence.  The  ori- 
ginality and  charm  of  Anselm's  character,  and  the 
interest  of  his  history  and  of  his  philosophical  writings, 


NOTICE. 


have  been  more  appreciated  on  the  Continent  than 
in  England.  He  has  attracted  much  notice  among 
scholars  in  France  and  Germany  ;  and  I  have  to  ac- 
knowledge my  obligations  to  several.  The  essay 
on  St.  Anselm  by  the  eminent  Roman  Catholic  Pro- 
fessor Mohler,  a  short  and  imperfect  but  interesting 
one,  was  translated  into  English  in  1842.  The  Pro- 
testant Professor  Hasse,  of  Bonn  {Anselm  von  Can- 
terbury:  Bonn,  1843,  1852),  has  treated  both  Anselm's 
history  and  his  scientific  position  with  the  care  and 
knowledge  of  a  German.  There  is  also  a  work  by  Pro- 
fessor Franck,  of  Tubingen  (1842),  which  I  do  not  know. 
The  late-Emile  Saisset  discussed  Anselm's  philosophy, 
and,  incidentally,  his  genius  and  fortunes,  in  a  short 
paper,  marked  with  his  warmth  of  sympathy,  fair- 
ness, and  temperateness,  which  was  published  first 
in  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  artd  has  since  been 
republished  in  a  volume  of  Miscellanies  (Melanges 
d'Histoire,  de  Morale  et  de  Critique  :  Paris,  1859). 
Anselm  has  also  been  the  subject  of  an  admir- 
able work,  admirable  in  its  spirit  as  well  as  in  its 
ability,  by  M.  Charles  de  Remusat  {Saint  Anselme 
de  Cantorb^ry :  Paris,  1853;  2nd  edition,  1868).  M.  de 
Montalembert  published  a  short  fragment  on  Anselm 
(Paris,  1844),  which  was  to  be  part  of  an  introduction 
to  his  history  of  St.  Bernard,  and  which,  like  all 
that  he  wrote,  was  written  with  power  and  eloquence 
and  bore  the  marks  of  the  warfare  in  which  he 
passed   his  life.     There  are   also   two  unpretending 


NOTICE.  Ix 


but  very  careful  and  useful  studies  on  Lanfranc 
and  on  Anselm,  published  at  Caen  in  1853,  by 
M.  Charma,  a  professor  in  the  Faculty  of  Letters 
at  Caen  ;  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  they  have  not 
been  reprinted.  In  English,  there  are  fair  notices 
of  him  in  the  Biographia  Britannica  Liter  aria 
(London,  1846),  by  Mr.  T.  Wright;  and  by  Mr. 
Scratchley  in  the  Biographical  Dictionary  (London, 
1843).  I  have  referred  for  some  local  matters  to 
Aubert's  Vallee  d'Aoste,  and  to  a  work  on  St.  Anselm 
by  M.  Crozet-Mouchet,  Professor  of  Theology  at  Pigne- 
rol  (Paris  and  Tournai,  1859),  who  writes  with  the 
enthusiasm  and  something  of  the  credulity  of  one 
who  feels  himself  St.  Anselm's  countryman.  Anselm's 
philosophy  has  of  itself  been  the  subject  of  several 
elaborate  works.  The  Proslogion  and  Monologion 
were  translated  into  French,  and  commented  on  by 
M.  Bouchitte  {Le  Rationalisme  Chretien:  Paris,  1842). 
Other  works,  German,  Italian,  and  Spanish,  will  be 
found  referred  to  in  Hasse  and  De  Remusat.  I  must 
add  that  an  entirely  different  estimate  of  Anselm's 
character  from  what  is  given  in  these  pages,  and  an 
opposite  judgment  on  his  career,  are  to  be  found  in 
Dean  Hook's  important  contribution  to  our  Church 
history,  his  "  Lives  of  the  Archbishops  of  Can- 
terbury." 

R.  W.  C. 

Whatley,  June  26,  1870. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ha<;e 
ANSELM   OF  AOSTA I 


CHAPTER  II. 

FOUNDATION   OF  THE   MONASTERY  OF   BEC 1 6 

CHAPTER  III. 

DISCIPLINE   OF  A   NORMAN    MONASTERY 43 

CHAPTER  IV. 

ANSELM    AT    BEC 69 

CHAPTER  V. 

ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER 94 

CHAPTER  VI. 

ECCLESIASTICAL   ADMINISTRATION    OF   WILLIAM Ifj 

CHAPTER  VII. 

CHANGES   AT   WILLIAM'S    DEATH I4I 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

ANSELM,    ARCHBISHOP   OF    CANTERBURY 1 69 


xii  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

PAGE 

THE   MEETING   AT    ROCKINGHAM l'95 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   FINAL   QUARREL   WITH    WILLIAM 212 

CHAPTER  XL 

ANSELM    ON   THE   CONTINENT 227 

CHAPTER  XII. 

ANSELM    AND    HENRY    I. 247 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
anselm's  last  days .     286 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

CANTERBURY  CATHEDRAL "Frontispiece 

ST.   anselm's  WINDOW Vignette  on  title-page 


ST.    ANSELM. 


CHAPTER    I. 

ANSELM   OF  AOSTA. 

"  Far  off  the  old  snows  ever  new 
With  silver  edges  cleft  the  blue 

Aloft,  alone,  divine  ; 
The  sunny  meadows  silent  slept, 
Silence  the  sombre  armies  kept, 

The  vanguard  of  the  pine. 

In  that  thin  air  the  birds  are  still,  : 
No  ring-dove  murmurs  on  the  hill, 

Nor  mating  cushat  calls  ; 
But  gay  cicalas  singing  sprang, 
And  waters  from  the  forest  sang 

The  song  of  waterfalls." 

F.  W.  H.  Myers. 

Different  ages  have  had  their  different  ways  of 
attempting  to  carry  out  the  idea  of  a  religious  life. 
The  aim  of  such  a  life,  in  those  who  have  been  true  in 
their  pursuit  of  it,  has  always  been  the  same, — to 
know  God  and  His  will,  to  learn  to  be  like  Him  and 
to  love  Him ;  to  understand  and  realize  that  law  of 
life  of  which  our  Lord  is  the  example ;  to  shake  off 
s.l.  x.  B 


2  AN S ELM  OF  AOSTA.  [chap. 

the  yoke  of  evil,  to  face  temptation  and  overcome  it, 
and  to  rise  out  of  it  to  that  service  which  is  perfect 
freedom.  But  though  the  general  principles  and 
motives  have  been  the  same,  the  rules  and  ordering 
of  life  have  been  various.  Social  conditions,  and  the 
level  of  cultivation  and  knowledge,  have  gone  through 
numberless  changes  ;  men  have  found  by  experience 
that  what  was  reasonable  in  one  age  alters  by  the 
alteration  of  circumstances  into  what  is  unwise  and 
mischievous  in  another ;  and  that  which  was  inconceiv- 
able and  impossible  in  an  earlier  time  turns  into  the 
natural  course  of  life  in  a  later  one.  In  the  eleventh 
century,  as  in  those  immediately  before  and  after  it, 
the  natural  form  of  religious  life — that  which  of  itself 
presented  itself  to  the  thoughts  of  a  man  in  earnest, 
wishing  not  only  to  do  right,  but  to  do  the  best  he 
could  to  fulfil  God's  purpose  and  his  own  calling  by 
self-improvement — was  the  monastic  profession. 

So  strong  a  tendency  must  have  had  a  reasonable 
cause.  Many  things  of  various  character  had  con- 
tributed to  bring  this  about.  But  one  thing  must  ever 
be  borne  in  mind  if  we  would  understand  why  monasti- 
cism  in  those  times  so  completely  appropriated  to  itself 
the  name  of  religion.  To  comprehend  the  feelings  and 
thoughts  that  made  it  so  natural,  we  must  keep  in  view 
what  was  the  state  of  society  and  life  in  the  world  at  the 
time.  Since  the  Gospel  had  been  preached  and  the 
Church  founded,  human  society  had  presented,  in  the 
main,  but  two  great  aspects :  there  had  been  the 
decaying  and  infinitely  corrupt  civilization  of  the 
Roman  Empire  ;  and  then,  gradually  extinguishing 
and  replacing  it,  the  confused  and  wild  barbarism, 
full  of  noble  germs  for  the  future,  which  for  ages 


L]  AN S ELM  OF  AOSTA.  3 

followed  the  triumph  of  the  new  nations  in  Europe. 
'Thus  there  was  the  loftiest  moral  teaching,  based  on 
the  most  overwhelming  doctrines  which  the  world 
had  ever  known,  confronted  with  an  evil  and  hope- 
less condition  of  things  in  real  life,  to  which  it 
formed  a  contrast  of  which  it  is  impossible  for  us 
'now  even  to  imagine  the  magnitude.  For  eighteen 
centuries  Christianity  has  been  acting  on  human 
society ;  we  know  but  too  well  how  far  it  is  from 
having  really  made  the  world  Christian ;  but  though 
there  must  always  be  much  question  as  to  degree, 
no  one  can  seriously  doubt  that  it  has  done  a  great 
deal.  But  for  the  first  ten  of  those  centuries  it 
can  hardly  be  said  to  have  leavened  society  at  all. 
Its  influence  on  individuals,  so  vast  and  astonish- 
ing, was  no  measure  at  all  of  its  influence  on  society 
at  large.  It  acted  upon  it  doubtless  with  enormous 
power ;  but  it  was  as  an  extraneous  and  foreign  agent, 
which  destroys  and  shapes,  but  does  not  mingle  or 
renew.  It  turned  the  course  of  events,  it  changed 
worship,  it  built  churches,  it  suppressed  customs  and 
institutions,  it  imposed  punishments  and  penances, 
it  affected  language,  it  introduced  powers,  it  revolu- 
tionized policy,  it  let  loose  eventful  tendencies  ;  but 
to  the  heart  of  society, — to  the  common  life  of  common 
men,  the  ideas,  the  moralities,  the  instincts,  the 
assumptions  reigning  in  business  or  intercourse  in  the 
general  direction  of  human  activity,  to  the  unpre- 
tending, the  never-ceasing  occupations  of  family  life, — 
the  awful  visitant  from  on  high,  which  had  conquered  an 
empire  and  put  a  bridle  into  the  mouth  of  barbarians, 
and  transformed,  one  by  one,  sinners  into  saints,  had 
not  yet  found  its  way.     That  ordinary  daily  routine 

B  2 


4  ANSELM  OF  AOSTA.  [chap. 

of  life,  in  which  we  have  learned  to  see  one  of  its 
noblest    and    most    adequate   spheres,   seemed    then 
beneath  its  notice,  or  out  of  its  reach.      The  house- 
hold,  the   shop,   the  market,   the   school,   the   farm, 
the  places  of  law  and  conversation  and  amusement, 
never,  or  but   seldom,  appeared   as  the   scenes   and 
trial  places  of  a  Christian  life :  other  traditions  kept 
hold  of  them,  and,  good  or  bad,  they  were  of  times 
when  there  was  no  Christianity.     Society  was  a  long 
time  unlearning  heathenism ;  it  has  not  done  so  yet ; 
but  it  had  hardly  begun,  at  any  rate  it  was  only  just 
beginning,  to  imagine  the  possibility  of  such  a  thing 
in  the  eleventh  century.     Thus  that  combination  of 
real  and  earnest  religion  with  every-day  pursuits  of  life, 
which,  in  idea  at  least,  is  so  natural  and  so  easy  to 
us,  and  is  to  a  very  real  degree  protected  and  assisted 
by  general  usages   and  ways  of  thinking,  was  then 
almost    inconceivable.      Let    a    man    throw   himself 
into  the  society  of  his  day  then,  and  he  found  him- 
self  in    an   atmosphere   to   which   real   religion,   the 
religion  of  self-conquest  and  love,  was  simply  a  thing 
alien  or  unmeaning,  which  no  one  imagined  himself 
called   to  think   of;   or  else   amid  eager   and   over- 
mastering  activities,   fiercely  scorning   and  remorse- 
lessly trampling  down  all  restraints  of  even  common 
morality.     And  in  this  state  of  society,  the  baseness 
and  degradation  of  Latin  civilization,  or  the  lawless 
savagery  of  its  barbarian  conquerors,  a  man  was  called 
to  listen  to  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  and  to  give 
himself  up  to  the  service  of  the  Son  of  God,  who  had 
died  for  him  and  promised  him  His  Holy  Spirit  ;  to 
believe,  after  this  short  life  of  trouble  was  over,  in  an 
immortality  of  holiness,  and  now  to  fit  himself  for  it. 


I.]  ANSELM  OF  AOSTA.  5 

If  we  can  see  what  that  contemporary  society  as  a 
whole  was  like,  and  no  one  has  much  doubt  of  its 
condition,  what  would  be  the  effect  of  it  on  those 
whose  lot  was  to  be  born  in  it,  and  whose  heart  God 
had  touched  ?  They  could  not  help  the  sharp  line  by 
which  any  serious  and  real  religious  life  in  it  seemed 
to  be  excluded  :  their  natural  thought  would  be  that 
to  live  such  a  life  they  must  keep  as  much  out  of  it  as 
they  could.  That  was  the  principle  of  monasticism, 
the  best  expedient  that  then  seemed  to  present  itself, 
by  which  those  who  believed  in  Christ's  teaching 
might  be  honest  in  following  it :  to  leave  the  un- 
manageable and  uncontrollable  scBculum  to  follow  its 
own  way,  and  to  secure  posts  of  refuge  and  shelter  out 
of  its  wild  tumult,  where  men  might  find  the  religion 
which  the  conditions  of  actual  society  seemed  to 
exclude.  That  it  was  a  most  natural  expedient  is 
shown  by  the  fact  that,  wherever  religious  convictions 
have  been  unusually  keen  and  earnest  in  the  face  of 
carelessness  and  scandals  in  general  society,  there, 
even  among  those  who  have  most  hated  the  monks, 
as  the  Puritans  of  the  seventeenth,  and  the  Metho- 
dists and  Evangelicals  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the 
strong  disposition  to  draw  a  sharp  line  between 
religion  and  the  world  has  shown  itself.  That  such 
attempts,  in  the  long  run,  are  vain  to  exclude  the 
evils  they  fear,  and  are  but  very  partial  means  to 
secure  the  good  they  aim  at,  religious  people,  in  so 
early  a  stage  of  the  experience  of  the  Church,  were 
less  able  to  perceive  than  we  who  have  seen  the 
results  of  much  wider  and  more  varied  trials.  But  we 
have  no  right  to  expect  those  who  had  not  our  oppor- 
tunities of  seeing  things  worked  out  to  the  end  to 


6  ANSELM  OF  AOSTA.  [chap. 

know  as  much  as  we  do,  to  whom  time  and  changes 
and  issues  then  unimaginable  have  taught  so  much. 

Any  high  effort,  therefore,  in  those  days  to  be 
thorough  in  religion  took  the  shape  of  monastic 
discipline  and  rule.  When  we  call  it  narrow  and 
imperfect,  and  when  we  dwell  on  its  failures  and  cor- 
ruptions, we  must  remember,  first,  the  general  con- 
dition of  society  of  which  this  irresistible  tendency  to 
monasticism  was  the  natural  and  not  unreasonable 
result ;  and  next,  that  if  we  have  learned  better, 
we  have  come  later  on  the  stage  of  life.  When 
all  things  are  taken  into  account,  it  is  hard  to  re- 
sist the  conclusion  that  the  monks  made  the  best 
of  their  circumstances.  If  they  were  too  sanguine 
in  one  direction,  not  sanguine  and  trustful  enough 
in  another,  they  had  not  seen  so  many  illusions  dis- 
pelled as  we  'have ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  they  had 
not  yet  come  to  know  the  wonderful  and  unexpected 
openings  for  a  true  service  of  God,  the  unthought-of 
possibilities  of  character  and  goodness,  which  have 
been  shown  to  men  in  states  of  life  where  of  old 
such  service  seemed  impossible. 

In  writing  of  any  eminently  religious  man  of  this 
period,  it  must  be  taken  almost  as  a  matter  of  course 
that  he  was  a  monk.  St.  Anselm,  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  men  and  most  attractive  characters,  not 
only  of  the  Middle  Ages  but  of  the  whole  Christian 
history,  can  never  be  understood  or  judged  of  fairly, 
except  it  be  kept  in  mind  that  the  conditions  under 
which  he  lived  shaped  the  forms  under  which  religious 
effort  and  earnestness  showed  themselves,  and  left 
no  religious  life  conceivable  but  the  monastic  one. 
The   paths   of  life   were   then    few,  sharply  defined, 


I.]  ANSELM  OF  AOSTA.  7 

and  narrow.  A  man  who  wanted  to  be  active  in  the 
world  had  little  choice  but  to  be  a  soldier ;  a  man  who 
wanted  to  serve  God  with  all  his  heart  had  little  choice 
but  to  be  a  monk. 

Anselm,  therefore,  was  a  monk  throughout,  and  in 
all  his  thoughts  and  ways,  just  as  a  soldier  who  is 
loyal  to  his  profession  can  nowhere  be  uninfluenced 
by  its  rules  and  habits.  But  he  was  much  more  than 
a  monk.  A  great  teacher,  a  great  thinker,  a  great 
kindler  of  thought  in  others,  he  was  also  an  example  of 
gallant  and  unselfish  public  service,  rendered  without 
a  thought  of  his  own  convenience  or  honour,  to  fulfil 
what  seemed  a  plain  duty,  in  itself  very  distasteful, 
and  not  difficult  to  evade,  if  he  had  wished  to  evade  it. 
Penetrated,  too,  as  he  was  by  the  unflinching  austerity 
of  that  hard  and  stern  time,  he  was  remembered 
among  men,  less  as  the  great  sage  who  had  opened 
new  paths  to  thought,  or  as  the  great  archbishop  who 
had  not  been  afraid  of  the  face  of  kings,  or  as  the 
severe  restorer  of  an  uncompromising  and  high  aiming 
discipline,  than  as  the  loving  and  sympathizing  Chris- 
tian brother,  full  of  sweetness,  full  of  affection,  full  of 
goodness,  full  of  allowances  and  patience  for  others, 
whom  men  of  all  conditions  liked  to  converse  with, 
and  whom  neither  high  nor  low  ever  found  cold  in  his 
friendship,  or  unnatural  and  forced  in  his  condescension. 

There  is  naturally  not  much  to  say  about  his  early 
life.  The  chroniclers  of  those  days  were  not  in  the 
habit  of  going  back  to  a  man's  first  days  ;  they  were 
satisfied  with  taking  him  when  he  began  to  make 
himself  known  and  felt  in  the  world.  It  is  a  point  of 
more  than  ordinary  interest  as  regards  Anselm,  that 
we  have  some  authentic  information  about  the  times 


8  ANSELM  OF  AOSTA.  [chap. 

when  no  one  cared  about  him.  He  had  the  fortune  to 
have  a  friend  who  was  much  with  him  in  his  later 
life,  loyal,  affectionate,  simple-hearted,  admiring,  who, 
more  than  most  of  his  contemporaries  among  literary 
monks,  was  alive  to  points  of  character.  Eadmer,  the 
Englishman,  a  monk  of  Canterbury,  who  was  Anselm's 
pupil  and  then  his  follower  and  attendant  in  banish- 
ment, saw  something  else  worth  recording  in  his  great 
archbishop  besides  the  public  passages  of  his  life  and 
his  supposed  miracles.  He  observed  and  recorded 
what  Anselm  was  as  a  man,  and  not  merely  what  he 
was  as  an  ecclesiastic.  We  owe  to  him  the  notice  that 
Anselm  was  fond  of  talking  about  his  boyhood  to  his 
friends  ;  and  Ave  owe  to  him,  on  good  authority,  cir- 
cumstances about  Anselm's  first  years,  which  in  other 
cases  we  only  get  from  later  hearsay. 

Anselm  was  born  about  1033  at  Aosta,  or  in  its 
neighbourhood.  The  old  cantonment  of  Terentius 
Varro,  the  conqueror,  under  Augustus,  of  the  wild 
hill-tribes  of  the  Alps,  at  the  foot  of  the  two  famous 
passes  which  now  bear  the  name  of  St.  Bernard 
of  Menthon,— still  keeping  the  shape  of  a  camp 
given  to  it  by  the  Roman  engineers,  and  still  show- 
ing many  remains  of  the  grand  masonry  of  the 
Roman  builders, — had  then  become  a  border  city 
and  an  ecclesiastical  centre  in  the  Alpine  valleys 
which  parted  the  great  races  of  the  north  and 
south,  and  through  which  the  tides  of  their  wars 
rolled  backwards  and  forwards.  In  its  middle  age 
towers  built  of  the  squared  ashlar  of  the  Roman 
ramparts,  in  the  rude  crypts  of  its  two  churches,  in 
the  quaint  colonnades  of  its  cloisters,  in  the  mosaic 
pavements   of   its   cathedral   choir,  half  Pagan   half 


L]  ANSELM  OF  AOSTA.  9 

Christian,  in  which  what  looks  at  first  sight  like  a 
throned  image  of  our  Lord,  turns  out  to  be  only  an 
allegory  of  the  year  and  its  seasons — nay,  in  its  very 
population,  in  which,  side  by  side  with  keen  Italians 
from  the  plains  and  stalwart  mountaineers  from  the 
Alps,  a  race  diseased  in  blood  for  long  centuries  and 
degraded  to  a  degeneracy  of  human  organization  as 
hopeless,  as  in  Europe  it  is  without  parallel,  grins  and 
gibbers  about  the  streets — Aosta  still  bears  the  traces 
of  what  it  was,  in  its  civilization  as  in  its  position  ; 
the  chief  place  of  a  debateable  land,  where  Chris- 
tianity and  heathenism,  Burgundians  and  Lombards, 
Franks  and  Italians,  had  met  and  fought  and  mixed. 
The  bishopric,  founded,  it  is;.said,  in  the  fifth  century 
from  the  see  of  Vercelli,  had  been  at  one  time  a 
suffragan  see  of  Milan  ;  its  name  was  written  on  one 
of  the  episcopal  thrones  which  were  ranged  right  and 
left  of  the  marble  chair  of  St.  Ambrose,  in  the  semi- 
circle at  the  eastern  apse  of  the  church  which  bore  his 
name  :  on  the  right,  the  seats  and  names  of  Vercelli, 
Novara,  Lodi,  Tortona,  Asti,  Turin,  Aosta,  Acqui, 
and  Genoa ;  on  the  left,  those  of  Brescia,  Bergamo, 
Cremona,  Vintimiglia,  Savona,  Albenga,  Pavia,  Pia- 
cenza,  and  Como.  But  later  it  had  followed  the 
political  changes  of  the  Alpine  valleys  ;  the  Bishop 
of  Aosta  is  found  with  those  of  Geneva  and  Lausanne 
figuring  at  the  consecration  of  a  Burgundian  king  at 
St.  Maurice  in  the  Valais  ;  he  received  the  dignity  and 
feudal  powers  of  a  count,  and  even  still  he  is  said  to 
bear  the  title  of  Count  of  Cogne,  one  of  the  neigh- 
bouring valleys.  The  district  had  had  its  evangelizing 
saints,  St.  Gratus,  St.  Ursus,  and  St.  Jucundus,  names 
little  known  elsewhere,  but  meeting  us  still  everywhere 


io  ANSELM  OF  AOSTA.  [chap. 

round  Aosta.  Eadmer  describes  it  as  lying  on  the 
confines  of  Lombardy  and  Burgundy — one  of  those 
many  Burgundies  which  so  confuse  historians; — at 
this  time,  that  kingdom  of  Burgundy  or  Aries  which 
had  ceased  to  be  an  independent  kingdom  the  year 
before  Anselm's  birth,  by  the  death  of  Rudolf  III., 
1032,  and  had  become  part  of  the  Empire.  It  included 
Provence,  Dauphiny,  South  Savoy,  and  the  country 
between  the  Saone  and  Jura  (Regnum  Provincial),  with 
Burgundia  Transjurana ;  North  Savoy,  and  Switzer- 
land between  the  Reuss  and  Jura.  The  valley  had 
formed  part  of  the  dominions  of  the  thrice-married 
Adelaide,  the  heiress  of  the  Marquises  of  Susa  and 
Turin,  the  "most  excellent  Duchess  and  Marchioness 
of  the  Cottian  Alps,"  as  she  is  styled  at  the  time  :  her 
last  husband  was  Odo  or  Otto,  the  son  of  Humbert  of 
the  White  Hands,  Count  of  Maurienne.  From  this 
marriage  is  descended  the  house  of  Savoy  and  the 
present  line  of  Italian  kings  ;  and  of  the  heritage  of 
this  house  Aosta  henceforth  always  formed  a  part, 
and  its  name  continues  among  their  favourite  titles. 

The  scenery  of  Anselm's  birthplace,  ft  wild  Aosta 
lulled  by  Alpine  rills,"  is  familiar  to  the  crowds  who 
are  yearly  attracted  to  its  neighbourhood  by  the 
love  of  Alpine  grandeur  and  the  interest  of  Alpine 
adventure,  and  who  pass  through  it  on  their  way  to 
and  from  the  peaks  and  valleys  of  the  wonderful 
region  round  it.  The  district  itself  is  a  mountain 
land,  but  one  with  the  richness  and  warmth  of  the 
South,  as  it  descends  towards  the  level  of  the  river,  the 
Dora  Baltea,  which  carries  the  glacier  torrents  from  the 
mountains  round  Mont  Blanc  and  the  Matterhorn  to 
the  plains   where  they  meet  the  Po.     Great  ridges, 


I.]  ANSELM  OF  AOSTA.  II 

masking  the  huge  masses  of  the  high  Alps  behind 
them,  flank  its  long  valley  as  it  runs  straight  from 
east  to  west.  Closely  overhanging  the  city  on  the 
south,  rises  rapidly  a  wall  of  sub-alpine  mountain, 
for  great  part  of  the  day  in  shadow,  torn  by  ravines, 
with  woods  and  pastures  hanging  on  its  steep  flanks  and 
with  white  houses  gleaming  among  them,  but  tower- 
ing up  at  last  into  the  dark  precipices  of  the  Becca  di 
Nona  and  the  peak  of  Mont  Emilius.  At  the  upper 
end  of  the  valley  towards  the  west,  seen  over  a  vista 
of  walnuts,  chestnuts,  and  vines,  appear  high  up  in 
the  sky,  resting  as  it  were  on  the  breast  of  the  great 
hills,  the  white  glaciers  of  the  Ruitor,  bright  in  sun- 
shine, or  veiled  by  storms :  and  from  the  bridge  over 
'the  torrent  which  rushes  by  the  city  from  the  north, 
the  eye  goes  up  to  the  everlasting  snows  of  the 
"  domed  Velan,"  and  the  majestic  broken  Pikes  of 
the  Grand  Combin.  It  is  a  region  strongly  and  cha- 
racteristically marked.  The  legends  of  the  valley 
have  not  forgotten  Anselm  :  they  identify  the  village 
where  he  lived,  the  tower  which  was  the  refuge  or  the 
lair  of  his  family,1  the  house  in  the  suburbs  of  the 
city  where  he  was  born  ;  in  the  sacristy  of  the  cathe- 
dral they  show  his  relics  along  with  those  of  the  local 
Saints,  St.  Gratus  and  St.  Jucundus.  These  legends 
are  not  in  themselves  worthless  ;  there  is  no  reason 
why  tradition  should  not  have  preserved  real  re- 
collections :  but  no  documentary  evidence  appears  for 
them,  and  it  is  quite  possible  that  they  grew  up  only 
because  in  regions  far  distant  Anselm  became  a 
famous  man  and  a  saint  of  the  Church.     Aosta  and 

1  The  village  with  the  ruined  tower  is  Gressan,  a  few  miles  S.W.  of 
Aosta. 


12  ANSELM  OF  AOSTA.  [chap. 

its  scenery  after  all  has  little  to  do  with  the  events 
of  Anselm's  life,  and  had  probably  little  influence  in 
shaping  his  mind  and  character.  We  only  know,  on 
his  own  authority  through  Eadmer,  or  from  his  letters, 
that  his  father  Gundulf  was  a  Lombard  settler  at 
Aosta,  and  that  he  married  Ermenberga,  who  was 
related  to  the  Counts  of  Maurienne,  the  upper  lords 
of  the  valley.  Anselm  bore  a  name  which  was 
common  at  that  time  in  North  Italy,  and  is  met 
with  three  times  in  the  lists  of  the  bishops  of  Aosta 
in  the  tenth  and  eleventh  centuries.  His  parents 
were  accounted  noble,  and  had  property,  for  which 
they  paid  homage  as  vassals  to  the  Count  of  Mauri- 
enne. His  father  was  an  unthrifty  and  violent  man, 
who  on  his  deathbed  took  the  monastic  habit.  His 
mother,  a  good  woman  and  a  prudent  housewife,  used 
to  talk  to  her  child,  as  mothers  do,  about  God,  and 
gained  his  love  and  reverence.  From  Anselm's  let- 
ters we  learn  that  he  had  uncles  who  had  been  kind 
to  him,  and  an  only  sister,  married  in  the  district,  who 
did  not  forget,  in  after-times,  that  her  brother  had 
become  the  Primate  of  distant  and  famous  England^ 
We  know  nothing  more  of  his  family. 

The  only  trace  of  the  influence  on  him  of  the 
scenery  in  the  midst  of  which  he  grew  up  is  found 
in  the  story  of  a  boyish  dream  which  made  an  impres- 
sion on  him,  as  it  is  one  of  the  few  details  about 
his  life  at  Aosta  which,  doubtless  from  his  own 
mouth,  Eadmer  has  preserved.  The  story  is  not 
without  a  kind  of  natural  grace,  and  fits  in,  like  a 
playful  yet  significant,  overture,  to  the  history  of  his 
Jife.  "Anselm,"  it  says,  "when  he  was  a  little  child, 
used  gladly  to  listen,  as  far  as  his  age  allowed,  to  his 


I.]  ANSELM  OF  AOSTA.  13 

mother's  conversation  ;  and  having  heard  from  her 
that  there  is  one  God  in  heaven  above,  ruling  all 
things,  and  containing  all  things,  he  imagined,  like 
a  boy  bred  up  among  the  mountains,  that  heaven 
rested  on  the  mountains,  that  the  palace  of  God  was 
there,  and  that  the  way  to  it  was  up  the  mountains. 
His  thoughts  ran  much  upon  this  ;  and  it  came  to 
pass  on  a  certain  night  that  he  dreamed  that  he  ought 
to  go  up  to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  and  hasten  to 
the  palace  of  God,  the  Great  King.  But  before  he 
began  to  ascend  he  saw  in  the  plain  which  reached 
to  the  foot  of  the  mountain  women  reaping  the  corn, 
who  were  the  King's  maidens  ;  but  they  did  their 
work  very  carelessly  and  slothfully.  The  boy,  grieved 
at  their  sloth  and  rebuking  it,  settled  in  his  mind  to 
accuse  them  before  the  Lord,  the  King.  So  having 
pressed  on  to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  he  came  into 
the  palace  of  the  King.  There  he  found  the  Lord, 
with  only  his  chief  butler  :  for  as  it  seemed  to  him, 
all  the  household  had  been  sent  to  gather  the  har- 
vest ;  for  it  was  autumn.  So  he  went  in,  and  the  Lord 
called  him  ;  and  he  drew  near  and  sat  at  his  feet.  Then 
the  Lord  asked  him  with  gracious  kindness,  who  he 
was,  and  whence  he  came,  and  what  he  wanted.  He 
answered  according  to  the  truth.  Then  the  Lord 
commanded,  and  bread  of  the  whitest  was  brought  to 
him  by  the  chief  butler  ;  and  he  ate  and  was  refreshed 
before  the  Lord.  Therefore,  in  the  morning,  when 
he  recalled  what  he  had  seen  before  the  eyes  of  his 
mind,  he  believed,  like  a  simple  and  innocent  child, 
that  he  really  had  been  in  heaven,  and  had  been  re- 
freshed by  the  bread  of  the  Lord  ;  and  so  he  declared 
publicly  before  others." 


i4  ANSELM  OF  AOSTA.  [chap. 

From  his  boyhood  he  seems  to  have  been  a  student, 
and  he  early  felt  the  common  attraction  of  the  age 
for  the  monastic  life.  "He  was  not  yet  fifteen,  when 
he  began  to  consider  how  he  might  best  shape  his  life 
according  to  God  ;  and  he  came  to  think  with  himself 
that  nothing  in  the  conversation  of  men  was  better 
than  the  life  of  monks.  He  wrote  therefore  to  a 
certain  abbot  who  was  known  to  him,  and  asked  that 
he  might  be  made  a  monk.  But  when  the  abbot 
learned  that  Anselm  was  asking  without  his  father's 
knowledge,  he  refused,  not  wishing  to  give  offence  to 
his  father."  Anselm  then,  according  to  a  common  idea 
so  often  met  with  in  the  records  of  mediaeval  religion, 
prayed  that  he  might  be  struck  with  sickness,  in  order 
that  the  repugnance  of  his  friends  to  his  proposed 
change  of  life  might  be  overcome.  He  fell  sick ;  but 
even  then  the  fear  of  his  father  hindered  his  reception, 
and  he  recovered.  "  It  was  not  God's  will,"  says  his 
biographer,  "  that  he  should  be  entangled  in  the  con- 
versation of  that  place." 

Then  came  the  time  of  reaction  ;  renewed  health 
and  youth  and  prosperity  were  pleasant,  and  put  the 
thoughts  of  a  religious  life  out  of  his  mind  :  he  looked 
forward  now  to  entering  "  the  ways  of  the  world." 
Even  his  keen  love  of  study,  to  which  he  had  been  so 
devoted,  gave  way  before  the  gaieties  and  sports  of  his 
time  of  life.  His  affection  for  his  mother  was  a  partial 
restraint  on  him  ;  but  when  she  died,  "  the  ship  of  his 
heart  lost  its  anchor,  and  drifted  off  altogether  into 
the  waves  of  the  world."  But  family  disagreements 
sprung  up.  His  biographer,  perhaps  he  himself  too  in 
after  life,  saw  the  hand  of  Providence  in  his  father's 
harshness  to  him,  which  no  submission  could  soften, 


I.]  ANSELM  OF  AOSTA.  15 

and  which  at  last  drove  him  in  despair  to  leave  his 
home,  and  after  the  fashion  of  his  countrymen  to  seek 
his  fortune  in  strange  lands.  Italians,  especially  Lom- 
bards, meet  us  continually  in  the  records  and  letters 
of  this  time  as  wanderers,  adventurers,  monks,  in  Nor- 
mandy and  even  England.  He  crossed  Mont  Cenis 
with  a  single  clerk  for  his  attendant,  and  he  did  not 
forget  the  risk  and  fatigue  of  the  passage.  He  spent 
three  years  partly  in  what  was  then  called  Burgundy, 
the  portions  of  modern  France  corresponding  roughly 
with  the  valley  of  the  Saone  and  Rhone,  and  the 
upper  valley  of  the  Seine,  partly  in  France  proper, 
the  still  narrow  kingdom  of  which  Paris  and  Rheims 
and  Orleans  were  the  chief  cities  ;  then,  following 
perhaps  the  track  of  another  Italian,  Lanfranc  of 
Pavia,  he  came  to  Normandy,  and  remained  for  a 
time  at  Avranches,  where  Lanfranc  had  once  taught. 
Finally,  he  followed  Lanfranc,  now  a  famous  master, 
to  the  monastery  where  he  had  become  prior,  the 
newly-founded  monastery  of  Bee.  Bee  was  a  school 
as  well  as  a  monastery,  and  there  Anselm,  along  with 
other  young  men  whom  the  growing  wish  to  learn  and 
the  fame  of  the  teacher  had  drawn  thither,  settled 
himself,  not  as  a  monk  but  as  a  student,  under  Lan- 
franc. The  monastery  of  .Bee  was  so  characteristic  a 
growth  of  the  time,  and  in  its  short-lived  but  brilliant 
career  of  glory  exercised  so  unique  and  eventful  an 
influence,sthat  a  few  words  may  be  properly  given 
to  it. 


CHAPTER.  II. 

FOUNDATION    OF   THE   MONASTERY   OF   BEC. 

"There  is  a  day  in  spring 
When  under  all  the  earth  the  secret  germs 
Begin  to  stir  and  glow  before  they  bud  : 
The  wealth  and  festal  pomps  of  midsummer 
Lie  in  the  heart  of  that  inglorious  day, 
Which  no  man  names  with  blessing,  though  its  work 
Is  blest  by  all  the  world." 

The  Story  of  Queen  Isabel,  by  M.  S. 

In  the  end  of  the  tenth  and  the  beginning-  of  the 
eleventh  century  the  waste  caused  by  the  great  inva- 
sion which  had  made  Normandy  was  beginning  to  be 
repaired.  The  rapidity  with  which  the  Normans  took 
the  impress  of  their  new  country,  and  assimilated 
themselves  to  the  Latin  civilization  round  them,  is 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  points  in  the  character  of 
this  remarkable  race.  Churches  and  monasteries  had 
perished  among  the  other  desolations  of  Rollo's  Pagan 
sea-kings :  but  the  children  of  Rollo's  Pagan  sea- 
kings  had  become  the  settled  lords  of  lands  and 
forests  and  towns  ;  and  though  the  taint  of  heathenism 
was  still  among  them,  even  in  their  creed,  and  much 
more  in  their  morality,  the  most  important  portion  of 
them  had  come  to  feel  about  their  new  faith  as  if  it 
was  the  one  which  all  their  forefathers  had  ever  held. 
Churches    and    monasteries   were   beginning   to   rise 


chap.  II.]  THE  MONASTERY  OF  BEC.  17 

again.  The  famous  house  of  Jumieges,  which  Hasting 
the  pirate  had  destroyed,  had  been  restored  by  Rollo's 
son,  William  Longsword,  about  940 ;  another  of 
Hastings  ruins,  St.  Wandrille  at  Fontanelle,  was  re- 
stored by  Richard  the  Good  (1008).  Fecamp,  Mont  St. 
Michel,  St.  Ouen,  ascribed  their  foundation  or  renova- 
tion to  his  father,  Richard  the  Fearless,  still,  like  Wil- 
liam Longsword,  a  "  Duke  of  Pirates"  to  the  French 
chronicler  Richer  (943-996).  At  Fecamp,  where  he  had 
a  palace,  he  built  or  rebuilt  an  abbey  and  minster  in 
prospect  of  the  sea,  from  which  his  fathers  had  come ; 
minster  and  palace,  as  at  Westminster,  Holyrood, 
and  the  Escurial,  were  in  close  neighbourhood.  The 
church,  one  of  the  first  of  which  we  have  any  details, 
was  costly  and  magnificent  for  the  time  ;  an  architect 
was  carefully  sought  out  for  it,  and  it  was  "  constructed 
of  '  well-squared  masonry  by  a  Gothic  hand/ — the 
Goth  being  unquestionably  a  master  mason  from 
Lombardy  or  the  Exarchate."  "  It  was  adorned  by 
lofty  towers,  beautifully  finished  without  and  richly 
ornamented  within."  "There  was  one  object,  how- 
ever, which  excited  much  speculation.  It  was  a  large 
block  of  stone  placed  right  across  the  path  which  led 
to  the  transept  doorway,  so  close  to  the  portal  as  to 
be  beneath  the  drip  of  the  eaves.  .  .  .  Fashioned  and 
located  by  Duke  Richard's  order,  the  stone  was  hol- 
lowed out  so  as  to  form  a  huge  strong  chest,  which 
might  be  used  as  a  coffin  or  a  sarcophagus.  Its  present 
employment,  however,  was  for  the  living  and  not  for 
the  dead.  On  the  eve  of  every  Lord's-day  the  chest, 
or  whatever  it  might  be  called,  was  filled  to  the  brim 
with  the  finest  wheat-corn — then  a  cate  or  luxury, 
as  it  is  now  considered  in  many  parts  of  France.  To 
s.l.  x.  C 


1 8  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  [chap. 

this  receptacle  the  poor  resorted,  and  each  filled  his 
measure  of  grain."  They  also  received  a  dole  of 
money,  and  an  almoner  carried  the  gift  to  the  sick. 
When  Richard  died,  then  the  purpose  of  the  chest 
was  made  clear.  "  His  last  instructions  were,  that  the 
chest  should  contain  his  corpse,  lying  where  the  foot 
should  tread,  and  the  dew  descend,  and  the  waters  of 
heaven  should  fall." 1     He 

"  Marked  for  his  own, 
Close  to  those  cloistered  steps,  a  burial-place, 
That  every  foot  might  fall  with  heavier  tread, 
Trampling  his  vileness." 

Richard  the  Good  favoured  still  more  the  increasing 
tendency  to  church  building  and  the  restoration  of 
monasteries  ;  and  the  Norman  barons  began  to  follow 
the  example  of  their  chiefs.  They  rivalled  one  another, 
says  Ordericus,  the  chronicler  of  St.  Evroul,  in  the 
good  work  and  in  the  largeness  of  their  alms  ;  and  a 
powerful  man  thought  that  he  laid  himself  open  to 
mockery  if  he  did  not  help  clerks  or  monks  on  his 
lands  with  things  needful  for  God's  warfare.  Roger 
de  Toeni  built  the  Abbey  of  Conches,  and  brought 
a  monk  from  Fecamp  to  be  its  first  abbot  (1035). 
Goscelin,  Count  of  Arques,  founded  that  of  the 
"Trinite  du  Mont"(i03o),  on  that  Mount  St.  Cathe- 
rine which  looks  down  on  Rouen,  and  brought  a 
German  monk  from  St.  Wandrille  to  govern  it ;  and 
from  this  house,  again,  William,  Count  of  Eu,  or  his 
widow,  called  another  German,  Aimard,  to  be  the 
abbot  of  their  new  foundation  at  St.  Pierre  sur  Dive 
{1046).  About  the  same  time  William  Fitz-Osbern, 
soon  to  be  a  famous  name,  founded  an  abbey  at  Lire 

1  Palgrave,  iii.  21 — 27. 


II.]  MONASTERY  OF  BEC.  19 

(1046),  and  later  another  at  Cormeilles  (1060).  At 
Pont  Audemer  two  houses,  one  for  men  and  another 
for  women,  were  founded  by  Humphrey  de  Vieilles. 
Two  brothers  of  the  famous  house  of  Grentmaisnil 
began  on  their  lands  a  foundation  which  was  after- 
wards transferred,  at  the  instance  of  their  relative, 
William  the  son  of  Geroy,  to  a  site  anciently  hal- 
lowed, then  made  desolate  by  war,  and  lately 
again  occupied  for  its  old  purpose  in  the  humblest 
fashion ; — the  spot  on  which  arose  the  important 
monastery  of  St.  Evroul  or  Ouche  (1056).  William, 
son  of  Geroy,  who  had  first  thought  of  restoring  St. 
Evroul,  was  the  son  of  a  father  who,  fierce  warrior 
as  he  was,  is  said  by  Orderic  to  have  "built  six 
churches  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  out  of  his  own 
means"  in  different  parts  of  his  estates.  This  must 
have  been  in  the  early  part  of  the  eleventh  century. 

But  along  with  the  account  of  this  remarkable 
movement  are  deep  and  continual  complaints  of  the 
character  both  of  clergy  and  monks.  Restoring 
churches  was  one  thing ;  having  fit  men  to  serve  in 
them  was  another.  The  change  was  so  great  between 
the  end  of  the  century  and  the  beginning,  between 
the  religious  feeling  of  the  men  who  lived  with 
William  the  Conqueror  and  Lanfranc,  and  those  who 
lived  when  Richard  the  Good  built  Fecamp,  that  some 
allowance  must  be  made  for  the  depreciating  and 
contemptuous  tone  in  which  a  strict  age  is  apt  to 
speak  of  the  levity  and  insensibility  of  an  easier  one 
before  it.  Such  judgments  are  often  unjust  and 
always  suspicious.  All  was  not  godless  and  cold  in 
the  last  century,  though  the  more  decided  opinions  or 
greater  zeal  of  this  often  makes  it  a  proverb  of  reproach. 

C  2 


2o  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  [chap. 


But  still  it  is  clear  that  the  Norman  clergy  as  a  whole 
were  rude,  ignorant,  and  self-indulgent,  to  a  degree 
which  seemed  monstrous  and  intolerable  fifty  years 
later.  The  chief  ecclesiastical  dignity  of  the  duchy,  the 
great  Archbishopric  of  Rouen,  was  occupied  for  a  hun- 
dred and  thirteen  years  by  three  prelates,  of  whom  the 
least  scandalous  part  of  their  history  was  that  two  of 
them  were  bastards  of  the  ducal  house,  and  who  in  their 
turbulence  and  licence  were  not  to  be  distinguished 
from  the  most  unscrupulous  of  the  military  barons 
round  them.  Marriage  was  common,  even  among 
bishops  ;  it  may  not  always  have  been  marriage,  but 
there  plainly  was  a  connection  which  was  not  yet 
looked  upon,  as  it  came  to  be  at  the  end  of  this 
century,  as  concubinage;  and  even  a  writer  like 
Orderic,  who  of  course  condemns  it  unreservedly 
in  the  general,  speaks  of  it  incidentally  in  men 
whom  he  respects,  and  without  being  much  shocked. 
The  clergy  were  not  only  easy  in  their  lives  ;  they 
were  entirely  without  learning ;  and  the  habit  prevailed 
of  their  holding  lay  fees  by  military  service,  and 
of  bearing  arms  without  scruple.  The  old  Danish 
leaven  was  still  at  work.  In  1049  a  council  at  Rheims, 
held  under  Pope  Leo  IX.,  formally  forbade  clerics  to 
wear  warlike  weapons  or  to  perform  military  service. 
The  standard  was  low  among  churchmen,  according 
to  the  ideas  of  the  age,  both  as  to  knowledge  and 
morality.  Attempts  were  made  from  time  to  time  to 
raise  it.  The  example  of  the  great  abbeys  in  France, 
Cluni  and  Marmoutier,  was  appealed  to.  A  colony 
of  monks  from  one  of  them  was  introduced  into  a 
Norman  house  to  reform  it.  Strangers  of  high 
character,  Frenchmen,  Germans,  Italians,  were  placed 


n.]  MONASTERY  OF  BEC.  21 

at  the  head  of  abbeys,  as  Duke  Richard  invited  St. 
William  of  Dijon  to  Fecamp.  These  things  were 
probably  not  without  their  effect.  But  a  real  move- 
ment of  wholesome  and  solid  change,  though  the 
stimulus  may  come  from  without,  must  begin  and 
grow  up  at  home.  It  must  spring  out  of  native  feel- 
ings and  thought,  and  an  understanding  of  necessities 
on  the  spot,  and  it  must  shape  itself  amid  the  circum- 
stances in  which  it  is  to  act. 

And  so,  in  fact,  the  reform  came ;  influenced  by 
external  example,  directed  by  foreign  experience, 
but  of  home  growth  in  the  will  to  begin  it,  and  in 
the  heart  to  carry  it  out.  The  monasteries  which  we 
have  read  of  were  founded  or  restored  by  great  and 
powerful  men ;  their  motives  probably  were  mixed, 
but  among  these  motives,  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt, 
was  the  wish  to  help  the  side  of  goodness  and  peace  ; 
to  strengthen  it  by  the  efforts  of  men  who  under- 
took to  live  for  it;  to  give  it  stability  and  even 
grandeur  in  the  world — a  grandeur  not  dispropor- 
tionate to  its  own  claims,  and  to  the  grandeur  which 
was  realized  in  the  secular  state.  But  there  was  one 
thing  which  these  foundations  had  not ; — the  founder 
was  not  the  occupant  of  the  house  which  he  founded  ; 
he  founded  it  for  others  to  live  and  work  in,  and 
not  himself.  The  life  and  vigour  which  come  when 
a  man  throws  himself  with  all  his  soul  into  a  work 
or  an  institution — and  nothing  less  could  suffice  to 
give  success  to  an  undertaking  like  the  monastic  rule 
— were  wanting.  The  genuine  impulse,  coming  not 
from  patronage,  but  from  enthusiasm,  not  from  the 
desire  to  see  others  do  a  hard  and  important  thing, 
but  to  do  it  oneself;  the  impulse,  not  from  above  and 


22  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  [chap. 


outside,  but  from  below  and  from  the  heart  of  society 
itself,  was  first  seen  in  the  attempt,  plain,  humble, 
homely,  unpretending,  without  the  faintest  thought 
or  hope  of  great  results,  which  led  to  the  growth 
— its  actual  foundation  was  in  the  last  degree  insig- 
nificant— of  the  famous  abbey  of  Bee. 

It  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  the  character 
of  the  Abbey  of  Bee  influenced  not  merely  Norman 
monasticism,  but  the  whole  progress  of  learning,  educa- 
tion, and  religious  thought  and  feeling  in  Normandy, 
more  than  any  other  institution.  Orderic,  the  chro- 
nicler of  Normandy  and  Norman  life,  whose  praise 
of  other  monasteries  is  very  warm,  but  usually 
rather  vague  and  undiscriminating,  is  in  the  case  of 
Bee,  in  spite  of  the  exaggeration  of  his  high-flown 
eulogies,  unusually  distinct  in  what  he  fixes  upon  as 
characteristic.  It  is  the  intellectual  activity  of  Bee 
on  which  he  dwells,  as  marking  it  out  from  all  other 
houses.  The  men  of  Bee  were  excellent  monks ; 
he  praises  especially  their  cheerfulness  among  one 
another,  and  he  cannot  say  enough  of  their  hospi- 
tality: "Burgundians  and  Spaniards,  strangers  from 
far  or  near,  will  answer  for  it  how  kindly  they  have 
been  welcomed.  .  .  The  door  of  Bee  is  open  to  every 
traveller,  and  to  no  one  who  asks  in  the  name  of 
charity  is  their  bread  denied."  But  the  thing  which 
above  all  strikes  him  in  them,  as  different  from  other 
communities  round,  is  their  unique  eminence  as  a 
school  of  study  and  teaching.  He  dwells  at  great 
length  and  with  much  satisfaction  on  the  pursuits  fol- 
lowed at  his  own  monastery,  St.  Evroul ;  he  mentions 
the  names  of  its  distinguished  members  ;  and  he  him- 
self is  a  proof  that  its  cloister  was  not  an  idle  or  care- 


II.]  MONASTERY  OF  BEC.  23 

less  one :  but  the  things  which  were  cultivated  and  were 
of  repute  at  St.  Evroul,  were  the  art  of  copying  books 
and  church  music.  But  what  he  notes  at  Bee  was  a 
spirit  of  intellectual  vigour  in  the  whole  body  which 
does  not  appear  elsewhere.  Bee  first  opened  to 
Normandy  the  way  of  learning.  "  Under  Lanfranc  the 
Normans  first  fathomed  the  art  of  letters  ;  for  under  the 
six  dukes  of  Normandy  scarce  any  one  among  the 
Normans  had  applied  himself  to  liberal  studies,  nor 
was  there  any  teacher  found,  till  God,  the  Provider  of 
all  things,  brought  Lanfranc  to  Normandy."  There 
is  perhaps  a  touch  of  sly  half-unconscious  banter  in 
the  remark  that  the  monks  of  Bee  "  seem  almost  all 
philosophers,"  and  "  from  their  conversation,  even 
that  of  those  who  seem  illiterate  among  them,  and  are 
called  rustics,  even  pompous  men  of  letters  (spumantes 
grammatici)  may  learn  something  worth  knowing." 
It  is  something  like  the  half-compliment,  half-sneer, 
of  the  nickname  which  used  to  be  applied  in  Oxford 
to  one  of  its  most  famous  colleges,  in  days  when  it 
led  the  way  in  revived  religious  and  intellectual 
earnestness,  and  opened  the  march  of  university 
reform.  But  it  is  not  the  less  a  proof  of  the  way 
in  which  Bee  was  regarded.  Yet  no  monastery  in 
Normandy  started  from  humbler  beginnings,  or  less 
contemplated  what  it  achieved. 

"  The  tale  of  the  early  days  of  Bee,"  says  Mr.  Free- 
man, "  is  one  of  the  most  captivating  in  the  whole 
range  of  monastic  history  and  monastic  legend.  It 
has  a  character  of  its  own.  The  origin  of  Bee  differs 
from  that  of  those  earlier  monasteries  which  gradually 
grew  up  around  the  dwelling-place  or  the  burial-place 
of  some  revered  bishop  or  saintly  hermit.     It  differs 


24  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  [chap. 

again  from  the  origin  of  those  monasteries  of  its  own 
age,  which  were  the  creation  of  some  one  external 
founder.  Or  rather,  it  united  the  two  characters  in 
one.  It  gradually  rose  to  greatness  from  very  small 
beginnings ;  but  gradual  as  the  process  was,  it  took 
place  within  the  lifetime  of  one  man  ;  and  that  man 
was  at  once  its  founder  and  first  ruler.  The  part  of 
Cuthberht  at  Lindisfarne,  the  parts  of  William  and  of 
Lanfranc  at  Caen,  were  all  united  in  Herlwin,  Knight, 
Founder,  and  Abbot." 

The  Abbey  of  Bee,  or,  as  it  should  be  properly 
written,  "  the  Bee "  {Lc  Bee),  took  its  name  from  no 
saint,  from  no  previously  existing  designation  of  place 
or  mountain,  but  from  the  nameless  rivulet,  or  Beck, 
which  flowed  through  the  meadows  where  it  was  at 
last  built,  and  which  washed  the  abbey  wall.  These 
fields  were  on  the  skirts  of  the  forest  of  Brionne: 
and  the  Beck,  on  which  were  originally  two  or  three 
mills,  flowed  through  a  little  valley  into  one  of  the 
streams  of  eastern  Normandy,  the  Rille.  The  Rille 
springs  from  the  high  ground  where  the  chief  rivers  of 
Normandy  all  rise  near  to  another,  the  Eure,  the  Iton, 
the  Touque,  the  Dive,  the  Orne  ;  and  it  flows  from 
north  to  south,  by  Pont  Audemer,  into  the  great 
mouth  of  the  Seine,  below  Quillebceuf.  The  map 
shows  us,  marked  on  its  course,  many  names,  since 
become  familiar  and  illustrious  in  England  :  Mont- 
fort,  Harcourt,  Beaumont,  Romilly.  Two  castles  on 
its  banks  were  very  famous  in  the  history  of  Nor- 
mandy— the  Eagle's  Castle,  Castrum  Aquilcz,  UAigle, 
in  its  upper  course  ;  and  Brionne,  half-way  to  the  sea. 
Brionne,  the  "  noble  castle,"  not  the  fortress  on  the 
rock,  of  which  the  ruins  remain  now,  but  one  on  an 


il.]  MONASTERY  OF  BEC.  25 

island  in  the  river,  was  one  of  the  keys  of  the  land, 
a  coveted  trust  and  possession  among  the  rival  lords 
of  Normandy  ;  often  exchanging  masters,  often  be- 
sieged, won  and  lost.  In  the  days  of  Duke  Robert,  the 
Conqueror's  father  (102 3- 1035),  it  was  held  by  Count 
Gilbert,  himself  of  the  ducal  house  ;  who,  when  Duke 
Robert  went  on  the  Eastern  pilgrimage  from  which  he 
never  came  back,  was  left  one  of  the  guardians  of  his 
young  son.  Among  Count  Gilbert's  retainers  was 
Herlwin,  a  soldier  of  the  old  Danish  stock,  but  with 
noble  Flemish  blood  in  his  veins  from  his  mother. 
Herlwin,  a  brave  knight,  wise  in  council,  and  famous 
after  he  became  abbot  for  his  thorough  familiarity 
with  the  customs  and  legal  usages  of  the  Normans, 
was  high  in  favour  and  honour  both  with  Count  Gilbert 
and  Duke  Robert.  There  was  a  natural  nobleness 
and  generosity  too  about  him,  that  did  not  always 
go  together  with  the  stout  arm  and  strong  head.  His 
biographer  tells  that  once,  when  he  thought  he  had 
been  ill-used  by  his  lord,  he  absented  himself  from  his 
service  ;  but  after  a  while  he  heard  that  Count  Gilbert 
was  engaged  in  a  quarrel  with  a  powerful  neighbour 
whom  he  had  challenged,  and  that  a  battle  was  at 
hand.  On  the  day  fixed  for  the  battle,  when  Count 
Gilbert  was  anxiously  measuring  his  strength,  a  band 
of  twenty  men  was  seen  approaching  behind  him.  It 
was  Herlwin,  who,  with  unlooked-for  generosity,  had 
come,  in  spite  of  his  sense  of  injury,  to  help  his  lord 
at  his  need.  The  battle  was  stopped  by  the  Duke's 
officers,  and  the  quarrel  referred  to  his  court ;  and 
Herlwin  was  reconciled  with  Count  Gilbert.  But  in 
this  wild  society  and  wild  household,  Herlwin  was  a 
man  whose  heart  was  touched  with  the  thoughts  and 


26  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  [chap. 

claims  of  another  world.  He  tried  in  his  way,  and 
with  such  light  as  he  had,  to  lead  a  pure  and  Christian 
life  ;  he  tried,  in  many  uncouth  and  perhaps  absurd 
ways,  to  be  true  to  his  conscience  ;  he  tried,  in  spite 
of  mockery  and  jeers  from  his  rough  fellows,  who  in 
those  days,  we  are  told,  could  not  understand  any  one 
in  a  whole  skin  thinking  of  religion.  The  ways  of  a 
Norman  military  family  were  more  and  more  dis- 
tasteful to  him ;  and,  in  spite  of  his  lord's  reluctance 
to  part  with  so  faithful  a  vassal,  his  mind  was  set 
more  and  more  on  getting  free  in  the  only  way  which 
seemed  open  to  him.  A  story  is  told  by  the  chronicler 
of  the  neighbouring  house  of  St.  Evroul,  in  introducing 
his  name  and  foundation,  which  does  not  appear  in 
the  traditions  of  Bee,  that  Herl win's  final  resolution 
was  the  result  of  a  vow  made  in  a  moment  of  imminent 
peril  in  battle.  He  had  accompanied  Count  Gilbert 
in  a  great  expedition  into  a  neighbouring  land,  the 
Vimeu,  the  district  of  the  Lower  Somme ;  but  things 
"  fell  not  out  to  Count  Gilbert  according  to  his  desire. 
For  Ingelram,  Count  of  Ponthieu,  met  him  with  a  strong 
force,  and  engaging  him,  put  him  to  flight  with  his 
men,  and  of  the  fugitives  many  were  taken,  and  many 
slain,  and  many  disabled  with  wounds.  Then  a  certain 
soldier  there  named  Herlwin,  fearing  the  danger,  and 
flying  with  all  his  might  for  his  life,  vowed  to  God 
that,  if  he  got  off  safe  from  so  present  a  danger,  he 
would  henceforth  be  soldier  to  none  but  God.  By 
God's  will  he  honourably  escaped,  and,  mindful  of  his 
vow,  left  the  world,  and  in  his  patrimony,  in  a  place 
called  Bee,  founded  a  monastery  to  St.  Mary,  Mother 
of  God."  The  story  may  be  true,  as  it  is  characteristic 
of  the  time,  and  is  not  meant  to  reflect  on  Herlwin's 


ii.]  MONASTERY  OF  EEC.  27 

courage ;  but  it  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  accounts 
which  represent  Herlwin's  change  as  arising  from 
deeper  and  more  serious  feelings. 

Herlwin  had  no  thought  of  anything  but  following 
the  leading  of  a  simple  and  earnest  heart,  which 
impressed  on  him  with  ever-increasing  force  that  a  life 
of  strife,  greed,  and  bloodshed,  a  life  of  pride  and  sen- 
suality— the  life  which  he  saw  all  round  him — was  no 
life  for  a  Christian.  He  knew  but  one  way  of  escaping 
from  it ;  and  the  one  motive  of  all  that  led  to  the 
creation  of  his  monastery  was  the  resolution  to  escape. 
No  project  of  foundation,  no  ideas,  however  vague,  of 
general  reform,  crossed  his  mind.  He  found  himself 
living  where  prayer  seemed  a  mockery,  where  selfish- 
ness and  hatred  ruled,  where  God  was  denied  at  every 
step  ;  and  he  sought  a  shelter,  the  humblest  and  most 
obscure  he  could  find,  where  he  might  pray  and 
believe  and  be  silent.  That  alone,  but  that  in  the 
most  thorough  and  single-minded  earnestness,  led 
him  to  give  up  his  place,  a  favoured  and  honoured 
one,  in  the  society  round  him,  for  the  most  unpre- 
tending form  of  monastic  devotion.  He  could  live 
with  a  few  companions  on  his  property,  where  he 
could  build  them  a  humble  dwelling  and  a  church, 
and  where  they  could  make  it  their  employment  to 
worship  and  praise  God.  He  was  about  thirty-seven 
years  old  when  his  thoughts  turned  to  this  change  of 
life.  Herlwin  was  a  genuine  Norman,  resolute,  in- 
flexible in  purpose,  patient  in  waiting  his  time,  wholly 
devoted  to  his  end,  daunted  by  no  repulse,  shrewd, 
sturdy,  and  sure  of  his  ground,  and  careless  of  appear- 
ances in  comparison  with  what  was  substantial  in  his 
object.     The  time  had  not  yet  come  for  the  enthu- 


28  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  [chap. 

siasm  and  the  fashion  among  Normans  for  the  monastic 
life,  the  life,  as  we  should  call  it,  of  strict  and  serious 
religious  profession.  Priest  and  bishop  still  kept  up  the 
old  Norse  habit  of  wearing  arms,  and  lived  very  much 
like  their  military  brethren.  Herlwin  went  through 
the  ordeal  of  jeers,  annoyances,  and  frowns,  which  a 
profession  of  strictness,  probably  coarse  and  rude  in 
its  form,  was  likely  to  meet  with  from  the  coarse  and 
mocking  fighting  men  collected  about  a  powerful 
Norman  chief.  It  was  not  easy  for  a  brave  soldier 
and  a  useful  vassal  to  get  leave  to-  quit  his  lord's 
service,  and  it  was  not  safe  to  offend  him  by  quitting 
it  without  leave.  Herlwin  tried  long  in  vain:  at 'last 
the  tie  broke  under  the  strain.  Herlwin  would  not 
execute  some  service  for  his  lord  which  he  thought 
unjust,  and  his  lord's  vengeance  fell  on  Herlwin's 
lands  and  tenants,  and  threatened  himself.  He  was 
summoned  to  the  lord's  court ;  but  he  only  pleaded 
for  his  poor  tenants,  and  asked  nothing  for  himself. 
His  lord  was  touched,  and  sent  for  him  and  asked 
what  he  really  wanted.  "By  loving  this  world," 
he  answered,  with  many  tears,  "  and  in  obeying  thee, 
I  have  hitherto  too  much  neglected  God  and  myself; 
I  have  been  altogether  intent  on  training  my  body, 
and  I  have  gained  no  education  for  my  soul :  if  ever  I 
have  deserved  well  of  thee,  let  me  pass  what  remains 
of  my  life  in  a  monastery.  Let  me  keep  your  love, 
and  with  me  give  to  God  what  I  had  of  you."  And 
he  had  his  wish. 

He  set  to  work  at  once  to  build  his  retreat,  and  he 
sought  to  gain  some  knowledge  of  the  practice  of 
•monastic  discipline.  His  first  attempts  led  to  some 
rude  experiences.     u  The  manners  of  the  time  were 


II.]  MONASTERY  OF  BEC.  29 

still  barbarous  all  over  Normandy,"  says  his  bio- 
grapher, who  tells,  with  a  kind  of  sly  gravity,  how 
while  Herlwin  was  once  watching,  with  the  deepest 
admiration  and  reverence,  the  grave  order  of  some 
monks  seated  in  their  cloister,  he  suddenly  found  him- 
self saluted  by  a  hearty  cuff  on  the  back  of  his  neck 
from  the  fist  of  the  custodian,  who  had  taken  him 
for  a  thief,  and  who  dragged  him  by  his  hair  out 
of  doors  ;  and  how  this  "  solace  of  edification "  was 
followed  at  a  monastery  of  greater  name,  by  seeing 
the  monks  in  their  Christmas  procession  laughing  and 
joking  to  the  crowd,  showing  off  their  rich  vestments 
to  the  bystanders,  and  pushing  and  fighting  for  places, 
till  at  last  one  monk  knocked  down  another,  who  was 
hustling  him,  flat  on  his  back  on  the  ground.  But, 
undiscouraged,  Herlwin  went  on. 

He  first  established  his  house  on  his  patrimony  at 
Bonneville,  a  place  a  short  distance  from  Brionne.  He 
himself  dug  the  foundations  for  his  church,  carried 
away  the  rubbish,  and  brought  on  his  shoulders  the 
stones,  sand,  and  lime  ;  and  when  he  had  ended  the 
day's  work,  he  learned  the  psalter  at  night,  which  he 
had  not  time  for  by  day.  At  forty  years  old  he 
learned  his  letters  and  taught  himself  to  read.  At 
length  his  church  was  built;  and  in  1034,  he,  with  two 
companions,  was  made  a  monk  by  the  Bishop  of 
Lisieux.  Three  years  after,  he  was  ordained  priest, 
and  made  abbot  of  the  new  house,  "  because,  it  being 
so  poor,  no  one  else  would  take  the  government." 
"  He  ruled  most  strictly,  but  in  the  manner  of  the 
pious  fathers.  You  might  see  the  abbot,  when  the 
office  was  done  in  church,  carrying  the  seed-corn  on 
his  shoulder,  and  a  rake  or  mattock  in  his  hand,  going 


3o  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  [chap. 

forth  to  the  field.  The  monks  were  busy  with  labour 
all  day ;  they  cleaned  the  land  from  thorns  and 
brambles;  others  brought  dung  on  their  shoulders  and 
spread  it  abroad.  They  hoed,  they  sowed  ;  no  one 
ate  his  bread  in  idleness ;  and  at  each  hour  of  prayer 
they  assembled  for  service  at  the  church."  Herlwin's 
mother,  a  lady  of  noble  blood  from  Flanders,  made 
over  all  her  lands,  and  served  the  community  as  their 
handmaid,  washing  their  clothes,  and  fulfilling  to  the 
utmost  whatever  was  enjoined  her. 

The  new  house  had  its  troubles.  It  was  burned 
down,  and  the  report,  as  it  first  reached  Herlwin,  was 
that  his  mother  had  perished.  Lifting  up  his  eyes 
with  tears  to  God,  he  cried  out,  "  Thanks  be  to  Thee, 
O  God,  that  my  mother  has  been  taken  away  in  the 
work  of  ministry  to  Thy  servants."  The  report,  how- 
ever, was  a  false  one.  But  the  place  was  inconvenient. 
It  wanted  the  two  great  necessities  of  a  monastery — 
wood  and  water.  This,  reinforced  by  a  vision,  made 
him  change  his  abode.  He  removed  to  a  spot  about 
a  mile  from  the  castle  of  Brionne,  where  he  had 
property  called,  from  the  stream  that  flowed  there, 
"  The  Beck,"  Bcccus.  "  This  place,"  says  the  bio- 
grapher, "  is  in  the  wood  itself,  in  the  bottom  of  the 
valley  of  Brionne,  shut  in  on  each  side  by  wooded 
hills,  convenient  for  human  use,  from  the  thickness  of 
the  wood  and  the  refreshment  of  the  stream.  It  was 
a  haunt  of  game.  There  were  only  the  buildings  of 
three  mills  there,  and  but  a  moderate  space  of  habit- 
able ground.  What  then  should  he  do  ?  In  one  of 
the  mills  he  had  no  interest,  and  in  the  other  two 
only  a  third  part,  and  there  was  not  as  much  of  free 
space  as  his  house  needed.     Count  Gilbert,  too,  had 


II.]  MONASTERY  OF  BEC.  3  1 

nothing  that  he  valued  more  than  that  wood.  But 
Herlwin  put  his  trust  in  God.  He  began  to  work, 
and  God  evidently  to  work  with  him,  for  his  co-pro- 
prietors and  neighbours,  either  by  sale  or  free  gift, 
gave  up  to  him  each  his  portion;  and  in  a  short 
time  he  obtained  the  whole  wood  of  Brionne  which 
was  around."  He  built  in  the  course  of  a  few  years 
a  new  church.  He  settled  his  brotherhood  in  a 
cloister  with  wooden  columns.  A  great  storm,  in 
which  the  fury  of  the  devil  was  seen,  shattered  the 
work :  "  The  devil  deeply  grudged  these  beginnings 
of  good  things  ;  he  rose  with  great  violence  on 
the  roof  of  the  dormitory ;  thence  gathering  him- 
self for  his  utmost  effort,  he  leaped  down  on  the 
new  covering  of  the  new  built  walls,  and  overthrew  all 
in  ruins  to  the  ground."  "  But,"  continues  the  bio- 
grapher, "  that  was  not  the  seed  which  falls  on  stony 
ground  and  withers  away,  because  it  has  no  moisture, 
but  which,  received  on  good  ground,  brings  forth  fruit 
with  patience.  In  the  morning,  Herlwin  showed  to  the 
brethren  that  ' an  enemy  hath  done  this*  Cheering  up 
their  downcast  hearts,  he  began  to  rebuild  the  cloister ; 
and  this  time  he  built  of  stone." 

"  A  wooded  hill,"  says  Mr.  Freeman,  "  divides  the 
valley  of  the  Risle,  with  the  town  and  castle  of 
Brionne,  from  another  valley  watered  by  a  small 
stream,  or  in  the  old  Teutonic  speech  of  the  Normans, 
a  beck.  That  stream  gave  its  name  to  the  most  famous 
of  Norman  religious  houses,  and  to  this  day  the  name 
of  Bee  is  never  uttered  to  denote  that  spot  without  the 
distinguishing  addition  of  the  name  of  Herlwin.  The 
hills  are  still  thickly  wooded  ;  the  beck  still  flows 
through  rich  meadows  and  under  trees  planted  by  the 


32  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  [chap. 

water-side,  by  the  walls  of  what  was  once  the  renowned 
monastery  to  which  it  gave  its  name.  But  of  the 
days  of  Herlwin  no  trace  remains  besides  these  im- 
perishable works  of  nature.  A  tall  tower,  of  rich  and 
fanciful  design,  one  of  the  latest  works  of  mediaeval 
skill,  still  attracts  the  traveller  from  a  distance  ;  but  of 
the  mighty  minster  itself,  all  traces,  save  a  few  small 
fragments,  have  perished.  The  monastic  buildings, 
like  those  of  so  many  other  monasteries  in  Normandy 
and  elsewhere  in  Gaul,  had  been  rebuilt  in  the  worst 
days  of  art,  and  they  are  now  applied  to  the  degrading 
purpose  of  a  receptacle  of  French  cavalry.  The 
gateway  also  remains,  but  it  is,  like  the  rest  of  the 
buildings,  of  a  date  far  later  than  the  days  of  Herlwin. 
The  truest  memorial  of  that  illustrious  abbey  is  now 
to  be  found  in  the  parish  church  of  the  neighbouring 
village.  In  that  lowly  shelter  is  still  preserved  the 
G^igy  with  which  after-times  had  marked  the  resting- 
place  of  the  founder.  Such  are  all  the  traces  which 
now  remain  of  the  house  which  once  owned  Lanfranc 
and  Anselm  as  its  inmates." 

Bee  would  probably  have  run  its  course  like  many 
other  houses,  great  and  small,  in  Normandy, — perhaps 
continuing  in  the  same  humble  condition  in  which  it 
began,  perhaps  attracting  the  notice  of  powerful  and 
wealthy  patrons, — but  for  an  event  which  shaped  its 
character  and  history.  Herlwin  was  no  scholar  ;  but 
with  the  quick  shrewdness  of  his  race — a  shrewdness 
which  showed  itself  in  his  own  life  by  the  practical 
skill  which  he  had  brought  with  him  in  the  legal 
customs  of  his  land,  and  which  stood  him  in  good 
stead  in  resisting  the  encroachments  of  greedy  neigh- 
bours— he  understood  the  value  of  scholarship.     He 


II.]  MONASTERY  OF  DEC.  33 

wished  for  a  companion  who  knew  more  than  him- 
self; but  such  men  as  yet  were  rare  in  Normandy. 
An  accident — he  looked  upon  it  as  God's  providence 
— fulfilled  his  desire  and  determined  the  fortunes  of 
Bee.  This  was  the  chance  arrival  of  an  Italian 
stranger,  Lanfranc. 

Lanfranc  was  a  Lombard  from  Pavia.  He  is  said 
to  have  been  of  a  noble  family,  and  to  have  taught 
and  practised  law  in  his  native  city.  He  was,  at  any 
rate,  according  to  the  measure  of  the  time,  a  scholar, 
trained  in  what  was  known  of  the  classic  Latin  lite- 
rature, in  habits  of  dialectical  debate,  and  especially 
in  those  traditions  of  Roman  legal  science  which  yet 
lingered  in  the  Italian  municipalities.  For  some  un- 
known reason,  perhaps  in  quest  of  fame  and  fortune, 
he  left  Italy  and  found  his  way  northwards.  It 
was  a  fashion  among  the  Lombards.  At  Avranches, 
in  the  Cotentin,  he  had  opened  a  sort  of  school,  teach- 
ing the  more  advanced  knowledge  of  Italy  among 
people  who,  Norse  as  they  were  in  blood,  were  rapidly 
and  eagerly  welcoming  everything  Latin,  just  as  the 
aspiring  and  ambitious  half-civilization  of  Russia  tried 
to  copy  the  fuller  civilization  of  Germany  and  France. 
After  a  time,  for  equally  unknown  reasons,  he  left 
Avranches. 

The  story  which  was  handed  down  at  Bee  in  after 
days,  when  he  had  become  one  of  the  most  famous 
men  of  his  day,  was,  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  Rouen 
when  he  was  spoiled  by  robbers  and  left  bound  to  a 
tree,  in  a  forest  near  the  Rille.  Night  came  on,  and 
he  tried  to  pray ;  but  he  could  remember  nothing 
— Psalm  or  Office.  "  Lord,"  he  cried,  "  I  have  spent 
all  this  time  and  worn  out  body  and  mind  in  learning  ; 

s.l.  x.  D 


34  FOUNDATION  OF  THF  [chap. 

and  now,  when  I  ought  to  praise  Thee,  I  know  not 
how.  Deliver  me  from  this  tribulation,  and  with  Thy 
help,  I  will  so  correct  and  frame  my  life  that  hence- 
forth I  may  serve  Thee."  Next  morning  when  some 
passers-by  set  him  free,  he  asked  his  way  to  the 
humblest  monastery  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  was 
directed  to  Bee.  Another  story  is  told  in  the  Chronicle 
of  Bee  of  his  adventure  with  the  robbers.  He  was 
travelling,  with  a  single  scholar  as  his  attendant,  to 
Rouen,  when  he  fell  among  robbers,  who  stripped 
him,  leaving  him  only  an  old  cloak.  Then  he  remem- 
bered a  story  in  the  dialogues  of  Gregory  the  Great, 
of  a  saint  who  was  robbed  of  his  horse  by  Lombard 
thieves,  and  who,  as  they  were  departing,  with  mani- 
fest reference  to  the  words  of  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount,  about  giving  the  cloak  to  him  who  had  taken 
away  the  coat,  offered  them  the  only  thing  they  had 
left,  his  whip — "  You  will  want  it,"  he  said,  "to  drive  the 
horse  ; "  and  then  he  turned  to  his  prayer.  When  the 
robbers  came  to  a  rapid  river,  the  Vulturnus,  they 
could  in  no  wise  cross  it  ;  and  then  they  bethought 
them  that  they  had  offended  by  spoiling  so  completely 
the  man  of  God,  and  they  went  back  and  restored 
what  they  had  taken.  Lanfranc  thought  that  he 
would  imitate  the  holy  man  hoping  that  the  same 
effect  might  follow ;  and  so  he  offered  to  the  robbers 
what  they  had  left  him,  his  old  cloak.  But  it  only 
brought  on  him  worse  treatment :  and  he  deserved  it, 
he  used  to  say  :  "  for  the  saint  did  it  with  one  intention 
and  I  with  another;  he  did  it  honestly  that  they  might 
keep  what  he  gave  ;  I  with  cunning  and  craft,  that  they 
might  restore  and  not  keep."  And  so  he  was  punished; 
for  when  he  offered  them  the  cloak,  they  turned  upon 


II.]  MONASTERY  OF  EEC.  35 

him,  thinking  themselves  mocked,  and  after  beating 
him  well,  tied  him  naked  to  a  tree,  and  his  scholar  to 
another.  Then  follows  the  account  of  his  turning  to 
God ;  and  the  story  ends  with  his  liberation,  not  at  the 
hands  of  passers-by,  but  by  a  miracle. 

To  this  place,  as  to  the  poorest  and  humblest  of 
brotherhoods,  Lanfranc  came.  The  meeting  between 
him  and  Herlwin  is  thus  told.  "  The  abbot  happened 
to  be  busy  building  an  oven,  working  at  it  with  his 
own  hands.  Lanfranc  came  up  and  said,  '  God  save 
you.'  'God  bless  you,'  said  the  abbot;  'are  you 
a  Lombard  ?'  'I  am,'  said  Lanfranc.  '  What  do  you 
want  ? '  'I  want  to  become  a  monk. '  Then  the  abbot 
bade  a  monk  named  Roger,  who  was  doing  his  own 
work  apart,  to  show  Lanfranc  the  book  of  the  Rule ; 
which  he  read,  and  answered  that  with  God's  help  he 
would  gladly  observe  it.  Then  the  abbot,  hearing 
this,  and  knowing  who  he  was  and  from  whence  he 
came,  granted  him  what  he  desired.  And  he,  falling 
down  at  the  mouth  of  the  oven,  kissed  Herl win's 
feet." 

In  welcoming  Lanfranc,  Herlwin  found  that  he  had 
welcomed  a  great  master  and  teacher.  Lanfranc, 
under  his  abbot's '  urging,  began  to  teach;  the  mon- 
astery grew  into  a  school  :  and  Bee,  intended  to  be 
but  the  refuge  and  training-place  of  a  few  narrow  and 
ignorant  but  earnest  devotees,  thirsting  after  God  and 
right  amid  the  savagery  of  a  half-tamed  heathenism, 
sprung  up,  with  the  rapidity  with  which  changes  were 
made  in  those  days,  into  a  centre  of  thought  and 
cultivation  for  Western  Christendom.  It  was  the 
combination,  more  than  once  seen  in  modern  Europe, 
where    Italian    genius   and    Northern   strength  have 

D   2 


36  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  [chap. 

been  brought  together;  where  the  subtle  and  rich 
and  cultivated  Southern  nature  has  been  braced 
and  tempered  into  purpose  and  energy  by  contact 
with  the  bolder  and  more  strong-willed  society  of 
the  North.  Lanfranc  supplied  to  the  rising  religious 
fervour  of  Normandy  just  the  element  which  it  wanted, 
and  which  made  it  fruitful  and  noble. 

It  need  not  be  remarked  that  in  the  accounts 
written  of  these  times  we  meet  with  endless  exaggera- 
tion. Every  great  movement  carries  with  it  exaggera- 
tion :  things,  too,  were  undoubtedly  pitched  high,  and 
a  heroic  grandeur  was  aimed  at,  in  what  men  thought 
and  attempted  in  this  time  when  a  new  spirit  seemed  to 
be  abroad,  and  new  hopes  were  stirring  in  the  world 
and  in  the  Church.  And  in  this  case  the  exaggeration 
appears  the  greater,  because  men  wrote  not  in  their 
own  language,  but  in  a  foreign  one,  which  they  only 
half  knew  how  to  use.  But  all  is  in  keeping,  all  is 
consistent  and  moves  together  ;  grotesque  and  absurd 
as  these  exaggerations  appear  to  us  now,  they  were 
part  of  the  temporary  and  accidental  vesture  of  men 
who,  in  their  rude  fashion,  with  little  to  help  them,  and 
hedged  in  by  limits  as  yet  immoveable,  were  fighting 
their  way  out  of  ignorance  and  debasement,  and  who 
did  great  things.  Thus  Lanfranc's  victory  over  him- 
self, when  the  lawyer  and  the  scholar  cast  in  his  lot 
with  men  with  whom  he  had  nothing  in  common  but 
the  purpose  to  know  and  serve  God  better,  is  specially 
dwelt  upon  by  his  biographer  in  instances  which  must 
with  us  provoke  a  smile,  but  in  which  the  homely  or 
childish  detail  is  after  all  but  as  the  dress  of  the 
day,  which  may  disguise  or  set  off  the  man  beneath 
it.      Simple   men   in   that  twilight  of  learning  were 


II.]  MONASTERY  OF  EEC.  37 

struck  with  admiration  at  the  Self-command  shown  by 
a  teacher,  famous  for  what  others  valued,  when  he 
humbled  himself  before  an  illiterate  Norman  abbot, 
saint  as  he  seemed  to  be ;  or  when  he  patiently  took 
the  conceited  and  ignorant  rebuke  of  not  so  saintly 
a  Prior.  "You  might  see,"  says  the  biographer  of 
Lanfranc,  "a  godly  rivalry  between  Herlwin  and 
Lanfranc.  The  abbot,  a  lately  made  clerk,  who 
had  grown  old  as  a  layman,  regarded  with  awe  the 
eminence  of  such  a  teacher  placed  under  him.  Lan- 
franc, not  puffed  up  by  his  great  knowledge,  was 
humbly  obedient  in  all  things,  observed,  admired,  bore 
witness  to  the  grace  which  God  had  granted  Herlwin 
in  understanding  the  Scriptures.  '  When  I  listen  to 
that  layman,'  he  used  to  say  (layman,  I  suppose,  in 
the  sense  of  one  not  brought  up  to  letters),  '  I  know 
not  what  to  say,  but  that  "  the  Spirit  breatheth  where 
it  will." ' " 

He  remained  three  years  in  retirement,  giving  an 
example  of  monastic  subordination  and  humility. 
"  He  would  not,  as  it  is  said,  read  a  lesson  in  church 
unless  the  cantor  had  first  heard  him  read  it.  One 
day  when  he  was  reading  at  table,  he  pronounced  a 
word  as  it  ought  to  be  pronounced,  but  not  as  seemed 
right  to  the  person  presiding,  who  bade- him  say  it 
differently ;  as  if  he  had  said  docere,  with  the  middle 
syllable  long,  as  is  right,  and  the  other  had  cor- 
rected it  into  docere,  with  the  middle  short,  which  is 
wrong:  for  that  Prior  was  not  a  scholar.  But  the  wise 
man,  knowing  that  he  owed  obedience  rather  to  Christ 
than  to  Donatus  the  grammarian,  gave  up  his  pro- 
nunciation, and  said  what  he  was  wrongly  told  to 
say  ;  for  to  make  a  short  syllable  long,  or  a  long  one 


38  FOUND  A  TION  OF  THE  [chap. 

short,  he  knew  to  be  no  deadly  sin ;  but  not  to  obey 
one  set  over  him  on  God's  behalf  was  no  light  trans- 
gression." 

Again,  they  tell  a  story  of  Lanfranc  being  met 
travelling  to  an  outlying  house  of  the  abbey,  carrying 
a  cat  tied  up  in  a  cloth  behind  him  on  his  saddle,  "to 
keep  down  the  fury  of  the  mice  and  rats  "  which  in- 
fested the  place.  What  they  mean  is  the  same  thing 
as  people  mean  now,  when  they  talk  of  a  bishop 
going  on  foot  carrying  his  carpet-bag,  or  a  duke 
travelling  in  a  third-class  carriage ;  but  the  mag- 
niloquent and  clumsy  Latin  in  which  the  story  is 
told  gives  it  an  indescribable  absurdity  of  colour,  and 
we  forget  that  after  all  it  is  an  instance,  proportionate 
to  the  day,  of  that  plainness  and  simplicity  of  de- 
meanour which  is  a  common  quality  where  men's 
hearts  are  really  great. 

But  Lanfranc  was  not  to  remain  in  this  unnatural 
obscurity.  Gradually,  it  is  not  said  how,  Bee  became  a 
school,  became  famous,  became  the  resort  of  young 
men  thirsting  for  instruction,  not  only  in  Normandy, 
but  in  the  countries  round  it.  It  is  not  easy  for  us  to 
understand  how,  in  those  difficult  and  dangerous  days, 
communication  was  so  extensive,  and  news  travelled  so 
widely,  and  the  character  of  a  house  of  monks  and  its 
teacher  in  the  depths  of  Normandy  produced  such  an 
impression  in  Europe,  as  was  in  fact  the  case.  The  style 
of  the  time  was  exaggerated  ;  but  exaggeration  was 
of  things  that  were  really  great  ;  and  it  is  impossible  to 
doubt  that  during  the  time  that  Lanfranc  taught  at 
Bee  (1045  — 10^3  -?)  ne  established  a  name  as  a  refor- 
mer of  life  and  a  restorer  of  learning,  which  made  him 
seem  to  the  men  of  his  time,  at  least  in  the  West,  as 


II.]  MONASTERY  OF  BEC.  39 

without  an  equal ;  he  was  to  them  all  that  later  times 
have  seen  in  their  great  reformers  and  great  men  of 
letters.  He  brought  to  Bee  the  secular  learning  which 
was  possible  then  ;  he  learned  there  divine  knowledge  ; 
and  for  both,  he  infused  an  ardour  which  was  almost 
enthusiasm  in  those  under  his  influence.  It  would  be 
interesting  if  we  knew  something  more  of  his  method 
of  study  and  teaching  ;  but,  as  usual,  such  details  were 
not  thought  worth  preserving  by  those  to  whom  they 
were  matters  of  every  day.  We  have  little  more  than 
generalities.  Latinist  (perhaps  with  some  knowledge 
of  Greek)  and  dialectician,  he  taught  his  scholars  the 
best  that  could  then  be  taught,  in  rousing  thought,  in 
making  it  exact  and  clear,  and  in  expressing  it  fitly 
and  accurately.  It  is  not  improbable  that  his  old 
knowledge  of  jurisprudence  was  turned  to  account  in 
his  lecturing  at  Bee.  As  a  theologian,  he  was  espe- 
cially a  student  of  St.  Paul's  Epistles.  The  only 
divinity  known  at  the  time  in  the  West  was  contained 
in  the  works  of  the  great  Latin  Fathers  ;  and  of  this 
he  was  master,  and  his  use  of  it  gave  a  new  impulse 
to  the  study  of  it — a  study  which  was  to  produce 
results  of  vast  importance  both  to  religion  and  to 
philosophy.  The  value  which  restorers  of  learning 
like  Lanfranc  set  on  the  Latin  Fathers  led  their  suc- 
cessors step  by  step  to  raise  up  the  great  fabric,  so 
mingled  of  iron  and  clay,  of  the  scholastic  systems. 

Lanfranc,  as  may  be  supposed,  had  a  battle  to  fight 
to  establish  his  footing  in  such  a  community  as  he  would 
find  round  Herlwin.  Herlwin,  with  the  nobleness  and 
simplicity  of  a  superior  nature,  recognized  the  differ- 
ence between  himself  and  Lanfranc,  and  saw,  without 
grudging  or  jealousy,  that   in   all  matters  of  mind, 


4o  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  [chap. 

Lanfranc  must  be  supreme  ;  and  he  left  to  Lanfranc 
the  internal  government  of  the  house,  while  he  himself 
looked  after  its  affairs,  and  guarded  it  in  the  law  courts 
by  his  intimate  knowledge  of  Norman  customs.  But 
the  brethren  whom  Lanfranc  had  found  there  "were 
not  very  well  lettered,  nor  much  trained  in  religion  :" 
and  "  seeing  their  idleness,  the  frowardness  of  their 
wTays,  their  transgressions  of  the  Rule,  and  the  jealousy 
of  some,  who  feared  that  he  would  be  put  over  them" 
— a  curious  contrast  this  to  the  picture  elsewhere  given 
of  the  devotion  of  Herlwin's  first  companions — Lan- 
franc lost  heart,  and  meditated  a  second  retreat ;  a 
retreat  from  Bee,  into  some  hermitage  in  the  wilderness. 
But  he  was  stopped — as  usual,  it  is  said  by  a  vision  ; 
and  Lanfranc  entered  on  his  office  as  Prior,  about 
1045.  From  this  time,  till  he  was  appointed  Abbot  of 
Duke  William's  monastery  of  St.  Stephen  at  Caen, 
Lanfranc  was  busy,  with  some  intervals  of  other  im- 
portant work,  filling  what  we  should  call  the  place  of  a 
great  professor  at  Bee.  Gradually,  as  his  name  became 
attached  to  it,  its  numbers  swelled — its  numbers  of 
monks,  and  also  of  students  not  members  of  the 
house.  Gifts  poured  in  upon  it  ;  for  the  age  was  an 
open-handed  one,  as  ready  to  give  as  to  take  awayr 
and  friends  and  patrons  among  the  lords  of  Normandy 
and  the  conquerors  of  England  endowed  the  house 
with  churches,  tithes,  manors,  on  both  sides  of  the 
Channel.  A  saying  arose  which  is  not  yet  out  of 
men's  mouths  in  France  : 

"De  quelque  part  que  le  vent  vente 
L'abbaye  du  Bee  a  rente." 

(*'  Let  the  wind  blow  from  where  the  wind  will, 
From  the  lands  of  Bee  it  bloweth  still.") 


II.]  MONASTERY  OF  BEC.  \\ 

All  this  had  come  to  pass  in  the  lifetime  of  Herlwin ; 
and  all  this  had  come  with  Lanfranc.  His  pupils 
were  numerous,  and  many  of  them  were  famous, in 
their  generation  :  among  these  was  one,  an  Italian  like 
himself,  who  became  Pope  Alexander  II.  (1061  — 
1073).  But  the  greatest  glory  of  Lanfranc  and  the 
school  of  Bee  was  to  have  trained  the  Italian  Anselm 
to  quicken  the  thoughts  and  win  the  love  of  Normans 
and  Englishmen. 

With  Lanfranc's  position  outside  of  Bee  we  have 
here  no  concern.  The  great  Norman  ruler,  whose 
mind  was  so  full  of  great  thoughts  both  in  Church  and 
State,  and  whose  hand  was  to  be  so  heavy  on  those 
whom  he  ruled  and  conquered,  soon  found  him  out, 
and  discovered  that  in  Lanfranc  he  had  met  a  kindred 
soul  and  a  fit  companion  in  his  great  enterprise  of 
governing  and  reducing  to  order  the  wild  elements  of 
his  age.  Lanfranc,  scholar,  theologian,  statesman,  and 
perhaps  also,  and  not  least,  Italian,  was  employed  on 
more  than  one  commission  at  the  court  of  Rome, 
which  was  then  rising  into  new  importance  and 
power,  under  the  inspiration  of  the  master-spirit  of 
Hildebrand.  He  mingled  in  the  controversial  disputes, 
which  were  once  more  beginning  as  the  time  became 
influenced  by  new  learning  and  new  zeal ;  and  he  was 
reputed  to  have  silenced  and  confounded  Berengar, 
both  by  word  of  mouth  and  by  his  pen.  But  all  this 
lay  without  his  work  as  the  Prior  of  Bee — its  creator 
as  a  school,  its  director  as  a  teacher ;  and  it  is  only 
in  this  respect  that  he  is  here  spoken  of. 

The  glory  and  influence  of  Bee  were  great,  but  they 
declined  as  rapidly  as  they  had  risen.  They  depended 
on  the  impulse  given  by  great  characters ;  and  when 


42  THE  MONASTERY  OF  BEC.         [chap.  ii. 

these  passed  away,  the  society  which  they  had  ani- 
mated gradually  sank  to  the  ordinary  level.  Bee 
continued  a  great  foundation  :  in  time  it  became  one 
of  the  rich  and  dignified  preferments  of  the  Church 
of  France.  In  the  16th  century  the  abbacy  was  held 
by  great  aristocratic  bishops  and  cardinals.  Dunois,  Le 
Veneur,  D'Annebaut,  Guise  ;  in  the  17th  by  a  Colbert, 
a  Rochefoucault,  and  a  Bourbon  Conde.  But  the  "irony 
of  fate  "  had  something  more  in  store.  The  last 
abbot  of  Bee,  of  the  house  founded  by  Herlwin, 
and  made  glorious  by  Lanfranc  and  Anselm,  was 
M.  de  Talleyrand.1 

1  Emile  Saisset,  Melanges,  p.  8. 


CHAPTER  III. 

DISCIPLINE   OF  A   NORMAN    MONASTERY. 

"  And  what  are  things  eternal  ?  powers  depart, 
Possessions  vanish,  and  opinions  change, 
And  passions  hold  a  fluctuating  seat ; 
But  by  the  storms  of  circumstance  unshaken, 
And  subject  neither  to  eclipse  nor  wane, 
Duty  exists  ; — immutably  survive, 
For  our  support,  the  measures  and  the  forms 
"Which  an  abstract  intelligence  supplies  ; 
Whose  kingdom  is,  where  time  and  space  are  not." 

Wordsworth,  Excursion,  b.  iv. 

THE  order  of  life  at  Bee  was  modelled  according  to 
the  strict  discipline  of  the  Benedictine  order.  To 
enter  fairly  into  its  spirit  and  into  the  meaning  of 
many  of  its  minute  and  technical  regulations,  it  has 
to  be  remembered  that  in  those  ages  there  was  little 
trust  in  individual  self-management ;  and  it  was  a 
fundamental  assumption  that  there  was  no  living  an 
earnest  Christian  life  without  a  jealous  and  pervading 
system  of  control  and  rule.  Civil  life,  as  we  know 
it,  hardly  existed  :  all  that  was  powerful,  all  that  was 
honoured,  was  connected  with  war ;  the  ideas  of  the 
time  more  or  less  insensibly  took  a  military  colour ; 
men's  calling  and  necessity  were  in  one  way  or  another 
to  fight ;  and  to  fight  evil  with  effect  needed  com- 
bination,  endurance,  and   practice.      The   governing 


44  DISCIPLINE  OF  [chap. 

thought  of  monastic  life  was  that  it  was  a  warfare, 
militia,  and  a  monastery  was  a  camp  or  barrack :  there 
was  continual  drill  and  exercise,  early  hours,  fixed 
times,  appointed  tasks,  hard  fare,  stern  punishment; 
watchfulness  was  to  be  incessant,  obedience  prompt 
and  absolute  ;  no  man  was  to  have  a  will  of  his  own, 
no  man  was  to  murmur.  What  seems  to  us  trifling 
or  vexatious  must  be  judged  of  and  allowed  for  by 
reference  to  the  idea  of  the  system ; — training  as 
rigorous,  concert  as  ready  and  complete,  subordination 
as  fixed,  fulfilment  of  orders  as  unquestioning  as  in 
a  regiment  or  ship's  crew  which  is  to  do  good  service. 
Nothing  was  more  easy  in  those  days  to  understand 
in  any  man,  next  to  his  being  a  soldier,  than  his  being 
a  monk  ;  it  was  the  same  thing,  the  same  sort  of  life, 
but  with  different  objects.  Nothing,  from  our  altered 
conditions  of  society,  is  more  difficult  in  ours. 

The  life  and  discipline  of  a  Norman  monastery  of  the 
revived  and  reformed  sort,  such  as  Bee,  are  put  before 
us  in  the  regulations  drawn  up  by  Lanfranc,  when  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  for  the  English  monasteries 
under  his  government.  They  are  based  of  course  on  the 
rule  of  St.  Benedict ;  but  they  are  varied  and  adapted 
according  to  the  judgment  of  the  great  monastic  re- 
former, and  represent  no  doubt  in  a  great  measure  the 
system  carried  on  at  Bee,  under  which  he  and  then  An- 
selm  had  lived  and  worked.  They  are  of  course  as 
minute  and  peremptory  as  the  orders  of  a  book  of  drill ; 
but  what  is  more  remarkable  is  the  recognition  in  them 
of  the  possible  desirableness  of  modifications  in  their 
use.  There  is  nothing  of  stiff  blind  clinging  to  mere 
usage,  no  superstitious  jealousy  of  alterations,  in  the 
spirit  in  which  they  are  drawn  up  and  imposed.     Lan- 


ill.]  A  NORMAN  MONASTERY.  45 

franc,  great  man  as  he  was,  knew  that  it  was  idle  and 
foolish  to  lay  down  fixed  laws,  even  for  monasteries, 
without  making  provision  and  allowance  for  the 
necessities  of  different  circumstances  and  the  changes 
of  the  future.  "  We  send  you,"  he  says,  addressing 
Henry  the  Prior  of  the  Cathedral  monastery  at 
Canterbury,  "the  written  customs  of  our  order, 
which  we  have  selected  from  the  customs  of  those 
houses  which,  in  our  day,  are  of  highest  authority  in 
the  monastic  rule.  In  these  we  mean  not  to  tie  down 
either  ourselves  who  are  here,  or  those  who  are  to 
come  after  us,  from  adding  or  taking  away,  or  in  any 
way  changing,  if,  either  by  the  teaching  of  reason  or 
by  the  authority  of  those  who  know  better,  anything 
is  seen  to  be  an  improvement.  For  be  a  man  as  far 
advanced  as  he  may,  he  can  have  no  greater  fault  than 
to  think  that  he  can  improve  no  further;  for  changes 
in  the  numbers  of  the  brethren,  local  conditions,  dif- 
ferences of  circumstances,  which  are  frequent,  varieties 
of  opinions,  some  understanding  things  in  this  way 
and  others  in  that  way,  make  it  necessary  for  the 
most  part  that  things  which  have  been  long  observed 
should  be  differently  arranged  :  hence  it  is  that  no 
Church  scarcely  can  in  all  things  follow  any  other. 
But  what  is  to  be  most  carefully  attended  to  is, 
that  the  things  without  which  the  soul  cannot  be  saved 
should  be  maintained  inviolate ;  I  mean  faith,  con- 
tempt of  the  world,  charity,  purity,  humility,  patience, 
obedience,  sorrow  for  faults  committed,  and  their 
humble  confession,  frequent  prayers,  fitting  silence, 
and  such  like.  Where  these  are  preserved,  there  most 
rightly  may  the  rule  of  St.  Benedict  and  the  order 
of  the  monastic  life  be  said  to  be  kept,  in  whatever 


46  DISCIPLINE  OF  [chap. 

way  other  things  vary,  as  they  are  appointed  according 
to  different  men's  judgment  in  different  monasteries." 
And  he  proceeds  to  enumerate  instances  of  variety 
of  usage — very  small  ones,  it  must  be  confessed,  and 
somewhat  in  contrast  to  the  breadth  of  the  general 
principles  laid  down  :  whether  on  certain  occasions 
the  leaders  of  the  choir  should  chant  certain  parts  of 
the  service  in  their  tunics,  or  as  they  call  them  "frocks," 
or  in  albs  and  copes  ;  whether  albs  alone  should  be 
used,  or,  as  elsewhere,  copes  as  well  ;  or  whether, 
on  Maundy  Thursday,  the  feet-washing  should  be  by 
twenties  or  thirties  in  a  common  trough,  or  each  one 
singly  in  a  basin  by  himself.  But  the  contrast 
between  general  principles  and  their  applications, 
between  the  major  propositions  of  our  practical  reason- 
ings and  their  minors,  is  not  peculiar  to  Lanfranc's  age. 
The  minors  are  always  the  difficulty,  and  sometimes 
they  are  as  strange  and  unaccountable  ones  for  our- 
selves as  any  were  then.  But  it  is  not  always  that 
we  give  Lanfranc's  age  credit  for  acknowledging  the 
principle  itself,  or  for  stating  it  so  well. 

For  the  objects  in  view,  the  organization  was  simple 
and  reasonable.  The  buildings  were  constructed,  the 
day  was  arranged,  the  staff  of  officers  was  appointed, 
in  reference  to  the  three  main  purposes  for  which  a 
monk  professed  to  live — worship,  improvement,  and 
work.  There  were  three  principal  places  which  were  the 
scenes  of  his  daily  life  :  the  church,  and  in  the  church 
especially  the  choir ;  the  chapter-house ;  and  the 
cloister ;  and  for  each  of  these  the  work  was  carefully 
laid  out.  A  monk's  life  at  that  period  was  eminently 
a  social  one :  he  lived  night  and  day  in  public ;  and 
the  cell  seems  to  have  been  an  occasional  retreat,  or 


III.]  A  NORMAN  MONASTERY.  47 

reserved  for  the  higher  officers.  The  cloister  was  the 
place  of  business,  instruction,  reading-,  and  conversa- 
tion, the  common  studv,  workshop,  and  parlour  of  all 
the  inmates  of  the  house — the  professed  brethren  ;  the 
young  men  whom  they  were  teaching  or  preparing  for 
life,  either  as  monks  or  in  the  world  ;  the  children  (in- 
fantes)  who  formed  the  school  attached  to  the  house, 
many  of  whom  had  been  dedicated  by  their  parents  to 
this  kind  of  service.  In  this  cloister,  open  apparently 
to  the  weather  but  under  shelter,  all  sat,  when  they  were 
not  at  service  in  church,  or  assembled  in  the  chapter, 
or  at  their  meals  in  the  refectory,  or  resting  in  the 
dormitory  for  their  mid-day  sleep  ;  all  teaching,  read- 
ing, writing,  copying,  or  any  handicraft  in  which  a 
monk  might  employ  himself,  went  on  here.  Here  the 
children  learned  their  letters,  or  read  aloud,  or  prac- 
tised their  singing  under  their  masters;  and  here, 
when  the  regular  and  fixed  arrangements  of  the  day 
allowed  it,  conversation  was  carried  on.  A  cloister  of 
this  kind  was  the  lecture-room  where  Lanfranc  taught 
"grammar,"  gave  to  Norman  pupils  elementary  no- 
tions of  what  an  Italian  of  that  age  saw  in  Virgil 
and  St.  Augustin,  and  perhaps  expounded  St.  Paul's 
Epistles  :  where  Anselm,  among  other  pupils,  caught 
from  him  the  enthusiasm  of  literature;  where,  when 
Lanfranc  was  gone,  his  pupil  carried  on  his  master's 
work  as  a  teacher,  and  where  he  discussed  with  sympa- 
thising and  inquisitive  minds  the  great  problems  which 
had  begun  to  open  on  his  mind.  In  a  cloister  like  this 
the  news,  the  gossip  of  the  world  and  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood was  collected  and  communicated :  rumours, 
guesses,  and  stories  of  the  day,  the  strange  fortunes  of 
kings  and  kingdoms,  were  reported,  commented  on, 


4§  DISCIPLINE  OF  [chap. 


picturesquely  dressed  up  and  made  matter  of  solemn 
morals  or  of  grotesque  jokes,  as  they  might  be  now 
in  clubs  and  newspapers.     Here  went  on  the  literary 
work  of  the  time  ;  here,  with  infinite  and  patient  toil, 
the  remains  of  classical  and  patristic  learning  were 
copied,  corrected,  sometimes  corrupted,  ornamented  ; 
here,  and  here  almost  alone,  were  the  chronicles  and 
records  kept  year  by  year,  so  scanty,  often  so  imper- 
fect and  untrustworthy,  yet  on  the  whole  so  precious, 
by  which  we  know  the  men   and  their  doings  who 
turned  and  governed  the  course  of  English  and  Euro- 
pean history ;  here  too,  when  the  true  chronicles  did 
not  speak  as  people  wished,  or  did  not  tell  enough, 
were  false  ones  invented  and  forged.     This  open-air, 
sedentary  life  was  a  hard  one  ;  it  was  well   enough 
when    the   weather   was    fine    and    warm,    but    even 
monks,   though   they  were  trained   to    endure   hard- 
ness, found  their  fingers  nipped  by  the  frost,  and  had 
to  give  over  their  work  when  the  winter  came  round. 
The  indefatigable  story-teller  Orderic, — like  Eadmer, 
an   Englishman,  at   least   by  birth,  with  a  Norman 
training, — who  has  preserved  for  us  such  a  profusion 
of  curious  touches  of  his  time,  and  who  is  so  severe 
on  the  negligence  of  his  brethren  in  not  committing  to 
writing  what   they   knew  of  the   remarkable  events 
around   them,  was  obliged   to  confess  the  numbing 
effects  of  winter,  and  to  put  by  his  writing  to  a  more 
genial  season.     He  breaks  off  in  his  account  of  the 
quarrels  between  the  sons  of  William,  and  lays  aside 
his  fourth  book  for  the  winter  with  this  reason  for 
the  interruption : 

"Many    disasters    are    impending    over   mankind, 
which,  if  they  should  all  be  written,  would  fill  huge 


III.]  A  NORMAN  MONASTERY.  49 

volumes.  Now,  stiffened  with  the  winter  cold,  I 
shall  employ  myself  in  other  occupations,  and,  very 
wreary,  I  propose  to  finish  this  present  book.  But 
when  the  fine  weather  of  the  calm  spring  returns,  I 
will  take  up  again  what  I  have  imperfectly  related,  or 
what  yet  remains  unsaid,  and,  by  God's  help,  I  will 
fully  unfold  with  a  truthful  pen  the  chances  of  war 
and  peace  among  our  countrymen." 

In  another  place  he  gives  the  same  reason  for  the 
abridged  narrative  which  he  inserts  of  a  certain  St. 
William  with  the  Short-nose,  whose  life,  in  the  hands  of 
a  pious  chaplain,  interested  and  edified  the  fierce  re- 
tainers of  one  of  the  fiercest  of  the  Conqueror's  barons, 
Hugh  the  Wolf,  Earl  of  Chester.  "  The  story  is  not 
often  found,"  he  says,  "  in  this  province,  and  a  truthful 
narrative  may  be  acceptable  to  some.  It  was  brought 
to  us  recently  by  Antony,  a  monk  of  Winchester ;  we 
were  thirsting  to  see  it,  and  he  showed  it  to  us.  There 
is  a  ballad  about  it  commonly  sung  by  the  minstrels  ; 
but  the  authentic  narrative  is  much  to  be  preferred, 
which  has  been  carefully  drawn  up  by  religious 
teachers,  and  reverently  recited  by  serious  readers  in 
the  common  hearing  of  the  brethren.  But  because 
the  bearer  of  it  was  in  a  hurry  to  go,  and  the  winter 
frost  hindered  me  from  writing,  I  noted  down  a  brief 
but  faithful  abridgment  of  it  in  my  tablets,  which 
I  will  now  endeavour  to  commit  succinctly  to  my 
parchment." 

Certain  religious  services,  but  services  having  refer- 
ence to  those  outside  the  monastery,  had  their  place 
in  the  cloister.  Thus  it  was  there,  that  on  Maundy 
Thursday,  the  Dies  Mandati,  the  abbot  and  his  bre- 
thren fulfilled  the  old  custom,  and,  as  they  considered 

s.l.  x.  E 


5o  DISCIPLINE  OF  [chap. 

it,  the  commandment  of  the  Gospel,  by  washing  the 
feet  of  the  poor  after  they  washed  one  another's  feet. 
The  ceremony  is  thus  ordered  by  Lanfranc  :  "  While 
this  is  going  on,  the  cellarer,  and  the  almoner,  and 
others  to  whom  it  is  enjoined,  are  to  bring  the  poor 
men  into  the  cloister,  and  make  them  sit  in  order  one 
by  another.     Before  they  come  into  the  cloister  they 
are  to  wash  their  feet  with  common  water  supplied  to 
them  by  the  chamberlains.     Everything  is  to  be  pre- 
pared in  its  proper  place,   necessary  for  performing 
*  the  commandment'  (mandatum,  St.  John  xiii.  14,  15)  ; 
as  warm  water  in  fitting  vessels,  towels  for  the  feet, 
napkins  for  the  hands,  cups  and  drink  and  such  like ; 
and  the  chamberlain's  servants  are  to  be  ready  to  do 
what  is  wanted.    Then  when  these  things  are  in  order, 
the  abbot  shall   rise,  and   the  rest   of  the  brethren 
rising  shall  make  their  due  obeisance,  and,  passing 
forth  from  the  refectory,  the  children  shall  go  aside 
into  their  school  with  their  masters  and  stand  with 
them  before  their  poor  men ;  and  the  rest  of  the  bre- 
thren shall  likewise  come  and  stand  before  their  poor 
men,  each  one  according  to  his  order  before  one  of 
them ;  but  the  abbot  shall  have  two.     Then  the  prior, 
at  the  abbot's  command,  shall  strike  the  board  with 
three  blows,  and  bowing  down  on  their  bent  knees  to 
the  earth,  they  shall  worship  Christ  in  the  poor."  Then 
the  abbot  is  to  wash  and  wipe  the  feet  of  the  poor  men 
before  him,  "kissing  them  with  his  mouth  and  his  eyes," 
and  so  the  rest  of  the  brethren  ;  then  he  is  to  minister 
a  cup  of  drink  to  them  ;  and  at  the  signal  given  by  the 
prior,  by  knocking  three  times  on  his  board,  the  other 
brethren  are  in  like  manner  each  of  them  to  give  a  cup 
of  drink  to  the  poor  man  before  him,  and  receiving  back 


III.]  A  NORMAN  MONASTERY.  51 

the  cup,  to  put  in  his  hand  twopence,  or  whatever 
money  the  abbot  may  have  ordered.  "  The  brethren 
also  who  have  died  in  the  course  of  the  year  are  to 
have  each  their  own  poor  for  the  fulfilment  of  '  the 
commandment,'  and  also  those  friends  of  the  house  for 
whom  the  abbot  shall  order  poor  men  to  be  set  for 
this  '  commandment.' "  Then,  when  all  is  over,  they 
kneel  down  and  say  some  versicles  and  a  collect 
having  reference  to  the  commandment  and  example 
which  have  given  occasion  to  the  ceremony,  and  then 
proceed  to  the  church  chanting  the  Miserere  Psalm  (li.). 
The  mandatum  is  then  to  be  fulfilled  by  the  brethren 
to  one  another,  but  in  the  chapter-house  ;  and  after 
the  feet-washing,  a  cup  of  drink,  the  "  loving-cup,"  the 
potus  charitatis,  or  the  char  it  as,  as  it  was  technically 
called,  was  distributed.  And  it  enjoined  on  the  abbot 
that  he  should,  if  he  were  able  to  do  so,  by  himself 
wash  the  feet  of  all  his  brethren  on  this  day ;  "  for, 
according  to  St.  Benedict's  witness,  he  bears  the 
part  of  Christ  in  the  monastery,  and  especially  in  this 
service." 

The  cloister  was  the  place  of  ordinary  life  and  work. 
The  chapter-house  was  the  council  chamber  of  the 
monastery.  The  word  chapter  {cctpitulum)  denoted 
both  the  room  of  assembly  and  the  assembly  itself. 
It  was  the  place  of  business  for  the  whole  commu- 
nity; and  for  its  members,  it  was  the  place  for  mutual 
instruction,  for  hearing  advice,  maintaining  discipline, 
making  complaints,  confessing  faults,  passing  judg- 
ment, accepting  punishment.  Every  morning,  in 
ordinary  seasons,  after  the  prayers  of  the  third  hour 
and  the  morning  mass,  the  community  "held  a 
chapter."     A  bell  rang,  and  all  the  brethren,  whatever 

E  2 


52  DISCIPLINE  OF  [chap. 

they  were  doing,  gathered  in  the  choir,  and  proceeded 
to  the  chapter-house. 

"  Every  day,"  says  Lanfranc's  order,  "  as  soon  as 
the  sound  of  the  little  bell  begins  for  the  chapter, 
all  the  brethren  who  are  sitting  in  the  choir  are  at 
once  to  rise,  and  meanwhile  to  stand  facing  to  the 
east ;  the  brethren  also,  who  are  elsewhere  in  the 
minster,  are  to  come  into  the  choir.  No  one  is  to 
hold  a  book  ;  no  one  is  to  be  reading  anything,  or  to 
look  into  a  book  ;  no  one  is  to  remain  sitting  in  the 
cloister  on  any  pretext  whatever ;  and  when  the  bell 
stops,  with  the  prior  going  before  them,  the  rest  are  to 
follow  in  the  order  of  their  conversion,  two  and  two-, 
the  elders  first,  the  children  {infantes)  after  them." 

The  children,  too,  "held  their  separate  chapter," 
under  their  masters,  where  all  matters  of  discipline 
were  looked  after.  The  brethren  having  taken  their 
seats  on  the  steps  round  the  wall,  the  business  began 
by  readings  and  by  addresses.  Portions  of  the  rule  of 
St.  Benedict  were  read  ;  and  then  was  the  time  when 
the  monks  received  general  instruction  on  religion  and 
their  special  duties.  Scripture  was  explained  and  dis- 
courses made,  more  in  the  way  of  familiar  exposition 
than  of  set  sermons.  When  a  stranger  of  note 
happened  to  be  in  the  monastery,  he  would  be  asked 
to  say  something  in  chapter  to  the  brethren  ;  and 
what  we  have  of  Anselm's  homilies,  so  far  as  they  are 
genuine,  seem  to  be  short  sermons  of  this  kind  to 
monks  in  chapter,  such  as  we  read  of  his  addressing 
to  them  in  his  visits  to  different  monasteries  in  Nor- 
mandy and  England.  When  this  work  of  instruction 
and  general  counsel  was  done,  which  of  course  varied 
much,  the  daily  inquiry  about  discipline  began,  with 


in.]  A  NORMAN  MONASTERY.  53 


the  formula,  "  Let  us  speak  touching  our  order ; " 
{loquamiir  de  ordine  nostro.)  This  was  the  time  for 
the  daily  reports,  and  for  complaints  that  were 
to  be  made  of  personal  failure  of  duty.  Anyone,  it 
would  seem,  might  complain  of  any  fault  that  he  had 
observed  ;  and  the  course  of  proceeding  is  character- 
istic of  the  stern  ideas  under  which  the  monastic  life 
grew  up  and  was  passed. 

"When  the  words  are  said,  * Loquamur  de  ordine 
nostro!  if  anyone  is  accused  {clamatur,  the  technical 
word)  who  has  a  name  common  with  another  or  with 
several,  then  unless  the  accuser  (damans)  makes  it  so 
clear  who  is  meant  that  there  can  be  no  doubt,  all 
who  are  of  the  same  name  are  to  stand  up  at  once, 
and  humbly  present  themselves  to  ask  pardon,  until 
the  accuser  [clamator)  distinctly  points  out  of  whom 
he  speaks ;  and  this  indication  should  be,  if  pos- 
sible, by  the  person's  order  or  his  office,  as  Domnus 
Eduardus,  priest,  deacon,  or  secretary,  master  of  the 
children,  &c,  and  not  'archdeacon'  or  '  of  London,' 
or  from  any  surname  of  the  world.  The  accuser 
(damator)  is  not  to  do  judgment  on  him  whom  he 
accuses  in  the  same  chapter.  The  accused,  who  is 
prostrate,  being  asked  in  the  customary  way,  is  at 
each  asking  of  pardon  to  say  mea  culpa.  .  .  If  he  is  to 
receive  judgment,  he  is  to  be  beaten  with  one  larger 
rod  on  his  shirt,  as  he  lies  prostrate,  or  with  several 
thinner  rods  as  he  sits  with  his  body  bare,  at  the 
discretion  of  him  who  presides,  according  to  the 
character  and  magnitude  of  his  fault.  While  cor- 
poral discipline  is  inflicted,  all  the  brethren  are  to 
hold  their  heads  down,  and  to  have  compassion  with 
him  with  tender  and  brotherly  affection.     During  this 


54  DISCIPLINE  OF  [chap. 

time  in  the  chapter,  no  one  ought  to  speak,  no  one 
ought  to  look  at  him,  except  grave  persons  to  whom 
it  is  allowed  to  intercede  for  him.  The  accused  may 
not  make  a  complaint  of  his  accuser  in  the  same 
chapter.  The  discipline  is  to  be  inflicted  by  whoever 
is  commanded  to  do  it  by  the  abbot  or  prior ;  so  that 
this  be  never  commanded  to  the  children,  or  the  young 
men,  or  the  novices.  No  one  is  to  speak  in  secret  to 
one  or  more ;  whatever  is  said  must  be  said  so  as  to  be 
heard  by  the  person  presiding  and  the  whole  assembly. 
All  speaking  must  be  about  things  useful,  and  things 
that  pertain  to  the  order.  When  one  is  speaking,  all 
others  are  to  be  silent ;  no  one  is  to  interrupt  the 
speaker's  words  but  the  person  presiding,  who  may 
command  the  speaker  to  be  silent,  if  what  is  said 
seem  to  him  irrelevant  or  unprofitable.  When  the 
president  of  the  assembly  begins  to  speak,  anyone 
else  who  is  speaking  must  stop,  and  perfect  silence  be 
observed  by  all."  This  discipline  of  scourging  was 
undergone,  as  one  of  the  ordinary  ways  of  showing  sor- 
row for  having  done  wrong.  It  was  submitted  to  in  so 
matter-of-course  a  fashion  by  kings  and  great  men, 
that  Anselm  in  one  of  his  letters  lays  down  a  dis- 
tinction between  the  monastic  scourging  inflicted  by 
the  judgment  of  the  chapter,  and  the  self-imposed 
chastisement,  which,  he  says,  kings  and  proud  rich 
men  command  to  be  inflicted  on  themselves,  and  to 
which  he  gives  a  special  name,  regale  judicium,  the 
''  royal  judgment." 

The  punishment  awarded  in  chapter  might  go 
beyond  this.  A  brother  "adjudged  to  the  satisfaction 
of  a  light  fault"  (the  expression  appears  as  technical 
as  "  being  under  arrest ")  was  separated  from  the  rest 


ill.]  A  NORMAN  MONASTERY.  55 

of  his  brethren  in  the  refectory,  and  sat  last  of  all 
in  choir,  and  he  was  forbidden  to  take  certain  parts  in 
the  divine  service.  One  who,  after  examination  be- 
fore the  abbot,  was,  by  the  common  sentence  of  the 
brethren,  "  ordered  to  be  in  the  satisfaction  of  a  grave 
fault,"  besides  the  severe  corporal  chastisement  inflicted 
in  chapter,  was  also  adjudged  to  solitary  confinement 
under  the  custody  of  one.  of  the  brethren.  He  was 
only  seen  by  the  rest  prostrate,  and  with  his  head 
covered  ;  and  when  he  received  pardon,  after  coming 
into  the  chapter,  and  confessing  his  fault  and  asking 
for  mercy,  "being  ordered  to  rise,  he  shall  yet 
frequently  prostrate  himself,  and  say  again  the  same 
or  like  words,  ceasing  when  the  abbot  says  to  him 
'it  is  enough;'  and  then  he  shall  be  commanded  to 
strip,  and  to  submit  to  the  judgment  of  corporal  disci- 
pline." Only  then  was  he  restored.  For  rebellious 
contumacy  and  resistance  to  the  sentence  of^  the 
chapter,  there  was  sterner  dealing.  "  Such  a  person, 
the  brethren  who  were  present  were  to  arise  and 
violently  seize,  and  drag  him  or  else  bear  him  to  the 
prison  appointed  for  such  arrogant  persons,  and  being 
there  confined,  he  was,  with  due  discretion,  to  be 
afflicted,  until  he  had  laid  aside  his  haughty  temper 
and  owned  his  fault,  and  humbly  promised  amend- 
ment." Expulsion  was  the  last  penalty.  The  run- 
away monk  was  not  refused  a  return,  but  he  was 
received  with  the  tokens  of  ignominy  upon  him, 
befitting  a  deserter.  He  came  to  sue  for  pardon, 
tarrying  his  forsaken  monastic  dress  on  one  arm,  and 
in  the  other  hand  a  bundle  of  rods.  All  these  judg- 
ments and  vindications  of  discipline  took  place  in  the 
chapter,  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  community,  and 


56  DISCIPLINE  OF     .  [chap. 


under  the  sanction  of  the  whole.  In  the  same  way, 
discipline  was  administered  among-  the  children  who 
formed  the  school  of  the  monaster)-.  They  had 
their  special  chapter,  in  which  they  received  their 
punishments  ;  " in  capitnlo  suo  vapulent"  is  the  concise 
order,  "sicitt  major cs  in  majore  capitulo" — "let  them 
be  whipped  in  their  own  chapter,  as  the  elders  in  the 
older  chapter." 

In  the  chapter,  all  admissions  were  made  of 
novices,  of  professing  monks,  and  of  strangers  who 
were  received  into  the  society  and  "confraternity" 
of  the  house.  The  novice,  on  his  petition  to  be 
received,  was  warned  of  the  seriousness  of  what  he 
was  undertaking.  "  Let  there  be  declared  to  him  the 
hard  and  stern  things  which  in  this  order  they  endure, 
who  wish  to  live  piously  and  according  to  the  rule ; 
and  then,  again,  the  yet  harder  and  sterner  things 
which  may  befall  him,  if  he  behaves  himself  unrulily. 
Which  things  having  heard,  if  he  still  persists  in  his 
purpose,  and  promises  that  he  is  prepared  to  bear 
yet  harder  and  harsher  things,  let  the  president  of  the 
chapter  say  to  him  :  l  The  Lord  Jesus  Christ  so  per- 
form in  you  what  for  His  loves  sake  you  promise,  that 
you  may  have  His  grace  and  life  eternal ;'  and  all 
answering,  ' Amen'  he  shall  add,  '  And  we  for  His 
loves  sake  by  this  grant  to  you  what  so  humbly  and 
so  constantly  you  promise!  "  The  rule  of  the  order, 
according  to  the  common  practice,  was  to  be  read 
to  him,  with  the  form  of  warning  :  "  Here  is  the  law 
under  which  you  desire  to  serve  ;  if  you  can  keep  it, 
enter  in  ;  but  if  you  cannot,  freely  depart."  (Ecce  lex 
sub  qua  militate  vis :  si  potes  observare,  ingredere  ;  si 
vero  non  potes,  libere  discede.)     The  novice  was  kept 


in.]  A  NORMAN  MONASTERY.  57 

apart,  only  associating  witji  his  master,  or  speaking 
with  such  of  the  brethren  as  might  be  inflamed  with 
zeal  for  his  improvement.  He  was  fully  subject  to 
the  discipline  of  the  monastery,  and  received  his  judg- 
ment and  stripes  in  chapter  like  the  rest.  If,  "after 
certain  days,"  he  persisted,  he  was  again  warned 
and  told  of  the  hard  and  heavy  things  which  were 
appointed  by  the  holy  fathers  for  this  order  of  life ; 
and  then,  if  he  undertook  to  bear  them  humbly  and 
patiently,  and  yet  harder  and  heavier  things  still,  he 
was  received,  and  made  his  profession.  His  profession 
was  made  in  writing  ;  the  "  cantor "  was  to  provide 
parchment  and  ink  (inembranam  et  encaustnm),  and  a 
writer,  if  the  novice  could  not  write.  In  this  case  the 
novice  was  to  sign  his  profession  with  the  mark  of  the 
cross  ;  but  he  was  to  write  it  out  himself,  if  he  could  ; 
,and  then  at  the  mass  to  read  it  aloud  and  lay  it  on  the 
altar.  For  three  days  from  his  reception  and  "  bene- 
diction" he  is  to  observe  absolute  silence ;  the  cowl 
with  which  the  abbot  covers  his  head  is  not  to  be  re- 
moved, and  he  is  to  sleep  in  it ;  and  each  day  he  is  to 
receive  the  communion.  Then  in  chapter  his  master 
is  to  ask  leave  for  him  to  read  and  to  sing  as  the  rest 
of  the  brethren  ;  and  the  abbot  grants  it  with  the  words, 
"  Let  him  do  so  with  the  blessing  of  God."  A  strange 
monk  asking  "confraternity"  is  to  be  led  into  the 
chapter,  and  the  abbot  is  to  ask  him,  as  he  prostrates 
himself,  what  he  has  to  say.  He  is  to  answer :  "  I  ask, 
by  the  mercy  of  God,  your  fellozvsJiip  and  that  of  all 
these  elders,  and  the  benefit  of  this  monastery ;"  and 
the  abbot  to  answer,  "  The  Almighty  Lord  grant  you 
what  you  seek,  and  Himself  give  you  the  fellowship 
of  His  elect;"  "and  then  being  bidden  to  rise,  he 


58  DISCIPLINE  OF  [chap. 

receives  from  him,  by  the  emblematic  delivery  to  him 
of  the  book  of  rules,  the  fellowship  of  the  monastery." 

Among  the  various  things  to  be  done  in  the  chapter- 
house, one  is  worth  noticing.  On  the  first  Monday  in 
Lent  every  year,  there  was  to  be  a  general  restoring 
and  changing  of  books.  "  Before  the  brethren  come 
into  chapter,  the  keeper  of  the  books  is  to  have  the 
books  collected  in  the  chapter-house,  and  spread  on 
a  carpet,  except  those  which  have  been  given  out 
for  use  during  the  past  year.  These  last,  the  brethren 
coming  into  chapter  are  to  bring  with  them,  each  one 
having  his  book  in  his  hand,  of  which  they  ought  to 
have  had  notice  from  the  keeper  of  the  books  in  the 
chapter  of  the  day  before.  The  rule  of  St.  Benedict 
about  the  observance  of  Lent  is  to  be  read.  Then, 
when  there  has  been  a  discourse  out  of  it,  the  keeper 
of  the  books  is  to  read  a  note  (breve)  as  to  how  the 
brethren  have  had  books  in  the  last  year.  As  each 
one  hears  his  name  mentioned,  he  is  to  return  the 
work  which  was  given  him  to  read  the  last  year.  And 
he  who  is  aware  that  he  has  not  read  through  the 
book  which  he  received,  is  to  prostrate  himself  and 
declare  his  fault  and  ask  indulgence.  Then  again  the 
keeper  of  the  books  is  to  give  to  each  of  the  brethren 
another  book  to  read,  and  when  the  books  have  been 
distributed  in  order,  the  keeper  is  to  record  in  a  note 
(imbreviet)  the  names  of  the  books,  and  of  those  who 
have  received  them." 

The  daily  service  in  the  church  took  the  first  place, 
and  governed  all  the  other  arrangements.  Lanfranc's 
regulations  go  with  much  detail  into  the  order  to  be 
observed  for  the  day's  prayers  at  each  season  of  the 
ecclesiastical  year,  for  the  special  ceremonies  at  the 


III.]  A  NORMAN  MONASTERY.  59 


chief  solemnities  and  festivals,  and  for  the  various 
rites  and  grades  of  the  divine  service.  They  con- 
tain an  elaborate  directory,  following  what  had 
become  by  this  time  the  ordinary  course  of  com- 
mon prayer  and  the  fixed  cycle  of  holy  times  in 
the  Latin  Church  ;  its  order  exhibits  a  general  agree- 
ment with  that  which  is  still  represented  in  the  bre- 
viaries ;  but  this  order  was  not  then  stereotyped  in 
the  degree  in  which  it  gradually  became  fixed,  in  the 
usages  of  the  Western  Church  before  the  Reformation; 
and  Lanfranc,  in  this  matter  as  in  others,  exercises 
his  discretion  in  his  arrangements.  The  divisions 
of  the  year  are  appointed,  and  marked  by  various 
changes  in  the  order  of  prayer  and  living.  The  festivals 
of  different  classes,  to  be  kept  in  the  monastery,  arc 
enumerated.  The  rules,  as  we  have  them,  were  meant 
by  Lanfranc  for  English  monasteries  ;  and  the  only 
festivals  of  more  recent  saints  which  he  admits  into 
his  second  class,  containing  days  which  come  below  the 
highest  feasts,  days  connected  with  events  of  the  Gospel 
history  like  the  Epiphany,  the  Annunciation,  and  the 
Ascension, and  with  the  memory  of  St.  John  the  Baptist, 
St.  Peter,  and  St.  Paul,  and  of  All  Saints, — are,  with 
the  exception  of  that  commemorative  of  the  great 
monastic  patriarch  St.  Benedict,  days  in  honour 
of  three  persons  in  whom  Englishmen  would  feel 
special  interest :  St.  Gregory,  "  because  he  is  the 
apostle  of  our,  that  is,  of  the  English  nation;"  St. 
Augustin,  "the  Archbishop  of  the  English;"  and 
St.  Alfege  the  martyr — ^Elfheah,  the  Archbishop  oi 
Canterbury,  slain  by  the  heathen  Danes,  whose  claim 
to  a  high  place  among  martyred  saints,  thus  empha- 
tically admitted,  was  the  subject,  as  we  shall  find,  of 


60  DISCIPLINE  OF  [chap. 

a  remarkable  conversation  between  Lanfranc  and 
Anselm  ;  and  the  place  which  he  fills  in  Lanfranc's 
monastic  calendar  was  the  effect  of  that  conversation. 
It  is  worth  mentioning  that  the  holy  days  enumerated 
are  comparatively  few :  besides  the  names  just  men- 
tioned, and  those  of  Scripture  personages,  the  only 
names  found  are  St.  Vincent,  St.  Lawrence,  St. 
Augustin  of  Hippo,  and  St.  Martin. 

The  course  of  an  ordinary  day  is  thus  laid  out 
for  the  autumn  season.  The  community  rose  for 
matins,  which  were  sung  at  night,  and  then  returned 
to  their  beds  ;  as  the  day  began  to  dawn,  a  small 
bell  gave  the  signal,  and  they  rose,  and,  in  the 
dress  in  which  they  slept,  sang  the  service  for  the 
first  hour,  with  the  penitential  Psalms  and  Litanies, 
and  then  passed  into  the  cloister,  where  they  sat 
at  their  various  occupations.  The  children  were 
employed  reading  aloud  or  singing.  At  the  bell 
which  sounded  for  the  third  hour,  they  went  to  the 
dormitory  and  dressed  themselves  for  the  day  ;  then 
they  went  to  the  lavatory  and  washed  and  combed 
their  hair  ;  and  proceeding  to  the  church  remained 
bowing  down  to  the  ground,  till  the  children  were  ready 
and  joined  them.  Then  the  third  hour  service  was 
performed  and  the  morning  mass.  When  it  was  over, 
the  whole  community  gathered  in  the  choir,  and  pro- 
ceeded two  and  two  to  the  chapter-house  ;  when  the 
business  there  was  over,  they  went  into  the  cloister, 
and  might  talk  till  the  sixth  hour,  and  the  mass  which 
followed  it.  Twice  a  week  on  the  fast  days,  Wed- 
nesday and  Friday,  there  was  a  procession  in  which 
all  walked  barefoot  round  the  cloister.  In  the  summer 
portion  of  the  year,  when  the  days  were  longer,  the 


in.]  A  NORMAN  MONASTERY.  61 

community  took  a  noon-day  rest  {ineridiand)  in  the 
dormitory ;  it  is  especially  ordered  that  during  the 
mid-day  rest  the  children  and  youths  were  not  to 
read  or  write  or  do  any  work  in  their  beds,  but  to  lie 
perfectly  still.  After  the  mid-day  mass,  the  brethren 
were  to  sit  in  the  choir,  and  those  who  would  might 
read,  till  the  service  of  the  ninth  hour.  As  the  time 
of  the  great  festivals  came  on,  from  Advent  to  Whit- 
suntide,  the  religious  services  became  much  longer  and 
took  up  more  time.  After  the  ninth  hour  they  went  to 
the  refectory,  and  they  might  speak  in  the  cloister.  On 
ordinary  days,  they  "refreshed"  themselves  twice  a 
day,  after  the  third  hour,  and  again  after  the  ninth, 
except  on  fast  days,  when  all,  except  the  children  and 
the  sick,  "  refreshed  "  themselves  (reficiimt)  only  once ; 
and  restrictions  as  to  the  quality  of  the  food  are 
laid  down  for  the  great  solemnities.  But  little  is  said 
about  food,  compared  with  the  general  minuteness  of 
the  directions  relating  to  the  ceremonial  by  which  the 
significance  and  importance  of  each  high  service  was 
marked.  There  appears  a  sternness  and  severity 
running  through  them,  such  as  there  might  be  in  the 
regulations  of  a  military  life,  but  no  privation  simply 
for  privations'  sake,  at  least  no  pushing  of  privation 
to  extravagant  excess.  The  children,  the  sick,  the 
weak,  and  those  who,  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
time,  were  undergoing  their  periodical  blood-letting, 
— an  operation  which  was  done  according  to  rule, 
and  with  a  religious  service, — were  to  be  treated 
with  indulgence,  and  all  discretion  granted  to  their 
superiors  for  this  end.  Rules  were  laid  down  about 
the  time  and  usage  of  shaving  and  washing ;  before 
the  great  festivals  there  was  a  general  bathing,  and 


62  DISCIPLINE  OF  [chap. 

much  of  the  washing  is  ordered  to  be  with  hot 
water.  The  chamberlain,  whose  business  it  was  to 
provide  the  dress  of  the  brethren,  is  ordered  also  to 
provide  razors  and  napkins  for  shaving ;  towels  to 
hang  in  the  cloister ;  he  is  to  provide  and  repair 
glass  windows  for  the  dormitory  ;  and  once  a  year 
he  is  to  have  the  hay  changed  in  the  beds  and  the 
dormitory  cleaned. 

The  government  of  the  monastery  was  arranged 
with  good  sense  and  simplicity  according  to  the  habits 
of  the  time,  and  the  objects  of  the  institution  as  a 
school  of  discipline.  The  various  offices  were  laid 
out  with  the  same  distinctness  and  regularity  as, 
according  to  an  analogy  which  has  already  been 
noticed,  and  which  is  continually  recurring,  in  a  regi- 
ment or  a  man-of-war.  The  abbot  was  elected  by 
the  community,  or  by  the  majority  and  "  better 
part."  The  abbot  was  often,  perhaps  more  often 
than  not,  chosen  from  some  other  monastery,  where 
he  had  already  gained  reputation  for  learning  or 
discipline.  This  was  the  theory.  But  in  Nor- 
mandy, in  Duke  William's  time,  the  election,  at  least 
in  the  larger  houses,  required  the  duke's  assent  and 
confirmation,  if  the  office  was  not  his  direct  and  sole 
appointment  ;  and  the  abbot  received  from  him  the 
investiture  of  the  temporalities  of  the  house  by  the 
formal  delivery  of  a  pastoral  staff.  The  abbot's 
authority  was,  in  idea  and  in  terms,  absolute  and 
never  to  be  questioned.  "  Let  the  whole  order  of 
the  monastery  depend  on  what  he  thinks  fit."  His 
paramount  position  was  marked  by  a  strict  etiquette, 
and  all  kinds  of  marks  of  exceptional  honour  ;  all 
orders  came  from  him,  all  power  was  derived  from 


ill.]  A  NORMAN  MONASTERY.  63 

him  ;  he  was  the  source  of  pardon  and  indulgence,  and 
in  his  presence  all  other   authority  was   suspended. 
But    he    was   as   much   subject   as   the   rest    to  the 
regulations  and  laws   of  his  service ;  and  further,   he 
was  controlled  and  limited  directly  by  acknowledged 
concurrent  rights  in  the  community,  as  in  admission 
of  new  members,  or  in  the  judgment  and  sentence  of 
faults,  and  still  more,  indirectly,  by  the  opinions  and 
leanings  of  the  body,  often  an  active,  and  sometimes 
a  troublesome  one,  over  which  he  presided.    A  monas- 
tery exhibited  the  mixture,  so  common  everywhere 
at  the  time,  of  great  personal  and  concentrated  power 
with  a  great  amount  of  real  liberty  round  it ;  and  the 
force  of  an  abbot's  rule  depended  much  less  on  the 
despotic  supremacy  assigned  to   him  by  regulations 
or  current  ideas  than  on  his  own  fitness  for  governing. 
Under  him,  and  next  to  him  in   office  and  honour, 
was  the  prior    (a   "  greater   prior,"   and   a   "  prior  of 
cloister,"   are   specified  and   distinguished),  who  was 
the  working  hand  and  head  in  the  interior  administra- 
tion of  the  house.     The  servants  were  specially  under 
his  control  ;  he  was  to   "  hold  the  chapter "  for  the 
judgment  of  their  behaviour,  and  for  the  infliction  of 
necessary  punishment.     And  the  police  of  the  house 
was   under  his   special  charge ;     he  was    to  observe 
behaviour  in  choir  and  in  the  cloister,  and  at  stated 
times  of  day  and  night — by  night  with  a  dark  lantern 
{absconsa) — he  was  to  go  round  the  house,  the  crypt 
and  aisles  of  the   minster,  the  cloister,  the  chapter- 
house, the  infirmary,  and  the  dormitory,  to  see  that 
there  was  no  idling  or  foolish  gossip.     At  night  he 
was  to  take  care  that  all  was  well  lighted  in  the  house. 
In  this  work  of  going  his  rounds,  he  was  assisted  by 


64  DISCIPLINE  OF  [chap. 

officers  specially  appointed  for  the  purpose  {circumi- 
tores,  quos  alio  nomine  circas  vocant),  elected  from 
the  more  discreet  of  the  brethren,  men  who  would 
act  without  favour  or  malice,  who  from  time  to  time 
were  to  pass  through  the  monastery,  observing  every- 
thing, but  never  speaking  till  they  made  their  report 
in  the  chapter.  "  While  they  are  going  their  rounds 
they  .are  to  make  no  sign  to  any  one  ;  to  no  one  on 
any  occasion  are  they  to  speak,  but  only  watchfully 
notice  all  negligence  and  all  offences,  and  silently 
passing  by,  afterwards  make  their  complaint  in 
chapter.  If  they  find  any  of  the  brethren  talking 
outside  the  cloister,  one  of  the  speakers  is  at  once  to 
rise  up  to  them,  and  say,  if  it  be  the  case  that  they 
have  leave  to  be  talking.  The  officers  of  the  rounds 
are  not  to  answer  by  word  or  sign,  but  quietly  passing 
on,  to  listen  carefully  whether  the  talk  is  unprofitable 
and  what  ought  not  to  be  said."  All  the  offices 
and  rooms  of  the  house  were  under  their  continual 
superintendence. 

The  service  of  the  choir  was  under  the  charge 
of  the  Cantor.  He  arranged  everything,  relating 
to  the  reading  and  singing.  "  Every  one,"  it  is 
said, — a  necessary  precaution  where  reading  was 
an  accomplishment,  and  right  pronunciation  more 
precarious  than  even  now, — "  every  one  who  is  to 
read  or  sing  anything  in  the  minster,  is  bound,  if 
necessary,  before  he  begins,  to  listen  to  the  passage 
read  or  sung  by  the  cantor."  It  was  his  duty  to  take 
care  that  nothing  careless  and  slovenly  was  done  in  any 
religious  service.  "  If  any  one  from  forgetfulness  does 
not  begin  at  his  proper  place  in  the  responses  and 
antiphon,  or  goes  wrong  in  it,  the  cantor  must  be  on 


in.]  A  NORMAN  MONASTERY.  65 

his  guard  and  ready  without  delay  to  begin  what  should 
be  begun,  or  to  set  the  other  right  where  he  has  made 
a  mistake.  At  his  direction  the  chant  is  to  begin,  to 
be  raised,  to  be  lowered  :  no  one  is  to  raise  the  chant 
unless  he  first  begins."  He  is  to  choose  those  who 
are  to  help  him  in  the  choir  ;  he  is  to  sit  among  them 
on  the  right  side  of  the  choir,  on  which  side  the  sing- 
ing is  to  begin.  He  also  is  to  have  the  care  of  the 
books  of  the  monastery.  Other  officers  attended  to 
the  outward  or  domestic  concerns  of  the  house.  The 
Secretaries  or  Sacrista  had  the  charge  of  the  church 
ornaments,  the  bells,  and  the  sacred  vessels  ;  and  it 
was  his  business  to  overlook  the  making  of  the  "Hosts" 
for  the  Mass,  which  was  done  with  great  solemnity. 
The  Chamberlaiii  was  charged  with  everything  relating 
to  the  dress  of  the  brethren  and  the  good  order  of 
their  rooms.  u  He  was  to  have  horse-shoes  for  the 
horses  of  the  abbot  and  prior  and  their  guests,  and 
to  provide  the  brethren  going  on  a  journey  with 
cloaks,  leggings,  and  spurs;"  for  whose  behaviour  while 
travelling  very  careful  and  elaborate  rules  are  given. 
The  Cellarer  looked  after  the  housekeeping.  There 
is  a  touch  of  warmth  in  the  dry,  stern  rule,  in  de- 
scribing his  office,  which  speaks  of  the  feeling  with 
which  he  was  looked  upon  even  at  Bee.  "  He  ought 
to  be  the  father  of  the  whole  congregation  ;  to  have 
a  care  both  of  those  in  health,  and  also,  and  especially, 
of  the  sick  brethren."  On  the  day  on  which  the  rule 
of  his  office  was  to  be  read  in  chapter,  he  was  to  take 
care  that  all  should  be  prepared,  so  that  his  service 
in  the  refectory  to  the  brethren  might  be  done  in  an 
honourable  and  festive  manner :  he  was  solemnly  to 
ask  pardon  in  chapter  for  the  imperfect  manner  in 
s.l.  x.  f 


66  DISCIPLINE  OF  [chap. 

which  he  had  discharged  his  "  obedience,"  and  was  to 
receive  forgiveness  for  it  from  the  community ;  and 
then  after  a  recital  for  him  of  the  Miserere  Psalm,  he 
was  to  provide  an  "  honourable  refection "  for  the 
brethren.  There  was  a  separate  house  for  strangers, 
over  which  a  brother  was  set  who  was  to  provide 
everything  necessary  of  furniture,  firing  and  food  for 
their  entertainment.  He  was  to  introduce  guests  and 
visitors,  and  to  show  the  cloister  and  offices  to  those 
who  desired  to  see  them  ;  but  he  was  to  bring  no  stran- 
ger into  the  cloister  while  any  of  the  brotherhood  was 
sitting  there,  and  "no  one  on  any  pretence,  booted, 
spurred,  or  bare-footed."  There  was  an  Almoner, 
whose  business  it  was  to  seek  out  and  relieve  the 
poor  and  the  sick ;  he  had  two  servants  to  attend 
him,  and  he  was  to  visit  the  distressed  at  their  houses, 
and  gently  comfort  the  "  sick  and  offer  them  the  best 
that  he  had  and  saw  that  they  needed,  and  if  they 
needed  something  that  he  had  not,  he  was  to  try  and 
provide  it."  And  there  was  an  Infirmarius,  who 
looked  after  the  sick  in  hospital,  with  his  own  separate 
cook  and  kitchen  for  their  needs,  who  was  to  provide 
freely  for  all  that  could  comfort  them,  and  also  to 
take  care  that  no  one  took  advantage  of  the  com- 
parative indulgence  of  the  infirmary.  The  regulations 
are  minute  and  lengthy  about  the  treatment  of  the 
dying.  He  was  attended  with  prayers  and  psalms 
to  the  last  ;  when  he  entered  into  his  "agony,"  a  hair- 
cloth was  spread,  ashes  scattered  upon  it,  and  a  cross 
made  on  the  ashes,  and  on  this  the  dying  brother  was 
laid.  The  whole  convent  was  summoned  by  sharp  re- 
peated blows  on  a  board  :  all  who  heard  it,  whatever 
they  were  about,  except  they  were  at  the  regular  service 


in.]  A  NORMAN  MONASTERY.  67 

in  church,  were  to  run  to  the  bed  of  the  dying,  chant- 
ing in  a  low  tone  the  Nicene  Creed;  and  they  were  to 
remain  about  him,  saying  the  Penitential  Psalms  and 
Litanies  till  he  died.  So,  in  the  presence  of  all  his 
brethren,  amid  their  suffrages  and  supplications,  in 
sackcloth  and  ashes,  the  monk  gave  up  the  ghost. 
Such  are  the  descriptions  of  the  last  scenes  in  the 
lives  of  men  of  this  time :  so  Anselm  died,  and  so 
his  friend  and  pupil  Gundulf,  Bishop  of  Rochester, 
the  builder  of  the  Tower  of  London. 

In  these  regulations,  entering  frequently  into  very 
minute  detail  as  to  the  observances  of  times  and  sea- 
sons, it  is  natural  that  we  should  find  a  great  mixture ; 
that  with  things  wise  and  reasonable,  and  well  adapted 
to  ends  deserving  of  respect,  we  should  find  much  that 
is  childish,  much  that  is  mischievous,  much  that  is 
simply  incomprehensible.  So  it  appears  to  us  now ; 
and  probably  with  our  larger  experience  we  are  right 
But  matters  which  approach  to  the  nature  of  form 
and  etiquette  are  always  things  on  which  a  man  who 
is  careful  in  forming  his  judgments  will  be  especially 
cautious  in  pronouncing  a  strong  opinion.  We  find 
them  in  black  and  white  in  a  book,  and  there  they 
look  very  different  from  what  such  things  do  when 
we  see  them  in  living  action,  and  surrounded  by 
circumstances  with  which  they  harmonize ;  and  one 
age  can  never  expect  to  understand  and  feel  with  the 
forms  of  another,  just  as  one  class  of  society  is  often 
simply  unable  to  see  anything  to  respect  or  care  for 
in  what  is  full  of  gravity  and  meaning  to  another, 
above  it,  or  below  it,  or  even  co-ordinate  with  it. 
Lawyers,  soldiers,  doctors,  clergymen,  are  apt  to 
find  much  that  is  strange  and  unintelligible  in  one 
another's  codes  and  professional  ideas.     But  with  all 

F    2 


68  A  NORMAN  MONASTERY.         [chap.  hi. 

shortcomings  and  fantastic  usages  and  misdirection, 
one  thing  the  monasteries  were,  which  was  greatly 
needed  in  their  day.  In  an  age  when  there  was  so 
much  lawlessness,  and  when  the  idea  of  self-control 
was  so  uncommon  in  the  ordinary  life  of  man,  they 
were  schools  of  discipline  ;  and  there  were  no  others. 
They  upheld  and  exhibited  the  great,  then  almost  the 
original  idea,  that  men  needed  to  rule  and  govern 
themselves,  that  they  could  do  it,  and  that  no  use 
of  life  was  noble  and  perfect  without  this  ruling. 
It  was  hard  and  rough  discipline  like  the  times,  which 
were  hard  and  rough.  But  they  did  good  work  then, 
and  for  future  times,  by  impressing  on  society  the 
idea  of  self-control  and  self-maintained  discipline. 
And  rude  as  they  were,  they  were  capable  of  nurtur- 
ing noble  natures,  single  hearts,  keen  and  powerful 
intellects,  glowing  and  unselfish  affections. 

In  those  days,  there  were  soldiers  and  soldiers,  and 
no  doubt  fewer  good  ones  than  bad  ones.  We  have 
no  reason  to  suppose  that  it  was  otherwise  with 
monks,  or  that  the  general  praise  which  we  meet 
with  of  monks  as  such,  means  more  than  the  corre- 
sponding general  praise  of  the  military  virtues  of  an 
army,  who  are  all  supposed  to  be  gallant  and  high- 
minded.  But  the  soldier  of  knowledge  and  of  re- 
ligious self-discipline  had  a  noble  ideal ;  and  it  was  not 
unfulfilled.  In  Anselm's  life  we  can  see  how  the  man 
filled  up  the  formal  life  of  the  monk,  as  he  might  have 
filled  up  that  of  the  soldier.  Through  the  clumsiness, 
the  simplicity,  the  frequent  childishness  of  that  time 
of  beginnings,  the  shrewdness  and  fine  sympathies  and 
affection  of  Anselm's  English  friend  and  biographer 
show  us  how  high  and  genuine  a  life  could  be  realized 
in  those  rude  cloisters. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

ANSELM   AT   BEC. 

"  Temperance,  proof 
Against  all  trials  ;  industry  severe 
And  constant  as  the  motion  of  the  day  ; 
Stern  self-denial  round  him  spread,  with  shade 
That  might  be  deemed  forbidding,  did  not  there 
All  generous  feelings  flourish  and  rejoice  ; 
Forbearance,  charity  in  deed  and  thought, 
And  resolution  competent  to  take 
Out  of  the  bosom  of  simplicity 
All  that  her  holy  customs  recommend." 

Wordsworth,  Excursion,  b.  vii. 

"  Servants  of  God  !  or  sons 

Shall  I  not  call  you  ?  because 

Not  as  servants  ye  knew 

Your  Father's  innermost  mind, 

His,  who  unwillingly  sees 

One  of  His  little  ones  lost — 

Yours  is  the  praise,  if  mankind 

Hath  not  as  yet  in  its  march 

Fainted,  and  fallen,  and  died  ! 
*  *  *  * 

Then  in  such  hour  of  need 
Of  your  fainting,  dispirited  race, 
Ye,  like  angels,  appear, 
Radiant  with  ardour  divine. 
Beacons  of  hope,  ye  appear  ! 
Languor  is  not  in  your  heart, 
Weakness  is  not  in  your  word, 
Weariness  not  on  your  brow. " 

Matthew  Arnold. 

Anselm   came   to  Bee,   as   men   later   on   went  to 
universities,  to  find  the  best  knowledge  and  the  best 


yo  ANSELM  A  T  BEC.  [chap. 

teaching  of  this  day.  He  read  indefatigably,  and 
himself  taught  others,  under  Lanfranc.  Teacher  and 
pupil,  besides  being  both  Italians,  had  much  to  draw 
them  together;  and  a  friendship  began  between  them, 
which,  in  spite  of  the  difference  between  the  two  men, 
and  the  perhaps  unconscious  reserve  caused  by  it, 
continued  to  the  last  genuine  and  unbroken.  Lan- 
franc was  a  man  of  strong  practical  genius.  Anselm 
was  an  original  thinker  of  extraordinary  daring  and 
subtlety.  But  the  two  men  had  high  aims  in  com- 
mon; they  knew  what  they  meant,  and  they  under- 
stood each  other's  varied  capacities  for  their  common 
task.  They  found  themselves  among  a  race  of  men 
of  singular  energy  and  great  ambition,  but  at  a  very 
low  level  of  knowledge,  and  with  a  very  low  standard 
of  morality ;  illiterate,  undisciplined,  lawless.  To 
educate  and  to  reform,  to  awaken  the  Normans  to 
the  interest  of  letters  and  the  idea  of  duty,  to  kindle 
the  desire  to  learn  and  to  think,  and  to  purify  and 
elevate  the  aims  of  life,  were  the  double  object  of  both 
Lanfranc  and  Anselm,  the  key  to  their  unwearied 
zeal  to  re-organize  and  infuse  fresh  vigour  into  the 
monastic  system,  which  was  the  instrument  which  they 
found  ready  to  their  hand.  Opposite  as  they  were 
in  character,  and  working  in  different  lines,  the  great 
purpose  which  they  had  so  sincerely  at  heart  bound 
them  together. 

When  Anselm  had,  as  we  should  say,  followed 
Lanfranc's  lectures  for  some  time,  the  question  pre- 
sented itself  to  what  use  he  should  devote  his  life.  In 
those  hard  days,  the  life  of  a  monk  was  not  harder 
than  that  of  a  student ;  each  was  pinched  with  cold 
and  want,  each  could  only  get  through  his  day's  work 


iv,]  ANSELM  A  T  BEC.  7 1 

with  toil  like  that  of  a  day-labourer.  What  was  on 
the  side  of  the  monk's  life  was  its  definite  aim  and  its 
hope  of  reward.  It  was  a  distinct  self-dedication  to 
the  service  of  the  great  Master,  and  it  looked  for  the 
great  Master's  special  approval.  Anselm  had  begun 
to  feel  his  power,  and  to  reflect  on  the  cost  of  pri- 
vation and  effort  at  which  the  fruits  of  thought  and 
knowledge  had  been  bought.  How  should  he  best 
keep  them  from  being  thrown  away  ?  The  same 
temper  which  in  those  days  naturally  carried  other 
men  to  be  soldiers,  carried  him  to  be  a  monk  ;  but 
what  sort  of  monk  should  he  be  ?  Cluni  was  then  the 
most  famous  among  monastic  organizations  ;  but  Cluni 
discouraged  learning.  Why, should  he  not  stay  at 
Bee  ?  He  confessed  to  himself  afterwards  that  he 
felt  that  where  Lanfranc  was  so  great  there  was  no 
room  for  him,  and  that  he  wanted,  even  as  a  monk, 
a  sphere  of  his  own.  "  I  was  not  yet  tamed,"  as  he 
said  in  after  times,  when  he  used,  in  playful  mood, 
to  talk  over  his  early  life  with  his  friends — "  I  want  a 
place,  I  said  to  myself,  where  I  can  both  show  what 
I  know  and  be  of  use  to  others ;  I  thought  my 
motive  was  charity  to  others,  and  did  not  see  how 
hurtful  it  was  to  myself."  But  self-knowledge  came 
and  an  honest  understanding  with  himself,  and  with 
it  new  plans  of  life  opened  :  if  he  was  to  be  a  monk, 
he  was  to  be  one  for  God,  and  at  Bee  as  well  as  any- 
where ;  if  rest  and  God's  comfort  were  his  desire,  he 
would  find  them  there.  But  with  the  ever  paramount 
thought  came  other  thoughts,  too.  His  father's  in- 
heritance had  fallen  to  him,  and  he  considered  the 
alternative  of  going  back  to  take  it.  Should  he  be  a 
monk  at  Bee,  a  hermit  in  the  wilds,  or  a  noble  in  his 


72  ANSELM  A  T  BEC.  [chap. 

father's  house,  administering  his  patrimony  for  the 
poor  ?  He  put  himself  into  Lanfranc's  hands.  Lan- 
franc  referred  him  to  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen.  The 
archbishop  advised  him  to  become  a  monk.  It  is 
hard  to  see  what  better  advice  in  those  times  he 
could  have  given  to  a  man  consumed  by  the  passion 
at  once  for  knowledge  and  for  the  highest  ideal  of  life. 
Anselm  became  a  monk  at  Bee  in  the  twenty- seventh 
year  of  his  age  ;  in  three  years'  time  he  succeeded 
Lanfranc  as  prior  ;  fifteen  years  after  this  Herlwin, 
the  founder,  died,  and  Anselm  was  chosen  abbot ;  and 
he  governed  Bee  as  abbot  for  fifteen  years  more.1 

Lanfranc  had  set  a  high  example,  and  to  him  be- 
longs the  glory  of  having  been  the  creator  of  Bee,  the 
kindler  of  light  and  force  among  the  Norman  clergy, 
the  leader  of  improvement  and  efforts  after  worthier 
modes  of  life  on  a  wider  stage  than  Normandy.  He 
was  for  his  day  an  accomplished  scholar  and  divine, 
a  zealous  promoter  of  learning,  of  order,  of  regularity 
of  life,  a  man  of  great  practical  powers,  and  noble 
and  commanding  character,  apparently  not  without 
a  tinge  of  harshness  and  craft.  He  left  his  scholar 
Anselm  to  carry  on  his  work  at  Bee ;  his  scholar — 
but  it  would  not  be  easy  to  find  two  more  different 
men.  Lanfranc's'  equal  might  without  much  diffi- 
culty be  found  among  many  of  the  distinguished 
churchmen  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The  man  who  suc- 
ceeded him  was  one  who,  to  a  child-like  singleness 
and  tenderness  of  heart,  joined  an  originality  and 
power  of  thought  which  rank  him,  even  to  this  day, 
among  the  few  discoverers  of  new  paths  in  philo- 
sophical speculation.  Anselm  was  one  of  those 
1  Monk,  1060  ;  Prior,  1063 ;  Abbot,  1078  till  1093. 


IV.]  ANSELM  AT  BEC.  73 

devout  enthusiasts  after  exact  truth,  who  try  the 
faculties  of  the  human  mind  to  the  uttermost,  and  to 
whom  the  investigation  of  new  ideas,  pushed  to  their 
simplest  forms  and  ultimate  grounds,  takes  the  place 
of  the  passions  and  objects  of  life.  He  had  all  that 
dialectical  subtlety  and  resource  which  awakening 
mind  in  half-barbarous  times  exacts  from  and  ad- 
mires in  its  guides  ;  but  he  had  also,  besides  this, 
which  was  common  enough,  the  daring  and  the  force 
to  venture  by  himself  into  real  depths  and  difficulties 
of  thought,  such  as  have  been  tried  by  the  greatest 
of  modern  thinkers,  and  in  which  lie  the  deepest 
problems  of  our  own  times.  Fixed  at  Bee,  the  philo- 
sophic inquirer  settled  to  his  toil,  and  reverently  and 
religiously,  yet  fearlessly,  gave  his  reason  its  range. 
His  biographer  records  the  astonishment  caused  by 
his  attempts  to  "unravel  the  darkest,  and  before 
his  time  the  unsolved  or  unusual  questions  con- 
cerning the  Divine  Nature  and  our  faith,  which 
lay  hid,  covered  by  much  darkness  in  the  divine 
Scriptures."  "  For,"  adds  Eadmer,  M  he  had  such 
confidence  in  them,  that  with  immovable  trust  of 
heart  he  felt  convinced  that  there  was  nothing  in 
them  contrary  to  solid  truth.  Therefore  he  bent 
his  purpose  most  earnestly  to  this,  that  according 
to  his  faith  it  might  be  vouchsafed  to  him  to  per- 
ceive by  his  mind  and  reason  the  things  which  were 
veiled  in  them." 

The  men  of  his  day,  as  we  see,  recognized  in  him 
something  more  than  common  as  an  inquirer  and  a 
thinker ;  but  it  was  reserved  for  much  later  times  to 
discern  how  great  he  was.  It  needed  longer  and 
wider  experience  in  the  realms  of  speculation,  ancj  a  far 


74  ANSELM  AT  BEC.  [chap. 

higher  cultivation  than  was  attainable  in  his  age,  to 
take  the  true  measure  of  his  original  and  penetrating 
intellect.  His  first  works  written  at  Bee  show  his 
refined  subtlety  of  thought,  with  the  strong  effort  to 
grasp  in  his  own  way  the  truth  of  his  subject.  They 
exhibit  the  mind  really  at  work,  not  amusing  itself 
with  its  knowledge  and  dexterity.  They  are  three 
dialogues,  in  which  he  grapples  with  the  idea  of  Truth, 
with  the  idea  of  Free-will,  and  with  the  idea  of  Sin, 
as  exhibited  in  what  may  be  called  its  simplest  form, 
the  fall  of  an  untempted  angelic  nature.  But  the 
fruits  of  his  intellectual  activity  at  Bee  are  shown  on 
a  very  different  scale  in  two  works,  also  composed 
when  he  was  prior,  which  have  gained  him  his  place 
among  the  great  thinkers  of  Christian  Europe — two 
short  treatises  on  the  deepest  foundations  of  all  reli- 
gion, examples  of  the  most  severe  and  abstruse 
exercise  of  mind,  yet  coloured  throughout  by  the 
intensity  of  faith  and  passionate  devotion  of  the  soul 
to  the  God  of  Truth  which  sets  the  reason  to  work. 
The  first  of  these  is  the  Monologion.  He  originally 
called  it  "An  Example  of  Meditation  on  the  Reason 
of  Faith;"  and  it  was  meant  to  represent  a  person 
discoursing  secretly  with  himself  on  the  ground  of  his 
belief  in  God.  It  is  an  attempt  to  elicit  from  the 
necessity  of  reason,  without  the  aid  of  Scripture,  the 
idea  of  God,  and  the  real  foundation  of  it ;  and  to 
exhibit  it  "in  plain  language  and  by  ordinary  argu- 
ment, and  in  a  simple  manner  of  discussion" — that  is, 
without  the  usual  employment  of  learned  proofs ; 
and  he  aims,  further,  at  showing  how  this  idea 
necessarily  leads  to  the  belief  of  the  Word  and  the 
Spirit,  distinguished  from,  but  one  with,  the  Father. 


IV.]  A NSELM  AT  BEC.  75 

The  Monologion  is  an  investigation  of  what  reason 
alone  shows  God  to  be;  though  the  inquiry  starts 
from  the  assumption  of  the  convictions  of  faith,  and 
finds  that  reason,  independently  followed,  confirms 
them.  The  basis  of  his  method,  one  of  several  he 
says,  but  the  readiest,  is  the  existence  of  certain 
qualities  in  man  and  nature,  moral  and  intellectual 
excellences  and  whatever  we  call  good,  which,  he 
argues,  to  be  intelligibly  accounted  for,  presuppose, 
as  the  ground  of  their  existence,  the  same  qualities  in 
a  perfect  and  transcendent  manner  in  a  Being  who 
is  seen,  on  further  reflection,  to  be  the  one  without 
whom  nothing  could  be,  and  who  Himself  depends 
on  nothing.  It  is  an  argument  from  ideas,  in  the 
sense  in  which  Plato  spoke  of  them,  as  grounds 
accounting  to  reason  for  all  that  is  matter  of  expe- 
rience. The  mode  of  argument  is  as  old  as  Plato, 
and  became  known  to  Anselm  through  St.  Augustin. 
But  it  is  thought  out  afresh  and  shaped  anew  with 
the  originality  of  genius.  A  recent  French  critic, 
Emile  Saisset,  remarks  on  the  u  extraordinary  bold- 
ness, which  strikes  us  in  every  page  of  the  Mono- 
logion!' The  clear  purpose  and  the  confident  grasp 
of  the  question,  the  conduct  of  the  reasoning  from 
step  to  step,  calm  and  almost  impassive  in  appear- 
ance, but  sustained  and  spirited,  the  terse  yet  elabo- 
rate handling  of  the  successive  points,  the  union  in  it 
of  self-reliant  hardihood,  with  a  strong  sense  of  what 
is  due  to  the  judgment  of  others,  make  it,  with  its 
companion  piece,  the  Proslogion,  worthy  of  its  fame, 
as  one  of  the  great  masterpieces  and  signal-posts  in 
the  development  of  this  line  of  thought ;  though,  like 
its   great    companions   and    rivals,   before   and   after 


76  ANSELM  AT  BEC.  [chap. 

it,  it  leaves  behind  a  far  stronger  impression  of  the 
limitations  of  the  human  intellect  than  even  of  its 
powers. 

But  he  was  not  satisfied  with  the  argument  of 
the  Monologion,  a  chain  consisting  of  many  links, 
a  theory  requiring  the  grasp  in  one  view  of  many 
reasonings.  Eadmer  draws  a  remarkable  picture, 
which  is  confirmed  by  Anselm's  own  account,  of 
the  way  in  which  he  was  tormented  with  the  long- 
ing to  discover  some  one  argument — short,  simple, 
self-sufficing — by  which  to  demonstrate  in  a  clear 
and  certain  manner  the  existence  and  perfections 
of  God.  Often  on  the  point  of  grasping  what  he 
sought,  and  as  often  baffled  by  what  escaped  from  his 
hold,  unable  in  his  anxiety  to  sleep  or  to  take  his  meals, 
he  despaired  of  his  purpose ;  but  the  passionate  desire 
would  not  leave  him.  It  intruded  on  his  prayers,  and 
interrupted  his  duties,  till  it  came  to  appear  to  him 
like  a  temptation  of  the  devil.  At  last,  in  the  watches 
of  the  night,  in  the  very  stress  of  his  efforts  to  keep  off 
the  haunting  idea,  "in  the  agony  and  conflict  of  his 
thoughts,"  the  thing  which  he  had  so  long  given  up 
hoping  for  presented  itself,  and  filled  him  with  joy. 
The  discovery,  Eadmer  tells  us,  was  more  than  once 
nearly  lost,  from  the  mysterious  and  unaccountable 
breaking  of  the  wax  tablets  on  which  his  first  notes 
were  written,  before  they  were  finally  arranged  and 
committed  to  the  parchment.  The  result  was  the 
famous  argument  of  the  Proslogion,  the  argument 
revived  with  absolute  confidence  in  it  by  Descartes, 
and  which  still  employs  deep  minds  in  France  and  Ger- 
many with  its  fascinating  mystery — that  the  idea  of 
God  in  the  human  mind  of  itself  necessarily  involves  the 


iv.  1  ANSELM  AT  BEC.  77 

reality  of  that  idea.  The  Proslogion,  a  very  short  com- 
position, is  in  the  shape  of  an  address  and  lifting  up  of 
the  soul  to  God,  after  the  manner  of  St.  Augustin's 
Confessions,  or  what  in  French  is  termed  an  Eleva- 
tion, seeking  to  know  the  rational  foundation  of  its 
faith  ;  fides  qucerens  intellectnm.  The  "  fool  who  says  in 
his  heart,  there  is  no  God,"  in  his  very  negation  compre- 
hends the  absolutely  unique  idea  of  a  Being  the  most 
perfect  conceivable,  an  idea  without  a  parallel  or  like- 
ness ;  but  real  existence  is  necessarily  involved  in  the 
idea  of  a  Being  than  whom  nothing  can  be  conceived 
greater,  otherwise  it  would  not  be  the  most  perfect 
conceivable.  He  treats  the  idea  of  a  Being,  than 
which  nothing  greater  can  be  conceived,  and  of  which 
existence  is  a  necessary  part,  as  if  it  were  as  much  an 
intellectual  necessity  as  the  idea  of  a  triangle,  or,  as 
Descartes  puts  it,  a  mountain  which  must  have  its 
valley  ;  and  the  denial  of  the  "fool"  to  be  as  impos- 
sible an  attempt  as  the  attempt  to  conceive  the  non- 
existence of  the  idea  of  a  triangle.  The  obviously 
paradoxical  aspect  of  the  argument,  in  seeming  to 
make  a  mental  idea  a  proof  of  real  existence,  was 
brought  out  at  the  time  with  some  vigour,  though 
with  an  inadequate  appreciation  of  the  subtlety  and 
depth  of  the  question  in  debate,  by  a  French  monk  of 
noble  birth,  Gaunilo  of  Marmoutier  ;  and  in  reply  to 
this,  the  argument,  which  is  very  briefly  stated  in  the 
Proslogion  itself,  is  stated  afresh,  and  Anselm  puts 
forth  the  full  power  of  his  keen  and  self-reliant  mind 
to  unfold  and  guard  it.  A  curious  touch  of  playful- 
ness Occasionally  relieves  the  austere  argumentation. 
To  illustrate  the  absurdity  of  Anselm's  alleged  posi- 
tion, that  what  is  more  excellent  than  all  things  in 


78  ANSELM  A  T  BEC\  [chap. 

idea  must  exist  in  fact,  Gaunilo  instances  the  Insula 
perdita  in  the  ocean,  the  lost  Atlantis  of  poets 
and  philosophers,  said  to  be  the  most  beautiful  of  all 
lands,  but  inaccessible  to  man.  Gaunilo  makes  merry 
with  his  parallel,  which  Anselm  rejects.  "  I  speak 
confidently,"  he  answers,  "fidens  loqnor — if  any  one 
will  discover  for  me  anything,  either  existing  in  fact 
or  in  thought  alone,  besides  That  than  which  nothing 
greater  ca?i  be  thought,  to  which  he  can  fit  and  apply 
the  structure  of  this  my  reasoning,  I  will  find  and 
give  him  that  lost  island,  never  to  be  lost  again."  But 
this  is  a  passing  touch  which  for  once  he  could  not 
resist :  in  the  treatment  generally  of  the  argument  in 
this  reply,  he  sacrifices  the  moral  and,  so  to  say,  the 
probable  and  imaginative  aspect  of  it,  to  its  purely 
scientific  form.  Until  it  is  expanded  by  considera- 
tions which  Anselm  refuses  to  take  in,  it  seems  but  a 
rigorous  following  out  of  the  consequences,  which  are 
inevitably  imposed  on  the  reasoner  who  accepts  the 
definition  of  God  as  "  That  than  which  nothing  greater 
can  be  thought."  But  the  argument  was  one  which  in 
its  substance  approved  itself  to  minds  like  those  of 
Descartes,  and  Descartes'  great  critics,  Samuel  Clarke, 
Leibnitz,  and  Hegel ;  and  these  bold  and  soaring 
efforts  of  pure  reason,  so  devout  and  reverently  con- 
scious of  what  it  had  accepted  as  the  certainties  of 
religion,  yet  so  ardently  bent  on  intellectual  discovery 
for  itself,  are  the  more  remarkable  when  it  is  con- 
sidered that  in  their  form  and  style  Anselm  had  no 
model,  not  even  in  his  chief  master,  St.  Augustin.  Nor 
was  he  imitated.  The  great  Schoolmen  followed  a  dif- 
ferent track,  and  a  different  method  ;  and  it  is  only  on 
account  of  their  common  devotion  to  abstract  thought, 


iv.]  ANSELM  A  T  BEC.  79 

and  of  the  impulse  which  Anselm  doubtless  gave  to  a 
more  severe  and  searching  treatment  of  theology,  that 
he  can  be  classed  as  one  of  them,  or  as  their  fore- 
"runner.  It  has  been  observed  with  justice,  that  his 
method  is  much  more  akin  to  the  spirit  of  independent 
philosophical  investigation  which  began  when  the  age 
of  the  Schools  had  passed,  in  the  sixteenth  century. 
It  differs  from  this  in  the  profound  convictions  of  the 
certainties  of  religion,  convictions  as  profound  as  those 
of  moral  duty,  from  which  it  starts  and  with  which 
it  is  combined,  and  by  the  spirit  of  which  it  is  ever 
quickened  and  elevated.    - 

But  he  was  not  only  a  thinker.  His  passion  for 
abstruse  thought  was  one  which  craved,  not  solitude 
but  companionship.  He  was  eminently  a  teacher. 
The  Middle  Ages  are  full  of  pictures  of  great  masters 
and  their  scholars ;  but  few  of  them  exhibit  the  con- 
nection in  its  finest  form — as  a  combination  of  natural 
authority  with  affection,  of  deep  personal  interest  and 
large  public  aims,  of  familiarity  and  associated  labour 
between  the  teacher  and  his  circle  of  pupils,  of  a  guide 
who  does  not  impose  his  opinions  or  found  a  school, 
but  who  shows  the  way  and  awakens  thought, — so 
clearly  as  it  is  seen  in  the  glimpses  which  are  given, 
in  Anselm's  letters  and  works  and  in  Eadmer's  life,  of 
Ansolm's  monastic  school.  His  chief  care,  says  his 
biographer,  was  devoted  to  the  younger  men,  whose 
minds  were  to  be  formed  for  work  to  come,  and  who 
were  not\  too  old  to  learn,  or  to  be  kindled  with  high 
purposes,  \  and  quickened  into  fresh  enterprises  of 
thought.  V  He  compared  the  age  of  youth  to  wax 
fitly  tempered  for  the  seal.  For  if  the  wax  be  too 
hard  or  too  soft  it  receives  but  imperfectly  the  im- 


80  ANSELM  A  T  BEC.  [chap. 

pression.  So  is  it  in  the  ages  of  man.  You  see  a  man 
from  childhood  to  deep  old  age,  busy  with  the  vanities 
of  this  world,  minding  only  earthly  things  and  har- 
dened in  them.  Talk  to  him  of  the  things  of  the 
spirit,  of  the  refined  thoughts  of  divine  contemplation, 
teach  such  a  man  to  search  out  these  secrets  of  heaven, 
and  you  will  find  that  he  has  not  even  the  power  of 
knowing  what  you  mean.  And  no  wonder — the  wax 
is  hardened  ;  he  has  not  spent  his  life  in  these  things, 
he  has  learned  to  pursue  their  opposites.  Take,  on 
the  other  hand,  a  boy  of  tender  age,  not  able  to 
discern  either  good  or  evil,  not  even  to  understand 
you  when  you  talk  of  such  things,  and  the  wax  is  too 
soft  and  melting— it  will  not  retain  the  impression. 
The  young  man  is  between  the  two,  fitly  tempered  of 
softness  and  hardness.  Train  up  him,  and  you  may 
mould  him  to  what  you  will."  The  turn  of  hopeful- 
ness given  to  the  trite  image  is  characteristic.  Gifted 
with  singularly  keen  insight  into  men's  hearts,  and 
with  quick  and  wide  sympathy ;  instinctively  divining, 
with  a  sureness  which  struck  even  men  accustomed,  as 
monks  were,  to  this  kind  of  faculty,  the  secret  wishes, 
trials,  sorrows,  perils  of  each,  and  exercising  that  attrac- 
tion which  draws  men  to  those  who  understand  and 
respect  them,  Anselm's  influence  reached  to  wherever 
he  came  in  contact  with  men,  inside  his  monastery  or 
without.  The  words  of  Christ  and  heaven  were  ever 
on  his  lips ;  but  they  were  words  for  all. 

He  was  not  a  preacher ;  but  he  was  remarkable  for 
his  readiness  to  address  or  discourse  with  lay  people 
of  all  conditions  in  their  own  language  and  on  their 
own  ground,  as  much  as  to  compose  Latin  homilies 
for  the  chapter-house  of  his  monks.     His  correspond- 


IV.]  ANSELM  AT  BEC.  81 

ence  alone  shows  how,  as  time  went  on,  his  relations 
with  persons  of  all  classes  extended  ;  and  he  cared  for 
all  and  willingly  worked  for  all.  Whole  days,  says 
Eadmer,  he  would  spend  in  giving  advice  to  those 
who  claimed  it ;  and  then  the  night  would  be  spent 
in  correcting  the  ill-written  copies  of  books  for  the 
library.  He  was  as  ready  and  as  unwearied  in  doing 
the  work  of  a  nurse  in  the  infirmary  or  at  the 
death-bed,  as  he  was  to  teach  and  discuss  in  the 
cloister,  or  to  bury  himself  in  contemplation  in  his 
cell.  His  care  and  his  toil  were  for  all  within  his 
spiritual  household,  and  flowed  over  beyond  it ;  but 
his  love  and  his  interest  were  for  the  younger  men ;  for 
minds  not  yet  dulled  to  the  wonders  and  great  ends  of 
living,  needing  as  he  did  answers  to  its  great  ques- 
tions, eager  and  hopeful  as  he  was  to  venture  on  the 
"majestic  pains"  and  anxieties  of  thought  needful  to 
meet  them.  Wearied  once  with  his  work,  he  sought  to 
be  relieved  of  it  by  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen ;  but  he 
received  the  answer  usual  in  those  days,  that  he  was 
to  return  and  prepare  for  greater  and  heavier  burdens. 
"  So,"  says  Eadmer,  "he  went  back.  He  behaved  so 
that  all  men  loved  him  as  their  dear  father.  He  bore 
with  even  mind  the  ways  and  the  weaknesses  of  each  ; 
to  each  he  supplied  what  he  saw  they  wanted.  Oh, 
how  many  given  over  in  sickness  has  he  brought  back 
to  health  by  his  loving  care !  You  found 
Herewald,  in  your  helpless  old  age  when,  disabled  by 
years  as  well  as  by  heavy  infirmity,  you  had  lost  all 
power  in  your  body  except  in  your  tongue,  and  were 
fed  by  his  hand,  and  refreshed  by  wine  squeezed 
from  the  grapes  into  his  other  hand,  from  which  you 
drank  it,  and  were  at  last  restored  to  health.     For  no 

S.L.  x.  G 


82  ANSELM  A  T  BEC.  [chap. 


other  drink,  as  you  used  to  say,  could  you  relish,  nor 
from  any  other  hand.  So  it  was  :  Anselm  used  to  be 
constantly  in  the  infirmary,  inquiring  after  the  bre- 
thren's sicknesses,  and  ministering  to  each  what  each 
needed  without  delay  or  trouble.  So  it  was  :  he  was 
to  those  in  health  a  father,  to  the  sick  a  mother — rather, 
to  healthy  and  sick,  father  and  mother  in  one.  And  so, 
whatever  secrets  anyone  had,  to  Anselm,  as  to  a  most 
sweet  mother,  he  sought  to  confide  it.  But  it  was  the 
young  men  who  were  most  anxious  to  do  so." 

Why  the  young  turned  so  enthusiastically  to  one 
who  thus  sympathised  with  them,  may  be  understood 
from  the  following  conversation,  in  which  Anselm's 
good  sense  and  freedom  of  mind  appear  in  contrast  with 
the  current  ideas  of  his  time,  which  were  not  those  of 
the  eleventh  century  only.  An  abbot,  says  Eadmer, 
who  was  looked  upon  as  a  very  religious  man,  was  one 
day  deploring  to  Anselm  the  impossibility  of  making 
any  impression  on  the  boys  who  were  brought  up  in 
his  monastery.  "  What  are  we  to  do  with  them  ?  '  he 
asked  in  despair  :  "do  what  we  will  they  are  perverse 


and  incorrigible ;  we  do  not  cease  beating  them 


day 


and  night,  and  they  only  get  worse."  "And  jyou 
don't  cease  beating  them?"  said  Anselm;  "what  do 
they  turn  into  when  they  grow  up?"  "They  tlurn 
only  dull  and  brutal,"  was  the  answer.  "  Well,  you 
have  bad  luck  in  the  pains  you  spend  on  their 
training,"  said  Anselm,  "  if  you  only  turn  men  into 
beasts."  "But  what  are  we  to  do  then?"  said  the 
abbot ;  "  in  every  kind  of  way  we  constrain  them  to 
improve,  and  it  is  no  use."  "  Constrain  them  !  Tell 
me,  my  lord  abbot,  if  you  planted  a  tree  in  your 
garden,  and  tied  it  up  on  all  sides  so  that  it  could  not 


iv.]  ANSELM  AT  BEC.  83 

stretch  forth  its  branches,  what  sort  of  tree  would  it 
turn  out  when,  after  some  years,  you  gave  it  room  to 
spread  ?     Would  it  not  be  good  for  nothing,  full  of 
tangled  and  crooked  boughs  ?    And  whose  fault  would 
this  be  but  yours,  who  had  put  such  constant  restraint 
upon  it  ?     And  this  is  just  what  you  do  with  your 
boys.     You  plant  them  in  the  garden  of  the  Church, 
that  they  may  grow  and  bear  fruit  to  God.     But  you 
cramp  them  round  to  such  a  degree  with  terrors  and 
threats   and   blows,  that   they   are   utterly  debarred 
from  the  enjoyment  of  any  freedom.     And  thus  inju- 
diciously kept  down,  they  collect  in  their  minds  evil 
thoughts  tangled  like  thorns ;  they  cherish  and  feed 
them,  and  with  dogged  temper  elude  all  that  might 
help  to  correct  them.     And  hence  it  comes  that  they 
see  nothing  in  you  of  love,  or  kindness,  or  goodwill, 
or  tenderness  towards  them ;  they  cannot  believe  that 
you  mean  any  good  by  them,  and  put  down  all  you 
do  to  dislike  and   ill-nature.     Hatred   and   mistrust 
grow  with  them  as  they  grow;  and  they  go  about 
with  downcast  eyes,  and  cannot  look  you  in  the  face. 
But,  for  the  love  of  God,  I  wish  you  would  tell  me 
why  you   are  so  harsh  with  them  ?     Are  they  not 
human  beings  ?     Are  they  not  of  the  same  nature  as 
you  are  ?    Would  you  like,  if  you  were  what  they  are, 
to  be  treated  as  you  treat  them  ?     You  try  by  blows 
and  stripes  alone  to  fashion  them  to  good :  did  you 
ever  see  a  craftsman  fashion  a  fair  image  out  of  a 
plate  of  gold  or  silver  by  blows  alone  ?     Does  he  not 
with  his  tools  now  gently  press  and  strike  it,  now  with 
wise  art  still  more  gently  raise  and  shape  it  ?     So,  if 
you  would  mould  your  boys  to  good,  you  must,  along 
with  the  stripes  which  are  to  bow  them  down,  lift 

G  2 


84  ANSELM  AT  BEC.  [chap. 

them  up  and  assist  them  by  fatherly  kindness  and 
gentleness."  .  .  .  "But,"  the  abbot  insisted,  "what 
we  try  to  do  is  to  force  them  into  seriousness  and 
sturdiness  of  character;  what  are  we  to  do?"  "You 
do  well,"  said  Anselm ;  "  but  if  you  give  an  infant 
solid  food  you  will  choke  it.  For  every  soul,  its  pro- 
portionate food.  The  strong  soul  delights  in  strong 
meat,  in  patience  and  tribulations,  not  to  wish  for 
what  is  another's,  to  offer  the  other  cheek,  to  pray  for 
enemies,  to  love  those  that  hate.  The  weak  and 
tender  in  God's  service  need  milk :  gentleness  from 
others,  kindness,  mercy,  cheerful  encouragement,  cha- 
ritable forbearance.  If  you  will  thus  suit  yourselves 
both  to  your  weak  and  your  strong  ones,  by  God's 
grace  you  shall,  as  far  as  lies  in  you,  win  them  all  for 
God."  "Alas  !"  sighed  the  abbot,  "we  have  been  all 
wrong.  We  have  wandered  from  the  way  of  truth, 
and  the  light  of  discretion  hath  not  shone  on  us." 
And  falling  at  Anselm's  feet  he  confessed  his  sin,  and 
asked  pardon  for  the  past,  and  promised  amendment 
for  what  was  to  come. 

A  strange  and  touching  history  in  Eadmer — strange, 
with  those  ways  of  thought,  which  their  unquestioned 
naturalness  then  render  doubly  wonderful  now, — 
touching,  from  that  depth  of  affection  which  all  times 
know  and  can  understand — shows  how  Anselm  had 
learned  his  own  lesson.  When  he  was  made  prior, 
after  only  three  years'  profession,  over  the  head 
of  the  older  inmates  of  Bee,  a  strong  feeling  of 
jealousy  was  shown,  and  a  party  formed  against 
him  in  the  monastery.  With  them  was  one  of  the 
younger  monks  named  Osbern,  whose  hatred  of 
Anselm  was  extreme,  and  who  pursued  him  with  the 


ANSELM  A  T  BEC.  85 

"savageness  of  a  dog"  (canino  more).  Anselm,  who 
saw  that  he  had  character  and  talent,  began  by  the 
most  forbearing  and  immovable  good-humour,  and  by 
giving  him  in  return  the  fullest  indulgence  compatible 
with  the  discipline  of  the  house.  In  time  Osbern  was 
softened,  and  became  deeply  attached  to  him.  Then, 
gaining  influence  over  him,  Anselm  step  by  step  with- 
drew the  early  indulgences,  and  accustomed  him  to 
the  severities  of  the  monastic  life — "punishing  him 
not  only  with  words  but  with  stripes."  Osbern  stood 
the  test,  and  was  ripening  into  manly  strength.  But 
there  came  a  fatal  illness.  Then  Anselm  watched  and 
waited  on  him  like  a  mother ;  "  day  and  night  was  at 
his  bedside,  gave  him  his  food  and  drink,  ministered 
to  all  his  wants,  did  everything  himself  that  might 
ease  his  body  and  comfort  his  soul."  When  the  end 
came  and  Osbern  was  dying,  Anselm  gave  him  a  last 
charge.  He  bade  him,  speaking  as  friend  to  friend,  to 
make  known  after  his  death,  if  it  were  possible,  what 
had  become  of  him.  "  He  promised,  and  passed 
away."  We  need  not  be  surprised  that  the  charge 
was  believed  to  have  been  fulfilled.  During  the 
funeral  Anselm  sat  apart  in  a  corner  of  the  church, 
to  weep  and  pray  for  his  friend  ;  he  fell  asleep  from 
heaviness  and  sorrow,  and  had  a  dream.  He  saw 
certain  very  reverend  persons  enter  the  room  where 
Osbern  had  died,  and  sit  round  for  judgment ;  and 
while  he  was  wondering  what  the  doom  would  be, 
Osbern  himself  appeared,  like  a  man  just  recovering 
from  illness,  or  pale  with  loss  of  blood.  Three  times, 
he  said,  had  the  old  serpent  risen  up  against  him,  but 
three  times  he  fell  backwards,  and  "the  Bearward 
of  the  Lord  (Ursarius  Domini)  had  delivered  him." 


86  ANSELM  A  T  BEC.  [chap. 

Then  Anselm  awoke,  and  believed  that  Osbern's  sins 
were  pardoned,  and  that  God's  angels  had  kept  off  his 
foes  "as  the  bearwards  keep  off  the  bears."  Death 
did  not  seem  to  break  the  friendship :  Osbern's 
memory  was  in  Anselm's  prayers,  and  his  letters 
show  how  deep  and  tender  was  the  surviving  affec- 
tion. He  prays  his  friends  to  offer  for  Osbern  the 
prayers  and  masses  which  they  would  offer  for  himself. 
"Wherever  Osbern  is,"  he  writes  to  his  friend  Gun- 
dulf,  "his  soul  is  my  soul.  Let  me,  then,  while  I  am 
alive,  receive  in  him  whatever  I  might  have  hoped  to 
receive  from  friendship  when  I  am  dead ;  so  that  then 
they  need  do  nothing  for  me.  Farewell !  farewell ! 
mi  charissime;  and  that  I  may  recompense  you 
according  to  your  importunity,  I  pray,  and  I  pray, 
and  I  pray,  remember  me,  and  forget  not  the  soul  of 
Osbern  my  beloved.  If  I  seem  to  burden  you  too 
much,  then  forget  me  and  remember  him."  What- 
ever the  shape  in  which  such  feelings  clothe  themselves, 
they  are  not  less  real  for  their  shape ;  and  to  all  who 
feel  the  mystery  and  obscurity  of  our  condition,  that 
deep  reality  will  gain  their  respect  and  sympathy. 

We  may  trace  in  such  records  that  remarkable  com- 
bination of  qualities  which  ultimately  made  Anselm 
the  object  of  a  love  and  reverence  surpassing  even 
the  admiration  excited  by  his  rare  genius.  What  is 
striking  is  that  with  so  much  of  his  age,  so  powerful 
and  severe  in  mind,  so  stern  in  his  individual  life,  a 
monk  of  the  monks,  a  dogmatist  of  the  dogmatists, 
he  yet  had  so  much  beyond  his  age ;  he  was  not  only 
so  gentle  and  affectionate  and  self-forgetting,  but 
he  was  so  considerate,  so  indulgent,  so  humane,  so 
free-spirited,  so  natural.     Austerity  was  part  of  the 


IV.]  ANSELM  AT  BEC.  87 


ordinary  religious  type  of  the  time  ;  it  went,  in- 
deed, commonly  with  all  loftiness  of  character  and 
aim  ;  the  great  Conqueror  was  austere,  and  of  course 
a  monk  with  a  high  estimate  of  his  calling  was  so. 
But  Anselm's  almost  light-hearted  cheerfulness,  his 
winning  and  unformal  nature,  his  temper  of  modera- 
tion and  good  sense,  his  interest  in  all  kinds  of  men, 
and  power  of  accommodating  himself  to  all  kinds  of 
characters,  his  instinctive  insight  into  the  substance 
of  questions  of  truth  and  justice,  his  leaning,  in  an 
age  when  all  trust  was  placed  in  unbending  rules,  to 
the  side  of  compassion  and  liberty,  formed  a  com- 
bination with  personal  austerity  with  which  his  age 
was  not  familiar.  His  place  of  work,  was  among 
monks,  and  he  must  not  be  regarded  as  a  popular 
teacher  of  religion.  He  had  gifts  which,  perhaps, 
might  have  qualified  him  to  exercise  a  wide  popular 
influence ;  but  he  lived  in  times  when  there  was  little 
thought  of  direct  addresses  to  the  minds  of  the  multi- 
tude, and  when  all  serious  efforts  at  ordering  life  on 
religious  principles  were  concentrated  in  a  small 
body  of  professed  ascetics.  The  days  of  the  great 
preachers  were  at  hand  ;  but  they  had  not  yet  come. 
A  certain  number  of  homilies  are  found  among 
Anselm's  works ;  but  they  are  for  the  most  part  of 
doubtful  authority,  and  those  which  seem  genuine 
are  not  sermons,  but  expositions,  meant  not  for  a  lay 
congregation,  but  for  a  chapter-house  of  monks.  Yet 
it  is  clear  that  Anselm's  influence  told  on  numbers 
who  were  not  monks  ;  and  the  vehicle  of  his  influence 
seems  to  have  been,  not  preaching,  but  free  conver- 
sation. To  his  passion  for  abstract  and  profound 
thought,   he  joined  a  taste  for  simple  and   natural 


88  ANSELM  AT  BEC.  [chap. 

explanation,  an  a  homely  humour  in  illustration, 
which  reminds  the  reader  sometimes  of  Luther  or  Lati- 
mer— more  truly,  perhaps,  of  St.  Francois  de  Sales,  and 
of  the  vein  of  quaint  and  unceremonious  amusement 
running  through  some  of  the  later  Italian  works  of 
devotion.  Eadmer,  or  some  other  of  his  friends,  made 
a  collection  of  his  sayings  and  comparisons,  and 
his  common  modes  of  presenting  moral  and  religious 
topics,  very  miscellaneous  in  selection  and  unequal  in 
worth,  but  giving  probably  an  unstudied  representa- 
tion of  his  ordinary  manner  of  discourse.  "  He 
taught,"  says  Eadmer,  "  not  as  is  the  wont  with  others, 
but  in  a  widely  different  fashion,  setting  forth  each 
point  under  common  and  familiar  examples,  and  sup- 
porting it  by  the  strength  of  solid  reasons,  without 
any  veils  or  disguises  of  speech."  There  is  a  touch  of 
grim  appreciation  of  the  ludicrous  in  his  comparison 
of  himself,  peacefully  living  with  his  monks  or  going 
forth  among  men  of  the  world,  to  the  fate  of  the  owl 
which  ventures  into  the  day  ;  while  she  sits  still  with 
her  "  little  ones  in  her  cave,  she  is  happy  and  it  is  well 
with  her ;  but  when  she  falls  among  the  crows  and 
rooks  and  other  birds,  one  attacks  her  with  beak, 
another  with  claws,  another  buffets  her  with  wings, 
and  it  goes  ill  with  the  owl."  There  is  a  deeper 
touch  of  sympathy  for  distress  and  suffering  in  the 
story  of  the  hare,  which,  when  he  was  riding  one  day, 
after  he  had  become  archbishop,  from  Windsor  to 
Hayes,  the  young  men  about  him  started  and  chased 
with  their  dogs.  The  hare  took  refuge  under  the 
feet  of  his  horse.  Anselm  reined  in  his  horse,  and 
forbade  them  to  hurt  the  creature,  while,  so  the  story 
goes,   the  dogs  surrounded  the  hare   and  licked  it, 


IV.]  ANSELM  AT  BEC.  89 

doing  it  no  harm.  When  the  soldiers  crowded  round 
with  noisy  triumph  at  the  capture,  Anselm  burst  into 
tears.  u  *  You  laugh/  he  said,  '  but  for  the  poor  un- 
happy creature  there  is  nothing  to  laugh  at  or  be  glad 
for ;  its  mortal  foes  are  about  it,  and  it  flies  to  us  for 
life,  in  its  own  way  beseeching  for  shelter.  You  see 
the  image  of  the  departing  soul  of  man.  It  goes 
forth  from  the  body,  and  straightway  its  enemies,  the 
evil  spirits,  which  have  hunted  it  through  the  doub- 
lings of  its  evil-doings  all  its  life  long,  cruelly  beset  it, 
ready  to  tear  it  in  pieces,  and  plunge  it  into  eternal 
death.  But  it,  terrified  and  affrighted,  looks  on  this 
side  and  on  that,  longing  with  desire  that  cannot  be 
uttered  for  the  hand  which  shall  defend  and  pro- 
tect it ;  and  the  demons  laugh  and  rejoice  if  they  see 
it  without  any  aid  to  help  it.'  Then  he  rode  on,  and 
with  a  loud  voice  forbade  that  the  dogs  should  touch 
the  hare;  and  the  creature,  glad  and  at  liberty,  darted 
off  to  the  fields  and  woods."  The  story  will  remind 
some  readers  of  Luther's  hunting  at  the  Wartburg, 
and  the  way  in  which  he  "  theologized  "  on  it. 

In  the  year  1078,  Anselm  became  abbot,  and  his 
connection  with  England  began.  Bee,  with  the  other 
Norman  abbeys,  had  since  the  Conquest  received 
possessions  in  England,  and  the  new  abbot  went  over 
to  view  the  abbey  lands  and  to  visit  his  old  master 
Lanfranc.  At  Canterbury  he  was  welcomed  at  the 
great  monastery,  and  became  one  with  the  brother- 
hood of  its  monks,  most  of  them  probably  English- 
men. There  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Eadmer, 
then  a  stripling ;  and  Eadmer's  first  remembrance  of 
him  seems  to  be  of  the  brotherly  way  in  which  he 
lived  with  the  English  monks,  and  of  the  original  and 


90  ANSELM  A  T  BEC.  [chap. 

unusual  way  in  which,  in  his  discourses  in  cloister  or 
in  chapter,  he  put  before  them  the  aims  and  duties 
of  their  state.  Lanfranc  was  then  full  of  the  changes 
which  he  wished  to  introduce  in  the  monastic  and 
ecclesiastical  organization  of  England  ;  and  Anselm, 
though  he  undoubtedly  fully  sympathised  with  his 
master's  object,  used  his  influence  to  temper  Lan- 
franc's  sternness  and  soften  his  Norman  and  Latin 
prejudices.  When  Lanfranc  —  riidis  Anglusy  as 
Eadmer  calls  him,  and  inclined  to  disparage  even 
the  saints  of  the  u  Barbarians" — disputed  the  claim 
of  the  English  Archbishop  Elphege  (^Elfheah)  to 
martyrdom,  because  he  had  been  put  to  death,  not 
for  religion,  but  for  refusing  to  ransom  his  life  at  the 
expense  of  his  tenants,  Anselm,  with  characteristic 
but  rare  generosity  and  largeness  of  thought,  answered 
that  one  who  had  died  rather  than  oppress  his  tenants 
had  died  for  righteousness,  and  that  "  he  who  dies  for 
righteousness  dies  a  martyr  for  Christ."  Anselm,  no 
Norman,  and  with  a  larger  heart  than  the  Normans, 
warmed  towards  the  English  with  something  of  the 
love  and  sympathy  which  had  filled  the  soul  of  the 
great  Roman  Pope  who  sent  us  St.  Augustine ;  and 
the  respect  which  he  showed  to  the  defeated  race 
impressed  the  foreigners  who  had  become  their 
masters.  In  his  visit,  more  than  once  repeated,  to 
the  abbey  lands  about  England,  he  became  known. 
He  was  English  monasteries  and  collegiate  houses  ; 
he  was  received  in  the  "  courts "  of  some  of  the 
nobles  ;  and  everywhere  his  earnest  and  wise  counsels 
combined,  with  his  frankness  and  his  readiness  in 
meeting  all  on  their  own  ground,  to  throw  a  singular 
charm   about   him.     "  In   his  wonted    manner,"  says 


IV.]  ANSELM  A  T  BEC.  9 1 


Eadmer,  speaking  of  these  days,  "  to  all  he  showed 
himself  pleasant  and  cheerful,  and  the  ways  of  each, 
as  far  as  he  could  without  sin,  he  took  upon  himself. 
For,  according  to  the  Apostle's  word,  he  suited  him- 
self to  them  that  were  without  law,  as  if  he  had  been 
without  law,  being  not  without  law  to  God,  but  under 
the  law  to  Christ,  that  he  might  gain  those  who  were 
not  only  without  the  law,  as  it  was  thought,  of  St. 
Benedict,  but  also  who  lived,  devoted  to  a  worldly 
life,  in  many  things  without  the  law  of  Christ.     So 
that  hearts  were   in  a  wonderful  manner  turned  to- 
wards him,  and  were  filled  with  hungry  eagerness  to 
hear  him.     For  he  adapted  his  words  to  each  order  of 
men,  so  that  his  hearers  declared  that  nothing  could 
have  been  said  to  fall  in  better  with  their  ways.     To 
monks,  to  clerks,  to  laymen,  according  to  each  man's 
purpose,  he  dispensed   his  words."      Eadmer  dwells 
especially  on  the  contrast  between  his  way  of  teach- 
ing and  that  customary  with  others,  and  on  his  pre- 
ference for  plain   reasons,   popular  illustrations,   and 
straightforward   speech  which  all  could  understand. 
He  was  welcome  to  old  and  young,  rich  and  poor ;  he 
touched  the  hearts  of  English  monks,  and  won  the 
respect  of  Norman  soldiers.     "  There  was  no  count 
in  England,  or  countess,  or  powerful  person,  who  did 
not   think   that  they  had  lost  merit  in  the  sight  of 
God,  if  it  had  not  chanced  to  them  at  that  time  to 
have  done  some  service  to  Anselm  the  abbot  of  Bee." 
We  must  remember,  of  course,  that  this  is  the  account 
of  a  friend,  in  days  when  friends  were  easily  satisfied 
with  what  made   for  their   friends'  credit.      But  the 
general  account  is  confirmed  by  the  effect  of  Anselm's 
character  on  William  in  his  later  stern  and  gloomy 


92  ANSELM  A  T  BEC.  [chap. 

days.  "To  all  others  so  harsh  and  terrible,  in  An- 
selm's  presence  he  seemed,  to  the  wonder  of  the 
bystanders,  another  man,  so  gracious  and  easy  of 
speech."  Years  after,  when  King  William  was  on  his 
forlorn  deathbed,  Anselm  was  the  man  whom  he  most 
wished  to  see. 

There  is  another  feature  on  which  Eadmer  remarks. 
The  monks  who  retired  from  the  world  found  it 
impossible,  after  all,  to  free  themselves  from  the  cares 
and  business  of  the  world.  They  had  property  ;  and 
those  who  have  property  must  take  the  chance  of  law- 
suits. Lawsuits  were  frequent  in  those  days.  Even 
the  venerable  Abbot  Herlwin  could  not  escape  them ; 
and  one  of  the  excellences  for  which  he  was  re- 
membered at  Bee  was  the  skill  with  which  he  used 
the  knowledge  he  had  gained  of  the  customs  and 
rules  which  then  made  Norman  law,  for  the  protection 
of  his  monks  in  the  lords'  courts.  But  even  at  this 
time  the  monks  had  got  a  character  for  knowing  and 
using  unscrupulously  legal  advantages.  Eadmer  re- 
marks, as  if  it  was  something  to  be  remembered,  that 
Anselm  steadily  set  his  face  against  all  kinds  of 
chicane.  "  For  he  judged  it  abominable,  if  in  the 
business  of  the  Church  any  one  made  his  gain 
of  that  which  another  might  lose,  by  crafty  dealing 
against  the  rules  of  justice.  So  that  he  never  would 
allow  anyone  in  lawsuits  to  be  taken  at  advantage 
by  any  of  his  people,  through  any  unfair  practice, 
making  a  conscience  not  to  do  to  others  what  he  would 
not  have  done  to  himself."  And  Eadmer  goes  on  with 
a  picture,  quaint,  as  so  many  things  are  in  those  days, 
but  with  touches  from  the  life  in  it.  "  So  it  happened 
that,  sitting  among  the  contending  pleaders,  while  his 


iv.]  ANSELM  AT  EEC.  93 

opponents  were  taking  counsel  by  what  skill  or  by 
what  trick  they  might  help  their  own  cause  or  damage 
his,  he,  not  minding  it,  was  conversing  with  anyone 
who  wished  to  address  him,  either  about  the  Gospel 
or  some  other  divine  Scripture,  or  some  point  of  right 
conduct.  And  often,  when  he  had  no  one  to  listen  of 
this  kind,  quietly  at  peace  in  the  purity  of  his  heart, 
he  would  close  his  eyes  and  sleep.  And  often  it  came 
to  pass  that  the  cunning  devices  against  him,  when 
they  came  to  his  hearing,  were  at  once  exposed  and 
torn  to  pieces,  not  as  if  he  had  been  asleep  all  the 
while,  but  as  if  he  had  been  fully  awake  and  keenly 
watching.  For  charity,  '  which  envieth  not,  vaunteth 
not  itself,  seeketh  not  her  own/  was  strong  in  him,  by 
which  he  saw  at  a  glance  the  things  that  he  ought 
to  see  ;  for  the  truth  was  his  guide." 

The  affairs  of  the  house  of  Bee  brought  him  to 
England  more  than  once  after  his  first  coming  over. 
"  England  became  familiar  to  him,  and,  according  as 
occasions  required  it,  was  repeatedly  visited  by  him." 
Thus  he  became  well  known  in  England  as  the  great 
churchman,  who,  foremost  and  without  an  equal  in 
learning,  with  all  his  reforming  austerity  and  rigour, 
showed  most  signally  in  word  and  act  the  good-will 
he  bore  to  Englishmen,  and  whose  influence  was  not 
less  remarkable  with  the  strong  and  fierce  strangers 
who  for  the  time  had  become  their  masters. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ORDER[C   THE   CHRONICLER. 

' '  Oh  that  our  lives,  which  flee  so  fast, 
In  purity  were  such, 
That  not  an  image  of  the  past 

Should  fear  from  Memory's  touch  ! 

"  Retirement  then  might  hourly  look 
Upon  a  soothing  scene  ; 
Age  steal  to  his  allotted  nook, 
Contented  and  serene  ; 

"  With  heart  as  calm  as  lakes  that  sleep, 
In  frosty  moonlight  glistening  : 
Or  mountain  rivers,  where  they  creep 
Along  a  channel  smooth  and  deep, 

To  their  own  far-off  murmurs  listening." 

Wordsworth. 

Of  course  all  Norman  monasteries  were  not  like 
Bee,  and  all  their  abbots  and  priors  were  not  like 
Herlwin,  Lanfranc,  and  Anselm.  Monasteries,  like 
colleges,  like  regiments,  like  other  permanent  bodies 
of  men,  had  each  its  own  spirit,  and  more  or  less 
distinct  type  ;  uniformity  of  ends,  much  less  of  rules, 
does  not  necessarily  make  men  alike.  These  dif- 
ferences of  type  were  not  merely  differences  between 
good  and  bad  ;  they  were  differences  of  character, 
bent,  and  tastes.  And  that  was  a  time  when,  more 
than  ever,  a  community  was  apt  to  reflect  the  spirit 


chap,  v.]  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.  95 

of  its  leaders.      The  leaders  of  the   Norman  monas- 
teries were  of  many  kinds.    The  monastic  chroniclers, 
though  fettered  partly  by  the  etiquette  of  monastic 
feelings  and  respects,  partly  by  the  imperfection  of 
their   instruments  of  expression,  were   not   bad   ob- 
servers   of  character,    and  let    us    see,    with     much 
distinctness,   the   variety   of  men  who  guided   these 
brotherhoods,   and  the   changes   that  ensued  by  the 
removal  of  one   and   the   succession  of  another.     A 
good  deal  is  told  when  we  are  informed,  for  instance, 
that  to  Guntard,  abbot  of  Jumieges,   a   strict   ruler, 
favourable  to  the  gentle  and    obedient,  but  stern  to 
the  perverse,  succeeded   Tancard,   prior  of  Fecamp, 
u  savage  as  a  lion " — ferns   ut   leo.     Orderic's  pages 
are  full  of  these  vivid  touches ;  and  in  contrast  to  the 
students  of  Bee,  with  their  spirit  of  keen  and  bold 
speculation,  we  may  set  Orderic  himself,  and  the  com- 
nunity  to  which  he  belonged.      Orderic,  not  a  thinker 
or  teacher,  but  to  whom  we  owe  most  of  what  we 
know  of  the  world  in  which  Anselm  and  his  disciples 
lived,  spent  no  idle  life;  and  besides  preserving  the 
picture   of  his  own   times,  he   has,  incidentally  and 
without  meaning  it,  preserved  his  own  portrait — the 
portrait   of  a  monk  who,  full  of  his  profession,  and 
made  sympathetic,  tender-hearted,  and  religious  by 
it,  as  well  as  something  of  a  pedant  and  a  mannerist, 
looked  with  curious  and  often  discriminating  eye  at 
the  scene  of  life,  and  contemplated  its  facts  as  others 
inquired  into  its  mysteries. 

The  monastery  of  which  he  was  a  member,  St. 
Evroul,  was  situated  in  a  forest  near  the  upper  course 
of  the  Rille,  surrounded  by  places  famous  in  Norman 
history,  L'Aigle,  Breteuil,  Seez,  on  the  borders  of  the 


96  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.  [chap. 

dioceses  of  Evreux  and  Lisieux.  It  was,  in  its  new 
or  restored  condition,  some  years  younger  than  Bee ; 
but  it  was  a  house  which,  as  much  as  Bee,  repre- 
sented the  new  zeal  of  Normandy,  and  aimed  at  car- 
rying out  a  high  religious  service.  We  know  about 
it  mainly  from  Orderic  ;  and  his  account  shows  what 
a  stormy  existence  might  be  the  lot  of  these  places  of 
religious  peace.  St.  Evroul,  as  has  been  already  said, 
was  founded  in  part  by  the  great  house  of  Grentmaisnil, 
one  member  of  which,  Robert,  a  man  of  some  learning, 
and  still  more  a  keen  man  of  business,  and  a  soldier 
— he  had  been  Duke  William's  esquire — became  a 
monk  in  it  about  1050.  Its  first  abbot  was  Theodoric, 
a  monk  of  Jumieges,  of  great  piety  and  zeal,  whose 
holiness  imposed  awe  even  on  the  savage  lady,  Mabel 
of  Belesme,  Countess  of  Montgomery,  the  terror  of 
her  neighbourhood,  and  kept  her  from  doing  "  either 
evil  or  good  "  to  his  house.  He  was  blameless  as 
a  spiritual  ruler ;  he  established  at  St.  Evroul  a 
flourishing  school  of  copyists  ;  but  in  managing  the 
business  of  the  house  he  was  not  so  successful,  and  a 
party  of  malcontents  clamoured  against  him.  "  He 
ought  not  to  be  abbot — a  man  who  knows  nothing  of 
business  and  neglects  it.  How  are  men  of  prayer  to 
live,  if  men  of  the  plough  are  wanting  ?  (unde  vivent 
oratores,  si  defecerint  aratores?)  He  is  a  fool,  and 
cares  more  about  reading  and  writing  in  the  cloister 
than  about  providing  sustenance  for  the  brethren." 
The  leader  of  the  party  was  Robert  of  Grentmaisnil, 
who  had  helped  to  found  the  house,  and  was  now 
prior.  For  a  while  William  of  Geroy,  one  of  the 
co-founders,  supported  Abbot  Theodoric;  but  William 
died  on  a  journey  to  his  Norman  kinsmen  in  Apulia, 


v.]  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.  97 

and  then  the  unworldly  and  simple-minded  abbot 
was  driven  by  sheer  worrying  and  intrigue  from  his 
place.  He  attempted  to  resign,  and  retired  from  the 
house  to  one  of  its  dependencies ;  but  Duke  Wil- 
liam and  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen  interfered,  and 
a  council  of  eminent  churchmen,  including  Lanfranc, 
were  sent  to  make  peace,  who  exhorted  Robert  to 
"follow  the  poverty  of  Christ,"  and  to  obey  his 
superior.  For  a  little  time  there  was  quiet ;  then 
the  persecution  began  again,  and  the  abbot,  unable  to 
endure  it,  fled  from  the  house  and  from  Normandy, 
and  died  at  Cyprus  on  his  way  to  Jerusalem.  Then 
Robert  was  chosen  abbot  (1059),  the  monks  "reason- 
ably considering  his  high  birth  and  his  ardent  zeal  in 
the  interests  and  business  of  the  house."  "  He  was," 
says  Orderic,  "  much  to  be  praised  for  purity  of  life 
and  other  sacred  gifts  ;  but  as  nothing,  according  to 
Flaccus,  is  altogether  blessed,  he  was  in  some  points 
blameworthy.  For  in  the  good  or  evil  things  which 
he  desired,  he  was  rapid  in  action  and  ardent ; 
and  when  he  heard  or  saw  what  he  disliked,  he  was 
swift  to  wrath  ;  and  he  liked  better  to  be  uppermost 
than  to  be  under,  and  to  command  than  to  obey. 
He  had  his  hands  open  both  to  receive  and  to  give, 
and  a  mouth  ready  to  satisfy  his  rage  with  un- 
measured words."  Robert's  way  of  dealing  with 
troublesome  and  refractory  tenants  of  the  monastery 
is  characteristic :  he  simply  transferred  them  to  their 
natural  feudal  lord.  "  Having  taken  counsel  with 
the  brethren,  he  handed  over  the  said  rebels,  for  their 
obstinacy,  to  his  kinsman  Arnold,  that  he  might  crush 
their  stiffneckedness,  who  would  not  peaceably  endure 
the  mildness  of  the  monks,  by  a  soldier's  hand,  as  long 

S.L.   X.  pj 


98  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.  [chap. 

as  he  lived.      Arnold  then  made  their  life  weary  with 
many  and  divers  services  ...  so  that  they  earnestly 
entreated  Abbot  Robert  and  the  monks   that   they 
might  be  placed  again  under  their  power,  promising 
them  all  subjection  and  obedience."     The  members 
and  the  possessions  of  St.  Evroul  increased  under  him, 
and  though,  as  Orderic  is  fond  of  repeating,  it  was 
founded  in  a  barren  and  hungry  land,  yet  the  Abbot's 
influence  with  his  friends  brought  to  it  the  revenues 
which  he  needed  for  his  grand  designs.     But  the  ener- 
getic abbot  became  involved  in  the  quarrels  between 
Duke  William  and  the  house  of  Grentmaisnil  and  its 
friends.     He  was  accused  of  using  mocking  words  of 
the  Duke.     He  was  cited  to  appear  before  the  Duke's 
courts,  but  he  dared  not  trust  himself  there,  and  retired 
from  Normandy.     William  filled  up  his  place,  and  the 
monastery  was  distracted  between  partisans  of  the  new 
abbot  Osbern  and  those  who  looked  on  him  as  an 
intruder,    and   could  make  his  place  uncomfortable. 
Robert  went  to  Rome,  then  to  his  kinsmen  in  Apulia. 
He  persuaded  the  Pope  of  the  goodness  of  his  cause,, 
and  returned  with  letters  and  two  cardinal  legates  from 
the  Pope,  to  regain  his  abbey.     When  William  heard 
of  their  coming,  he  was  greatly  wroth,  and  said  that 
"  he  would  gladly  receive  the  Pope's  legates,  as  from 
the  common  Father,  about  faith  and  Christian  religion ; 
but  that  if  any  monk  of  his  land  brought  any  complaint 
against  him,  he  would  hang  him,  without  ceremony,  by 
his  cowl  to  the  highest  oak  of  the  neighbouring  wood." 
Robert  hastily  took  himself  off;  and  after  excommuni- 
cating his  intruding  successor,  returned  to  Rome.    But 
the   excommunication    caused   great   distress  at   St. 
Evroul.     The  brotherhood  broke  up :  several  of  the 


v.]  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.  99 

older  men  followed  Robert,  as  still  their  rightful  abbot, 
to  Rome,  where  the  Pope  Alexander,  once  a  pupil  of 
Lanfranc's  at  Bee,  received  him  hospitably  ;  and  the 
monastery'suffered  much  from  its  lay  neighbours,  who 
took  advantage  of  the  quarrel  to  annoy  ancf  plunder 
the  monks.  Osbern  remained  with  terrible  torments 
of  conscience.  He  at  last  made  a  humble  submission 
to  the  Pope,  and  was  formally  allowed  to  keep  the 
place  into  which  he  had  been  intruded.  "  He  was 
from  his  childhood,"  says  Orderic,  u  very  learned  in 
letters,  eloquent  of  speech,  and  exceedingly  inge- 
nious in  all  kinds  of  handicraft :  such  as  carving, 
building,  writing,  and  the  like  ;  he  was  of  middle 
stature,  well  grown,  with  his  head  completely  loaded 
with  black  hair  or  white.  He  was  harsh  to  the  silly 
and  froward,  merciful  to  the  sick  and  poor,  fairly  liberal 
to  people  outside,  fervent  in  discipline,  a  most  skilful 
provider  of  all  that  the  brethren  needed,  spiritually 
or  bodily.  He  kept  the  youths  in  very  severe  order, 
and  compelled  them  by  word  and  stripes  to  read  and 
sing  and  write  well.  He  himself  with  his  own  hands 
made  the  writing  tablets  for  the  children  and  the 
unlearned,  and  prepared  frames,  covered  with  wax, 
and  required  from  them  daily  the  due  portion  of 
work  appointed  to  each.  Thus  driving  away  idle- 
ness, he  laid  on  their  youthful  minds  wholesome 
burdens."  Robert  sought  a  new  home  in  Apulia 
among  his  Norman  fellow-countrymen.  He  founded 
three  monasteries  in  Italy.  He  came  back  afterwards 
and  made  his  peace  with  William  ;  but  he  did  not  re- 
gain his  abbey,  and  found  Normandy  no  place  for  him. 
But  Orderic  rejoices  that  by  his  means,  "in  three 
monasteries  of  Italy,  the  chant  of  St.  Evroul  is  sung, 

H  2 


ioo  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.  [chap. 

and  its  monastic  order  observed  to  this  day,  as  far  as 
the  opportunity  of  that  country  and  the  love  of  those 
who  dwell  in  it  allow." 

The  vicissitudes  of  St.  Evroul  are  a  contrast  to 
the  tranquillity  of  Bee ;  but  they  did  not  prevent 
St.  Evroul  from  being  a  nourishing  establishment. 
"The  Abbey  of  Ouche  or  St.  Evroul,"  says  Mr. 
Freeman,  "has  its  own  claim  on  our  respect.  It 
was  the  spot  which  beheld  the  composition  of  the 
record  from  which  we  draw  our  main  knowledge 
of  the  times  following  those  with  which  we  have  to 
deal :  it  was  the  home  of  the  man  in  whom,  perhaps 
more  than  in  any  other,  the  characters  of  Normans 
and  Englishmen  were  inseparably  mingled.  There 
the  historian  wrote,  who,  though  the  son  of  a 
French  father,  the  denizen  of  a  Norman  monas- 
tery, still  clung  to  England  as  his  country  and 
gloried  in  his  English  birth  —  the  historian  who 
could  at  once  admire  the  greatness  of  the  Conqueror 
and  sympathise  with  the  wrongs  of  his  victims,  who, 
amid  all  the  conventional  reviling  which  Nornian 
loyalty  prescribed,  could  still  see  and  acknowledge 
with  genuine  admiration  the  virtues  and  the  great- 
ness even  of  the  perjured  Harold.  To  have  merely 
produced  a  chronicler  may  seem  faint  praise  beside 
the  fame  of  producing  men  whose  career  has  had 
a  lasting  influence  on  the  human  mind  ;  yet,  even 
beside  the  long  bead-roll  of  the  worthies  of  Bee, 
some  thoughts  may  well  be  extended  to  the  house 
where  Orderic  recorded  the  minutest  details  alike 
of  the  saints  and  of  the  warriors  of  his  time." 

Orderic's  picture  of  himself,  as  he  has  incidentally 
disclosed   it,   is   not   unworthy,  in   its   pathetic   and 


v.]  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER* 


simple    truthfulness,    to    stand    beside   the    grander 
objects  of  interest  in  the  age  to  which  he  belonged. 

Orderic  was  the  English-born  son  of  a  French 
father,  Odeler  of  Orleans,  who  had  accompanied  one 
of  the  most  powerful  and  most  trusted  of  William's 
barons  into  England,  Roger  of  Montgomery,  the 
husband  of  the  fierce  Countess  Isabel  of  Belesme, 
heiress  of  that  wicked  house  of  Talvas,  from  which 
the  sword  seemed  never- — to  depart.  In  England, 
Roger  of  Montgomery  and  Belesme  had  become 
lord  of  Arundel  and  the  Sussex  shore,  and  then, 
in  addition,  Earl  of  Shrewsbury ;  and  he  guarded 
the  northern  marches  against  the  Welsh,  whom  he 
"mightily  oppressed,"  after  the  fashion  in  which 
Elizabeth's  warriors  kept  in  check  the  Irish.  Of 
this  great  lord,  Odeler  was  a  confidential  and  fa- 
voured cleric.  He  was  a  priest,  and  he  was,  or  had 
been,  married ;  and  the  way  in  which  Orderic,  one 
of  his  three  sons,  became  a  monk  of  the  Norman 
house  of  St.  Evroul,  is  a  curious  example  of  the 
habits  of  the  time.  Whatever  the  great  earl  was  to 
others,  to  his  clerical  family  he  turned  a  good  side  ; 
"  he  was  wise  and  moderate,  and  a  lover  of  justice," 
says  Orderic,  repeating  probably  the  received  judgment 
of  his  father's  house,  "  and  he  loved  the  company 
of  wise  and  modest  men.  He  kept  for  a  long  time 
three  wise  clerks  with  him — Godbald,  Odeler,  and 
Herbert — to  whose  advice  he  profitably  listened." 
Like  others  of  his  time,  he  was  a  bountiful  bene- 
factor to  the  religious  foundations  of  France  and 
Normandy,  from  the  spoils  of  England  :  St.  Ste- 
phen's at  Caen,  Cluni,  Troarn,  and  others  received 
from   him    English   lands ;     and   after   having   done 


ro2  OPD.ERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.  [chap. 

much  mischief  to  the  house  of  St.  Evroul,  in  the 
lifetime  of  his  cruel  wife,  the  Countess  Mabel,  who 
hunted  its  founders  to  death,  he  afterwards  atoned 
for  his  ill  deeds  by  large  benefactions  of  rents, 
churches,  and  lands  on  both  sides  of  the  Channel. 
Odeler  persuaded  his  patron  to  make  amends  for 
his  offences,  and  to  save  something  from  the  perishing 
goods  of  time,  by  founding  a  monastery  near  Shrews- 
bury— "a  castle  of  monks,"  as  Orderic  calls  it  in 
the  quaint  speech  which  he  makes  his  father  address 
to  the  "  glorious  consul,"  to  be  built  for  God  against 
Satan,  "  where  cowled  champions  (pugiles)  may 
resist  Behemoth  in  continual  battle."  He  himself 
offered  a  site,  and  half  his  property  ;  the  other  half  was 
to  be  held  of  the  monks  by  one  of  his  three  sons ; 
he  offered  himself,  he  offered  another  son,  a  boy  of 
five  years  old  ;  and  his  eldest  child  Orderic,  a  boy 
at  school,  he  absolutely  gave  up  for  the  love  of  the 
Redeemer,  to  be  separated  from  him  for  ever, 
and  sent  across  the  sea,  "where,  an  exile  of  his  own 
accord,  he  might  be  a  soldier  of  the  King  of  heaven 
among  strangers,  and,  free  from  all  mischievous  re- 
gard and  tenderness  of  relations,  he  might  flourish 
excellently  in  monastic  observance  and  the  service  of 
the  Lord."  "He  had  provided  for  him  a  safe  place 
of  abode  among  the  servants  of  God  at  St.  Evroul 
in  Normandy  ;  and  he  had  given  of  his  substance 
30  marks  of  silver  to  his  masters  and  companions, 
as  a  thank-offering  of  blessing."  "  He  had  long  de- 
sired thus  to  devote  himself  and  his  family  to  the 
service  of  the  Lord,  that  in  the  day  of  account  he 
with  his  children  might  be  counted  worthy  to  stand 
among  the  elect  of  God." 


v.]  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.  103 

His  proposal  was  approved  by  the  Earl,  and 
by  the  Earl's  vassals,  whose  assent  was  asked: 
the  monastery  was  built  and  endowed  with  gifts 
from  friends ;  monks  from  Seez  were  brought  over 
to  start  it,  and  the  gift  of  Earl  Roger,  comprising 
a  suburb  of  the  town,  was  offered  on  the  altar  to 
St.  Peter  by  the  symbol  of  the  founder's  gloves. 
"This,"  says  Orderic,  who  long  afterwards  tells  the 
story,  "  is  a  digression,  be  it  of  what  account  it  may, 
about  the  building  of  the  monastery  on  my  father's 
land,  which  is  now  inhabited  by  the  family  of  Christ, 
and  where  my  father  himself,  as  I  remember,  an 
old  man  of  sixty,  willingly  bore  to  the  end  the 
yoke  of  Christ.  Forgive  me,  good  reader,  and  let 
it  not  be  an  offence  to  thee,  I  pray  thee,  if  I  commit 
to  record  something  about  my  father,  whom  I  have 
never  seen,  since  the  time  when,  as  if  I  had  been  a 
hated  step-child,  he  sent  me  forth  for  the  love  of  his 
Maker,  into  exile.  It  is  now  forty-two  years  ago,  and 
in  those  years  many  changes  have  been,  far  and 
wide,  in  the  world.  While  I  often  think  of  these 
things,  and  some  of  them  commit  to  my  paper, 
carefully  resisting  idleness,  I  thus  exercise  myself 
in  inditing  them.  Now  I  return  to  my  work,  and 
speak  to  those  younger  than  myself, — a  stranger,  to 
those  of  the  country, — about  their  own  affairs,  things 
that  they  know  not;  and  in  this  way  by  God's  help 
do  them  useful  service." 

In  the  same  strain  of  perfectly  resigned  and  con- 
tented confidence  in  his  lot  and  his  hopes,  yet  of 
pensive  and  affectionate  yearning  to  the  now  distant 
days  of  his  boyhood,  and  to  the  scenes  and  men 
about  his  father's  house   where  it  was  passed,  and 


104  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.  [chap. 

where  he  had  his  last  sight  of  his  father — the  chapel 
where  he  was  baptized,  the  altar  where  he  served,  the 
good  prior  who  taught  him  letters — he  concludes  the 
long  work  of  his  life ;  and  finishes  in  a  solemn  appeal 
and  earnest  commendation  to  the  God  whom  he  has 
served,  not  unbecoming  one  whose  lifelong  study  had 
been  the  Book  of  Psalms  : — 

"  Behold,  worn  out  with  age  and  infirmity,  I  desire 
to  end  my  work,  and  for  many  reasons  prudence 
requires  it.  For  I  am  now  [1141]  passing  the  sixty- 
seventh  year  of  my  age  in  the  worship  of  my  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  and  while  I  see  the  foremost  men  of  this  world 
crushed  by  heavy  disasters  of  the  most  opposite  sort, 
I  dance  for  joy,  in  the  safe  estate  of  obedience  and 
poverty.  There  is  Stephen,  king  of  the  English,  sigh- 
ing in  prison  ;  and  Lewis,  king  of  the  French,  leading 
an  expedition  against  the  Goths  and  Gascons,  is  vexed 
with  many  and  frequent  cares.  There  is  the  church 
of  Lisieux,  whose  bishop  is  dead,  and  which  is  without 
a  pastor  ;  and  when  it  will  have  one,  and  of  what  sort, 
I  know  not.  What  shall  I  say  more  ?  Amid  these 
things,  I  turn  my  speech  to  thee,  O  Almighty  God, 
and  with  double  force  beseech  thy  goodness  that  thou 
wouldest  have  mercy  on  me.  I  give  thee  thanks,  O 
King  most  high,  who  didst  freely  make  me,  and  hast 
ordered  my  years  according  to  thy  good  pleasure. 
For  thou  art  my  King  and  my  God,  and  I  am  thy 
servant  and  the  son  of  thine  handmaid,  who,  from  the 
first  days  of  my  life,  according  to  my  power,  have 
served  thee.  For  on  Easter  eve  I  was  baptized  at 
Attingesham  [Atcham],  which  village  is  in  England 
on  the  Severn,  that  great  river  of  Severn.  There,  by 
the  ministry  of  Ordric  the  priest,  thou  didst  regene- 


v.]  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.  105 

rate  me  by  water  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  didst  put 
upon  me  the  name  of  the  same  priest,  my  god-father. 
Then,  when  I  was  five  years  old,  I  was  delivered  over 
to  school  in  the  city  of  Shrewsbury,  and  there  I 
offered  to  thee  the  first  services  of  clerkship  in  the 
Church  of  the  holy  apostles,  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul. 
There  Sigward,  the  famous  priest,  taught  me  for  five 
years  the  letters  of  the  Camena  Nicostrata,1  and  broke 
me  in  to  psalms  and  hymns  and  other  necessary  in- 
structions ;  meanwhile,  thou  didst  exalt  the  aforesaid 
church,  built  on  the  river  Mole,  which  belonged  to  my 
father,  and  by  the  pious  devotion  of  Count  Roger  didst 
build  there  a  venerable  monastery.  It  did  not  seem  fit 
to  thee  that  I  should  longer  be  thy  soldier  there,  lest 
with  my  relations,  who  often  to  thy  servants  are  a 
burden  and  hindrance,  I  should  suffer  some  disquiet, 
or  run  into  some  loss  in  the  fulfilment  of  thy  law 
through  the  carnal  affection  of  my  relations.  There- 
fore, O  glorious  God,  who  didst  command  Abraham 
to  go  forth  from  his  country  and  his  father's  house  and 
kindred,  thou  didst  put  into  the  heart  of  Odeler  my 
father,  to  give  up  all  his  claim  in  me,  and  to  put  me 
absolutely  under  thy  yoke.  So  he  delivered  me  to 
Rainald  the  monk,  a  v/eeping  father  his  weeping  child, 
and  for  the  love  of  thee  appointed  me  to  banishment  : 
and  he  never  saw  me  afterwards.  Young  boy  as  I  was, 
I  took  not  on  me  to  dispute  my  father's  wishes,  but  in 
everything  I  willingly  assented,  for  he  had  promised 
on  his  part  that,  if  I  would  become  a  monk,  I  should 
after  my  death  possess    Paradise  with  the  innocent. 


1  That  is,  the  alphabet,  the  invention  of  the  Muse  Nicostrata  ;  a  bit 
Orderii 
Hyginus. 


of  Orderic's  erudition.     Vide  Diet.  Biog.  and  Mythol.  art.  Camauc,  and 


106  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.  [chap. 

Gladly  was  this  engagement  made  between  me  and 
thee,  my  father  being  its  minister ;  and  I  left  behind 
my  native  country  and  my  parents  and  all  my  kin, 
and  my  acquaintance  and  friends,  and  they,  weeping 
and  bidding  me  farewell,  with  loving  prayers,  com- 
mended me  to  thee,  O  most  high  Lord  God.  Hear 
their  supplications,  I  beseech  thee,  and  graciously 
grant  what  they  desired,  O  merciful  King  of  Sabaoth. 
"  So  being  ten  years  old  I  crossed  the  British  Sea,  and 
came  an  exile  to  Normandy,  where,  unknown  to  all,  I 
knew  no  man.  Like  Joseph  in  Egypt,  I  heard  a  strange 
language.  Yet  by  the  help  of  thy  favour,  among 
these  strangers  I  found  all  gentleness  and  friend- 
liness. In  the  eleventh  year  of  my  age,  I  was  received 
to  the  monastic  life  by  the  venerable  Abbot  Mainer, 
in  the  monastery  of  Ouche,  and  on  Sunday,  the  2ist 
of  September  [1085],  I  was  tonsured  after  the  man- 
ner of  clerks,  and  for  my  English  name,  which  sounded 
harsh  to  Normans,  the  name  of  Vitalis  was  given  me, 
borrowed  from  one  of  the  companions  of  St.  Maurice 
the  martyr,  whose  martyrdom  was  then  celebrated 
[Sept.  22].  In  this  house  for  fifty-six  years,  by  thy 
favour,  have  I  had  my  conversation,  and  by  all  the 
brethren  and  dwellers  in  it  I  have  been  loved  and 
honoured  much  more  than  I  deserved.  Heat  and 
cold  and  the  burden  of  the  day  have  I  endured, 
labouring  among  thine  own  in  the  'vineyard  of  So- 
rech;'1  and  the  'penny'  which  thou  hast  promised  I 
have  confidently  waited  for,  for  thou  art  faithful.  Six 
abbots  have  I  reverenced  as  my  fathers  and  masters, 
because  they  were  in  thy  place  :  Mainer  and  Serlo, 
Roger  and  Guarin,  Richard  and  Ranulf.  They  were 
1  The  vineyard  planted  with  "choice  vine"  (Isa.  v,  2). 


v.]  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.  107 

the  lawful  heads  of  the  convent  of  Ouche;  for  me  and 
for  others  they  kept  watch,  as  those  who  must  give 
account;  within  and  abroad  they  used  good  husbandry, 
and,  with  thee  for  their  companion  and  helper,  pro- 
vided all  things  necessary  for  us.  "  On  March  15  [1091], 
when  I  was  sixteen  years  old,  at  the  bidding  of  Serlo, 
our  abbot-elect,  Gilbert,  Bishop  of  Lisieux,  ordained 
me  sub-deacon.  Then  after  two  years,  on  the  26th  of 
March  [1093],  Serlo,  Bishop  of  Seez,  laid  on  me  the 
office  of  deacon,  in  which  grade  I  gladly  ministered 
to  thee  fifteen  years.  Lastly,  in  the  thirty-third  year  of 
my  age>  William,  Archbishop  of  Rouen,  on  the  21st 
of  December  [1 107]  laid  on  me  the  burden  of  the 
priesthood.  On  the  same  day,  he  ordained  244  dea- 
cons and  120  priests,  with  whom,  in  the  Holy  Ghost, 
I  devoutly  approached  thy  holy  altar,  and  have  now 
for  thirty-four  years  faithfully  performed  thy  service 
unto  thee  with  a  willing  mind. 

"  Thus,  thus,  O  Lord  my  God,  my  Maker  and  the 
Giver  of  my  life,  hast  thou  through  different  steps 
bestowed  on  me  freely  thy  gifts,  and  duly  ordered  my 
years  for  thy  service.  In  all  the  places  whither  thou 
hast  so  far  led  me,  thou  hast  caused  me  to  find  love, 
not  by  my  deserts  but  by  thy  favour.  For  all  thy 
benefits,  O  gracious  Father,  I  give  thee  thanks,  with 
my  whole  heart  I  laud  and  bless  thee ;  and  for  all 
my  numberless  offences,  I  with  tears  beseech  thy 
mercy.  Spare  me,  O  Lord,  spare  me,  and  let  me  not 
be  confounded.  According  to  thy  goodness,  which 
cannot  be  wearied,  look  pitifully  on  thy  handiwork, 
and  forgive  and  wash  away  all  my  sins.  Give  me  a 
will  which  shall  persevere  in  thy  service,  and  strength 
that  fails  not  against  the  craft  and  malice  of  Satan, 


10S  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.  [chap. 

till  by  thy  gift  I  attain  the  inheritance  of  everlasting 
salvation.  And  the  things  which  I  ask  for  myself,  both 
here  and  hereafter,  0  gracious  God,  those  I  wish  for 
my  friends  and  benefactors  ;  those  too  I  earnestly 
desire  according  to  thy  wise  ordering  for  all  thy 
faithful  ones.  The  worth  of  our  own  deserts  sufficeth 
not  to  obtain  those  everlasting,  good  things,  which, 
with  burning  desire,  the  longings  of  the  perfect  yearn 
after.  Therefore,  O  Lord  God,  Father  Almighty, 
Maker  and  Ruler  of  the  angels,  true  hope  and  eternal 
blessedness  of  the  righteous,  therefore  let  the  glorious 
intercession  help  us  in  thy  sight,  of  the  Holy  Virgin 
and  Mother  Mary  and  of  all  the  Saints,  by  the  mercy 
of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  the  Redeemer  of  all,  who 
liveth  and  reigneth  with  thee  in  the  unity  of  the 
Holy  Ghost,  God  for  ever  and  ever.     Amen." 

There  is  something  very  touching  in  the  way  in 
which  the  old  man  of  nearly  seventy,  broken  in 
and  hardened  to  the  stern  life  of  a  Norman  abbey, 
cannot  help,  in  the  midst  of  other  subjects,  going 
back  to  the  days  of  boyhood,  when  he  served  at  the 
altar  and  went  to  school  in  England  by  the  banks  of 
the  Severn,  and  recalls  the  bitter  days  of  parting,  and 
his  first  dreary  dwelling  in  that  strange  land  which  had 
become  so  familiar  to  him.  There  is  thankfulness, 
hearty  and  sincere,  for  that  ordering  of  his  life,  which, 
hard  as  had  been  its  conditions,  made  him  a  monk  ; 
a  thankfulness  like  that  of  the  patriarch  Jacob  to 
his  father's  God,  "which  had  fed  him  all  his  life 
long;"  a  thankfulness  not  perhaps  heroic,  but  simple, 
genuine,  and  tender,  for  having  been  preserved  and 
fenced  round  from  the  storms  of  a  wild  and  naughty 
world.     But  the  rigid  rule  and  austere  ideas  of  his 


v.]  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.  109 

profession  had  left  his  feelings  quick  and  warm.  They 
had  been  chastened  and  brought  into  subjection  ;  but 
they  kept  their  place.  There  was  no  suppression  of 
natural  affection  in  the  old  monk  whose  thoughts 
dwelt  so  pathetically  on  the  "  weeping "  father  who 
had  given  him  up,  and  "  whom  he  had  never  seen 
again  ;"  only  a  subordination  of  it  to  higher  purposes, 
a  short  parting  here  for  an  endless  meeting  at  last. 
And  this  warm  human  interest  and  power  of  sym- 
pathy mingling,  often  quaintly  enough,  with  the 
harshnesses  and  abrupt  severities  of  his  age  and  of 
his  profession,  are  the  characteristic  features  of  Orderic 
as  a  painter  of  his  times.  He  caught  the  spirit  of 
work  and  the  horror  of  idleness  which  were  at  this 
time  keen  and  dominant  in  the  Norman  cloisters  ; 
and  it  is  curious,  and  almost  affecting,  to  see  how, 
with  such  wretched  tools  as  he  had  in  the  way  of 
books  and  language,  such  an  undeveloped  stage  of 
intellectual  cultivation,  such  poor  and  limited  possi- 
bilities of  understanding  the  world  about  him  and  its 
laws,  and  what  was  excellent  in  the  specimens  which 
he  had  of  ancient  perfection  in  thought  and  expres- 
sion, he  threw  himself  enthusiastically  into  the  task 
of  setting  forth,  with  life  and  truthfulness,  the  state  of 
things  amid  which  he  lived,  and  of  connecting  with  it 
the  story  of  the  world.  His  superiors  found  out  that 
he  had  the  power  of  words  and  of  telling  a  story,  in 
the  learned  style  fit  for  clerks  who  aimed  at  being 
lettered  men  ;  and  they  set  him  to  work  to  record, 
first  the  matters  of  interest  to  the  house,  and  then 
other  things.  Never  was  there  such  a  mass  of  con- 
fusion as  the  book,  as  it  grew  under  his  hands  for 
some  twenty  years  or  more ;    it  is  the  torment  and 


no  ORDER! C  THE  CHRONICLER.  [chap. 

despair  of  historians,  who  yet  find  in  it  some  of  their 
best  material.  Of  the  style,  an  English  reader  may 
best  form  an  idea  by  combining  the  biblical  pedantry 
and  doggrel  of  a  Fifth-monarchy  pamphlet  of  the 
17th  century  with  the  classical  pedantry  of  the  most 
extravagant  burlesques  of  Dr.  Johnson's  English. 
In  Orderic,  Greek  words  play  the  part  which  Latin  ones 
play  in  English  bombast.  There  is  no  reason  to  think 
that  he  knew  Greek ;  but  he  had  picked  up  Greek 
words,  partly  in  the  Latin  fathers,  partly  in  glossaries 
and  interpretations :  he  parades  them,  as  a  child 
parades  its  finery  or  mock  jewels,  in  his  more  common- 
place Latin  ;  and  the  effect  undoubtedly  is  inexpres- 
sible, though  not  exactly  in  the  way  which  he  intended. 
Then,  being  a  man  of  letters,  and  having  read  old 
Roman  authors,  he  thinks  it  his  duty  to  express  the 
facts  of  Norman  life  as  much  as  he  can  in  the  terms 
of  the  great  days  of  old:  Norman  ruffians,  whose 
abominable  brutalities  he  describes,  are  "heroes;" 
counts  and  barons  are  "consuls  and  consular  men;" 
a  feudal  array  of  Englishmen  or  Normans  is  offi- 
cered by  "tribunes  and  centurions."  But  every  age 
has  its  attempts  at  the  grand  style  ;  and  Orderic's, 
grotesque  as  it  is,  is  childishly  innocent.  For  all  this, 
Orderic  can  see  what  is  before  him,  and  can  say  what 
he  sees  and  what  he  means.  He  is  clumsy,  disorderly, 
full  of  rambling  digressions,  with  one  portion  of  his 
account  in  one  place,  and  the  rest  of  it  in  another ;  he 
does  not  always  remember  what  he  has  said,  and  is 
by  no  means  to  be  trusted  for  accuracy.  But  he  had 
been,  for  his  opportunities,  a  zealous  and  painstaking 
reader.  He  had  an  eye  and  a  care  and  interest  for 
details  and  for  points  of  character.     And  he  had  a 


v.]  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.  in 

remarkable  respect  for  what  seemed  to  him  all  the 
facts  of  a  transaction  or  a  character,  whether  or  not 
they  looked  very  consistent  or  compatible  when  they 
were  put  side  by  side  on  paper.  His  sketches  of  men 
have  sometimes  the  faithful  awkwardness  of  a  bad 
photograph  ;  the  life  and  expression  which  reconciled 
incongruities  are  not  there,  but  there  are  the  actual 
things  to  be  seen,  ugly  and  fair  together.  But  there 
is  more  than  this.  Orderic  had  the  Christian — may  we 
say,  the  English  ? — spirit  of  justice.  He  knew  a  great 
man  when  he  saw  him  ;  but  he  saw  too  what  was  evil 
and  cruel  and  mean,  even  in  a  great  man,  and  he  was 
not  afraid  to  say  it.  Profoundly  impressed,  as  most 
of  his  contemporaries  were,  with  the  awful  vicissitudes 
of  human  life,  and  expressing  this  feeling  often  in 
terms  which,  in  their  force  and  simplicity,  contrast 
remarkably  with  the  laboured  grandiloquence  of  the 
rest  of  the  book,  he  was  more  sensible  than  most 
about  him  not  only  that  right  was  not  always  with 
the  victorious,  but  that  truth  and  justice  were  not 
always  undivided  on  one  side. 

From  him  we  get,  without  fear  or  favour,  the  most 
lively  image  of  what  real  life  seemed  to  the  dweller 
in  a  Norman  monastery,  brought  in  contact  with  a 
great  variety  of  men,  with  a  great  and  unceasing 
movement  all  round  him,  with  great  enterprises  in  the 
world  on  foot  and  in  progress,  like  the  Eastern  wars, 
and  the  gigantic  schemes  of  ecclesiastical  policy  of 
the  Popes.  Sometimes  a  traveller,  Orderic  speaks 
of  what  he  himself  saw  at  Worcester,  at  Croyland, 
at  Cambray,  or  at  Cluni  ;  more  often,  hearing  tthe 
stories  or  watching  the  ways  of  travellers  who 
availed  themselves  on  their  journey  of  the  hospitality 


ii2  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.  [chap. 

of  St.  Evroul,  or  who  sought  its  shelter  for  their  old 
age.  It  is  as  lively  as  real  life,  and  also  as  confused 
and  unassorted.  Nothing  comes  amiss  to  him — a 
family  history,  with  the  fate  of  all  the  members  of 
the  house — a  great  revolution  like  the  conquest  and 
subjection  of  England — the  detailed  account,  often 
spirited  and  vivid,  of  a  deed  of  arms  or  a  siege ; 
details,  equally  particular,  and  though  not  so  vivid  yet 
quite  as  curious,  of  the  customs  and  transactions  of 
the  time,  relating  to  property,  to  sales  and  gifts  and 
rents,  and  to  the  various  ways  in  which  property  was 
transferred,  preserved,  or  lost ;  details  of  the  monastic 
profession,  in  itself  a  world  of  its  own,  with  its  vicis- 
situdes, its  triumphs,  its  jealousies,  its  disasters,  its 
conflicts,  its  quarrels,  its  scandals  ;  the  manners,  the 
tastes,  the  occupations,  the  singularities,  the  personal 
appearance,  the  red  hair,  or  rubicund  visage,  or  short 
stature,  or  passionate  temper,  or  shrewd  ways,  of  this 
or  that  famous  abbot  or  bishop  ; — bits  of  description 
of  natural  phenomena,  such  as  remarkable  thunder- 
storms, or  flights  of  falling  stars  ; — repetitions  of  super- 
natural and  Dantesque  legends  which  had  been  told 
in  the  cloister,  or  of  the  stories  brought  back  from 
the  Crusades,  bearing  on  them  the  mark  of  the  highly 
excited  imagination  of  the  pilgrims  who  told  them; — 
carefully  weighed  and  balanced  summaries  of  the  cha- 
racters of  the  great  people  who  pass  across  his  scene, 
or  still  better,  brief  forcible  touches,  evidently  from 
direct  impression,  of  some  leading  feature  in  the 
abbots  or  bishops,  the  barons  or  knights,  and  by  no 
means  least,  the  ladies,  of  that  wild  time  and  turbulent 
society.  His  great  work  is  a  mixture  of  important 
history,  curious  gossip  of  the  country-side,  judgments 


v.]  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER. 


on  persons  and  things,  which  but  for  their  form  would 
not  discredit  a  professed  moralist  of  sarcastic  humour  ; 
orations  composed  with  dignity,  and  put  into  the 
mouths  of  great  persons,  because  the  Latin  historians 
did  the  same  ;  and  dry  annals  from  the  creation  or  the 
flood,  down  to  the  current  year.  He  is  always  in 
danger  of  mistaking  the  true  means  of  producing  the 
real  effect  of  things,  as  it  impresses  his  own  feeling  ; 
of  expressing  his  sense  of  what  is  great,  or  eventful, 
or  tragic,  by  inflated  words,  or  of  representing  what 
he  intends  for  picturesqueness  and  vividness  by  some 
ridiculously  chosen  epithet  or  some  grotesque  bit 
of  pedantry.  But  he  is  not  always  on  his  stilts, 
and  often  forgets  himself,  at  least  for  some  sen- 
tences ;.  and  then  he  writes  with  discrimination, 
clearness,  and  force;  his  sense  of  the  absurd  and 
ridiculous  gets  for  a  moment,  at  all  risk  of  indecorum, 
out  of  the  stiff  shell  of  his  erudition  ;  and  in  the 
story  of  some  pathetic  scene,  the  last  moments, 
for  instance,  and  the  leave-taking  of  some  religious 
man,  or  the  fate  of  some  former  favourite  of  for- 
tune, he  is  simple,  touching,  and  impressive.  These 
pictures — though  of  course  there  is  something  con- 
ventional in  them,  and  where  the  occasion  seems  to 
demand  it,  the  temptation  to  be  rhetorical  is  irre- 
sistible— are  many  of  them  remarkably  distinct,  unlike 
in  their  circumstances  to  any  other,  each  with  its 
own  colour  and  expression  and  individual  character. 
He  saw  great  things  and  great  men  :  not  insensible 
to  their  greatness,  he  was  still  more  deeply  im- 
pressed with  the  awful  contrasts  of  this  mortal  state, 
and  the  tremendous  march  and  lessons  of  God's 
s.l.  x.  I 


ii4  ORDERIC  THE  CHRONICLER.        [chap.  v. 

providence ;  and  through  the  disfigurement  of  much 
ignorance,  and  turgid  writing,  and  bad  taste,  it  is  im- 
possible not  to  discern  and  recognize  the  genuine 
spirit  of  faith,  the  profound  and  overwhelming  sense 
of  the  living  and  supreme  government  and  justice  of 
Almighty  God. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ECCLESIASTICAL  ADMINISTRATION    OF   WILLIAM. 

"  The  vast  frame 
Of  social  nature  changes  evermore 
Her  organs  and  her  members  with  decay 
Restless,  and  restless  generation,  powers 
And  functions  dying  and  produced  at  need,— 
And  by  this  law  the  mighty  whole  subsists : 
With  an  ascent  and  progress  in  the  main  ; 
Yet  oh  !  how  disproportioned  to  the  hopes 
And  expectations  of  self-flattering  minds. " 

Wordsworth,  Excursion,  b.  vii. 

Anselm's  life,  before  he  came  to  England,  nearly 
coincided  with  the  reign  of  William  the  Bastard,  as 
Duke  of  Normandy,  and  then  as  King  of  England. 
Anselm  was  born  in  1033.  In  1035,  Robert  the  Great 
Duke,  Robert  the  Devil,  died  on  his  Eastern  pilgrimage 
far  from  home,  at  Nicsea;  and  left  his  son  of  seven  years 
old,  with  the  stain  of  his  birth  upon  him,  to  meet  the 
scorn  and  to  tame  the  anarchy  of  Normandy.  In  the 
same  year  also,  1035,  died  the  other  mighty  repre- 
sentative of  the  Norsemen's  victory,  the  great  Cnut, 
leaving  in  almost  equal  confusion  the  realm  which, 
thirty-one  years  after,  the  Norman  boy-prince,  whose 
reign  began  with  such  dark  and  threatening  signs,  was 
to  wrest  from  its  right  owner,  and  unite  to  Normandy 
by  a  conquest  the  most  eventful  for  good  and  for  evil 
in  the  history  of  Christian  Europe.     Anselm's  life,  like 

I  2 


n6       ECCLESIASTICAL  ADMINISTRATION    [chap. 

the  years  of  the  house  of  Bee,  nearly  began  with  the 
beginning  of  the  Conqueror's  reign  ;  and  very  shortly 
after  the  Conqueror's  death  (1087),  the  great  change  in 
Anselm's  fortune  came,  which  transferred  him  to  a  new 
scene,  and  connected  him  henceforth  with  England. 

Thus  his  life,  up  to  the  time  when  he  became  arch- 
bishop, extended  almost  exactly  over  the  period  which 
saw  the  moral  awakening  and  the  first  serious  at- 
tempts at  religious  reform  and  political  organization 
in  Normandy.  Of  these  attempts  it  is  too  much  to 
say  that  the  impulse  came  alone  from  Duke  William  ; 
but  in  no  one  was  the  improving  spirit  of  the  time 
more  powerful,  and  in  no  one,  according  to  the 
measure  of  the  age,  did  it  find  a  more  intelligent 
and  resolute  minister.  In  his  latter  days,  hard  and 
unscrupulous  as  he  was,  an  honest  and  large-hearted 
purpose  in  favour  of  order  and  right  directed  his 
government,  whenever  an  irresistible  ambition  did  not 
overpower  every  other  thought  and  feeling. 

Anselm  arrived  in  Normandy  when  the  poor  help- 
less boy,  who  had  begun  to  reign  just  when  he  himself 
was  born,  had  grown  up,  through  disaster,  treachery, 
and    appalling   dangers,    into    the    greatest    man    of 
Western  Europe,  who  at  nineteen  had  beaten   down 
domestic  rebellion  at  Val-es-Dunes  (1047),  whose  hand 
had   been  heavy  on  his   neighbours,  on  Anjou    and 
Maine,  who  had  taught  the  French  invaders  and  the 
French  king  a  stern  lesson,  once  and  again,  at  Morte- 
mer    (1054)    and    Varaville    (1058).      The    religious 
movement   which   had  begun  with   the  century  had 
gained  strength  with  the  progress  of  William's  power, 
and  was  taking  full  possession  of  the  Norman  Church. 
William  himself  was  deeply  affected  by  it.    The  vague 


VI J  OF   WILLIAM.  117 

position  of  a  royal  patron  of  the  Church,  fitfully  using 
his  power  from  caprice  or  temper,  had  with  him  passed 
into  that  of  a  jealous  and  intelligent  guardian,  watch- 
ing over  all  that  went  on  in  churches  and  monasteries, 
claiming  great  powers  of  interference,  but  interfering 
with  an  object  and  on  a  system.  The  interests  of 
religion,  as  he  understood  them,  were  scarcely  less  a 
matter  of  his  solicitude  than  the  political  affairs  of 
his  duchy.  To  his  ambition  they,  like  every  moral 
restraint,  were  subordinate  ;  sometimes  probably  they 
were  so  to  his  personal  prepossessions  :  but,  on  the 
whole,  he  had  it  distinctly  in  view  to  raise  the  tone  of 
feeling,  duty,  and  life,  and  by  his  appointments  and 
general  policy,  as  well  as  by  his  personal  strictness 
and  self-restraint,  to  check  licence  and  disorder,  and  to 
encourage  the  reality  of  religious  effort.  The  customs 
of  Normandy,  as  of  other  Western  countries,  allowed 
him  great  powers  in  the  Church  ;  and,  giving  them 
fresh  significance  from  the  edge  which  he  put  upon 
them  and  the  manifest  intention  with,  which  he  used 
them,  he  shaped  them  into  a  strong  weapon  for 
making  his  authority  felt  in  the  fierce  and  unruly 
society  in  which  men  then  had  to  pass  their  days. 

In  the  government  of  mankind  at  that  time,  in 
their  religious  as  well  as  their  political  life,  three 
powers  may  be  discerned — law,  deliberately  settled  on 
some  reasonable  ground  ;  custom  ;  and  personal  cha- 
racter and  force.  Of  these  three,  law,  as  we  understand 
it,  was  the  weakest,  personal  action  the  strongest ;  but 
though  law  was  a  very  small  restraint  on  personal 
will,  custom  was  a  considerable  one;  and  though 
law  was  as  yet  weak,  it  was  the  growing  element. 
In  various  shapes,  some  very  questionable  and  even 


n8       ECCLESIASTICAL  ADMINISTRATION    [char 

disastrous  ones,  it  was  beginning  to  assert  its  superior 
claims  in  contrast  with  mere  custom,  and  the  will,  in 
a  good   direction  or  a  bad,  of  individual  holders  of 
power.     The  monasteries  with  their  rules  had  kept 
up  even  in  the  darkest  times  the  idea  of  equal  and 
real   law,    in   however   confined    a   range,   when   the 
canons  of  the  Church  and  the  laws  of  the  Empire  had 
alike  lost  their  force ;  the  Italian  municipalities  had 
also  not  entirely  forgotten  the  traditions  and  the  use  of 
Roman  jurisprudence ;  and  now,  both  in  the  political 
state  and  in  the  Church,  the  statesmen  of  the  age, 
emperors  and  pontiffs,  were  beginning  to  understand 
the  importance  of  a  system  of  law,  based  on  principles 
of  universal   application,  armed   with   due  authority, 
and   enforcing  its  decisions.     The  emperors  and  their 
adherents   looked    for   it  in   the   civil    law   of  Rome 
adapted  to  a  feudal  state  of  society ;  the  popes  and 
their  partisans  had  begun  to  build  up  the  great  struc- 
ture of  the  Canon  Law.     Both  attempts  partook  of 
the   coarseness,   the   mingled   rigour    and   looseness, 
the  inexperience,  the  necessary  ignorance  of  the  time  ; 
both,  though  they   were   not   without    much   honest 
purpose  to  promote  and  defend  right   and   establish 
a  fixed  order  for  human  life,  were  partial,  incomplete,, 
liable  to   deviate  before  the  prejudices  of  the  many 
or  the  selfishness  of  the  strong  ;  both  were  still  fatally 
influenced    by   the    dominant   belief    in    the    claims, 
of  personal  authority  ;   and  one  at  least  was  based 
on   forgery  and    fraud,  the  parents  of  a  still  unex- 
hausted train   of  mischiefs   even   to   this   day.     Yet 
they   were  the   beginnings,   perhaps    in    those   times 
the  only  possible  beginnings,  of  law.     They  brought 
the  notion  of  it  prominently  before  mankind.     They 


vi.]  OF  WILLIAM.  119 

furnished  examples  of  it,  and  with  all  their  short- 
comings they  excite  our  interest  and  deserve  our 
respect,  as  the  forerunners  and  first  essays  of  those 
nobler  achievements  of  happier  times,  the  fruit,  not  yet 
matured,  of  the  experiments,  the  mistakes  and  the 
late  wisdom  of  so  many  ages,  by  which  the  face  of 
society  has  been  changed. 

The  impulse,  more  in  its  religious  than  its  political 
character,  was  approaching  Normandy  ;  but  there  it 
was  still  fitful  and  weak.  Custom  ruled  ordinarily ;  but 
when  a  strong  and  able  man  showed  himself,  his 
was  the  influence  to  which  all  others  bowed  or  adapted 
themselves.  A  reformer  and  organizer  in  wild  and 
ignorant  days  means  a  man  who,  with  a  clearer 
sight  than  his  brethren,  and  on  the  whole  higher 
and  wider  objects,  has  a  heavy  hand  and  an  inflexible 
will.  Such  was  William.  William,  accordingly,  ex- 
ercised without  question,  and  as  a  matter  of  course, 
an  authority  in  the  Norman  Church  which  in  general 
character  differed  little  from  the  Tudor  supremacy, 
and  which  a  few  years  later,  and  in  different  hands, 
was  resented  as  an  intolerable  grievance,  and  became 
the  occasion  of  fierce  conflicts.  He  was  the  real 
active  head  of  the  government,  in  the  Church  as 
in  the  State  ;  and  no  one  thought  it  strange  that 
he  should  be.  He  appointed  the  bishops,  not 
always  perhaps  in  the  same  manner;  sometimes  ap- 
parently by  his  sole  choice,  sometimes  with  con- 
sultation and  assent  of  his  chief  men.  He  invested 
them  with  their  office  by  the  delivery  of  the  pastoral 
staff,  and  they  became  "  his  men"  and  owed  him  service 
like  his  military  lords :  if  he  had  charges  against 
them,  they  were  tried  by  his   council  and  deposed 


120    ECCLESIASTICAL  ADMINISTRATION      [chap. 

by  his  authority.  So  with  the  abbots  of  the  chief 
monasteries  :  either  he  appointed  them  directly  him- 
self, or  he  gave  leave  to  the  monks  to  elect ;  but  in 
any  case  their  choice  had  to  be  confirmed  by  him, 
and  he  conferred  the  dignity  by  the  pastoral  staff. 
If  a  monastery  was  to  be  founded,  his  consent  had 
to  be  obtained ;  probably  not  by  any  distinct  law, 
but  because  such  a  foundation  would  be  utterly 
insecure  without  the  allowance  and  guaranteed  pro- 
tection of  the  Duke,  who  was  the  general  guardian 
of  the  peace  of  his  land.  If  a  monastery  got  into 
trouble  from  internal  quarrels,  the  Duke  was  appealed 
to,  and  he  sent  down  a  commission  to  investigate  and 
restore  peace.  Ecclesiastical  as  well  as  civil  causes 
came  to  his  court ;  over  churchmen  as  well  as  laymen 
he  asserted  his  authority,  and  both  equally  resorted 
to  his  justice.  And  it  was  not  only  as  an  arbiter 
and  judge,  but  as  a  visitor  and  overseer,  acting  from 
himself,  and  carrying  out  purposes  of  his  own,  that  he 
interposed  in  Church  affairs.  He  asserted  and  exer- 
cised his  right  to  correct,  to  reform,  to  legislate  for  the 
Church,  and  no  one  thought  of  contradicting  him. 

Orderic  gives  both  sides  of  William's  character, 
and  in  giving  one  sometimes  forgets  the  necessary 
qualifications  implied  in  the  other.  But  undoubtedly 
there  was  a  real  basis  of  fact  in  the  following  judg- 
ment, written  after  William's  death  : — 

"King  William  was  famous  and  deserved  praise 
for  his  zeal  and  love  for  many  sorts  of  worth  in  many 
sorts  of  men ;  but  above  all  things  he  ever  loved  in 
God's  servants  true  religion,  to  which  sometimes 
peace  and  worldly  prosperity  minister.  This  is  wit- 
nessed by  wide-spread  notoriety,  and  proved  beyond 


vi.]  OF  WILLIAM. 


question  by  the  evidence  of  deeds.  For  when  any 
chief  shepherd  finished  his  course  and  passed  from 
this  world,  and  the  Church  of  God  in  widowhood 
mourned  for  its  proper  ruler,  the  prince  with  due 
care  sent  prudent  delegates  to  the  house  which  was 
without  its  head,  and  caused  all  the  church  posses- 
sions to  be  inventoried,  lest  they  should  be  wasted 
by  irreligious  guardians.  Then  he  called  together 
bishops  and  abbots  and  other  wise  counsellors,  and 
by  their  advice  inquired  very  carefully  who  was  the 
best  and  wisest  man,  as  well  in  divine  things  as  in 
worldly,  to  rule  the  house  of  God.  Then  the  person 
who,  for  the  goodness  of  his  life  and  for  his  learning 
and  wisdom,  was  selected  by  the  judgment  of  the 
wise,  the  gracious  king  made  the  ruler  and  steward 
of  the  bishopric  or  abbacy.  This  observance  he  kept 
for  fifty-six  years  (?),  during  which  he  bore  rule  in 
the  duchy  of  Normandy  or  in  the  kingdom  of  Eng- 
land ;  and  by  this  he  left  a  religious  custom  and  example 
to  those  who  come  after.  The  heresy  of  simony  he 
utterly  abhorred,  and  therefore  in  choosing  abbots 
and  bishops  he  considered  not  so  much  men's  riches 
or  power,  as  their  holiness  and  wisdom.  He  set 
persons  approved  in  excellence  over  the  monasteries 
of  England  ;  by  whose  zeal  and  strictness  the  estate 
of  monastic  life,  which  had  somewhat  languished, 
revived,  and  where  it  seemed  to  have  failed,  rose  up 
again  to  its  former  vigour." 

Eadmer,  writing  after  the  supremacy  of  the  Con- 
queror had  developed  into  the  tyranny  of  his  sons, 
thus  describes  the  nature  of  his  claims,  the  "  usages  " 
on  which  he  governed. 

"  Wishing,  therefore,  to  keep  in  England  the  usages 


122       ECCLESIASTICAL  ADMINISTRATION    [chap. 

and  laws  which  he  and  his  fathers  were  wont  to  have  in 
Normandy,  he  appointed  throughout  the  land  bishops, 
abbots,  and  other  chief  men  from  among  persons  in 
whom  it  would  have  been  judged  unseemly,  if  they  did 
not  obey  his  laws  in  all  things,  laying  aside  every  other 
consideration,  or  if  any  of  them,  by  the  power  of 
any  earthly  honour,  dared  to  raise  his  head  against 
him  ;  for  every  one  knew  from  whence  and  for  v/hat 
they  were  chosen,  and  who  they  were.  All  things 
therefore,  divine  and  human,  waited  on  his  nod.  To 
understand  what  this  came  to,  I  will  put  down  some 
of  the  novelties  which  he  caused  to  be  observed 
throughout  England  ;  thinking  them  necessary  to  be 
known,  for  the  understanding  of  that  which  I  have 
undertaken  to  write  about.  He  would,  then,  suffer  no 
one  in  all  his  dominions  to  receive  the  Bishop  of  the 
city  of  Rome  for  the  Apostle's  Vicar,  unless  by  his 
command,  or  in  any  wise  to  receive  his  letters,  unless 
they  had  first  been  shown  to  himself.  Further,  he 
would  not  suffer  the  Primate  of  his  kingdom,  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  if  he  were  presiding  over  a 
general  council  of  the  bishops,  to  establish  or  forbid 
anything,  unless  what  was  agreeable  to  his  will,  and 
had  first  been  ordained  by  him.  To  none  of  his 
bishops,  nevertheless,  did  he  permit  that  it  should  be 
allowed  to  implead  publicly  or  excommunicate  any  of 
his  barons  or  servants  charged  with  incest  or  adultery, 
or  any  great  crime,  except  by  his  precept,  or  to 
compel  them  by  any  penalty  of  ecclesiastical  severity.'' 
The  character  of  this  authority  will  be  best  seen  in 
two  or  three  instances — in  the  part  which  the  Duke 
takes  in  the  foundation  and  internal  affairs  of  an 
abbey,  that  of  St.   Evroul;   and  as  regards   Church 


vi.]  OF  WILLIAM.  123 

legislation,  in  the  proceedings  of  two  great  Norman 
assemblies,  in  which  he  attempted  to  lay  down,  in  the 
rude  form,  familiar  to  the  times,  of  canons  and  decrees, 
the  principles  of  law  as  opposed  to  custom  or  mere 
will,  to  which  he  proposed  to  make  both  the  clergy 
and  the  people  generally  conform  themselves. 

In  1050,  four  Norman  nobles,  William  and  Robert, 
the  sons  of  Geroy,  and  Hugh  and  Robert,  sons  of 
Robert  of  Grentmaisnil,  having  resolved  to  found  a 
monastery  on  the  spot  consecrated  by  the  abode  and 
memory  of  a  saint,  St.  Ebrulfus  or  St.  Evroul,  and  to 
give  certain  lands  for  its  support,  "  went  to  William 
the  Duke  of  the  Normans  and  opened  to  him  their 
will,  and  besought  him  to  help  them  in  their  salutary 
work  by  his  authority  as  prince.  Further,  the  above- 
named  place  they  by  common  consent  committed  to 
his  guardianship,  so  that  neither  to  themselves  nor  to 
any  other  should  it  ever  be  lawful  to  exact  from  the 
monks  or  their  men  any  custom  or  rent,  save  the 
benefits  of  their  prayers.  The  Duke  gladly  assented 
to  their  good  wish,  and  confirmed  the  disposition  of 
the  property  which  his  nobles  gave  to  St.  Evroul,  and 
delivered  the  deed  to  Malger,  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen, 
and  to  his  suffragan  bishops,  to  be  confirmed  by  their 
subscriptions.  Then  Hugh  and  Robert,  having  received 
from  the  Duke  licence  to  choose  an  abbot,"  go  to 
Jumieges,  and  ask  for  a  monk  of  Jumieges,  Theodoric, 
for  the  first  head  of  their  monastery.  Then  they 
present  him  to  the  Duke,  and  the  Duke,  "receiving 
him  with  due  reverence,  and  having  given  him,  as  the 
custom  is,  the  pastoral  staff,  set  him  over  the  Church  of 
Ouche  ;"  and  then  he  is  consecrated  by  the  Bishop  of 
Lisieux.     That  was  the  customary  process  in  founding 


124      ECCLESIASTICAL  ADMINISTRATION    [chap. 

a  monastic  house.  In  the  progress  of  the  history  of 
St.  Evroul,  the  same  taking  for  granted  of  the  Duke's 
supreme  authority  to  arrange,  to  sanction,  and  to  re- 
dress wrong  appears.  The  Duke  grants  his  privilege 
that  the  monastery  may  be  for  ever  free  and  exempt 
fromjall  external  authority.  The  Duke  grants  to  the 
brethren  the  right  to  elect  their  own  abbot,  so  that 
they  observe  the  rule  of  discipline,  and  are  not  in- 
fluenced by  friendship  or  kindred,  or  love  of  money. 
The  Duke  commands  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen  and 
his  bishops  to  confirm  his  grants,  by  making  excom- 
munication the  penalty  of  violating  them.  When 
quarrels  arose,  and  the  Abbot  Theodoric  wishes  to  get 
rid  of  his  burdens,  he  desires  "  to  resign  to  William 
Duke  of  the  Normans  his  pastoral  staff."  William, 
acting  as  a  visitor,  orders  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen 
to  send  down  a  commission,  Lanfranc  among  them, 
to  inquire  and  make  peace.  When,  in  spite  of  this, 
the  poor  old  abbot  is  worried  by  the  quarrels  and 
intrigues  of  his  flock  into  running  away  on  a  pil- 
grimage to  Jerusalem,  the  newly-elected  abbot,  his 
enemy,  Prior  Robert  de  Grentmaisnil,  is  presented  to 
the  Duke  for  approval  and  confirmation,  and  receive 
from  the  Duke  the  entire  power  of  the  abbacy,  by 
means  of  the  crosier  of  Bishop  Ivo  of  Seez,  and  "  the 
care  of  souls,"  by  the  benediction  of  Bishop  William 
of  Evreux.  Abbot  Robert  became  mixed  up,  about 
1063,  with  the  factions  of  the  Norman  nobles.  He 
fell  under  William's  displeasure,  and  was  cited  to 
appear  at  the  Duke's  court  to  answer  for  certain 
crimes  of  which  he  was  accused — falsely,  says  the 
historian  of  St.  Evroul.  But  Robert,  whether  guilty 
or  not,  preferred  to  seek  his  safety  by  leaving  Nor- 


vi.]  OF  WILLIAM.  125 

mandy,  and  repaired  to  Rome  to  lay  his  case  before 
the  Pope.     On  this  William,  without  scruple  or  hesita- 
tion, at  once  filled  up  his  vacancy.      No  mention  is 
made  by  Orderic  of  any  trial,  of  any  deposition  by 
ecclesiastical  authority.      But    "  the  Norman  Duke," 
says    Orderic,     "by    the    counsel    of    the   venerable 
Ansfred  Abbot   of   Preaux,  and    Lanfranc  Prior   of 
Bee,    and   other   ecclesiastical   persons,"    summoned 
Osbern   Prior  of  Cormeilles,  and  without  giving  him 
any  notice,  "  committed  to  him  the  care  of  the  Abbey 
of  Ouche  by  the  crosier  of  Maurilius  the  Archbishop, 
in    a   synod    at   Rouen.     Thence,    Hugh    Bishop   of 
Lisieux,    by   the    Duke's    order,    conducted   him    to 
Preaux,  and   there,    without  the   knowledge   of    the 
monks  of  St.  Evroul,  consecrated  him  abbot,  and  after- 
wards conducted  him  to  Ouche,  and  by  the   Duke's 
command  set  him.  over  the  sorrowful  monks.     They 
were  in  trouble,  with  danger  on  both  sides.    For  in  the 
lifetime  of  their  abbot  [Robert  de  Grentmaisnil],  who 
had  founded  their  church  and  received  them  to  their 
estate  of  monks,  and  had  been  driven  out,  without 
reasonable  grounds  of  charge,  not  by  the  judgment 
of  a  synod,  but  by  the  tyranny  of  the  angry  Marquis" 
(a  piece  of  rhetoric  of  Orderic's,  for  the   more  com- 
mon  title     of  count   or   duke),    "they  hesitated    to 
receive  another  abbot ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  they 
dared  not  openly  refuse  him  on  account  of  the  wrath 
of   the  Duke.     At  length,   by  the  advice  of  Bishop 
Hugh,  they  chose  to  suffer  violence,  and  voluntarily  to 
show  obedience  to  the  master  given  them,  lest,  if  they 
continued  without  the  yoke,  they  should  offend  the 
power  of  God,  and  rouse  the  ill-will  of  the  Duke  to 
greater  violence,  to  the  destruction  of  the  recently 


126      ECCLESIASTICAL  ADMINISTRATION    [chap. 


founded  house."  The  Duke  was  not  able  to  prevent 
the  enevous  tribulation  which  fell  on  the  unfortunate 
monks  from  the  harrying  of  their  house  and  lands  by 
Abbot  Robert's  kinsmen  and  friends,  or  from  their  in- 
ternal dissensions  and  bitter  heart-burnings.  He  was 
not  able  to  hinder  the  scruples  and  troubles  of  con- 
science of  the  new  abbot,  who  felt  himself  an  intruder, 
and  found  himself  in  a  nest  of  hornets.  But  the  Duke 
kept  him  there;  and  his  answer  when  Robert  returned, 
backed  by  papal  legates,  to  reclaim  his  abbey,  was 
that  straightforward  declaration  which  has  already 
been  noticed,  that  he  would  gladly  confer  with  the 
Pope's  messengers  about  religious  matters ;  but  that 
any  monk  who  questioned  his  authority  at  home,  he 
would  hang  without  scruple  to  the  highest  tree  in 
the  next  wood.  Abbot  Robert  did  not  wait  to  try 
whether  he  would  be  as  good  as  his  word.  From  a 
safe  distance  he  cited  Osbern,  who  dared  not  obey, 
to  appear  before  the  Roman  cardinals,  and  excom- 
municated him.  A  number  of  the  principal  monks 
left  the  monastery  to  join  their  late  head.  Osbern 
would  gladly  have  resigned,  if  he  had  dared  ;  but  he 
stayed  on  in  fear,  and  with  an  unquiet  conscience. 
The  monastery  recovered  and  nourished  under  him. 
Robert  in  after  years  was  reconciled  to  William,  but 
he  could  not  regain  his  abbey.  And  Osbern  satis- 
fied his  own  scruples  by  addressing  a  letter  of  apology 
and  satisfaction  to  Pope  Alexander,  "  Supreme  Head 
of  the  Church  on  earth;"  while  the  Pope,  by  the 
advice  of  Robert  himself,  made  the  best  of  the  case, 
and,  absolving  Osbern,  left  him  where  he  was. 

And    what   William    did    with    unsatisfactory   or 
troublesome   abbots,  he   was   quite  as  ready  to  do 


vi.]  OF  WILLIAM.  127 

with  unsatisfactory  or  troublesome  bishops.  His 
uncle  Malger,  whom  William's  counsellors  in  his 
boyhood  had  made  Archbishop  of  Rouen,  who  had 
held  the  great  see  without  troubling  himself  about 
the  Pope's  benediction  and  pall,  and  who  had  lived 
the  life  of  a  magnificent  noble,  given  much  more  to 
hunting  and  cock-fighting  than  to  episcopal  duties, 
and  caring  very  little  about  the  canons  of  the  Church, 
had  offended  William.  In  an  age  of  reviving  strict- 
ness his  manner  of  life  was  not  edifying.  Moreover, 
his  brother  was  the  leader  of  one  of  the  revolts  against 
William,  and  the  archbishop  was  accused  of  encou- 
raging the  rebellion  ;  finally,  in  spite  of  his  own  laxity, 
he  threw  himself  strongly  into  the  ecclesiastical  oppo- 
sition to  William's  marriage,  and  we  even  hear  of  ex- 
communication either  pronounced  or  threatened  by 
him.  Nevertheless,  though  in  this  matter  the  Pope 
was  with  him,  and  William  had  married  in  spite  of  the 
Pope  and  the  alleged  canonical  impediment,  William 
was  too  strong  for  him.  Malger  was  deposed  at  a  council 
at  Lisieux,  at  which  a  papal  legate  was  present ;  and 
whatever  may  have  been  the  forms  observed,  in  the 
natural  language  of  the  writers  of  the  time,  the  act  of 
deposition  is  ascribed  to  William.  It  is  one  of  the 
puzzles  of  the  confused  politics  of  the  Church  and 
State  struggle  just  beginning,  and  of  our  incomplete 
information  about  them,  to  find  a  papal  legate  pre- 
siding in  one  of  William's  councils,  while  William 
was  still  defying  the  Pope's  formal  prohibition  as 
regards  his  marriage,  and  helping  or  allowing  William 
to  depose  a  great  ecclesiastic  who,  whatever  his  faults, 
had,  apparently  alone,  attempted  to  enforce  that  pro- 
hibition.    But  there  does  not  seem  to  have  been  any- 


128     ECCLESIASTICAL  ADMINISTRATION      [chap. 

thing  surprising  in  it  to  William's  contemporaries  and 
chroniclers  ;  they  relate  without  remark,  as  part  of  the 
ordinary  course  of  things,  the  exercise  of  his  authority 
in  deposing  from  Church  offices  as  in  appointing  to 
them.  And,  independently  of  custom,  which  was,  in 
fact,  now  beginning  to  be  broken  into,  the  reason  is  on 
the  surface.  William's  general  policy  was  thoroughly 
in  harmony  with  the  resolute  and  austere  spirit  of 
reform  which  was  gaining  power  in  the  Norman 
Church,  and  his  own  feelings  to  a  great  extent  sym- 
pathised with  it.  Self-willed,  ambitious,  and  hard  as 
he  was,  he  hated  lawlessness  and  disorder,  and  with 
very  sincere  purpose  went  along  with  the  efforts  of 
the  earnest  men  round  him,  to  purify  and  strengthen 
what  the  time  understood  as  religion.  He  set  at 
naught  ecclesiastical  impediments  in  the  way  of  his 
marriage,  possibly  not  very  intelligible  ones  ;  he  cared 
not  the  more  about  them,  even  when  formally  declared 
by  a  Pope  in  council  ;  but  few  royal  husbands 
have  loved  and  honoured  their  wives  as  William,  in 
that  fierce  and  licentious  age,  loved  and  honoured 
Matilda.  He  deposed  Archbishop  Malger,  whose  life 
was  scandalous,  and  who  was  further  personally 
obnoxious  to  himself;  but  he  filled  his  place,  once 
and  again,  by  men  who  redeemed  the  great  see  of 
Rouen  from  its  long  shame,  and  lived  as  serious 
Christian  bishops,  and  not  as  wild  princes  of  the 
ducal  family,  without  fear  and  without  law.  "A 
prelate  of  a  very  different  stamp  from  Malger,"  says 
Mr.  Freeman,  "succeeded  him  on  the  metropolitan 
throne  of  Rouen.  William  had  now  fully  learned 
that  the  high  places  of  the  Church  could  not  be 
rightly  turned  into  mere  provisions  for  the  younger 


/ 

vi.]  I     OF  WILLIAM.  129 

members  of  sovereign  houses.  He  determined  to 
give  the  Norman  Church  a  thoroughly  worthy  chief 
pastor,  and  in  his  choice  he  overlooked  all  prejudices 
of  family,  and  even  of  nation.  This  willingness  to 
recognize  the  claims  of  merit  in  strangers  from  every 
land  has  been  already  spoken  of  as  one  of  the  marked 
features  of  the  Norman  national  character.  The  new 
primate,  Maurilius,  was  a  man  of  foreign  birth,  who 
had  seen  much  of  various  parts  of  the  world,  and  who 
seems  to  have  made  choice  of  Normandy  as  his 
adopted  country.  His  career  in  many  respects  re- 
minds us  of  that  of  Lanfranc,  with  this  difference,  that 
the  earlier  years  of  Lanfranc  were  spent  in  a  character 
wholly  lay,  while  Maurilius  had  first  entered  the 
ecclesiastical  calling  as  a  secular  priest."  He  had 
spent  his  life  in  seeking,  in  different  lands,  new 
opportunities  of  religious  service  ;  and,  in  his  last 
appointment,  he  left  a  saintly  and  venerable  name, 
which  did  honour  to  William's  choice.  A  reformer  of 
clerical  life,  a  church-builder  and  restorer,  the  friend 
and  adviser  of  Anselm,  he  was  succeeded  by  men  of 
the  same  sort :  John,  a  headstrong  and  injudicious 
champion  of  discipline,  and  the  gentler  William 
"  Bonne-ame."  Lanfranc,  who,  on  the  death  of 
Maurilius,  was  wished  for  as  his  successor  by  the 
Church  of  Rouen,  but  not  apparently  by  William, 
was  possibly  denied  to  Rouen  because  he  was 
intended  for  Canterbury. 

William's  high  prerogative  in  the  Church  was  no 
doubt  less  strange  and  less  unquestioned,  because  he 
was  so  keenly  interested  in  what  was  supposed  to  affect 
its  welfare.  "  Everything,"  says  Mr.  Freeman,  speak- 
ing of  the  way  in  which  William's  part  in  a  council  at 

s.l.  x.'  K 


i3o      ECCLESIASTICAL  ADMINISTRATION    [chap. 


Rouen  for  Church  discipline  is  incidentally  noticed  in 
the  original  account — u  everything  bears  witness  alike 
to  the  ecclesiastical  supremacy  of  the  Norman  dukes 
and  of  the  personal  zeal  of  William  in  all  eccle- 
siastical matters."  There  is  a  kind  of  indefinite  but 
very  vigorous  authority  implied  in  respect  to  his  con- 
stitutional position,  as  if  Norman  lords  and  Norman 
bishops  were  all  of  one  great  household,  with  William 
at  their  head,  taking  a  paternal  oversight  of  all  its 
concerns,  and  keeping  every  member  of  it  up  to  his 
duty.  Orderic's  way  of  describing  William's  relation 
to  two  remarkable  assemblies  shows  how  natural  it 
was,  to  those  who  had  known  William,  to  think  of 
him  as  the  foremost  figure  in  them,  taking  the  initia- 
tive before  archbishops  and  bishops,  tracing  out  their 
work,  and  whether  he  left  it  to  them  to  do  or  joined 
himself  with  them,  still  without  rival  the  chief  au- 
thority over  them.  In  1072,  a  council  purely  eccle- 
siastical was  held  at  Rouen.  Its  canons  relate  simply 
to  matters  of  faith  and  discipline.  But  it  is  thus  intro- 
duced by  Orderic.  William  "  assembled  the  chief  men 
of  Normandy  and  Le  Mans,  and  encouraged  them  by  a 
king's  word  to  maintain  peace  and  right.  The  bishops 
and  abbots  and  ecclesiastical  persons  he  admonished 
to  live  well,  to  consider  well  and  continually  the  law 
of  God,  to  take  counsel  together  for  the  Church  of 
God,  to  correct  the  ways  of  those  placed  under  them, 
according  to  the  determination  of  the  canons,  and  all 
with  due  care  to  govern."  u  Therefore,"  he  proceeds,  a 
council  was  held  in  the  Cathedral  of  Rouen  by  the 
archbishop  and  his  suffragans,  in  which,  after  "  dis- 
cussion on  the  faith  of  the.  Holy  Trinity,"  according 
to  the  received  usag'e  in  councils,  a  number  of  canons 


VI.]  OF    WILLIAM.  131 

were  passed.      This   was  an   ecclesiastical  assembly. 
But  that  this  assembly  was  held,  was  William's  doing; 
and  he  assigned   its    objects.      In    1080,  another  as- 
sembly  of    a   more   mixed    kind — more    resembling 
a  parliament — was  held  at  Lillebonne.     Orderic  thus 
speaks  of  it :    "  In  the  year  1080,  King  William  had 
his    residence    at    Lillebonne,    at    Whitsuntide,    and 
thither  he  commanded  Archbishop  William  and  all 
bishops  and  abbots  and  counts,  with  other  chief  men 
of  Normandy,  to  come  together.     As  the  king  com- 
manded, so  was  it   done.     Therefore,  in  the  eighth 
3'ear  of  the  Pontificate  of  our  Lord  the  Pope  Gre- 
gory VI L,  a  full  council  was  held  at  Lillebonne,  and 
profitable  counsel  was  taken  concerning  the  state  of 
the  Church  of  God  and  of  the  whole  realm,  by  the 
foresight  of  the  king,  with  the  advice  of  his  barons. 
But  the  statutes  of  the  council,  as  they  were  faithfully 
noted  down  by  those  present,  I  will  here  insert,  that 
those  who  come  after  may  learn  what  sort  of  laws 
there  were  in   Normandy  under  William  the  king." 
The  first  thing  that  strikes  a  reader  in  these  statutes 
is  their  general  agreement  with  the  objects  of  the 
reforming  party  in  the  Norman  Church.  They  enforce 
the  Truce  of  God.     They  enforce  clerical  continence. 
They  guard  against  lay  usurpations.     The  next  thing 
is,   the   way  in   which  the  king,  by  himself  and  his 
officers,  undertakes  to  guard  and  give  effect  to  the 
jurisdiction   and   claims   of  the   Church.     The   third 
thing  is,  that  the  king   allows  neither  layman   nor 
churchman  to  take  the  law  into  his  own  hands  ;  and 
while  he  gives  the  largest  and  most  liberal  scope  for 
the  exercise  of  the  ecclesiastical  powers,  and  allows 
full  right  to  custom,  he  makes  all  depend  upon  the 

K  2 


132     ECCLESIASTICAL  ADMINISTRATION      [chap. 

king's  sanction  ;  he  brings  all  within  the  king's  eye  ; 
and,  without  narrowing  or  encroaching  on  the  functions 
and  authority  of  the  bishops,  he  makes  all  disputed 
matters  depend  at  last  on  the  authorization  of  the 
king's  court  ;  he  assigns  classes  of  crimes  and  modes 
of  punishment  to  be  dealt  with  by  the  bishops,  and 
traces  the  order  of  particular  processes.  He  acts  as 
if  the  general  care  of  the  Church,  as  well  as  of  the 
State,  was  committed  to  him,  and  it  was  his  business 
to  give  to  the  authorities  in  each  their  duly  fenced 
provinces  of  work,  to  draw  firmly  the  lines  between 
their  several  provinces;  and,  while  granting  to  each 
the  fullest  powers  and  the  amplest  countenance,  to 
allow  neither  to  trespass  on  his  neighbour's  functions 
and  rights,  or  to  neglect  his  own. 

William's  ecclesiastical  administration  is  distinctly 
characterized  by  the  choice  of  his  chief  and  confi- 
dential adviser.  That  adviser  was  Lanfranc,  teacher 
and  reformer,  restorer  of  studies,  reviver  of  zeal  both 
for  learning  and  strictness,  theologian,  administrator, 
diplomatist,  statesman  ;  a  man  thoroughly  in  earnest 
in  the  cause  of  religion,  but  knowing  just  how  far  he 
might  go  ;  ready  for  sacrifices,  but  only  when  they 
were  necessary,  and  not  the  least  inclined  to  waste 
them  for  a  trifle  :  very  resolute,  and  very  cautious. 
In  Lanfranc,  William  had  a  man  who  could  tell 
him  all  that  anyone  of  that  age  could  tell  him  of 
what  was  then  known  of  the  history,  philosophy,  and 
literature  of  the  Church  and  the  world,  and  of  the 
actual  state  of  questions,  tendencies,  and  parties  in 
the  stirring  ecclesiastical  politics  of  the  day.  He 
could  trust  Lanfranc's  acquaintance  with  his  proper 
department  of  knowledge  ;  he  could  trust  his  honesty 


vi.]  OF  WILLIAM.  133 

and  untiring  perseverance ;  he  could  trust  his  good 
sense  and  his  wise  sobriety  of  mind  ;  he  could  trust 
his  loyalty  the  more,  because  he  knew  that  it  had 
bounds,  though  wide  ones.  For  what  seems  to  have 
riveted  the  connection  between  William  and  Lanfranc 
was  Lanfranc's  perilous  boldness  in  siding  at  first  with 
the  ecclesiastical  opposition  to  William's  marriage ; 
an  opposition  which  probably  touched  his  jealousy  as 
a  ruler,  and  certainly  stung  him  to  rage  as  a  husband. 
When  he  heard  that  Lanfranc  had  condemned  it,  he 
ordered  not  only  that  the  Prior  of  Bee  should  be 
banished  from  Normandy  at  once,  but  that  the  house 
should  be  punished  also  ;  that  the  home  farmstead  of 
the  abbey,  or,  as  it  was  called,  its  "  Park,"  should  be 
burned  and  destroyed.  The  savage  order  was  obeyed. 
Lanfranc  set  out  on  a  lame  horse  which  went  on  three 
legs,  for  the  monks  had  no  better  to  give  him,  says  his 
biographer, — unable,  as  so  often  we  find  it^in  these 
writers,  to  resist  the  joke  which  mixes  with  their  tears 
and  quotations  from  Scripture.  He  met  the  Duke, 
bitter  and  dangerous  in  his  wrath ;  he  saluted  him, 
"  the  lame  horse,  too,  bowing  his  head  to  the  ground  at 
every  step,"  as  the  biographer  is  careful  to  add.  Lan- 
franc was  sure  that  if  he  could  only  get  a  chance  of 
explaining  himself,  his  case  was  not  desperate.  The 
Duke  first  turned  away  his  face ;  then,  "  the  Divine 
mercy  touching  his  heart,"  he  allowed  Lanfranc  to 
speak.  "  Lanfranc  began,"  says  the  story,  "  with  a 
pretty  pleasantry,"  which  betrays,  as  some  other  stories 
do,  his  astute  Lombard  humour  :  " '  I  am  leaving  the 
country  by  your  orders,'  he  said,  '  and  I  have  to  go  as  if 
on  foot,  troubled  as  I  am  with  this  useless  beast ;  for  I 
have  to  look  after  him  so  much,  that  I  cannot  get  on 


134    ECCLESIASTICAL  ADMINISTRATION      [chap. 

a  step.  So,  that  I  may  be  able  to  obey  your  command, 
please  to  give  me  a  better  horse.' "  The  joke  took. 
The  Duke  replied  in  the  same  strain,  that  he  never 
heard  of  an  offender  asking  for  a  present  from  his 
displeased  judge.  So,  a  beginning  being  made,  Lan- 
franc  gained  a  hearing,  and  was  able  to  make  his 
position  clear.  William  was  too  wise  a  man  to  throw 
away  lightly  an  ally  like  Lanfranc.  A  complete 
reconciliation  and  a  closer  confidence  followed.  The 
dispute  about  the  marriage  turned  on  a  matter  of 
Church  law  which  William  had  broken,  but  which,, 
according  to  the  doctrine  of  the  time,  the  Pope  could 
dispense  with  and  condone.  Lanfranc  would  not  agree 
even  to  William  breaking  such  rules  at  his  pleasure  ;. 
but  he  would  do  his  best  to  repair  what  could  not  be 
undone,  and  to  make  peace  between  him  and  the 
Church.  He  went  to  Rome  as  William's  repre- 
sentative, to  plead  his  cause  with  Nicholas  II.  ;  he 
urged  to  the  Pope  that  excommunication  and  inter- 
dict, which,  it  would  seem,  had  been  already  pro- 
nounced, would  only  weigh  heavy  on  those  who 
neither  had  helped  the  marriage  nor  could  break  it ; 
and  that  it  was  out  of  the  question  that  William 
would  ever  give  up  his  wife.  And  he  prevailed. 
William  was  allowed  to  keep  her ;  but  the  foundation 
of  two  great  monastic  houses,  St.  Stephen  at  Caen,  by 
William,  the  Holy  Trinity  for  women,  by  Matilda,  were 
the  satisfaction  for  their  offence,  and  the  monuments 
of  the  great  compromise,  between  opponents  equally 
matched  in  determination  and  self-reliance,  which  was 
the  fruit  of  Lanfranc's  mediation.  Skilful  it  un- 
doubtedly was  ;  wise  and  justifiable  in  its  moderation, 
— the  cause  of  controversy  being  what  it  was,  a  matter 


vi.]  OF  WILLIAM.  135 

of  positive  and  arbitrary  restriction,  and  not  as  many 
of  these  quarrels  were,  matters  of  morality  or  of  impor- 
tant principle, — it  may  be  held  to  have  been  with  good 
reason.  But  it  was  the  achievement  of  a  statesman, 
a  judicious  and  patriotic  one  ;  it  may  be  that  a  saint, 
a  hero,  or  a  man  of  plain  and  straightforward  sim- 
plicity might  have  done  differently — perhaps  better  ; 
not  impossibly  worse. 

But  from  this  time,  Lanfranc,  the  representative  of 
what  was  in  those  days  hopeful  progress  and  serious 
care  for  higher  aims,  was  everything  to  William. 
William  let  no  man  be  his  master.  From  every  grant 
of  his  confidence  he  reserved  an  ample  right  to  judge 
for  himself,  to  question  the  recommendations  or  the 
acts  of  his  advisers,  to  throw  on  them  the  burden  of 
making  out  their  case,  to  put  aside  their  counsel  and 
act  in  his  own  way. ,  This  self-assertion  and  inward 
loneliness  of  purpose  and  judgment,  in  a  man  who 
surrounded  himself  with  counsellors  and  made  it  all 
through  life  his  practice  to  consult  them  and  refer  to 
them,  is  one  of  William's  striking  characteristics.  But 
no  one  probably  had  his  heart  more  thoroughly  than 
Lanfranc.  Lanfranc  was  his  chosen  means  of  com- 
munication with  the  Roman  court.  Lanfranc,  as 
Prior  of  Bee,  appears  as  his  commissioner  and  adviser 
in  the  troubles  of  the  monastery  of  St.  Evroul.  He 
goes  down  there  with  other  churchmen  to  inquire 
into  the  disputes  of  the  house  and  to  restore  peace 
and  order.  It  is  by  his  advice  that  on  the  refusal  of 
Abbot  Robert  to  appear  before  the  king's  court,  and 
his  flight  to  Rome,  a  new  abbot  is  appointed  by  the 
king's  authority  and  maintained  in  the  face  of  excom- 
munication and  the  Pope's  legates.     To  him,  on  the 


136    ECCLESIASTICAL  ADMINISTRATION      [chap. 

eve  of    the   invasion,   William  committed  the   great 
Abbey  of  St.  Stephen  which  he  had  founded  at  Caen, 
his    noble    and    most   characteristic   monument,    the 
memorial  of  his  marriage,  of  his  love  for  his  wife,  of 
his   inflexible  will,  and    of   his   readiness,    when  his 
main  point  was  gained,  to  pay  a  large  price  for  gaining 
it,  and  to  accept  judicious  accommodations.     To  Lan- 
franc  he  turned,  when  his  sword  had  done  its  work  in 
England,  for  help  in  quieting  it  and  restoring  order, 
and    to   be   a   balance    against   the   lawlessness   and 
licence  of  his  fierce  soldiers.     The  doubtful  position 
of  the  English  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  made  it  all 
the  easier  to  do,  what  William  anyhow  would  have 
had  no   scruple   in   doing.       The    Pope,  the   legates, 
the   king's   council  called  Lanfranc  to  the  throne  of 
Canterbury,    and    the    government    of    the    English 
Church.      To   Lanfranc  was  the  task  committed   of 
doing  in  the  spiritual  sphere  what  William  did  in  the 
political — a  task  of  mingled  good  and  evil  purpose, 
and  good  and  evil  effect ;  which  involved  honest  efforts 
to  restore  order,  to  raise  standards,  to  curb  lawlessness, 
to   promote  knowledge  ;    which  involved    also  much 
plain    and    undisguised    injustice,    many   harsh   and 
violent   measures,   the   predominance   everywhere   of 
foreigners,  almost  always  unsympathising  and  rude, 
and  often  shamelessly  greedy.      Lanfranc's  appoint- 
ment and  administration  brought  the  English  Church 
more   fully   within   the   circle  of  Western  Christen- 
dom, with  its  rising  spirit  of  intellectual  enterprise; 
they   also   brought   it    more   closely   within   the   in- 
fluence and   under  the  control  of  the  great   ecclesi- 
astical monarchy  at  Rome.      To   Lanfranc   William 
left  large  liberty.     The  archbishop  held  synods,  and 


vi.]  OF  WILLIAM.  137 

introduced  the  new  discipline  which  Normandy  had 
accepted ;  replaced  English  bishops  and  abbots  by 
Norman  ones ;  drew  the  strings  tight  of  monastic 
observance  ;  put  down,  by  force  if  necessary,  monastic 
mutinies;  stiffly  and  successfully  asserted  the  rights  of 
his  see,  whether  to  canonical  superiority  against  the 
Archbishop  of  York,  or  to  the  possession  of  lands 
and  manors  against  one  of  the  strongest  of  the 
Norman  spoilers,  Odo,  Bishop  of  Bayeux  and  Earl  of 
Kent,  William's  half-brother.  All  was  in  the  direc- 
tion of  William's  policy,  of  what  was  good  in  it  and 
what  was  bad  ;  it  all  helped  towards  repressing  licence, 
towards  giving  him  an  orderly  realm,  towards  keeping 
in  check  his  turbulent  nobles  ;  it  also  helped  to  excuse 
and  disguise  his  hard  and  unscrupulous  rule,  to  make 
England  more  Norman,  to  crush  that  English  spirit 
which  had  greater  and  nobler  elements  in  it  than  that 
of  the  resolute  and  crafty  race  who  were  lords  of  the 
hour.  The  writers  of  the  time  speak  of  Lanfranc  as 
the  depositary  of  William's  thoughts  and  plans  of 
rule  :  knowing  him  well  enough  to  do  what  at  first 
hearing  might  offend  him,  in  full  confidence  of  the 
power  of  his  own  well-considered  grounds  to  justify 
his  course  to  a  master  who  required  reasons  ;  trusted 
by  William,  as  William  could  not  trust  his  most 
loyal  barons.  "When  William  sojourned  in  Nor- 
mandy," says  Lanfranc's  biographer,  "  Lanfranc  was 
the  chief  man  and  the  guardian  of  England ;  the 
other  chiefs  being  subordinate  to  him,  and  assisting 
him  in  what  concerned  the  defence  and  the  order  and 
the  peace  of  the  realm,  according  to  the  laws  of  the 
land."  The  expressions  may  be,  perhaps,  too  broad  ; 
but    Lanfranc's  letters  during  the  rebellion  of  1075 


138    ECCLESIASTICAL  ADMINISTRATION      [chap. 

show  how  important  was  his  position,  both  in  watch- 
ing matters  in  the  king's  behalf  and  in  discounte- 
nancing the  rebels,  whom  he  excommunicated  and, 
even  after  their  submission,  refused  to  absolve  without 
William's  leave ;  and  in  being  a  mediator  through 
whom  the  rebels  could  approach  their  lord  and  seek  for 
reconciliation.  Lanfranc,  though  he  felt  the  dislike 
and  contempt  of  an  Italian  turned  Norman,  for  the 
language  and  the  ways  of  the  conquered  English,  was 
not  unmindful  of  what  was  due  from  a  churchman, 
and  especially  from  a  successor  of  St.  Augustin,  to  his 
so-called  "  barbarian"  flock.  He  took  their  part,  as 
far  as  seemed  reasonable  to  him,  and  in  his  disputes 
they  were  often  on  his  side.  But  he  was  too  new 
a  ruler,  and  came  too  soon  after  the  Conquest,  to 
identify  himself  heartily  with  those  whom  his  patron 
had  conquered  and  ruled  so  sternly. 

Lanfranc  was  an  adviser,  a  minister,  a  faithful, 
calm-judging  helper ;  but  the  supreme  direction,  the 
ultimate  sanction,  William  kept  to  himself  in  all  things. 
Thus,  respectful,  even  cordial  as  he  was  in  his  relations 
with  the  Holy  See,  with  which  he  saw  it  to  be  impor- 
tant to  connect  the  Norman  Church  as  with  the  great 
centre  of  civilization,  and  from  which  he  had  sought 
and  received  benediction  on  the  great  enterprise  of  his 
life,  he  had  no  thought  of  making  his  obedience  abso- 
lute and  unconditional.  One  potentate  only  of  the 
time  knew  how  to  answer  Gregory  VII.  at  once  with 
temper  and  resolution ;  and  that  was  William.  "  Hubert 
your  legate,"  he  writes  to  the  Pope,  "coming  to  me  on 
your  behalf,  admonished  me,  religious  Father,  that  I 
should  do  fealty  to  you  and  your  successors ;  and  that, 
touching  the  money  which  my  predecessors  were  ac- 


vi.]  OF  WILLIAM.  139 

customed  to  send  to  the  Roman  Church,  I  should  take 
better  order.  The  one  claim  I  have  admitted,  and  the 
other  I  have  not  admitted.  Fealty  I  neither  have  been 
willing  to  do,  nor  will  I  do  it  now,  for  I  never  promised  it; 
and  I  find  not  that  my  predecessors  did  it  to  yours.  The 
money,  for  three  years  while  I  have  been  in  Gaul,  has 
been  carelessly  collected ;  now,  however,  that  by  the 
Divine  mercy  I  am  returned  to  my  realm,  what  has  been 
gathered  is  forwarded  by  the  aforesaid  legate,  and 
the  remainder,  as  soon  as  there  is  an  opportunity,  shall 
be  sent  by  the  envoys  of  Lanfranc,  our  faithful  Arch- 
bishop. Pray  for  us  and  for  the  state  of  our  realm  • 
because  we  have  loved  your  predecessors,  and  you 
above  all  we  desire  to  love  sincerely,  and  listen  to 
obediently."  And  Gregory,  though  angry  and  contemp- 
tuous about  the  money,  had  to  let  the  matter  pass. 
Lanfranc  himself,  who  probably  was  the  actual  writer 
of  the  king's  letter,  took  the  same  tone  of  guarded 
respect,  but  resolute  assertion  of  rights,  to  the  great 
and  terrible  Pope.  Gregory  wrote  to  him  by  the 
same  legate,  charging  him  with  having  cooled  in  his 
regard  and  duty  to  the  Roman  Church  since  his  pro- 
motion. Lanfranc  "  neither  wishes  nor  sought  to  find 
fault  with  the  Pope's  words,"  but  in  his  conscience  he 
does  not  understand  how  absence  or  promotion  can 
make  him  less  hearty  in  his  submission  to  the  Pope's 
commands  in  all  things,  "  according  to  the  command 
of  the  canons  ;"  and  insinuates  that  it  is  really  the 
Pope  who  has  become  cool  to  him.  "  The  words  of 
your  message,"  he  adds,  "  I,  with  your  legate,  to  the 
best  of  my  power,  recommended  to  my  lord  the 
king.  I  urged,  but  could  not  persuade.  How  far  he 
in  all  points  has  not  assented  to  your  wish,  he  himself 


Ho  ADMINISTRATION  OF  WILLIAM,     [chap.  vi. 

makes  known  to  you  both  by  word  and  letter."  In 
the  great  contest  between  the  Pope  and  the  Empire, 
William,  and  Lanfranc  with  him,  though  far  from 
withdrawing  their  recognition  of  Gregory,  and  re- 
fusing to  give  any  countenance  to  his  rival,  spoke 
of  him  in  terms  which  implied  the  king's  right  to 
form  his  own  judgment  and  take  his  own  line,  if 
necessary,  in  the  quarrel  which  had  thrown  Gregory's 
claims  into  dispute.  There  is  a  curious  letter  of  Lan- 
franc's  to  the  representative  of  the  Antipope  Guibert, 
Cardinal  Hugo,  who  had  tried  to  get  England  on  his 
master's  side.  "  I  have  received  and  read  your  letter, 
and  some  things  in  it  have  displeased  me.  I  do  not 
approve  of  your  vituperating  Pope  Gregory,  and 
calling  him  Hildebrand,  and  that  you  give  bad 
names  to  his  legates,  and  that  you  praise  up  Clement 
so  extravagantly.  For  it  is  written,  that  in  a  man's 
lifetime  he  ought  not  to  be  praised,  nor  his  neighbour 
disparaged.  It  is  as  yet  unknown  to  mankind  what 
they  are  now,  and  what  they  are  to  be  in  the  sight  of 
God.  Yet  I  do  not  believe  that  the  Emperor,  without 
great  reason,  would  have  ventured  to  take  so  grave  a 
step,  nor  that  without  great  help  from  God  he  could 
have  achieved  so  great  a  victory.  I  do  not  recom- 
mend your  coming  to  England,  unless  you  first  receive 
the  king's  leave.  For  our  island  has  not  yet  dis- 
owned the  former  Pope  (Gregory),  nor  declared  its 
judgment  whether  it  ought  to  obey  the  latter.  When 
we  have  heard  the  reasons  on  both  sides,  if  it  so 
happen,  we  shall  be  able  to  see  more  clearly  what 
ought  to  be  done." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

CHANGES   AT   WILLIAM'S   DEATH. 

"  So  fails,  so  languishes,  grows  dim,  and  dies 
All  that  this  world  is  proud  of.     From  their  spheres 
The  stars  of  human  glory  are  cast  down  ; 
Perish  the  roses  and  the  flowers  of  kings, 
Princes  and  emperors,  and  the  crowns  and  palms 
Of  all  the  mighty,  withered  and  consumed." 

Wordsworth,  Excursion,  b.  vii. 

While  the  Conqueror  lived  there  was  government  in 
the  State  and  the  Church.    There  was  the  strong  love 
of  order,  the  purpose  of  improvement,  the  sense  of  the 
value  of  law,  the  hatred  of  anarchy  and  misrule,  and 
the   firm   mind   to   put   them   down.     William,  with 
his   tender   and  true  heart  for   his  wife,    and   recog- 
nizing with  the  deference  of  a  great  mind  and  spirit 
the  combination  of  knowledge  and  power  with  noble- 
ness of  character  in  men  like  Lanfranc  and  Anselm, 
had  little  respect  and  little  patience  for  the  people  of 
his  time.     His  own  ambition,  unscrupulous  and  selfish 
as  it  was,  was  of  a  higher  order  than  theirs ;  it  was 
combined  with  a  consciousness  of  his  fitness  for  the 
first  place,  and  the  desire  of  an  adequate  field  for  the 
exercise  of  his  power  to  rule.     To  those  who  put  their 
own  ends  or  their  own  wishes  in  the  way  of  his,  he 
was  without  pity.    His  great  men  he  would  exalt  and 


H2         CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.         [chap. 

enrich,  and  secure  to  every  man  his  place;  for  the 
little  folk,  he  would  maintain  a  due  measure  of  peace 
and  order  ;  bishops  and  religious  men  he  wished  to 
see  zealous  for  their  great  objects,  and  true  to  their 
high  profession,  and  there  were  no  limits  to  his  help 
and  countenance  when  he  thought  they  were  fulfilling 
their  calling.  Narrow  conceptions  of  government,  we 
may  think ;  but  it  was  much,  in  those  days  of  begin- 
nings, to  have  them.  But  woe  to  those  who  thought 
of  thwarting  him,  or  having  their  own  way  against  his  ! 
He  knew  that  he  lived  in  a  turbulent  and  dangerous 
time,  and  that  there  were  few  to  trust ;  and  his  hand, 
to  crush  or  to  punish,  was  swift,  heavy,  and,  in  Eng- 
land, relentless.  Governing  an  alien  race  is  the  trial 
and,  for  the  most  part,  the  failure  of  civilized  times ; 
and  it  was  not  likely  to  be  easy  or  successful  in  his 
day,  and  after  a  great  wrong  such  as  he  had  com- 
mitted against  Englishmen.  Hard  and  stern  at  all 
periods  of  his  life,  he  was  cruel  and  oppressive  towards 
its  end,  when  he  became  embittered  by  finding  that 
the  race  which  he  had  ill-treated,  and  which  he  could 
so  little  understand,  sullenly  hated  while  it  feared 
him.  Yet  the  tyranny  of  William  the  king  was  a 
light  matter  to  England,  if  set  against  the  furious 
insolence  of  his  foreign  military  lords,  which  he  alone 
could  keep  in  some  order.  It  was  something  for  the 
country,  vexed  as  it  was  by  the  king's  demands  for 
money,  and  by  the  greediness  of  his  unscrupulous 
administration,  that  these  men  at  least  had  some  one 
to  be  afraid  of.  As  his  life  drew  to  its  close  his 
temper  waxed  harsher,  his  yoke  heavier,  his  craving 
for  money  more  insatiable.  An  old  man's  value  for 
a  hoard  was  joined  with  an  old  man's  increased  care- 


vil.]  CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.  143 


lessness  for  suffering,  and  the  disgust  of  a  conqueror 
whose  ends  were  but  half  won  and  whom  success  had 
not  made  happy.  England  had  become  to  him  what  the 
Indies  were  afterwards  to  Spain,  a  convenient  source 
of  wealth  to  be  drawn  upon  without  conscience  or 
mercy.  No  one  can  doubt  that  in  the  years,  dreary  and 
miserable  from  tempest,  murrain  and  fever,  from  dearth 
and  famine,  just  before  his  death,  his  inexorable  de- 
mands for  money,  searching  the  country  in  every  corner 
and  racking  it  to  the  utmost,  made  England  most  mise- 
rable. Yet  the  English  writer  who  with  incomparable 
vigour  and  pathos  describes  the  wretchedness  and 
humiliation  of  his  country  and  the  fiscal  exactions 
and  injustice  of  her  foreign  king,  is  the  witness  also 
of  the  order  which  he  kept;  and  records,  in  the  form 
which  had  become  proverbial,  that  the  traveller  could 
pass  secure  and  unharmed  through  the  land  with  his 
bosom  full  of  gold,  and  that  no  man  might  raise  his 
hand  against  his  neighbour  or  harm  a  woman,  without 
suffering  speedy  vengeance. 

On  Thursday,  September  9,  1087,  William,  the 
"famous  Baron,"  died  at  Rouen.  The  impression 
produced  by  his  death,  by  the  retrospect  which  it 
invited  of  his  character  and  wonderful  fortunes,  by 
the  contrast  between  what  he  had  been  and  what  was 
the  end  of  his  greatness,  was  something  deeper  and 
more  solemn  than  that  produced  by  the  spectacle  of 
mortality  in  an  ordinary  king.  In  England  and  in 
Normandy,  it  found  expression  by  the  pens  of 
contemporary  writers,  who  enable  us  to  understand 
with  more  than  ordinary  distinctness  the  overpower- 
ing feeling  of  awe  and  amazement, — partly  at  his 
dreadful    strength,  so  irresistible,   yet    so    controlled 


144  CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH,     [chap. 

by  purpose  and  will,  partly  at  the  great  instance  in 
him  of  the  upshot  of  the  greatest  success, — caused  by 
the  disappearance  of  this  mighty  power  from  the 
scene  of  human  life,  where  he  had  been  so  long  the 
foremost  object.  In  England  a  nameless  monk,  per- 
haps a  bishop,  at  any  rate  one  who  had  been  in  his 
court  and  had  seen  him  close,  and  whose  vigorous 
words  found  their  way  into  the  monastic  chronicles 
which  were  yet  written  in  the  old  English  tongue, 
thus  records  his  feelings  at  William's  death.  The 
passage  has  been  often  quoted,  but  it  is  difficult  to 
speak  of  William  and  his  end  without  quoting  it. 

"  If  any  one  would  know  what  manner  of  man 
King  William  was,  or  what  worship  he  had,  and  of 
how  many  lands  he  was  lord  ;  then  will  we  write  of 
him  as  we  knew  him,  who  looked  on  him,  and  once 
lived  in  his  court.  The  King  William  that  we  speak 
of  was  a  very  wise  man,  and  very  great  ;  and  more 
worshipful  and  stronger  than  any  of  his  foregangers. 
He  was  mild  to  the  good  men  who  loved  God,  and  be- 
yond all  measure  stern  to  those  who  gainsaid  his  will. 
On  that  selfsame  place  where  God  granted  him  that 
he  might  win  England,  he  raised  up  a  great  minster, 
and  set  monks  therein,  and  enriched  it  well.  In  his 
days  was  the  great  minster  at  Canterbury  built,  and 
also  very  many  others  over  all  England.  Also  this 
land  he  filled  with  monks,  and  they  lived  their  life 
after  St.  Benedict's  rule ;  and  Christendom  "  (the  state 
of  Christian  religion)  "was  such  in  his  days  that  each 
man  followed,  if  he  would,  what  belonged  to  his  office. 
Also  he  was  right  worshipful :  thrice  he  wore  his 
king's  helm  (crown)  each  year,  so  oft  as  he  was  in 
England.     At  Easter  he  wore   it  at  Winchester,  at 


vii.]  CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.  145 

Pentecost  at  Westminster,  at  Midwinter  at  Gloucester. 
And  there  were  with  him  all  the  great  men  over  all 
England,  archbishops  and  bishops,  abbots  and  earls, 
thanes  and  knights.  So  he  was  also  a  right  stern 
man  and  a  hasty ;  so  that  men  durst  not  do  anything 
against  his  will.  He  had  earls  in  his  bonds  who 
did  against  his  will.  Bishops  he  set  off  their  bishop- 
rics, and  abbots  off  their  abbacies,  and  thanes  in 
prison;  and  at  last  he  spared  not  his  own  brother, 
called  Odo :  he  was  a  very  great  bishop  in  Nor- 
mandy :  at  Bayeux  was  his  see ;  and  he  was  the 
chief  of  men  next  to  the  king.  And  he  had  an  earl- 
dom in  England,  and  when  the  king  was  in  Nor- 
mandy, he  was  mightiest  in  this  land.  And  him  did 
he  set  in  prison.  Among  other  things  it  is  not  to  be 
forgotten  the  good  peace  that  he  made  in  this  land ; 
so  that  any  one  man,  that  himself  were  aught,  might 
fare  over  his  realm  with  his  bosom  full  of  gold, 
unhurt  :  and  no  man  durst  slay  another  man,  had  this 
one  done  ever  so  much  evil  to  the  other :  and  if  any 
man  harmed  a  woman,  he  was  punished  accordingly. 
He  ruled  over  England  ;  and  with  his  craftiness  so 
looked  it  through,  that  there  was  not  one  hide  within 
England,  that  he  learned  not  who  had  it,  or  what  it 
was  worth  ;  and  then  he  set  it  in  his  written  book. 
The  Britons'  land  was  in  his  rule,  and  he  made  castles 
therein,  and  the  people  of  Man,  with  all  authority ;  so 
also  Scotland  he  brought  under  him  by  reason  of  his 
great  strength.  The  Norman  land  was  his  inherit- 
ance ;  and  over  the  earldom  which  is  called  of  Mans 
he  ruled ;  and  if  he  might  have  lived  yet  two  years, 
he  had  won  Ireland  by  his  policy  and  without  any 
weapons.  Surely  in  his  time  men  had  much  tra- 
s.l.  x.  l 


146       CHANGES  A  T  WILLIAM'S  DEA  TH.         [chap. 

vail,  and  very  many  sorrows ;  castles  he  had  built, 
and  poor  men  he  made  to  toil  hard.  The  king  was 
so  very  stern  :  and  he  took  of  the  men  under  his  rule 
many  a  mark  of  gold,  and  more  hundred  pounds  of 
silver.  That  he  took,  both  by  right,  and  also  with 
much  unright,  of  his  people,  and  for  little  need ;  he 
was  fallen  on  covetousness :  and  greediness  he  loved 
altogether.  He  made  great  deer-chases,  and  there- 
with laid  down  laws,  that  whoso  slew  hart  or  hind, 
he  should  be  blinded :  he  forbad  [to  touch]  the 
harts  and  so  also  the  boars  ;  so  much  he  loved  the 
'high  deer,'  just  as  if  he  were  their  father.  Also  he 
appointed  concerning  the  hares,  that  they  might  go 
free.  His  great  men  complained  of  it,  and  the  poor 
men  murmured ;  but  he  was  so  stiff,  that  he  recked 
naught  of  them  all,  and  they  must  altogether 

"'Follow  the  king's  will 
If  they  would  live,  or  have  land — 
— Land  or  goods,  or  even  a  quiet  life. 
Wala  wa  !  that  any  man  should  so  be  proud, 
Should  so  lift  himself  up,  and  reckon  himself  above  all  men. 
The  Almighty  God  show  to  his  soul  mercy, 
And  grant  him  for  his  sins  forgiveness. ' 

This  thing  we  have  written  concerning  him,  both  the 
good  and  the  evil  :  that  good  men  may  follow  after 
their  goodness,  and  altogether  forsake  wickedness ; 
and  go  in  the  way  that  us  leadeth  to  the  kingdom  of 
heaven." 

In  Normandy,  Orderic,  the  man  who  shared  in  a 
remarkable  manner  both  English  and  Norman  feelings, 
preserved  the  recollections  of  Normandy  about  the 
end  of  the  greatest  of  the  Normans  :  what  were 
supposed  to  be  the  thoughts  of  the  last  hours  of  his 


vil]         CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.  147 

life ;  how  he  must  have  looked  back  on  its  strange 
passages  and  judged  of  them  then ;  and  how  little 
his  greatness  could  save  him  from  the  anguish  and 
bitterness  of  his  mortal  condition,  and  even  from 
its  most  loathsome  humiliations.  His  account,  as 
usual,  is  very  rhetorical,  and  full  of  the  pedantry 
which  all  ages  are  apt  to  mistake  for  fine  writing. 
He  puts  a  long  speech  into  William's  mouth,  full  of 
curious  bits  of  history,  but  as  unlike  as  it  well 
could  be,  in  form  and  manner,  to  any  discourse  that 
William  can  be  supposed  to  have  held  when  he  was 
dying.  But  that  he  spoke  much,  and  spoke  in  the 
same  kind  of  sense  as  Orderic  reports,  there  is  no 
reason  for  doubting.  Orderic  not  only  represents 
the  tales  which  went  about  at  the  time  in  the  cloisters 
of  the  news-loving  monks,  but  probably  had  heard 
the  story  from  the  mouth  of  some  of  the  church- 
men who  were  about  William's  death-bed,  such  as 
Gilbert  Maminot,  the  scientific  and  almost  wizard 
bishop  of  Lisieux,  William's  chief  physician,  and 
the  diocesan  of  St.  Evroul.  It  is  even  not  improbable 
that  Orderic's  long  oration  represents  not  merely  the 
general  feeling  of  the  dying  king,  but  also,  from  the 
way  in  which  Orderic  twice  dwells  on  the  vigour 
with  which  he  was  able  to  use  his  faculties  and  his 
speech  to  the  last,  that  it  stands  for  the  full  and 
frequent  discourse  which  he  had  with  his  attendants, 
and  that  it  embodies  various  portions  of  what  he 
said  to  them.  It  exhibits  him  going  over  in  memory, 
from  its  hard  and  stormy  beginnings,  his  long 
and  eventful  career ;  his  sense  of  his  own  offences 
against  God  and  against  those  who  had  suffered  from 
his  ambition  ;  his  sense  of  the  falseness  and  ingratitude 

L  2 


148         CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.        [chap. 

of  men,  and  his  stern  will,  unshaken  by  the  approach 
of  death,  to  deal  to  them  their  deserts.  In  its  temper, 
it  is  at  any  rate  very  like  William.  It  is  the  language 
of  a  man  awed  and  humbled,  in  all  severe  truth  and 
seriousness,  before  the  supreme  goodness  and  the 
supreme  justice,  and,  in  measure,  before  those  who 
on  earth  reflected  it :  but  not  afraid,  even  when  feel- 
ing himself  going  to  judgment,  to  pass  judgment 
to  the  uttermost  against  the  wickedness  which  he 
had  hated  on  earth,  though  his  own  hands  were  not 
clean  from  it,  and  not  shrinking  from  calling  to  mind 
his  counterbalancing  good  deeds  ;  his  care  for  the 
cause  of  religion  ;  his  freedom  from  the  great  crime 
of  the  age,  selling  the  dignities  of  the  Church  for 
money  ;  his  desire  to  put  fit  persons  into  her  high 
offices  ;  his  love  of  good  men ;  the  houses  of  prayer 
and  devotion  which  he  had  founded  or  helped.  The 
friend  of  Lanfranc,  the  founder  of  St.  Stephen's,  is 
not  unlikely  to  have  looked  back  in  this  spirit  on 
his  chequered  course,  full  of  dark  passages  of  wrong 
and  blood,  but  full  also  of  serious  efforts  to  follow 
after  what  he  believed  to  be  the  light. 

To  the  last,  William,  in  spite  of  the  agony  of  his 
disease,  was  able  with  clear  mind,  and  with  speech  that 
failed  not,  to  communicate  his  thoughts,  his  wishes, 
and  his  advice  to  those  about  him.  At  early  dawn 
on  the  9th  of  September,  from  the  abbey  of  St.  Ger- 
vais  outside  of  Rouen,  whither  he  had  been  carried 
to  be  out  of  the  noise  of  the  city,  he  heard  the 
great  bell  sound  of  the  cathedral.  He  asked  what  it 
meant,  and  he  was  told  that  the  bell  was  going  for 
prime  in  St.  Mary's  Church.  "  Then  the  king  raised 
his  eyes  to  heaven  and,  stretching  out  his  arms,  com- 


vil]  CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.  149 

mended  himself  to  his  Lady,  Mary  the  holy  mother 
of  God,  that  she  by  her  holy  intercession  would 
reconcile  him  to  her  dear  Son,  Christ ;  and  he  at  once 
expired."  The  physicians  who  had  watched  him  all 
night,  lying  quiet  without  any  sound  of  pain,  were 
taken  by  surprise  by  the  suddenness  of  his  passing 
away,  and  "  became  almost  out  of  their  mind."  Then 
followed  scenes,  which  showed  the  change  that  was 
coming.  His  attendants,  bishops,  and  religious  men, 
and  probably  some  of  his  family  and  his  barons,  at 
once  mounted  their  horses,  and  hurried  off  to  look 
to  the  safety  of  their  lands  and  houses.  The  servants, 
seeing  that  their  betters  had  gone,  stripped  the  de- 
serted house,  and  the  very  corpse  of  the  dead,  of 
all  that  they  could  lay  hands  upon,  and  made  off 
"like  kites"  with  their  prey.  The  "Justicer"  was 
dead,  and  the  felons  took  their  first  revenge  and 
first  used  their  liberty,  by  despoiling  him  who  had 
been  their  chastiser  and  dread.  The  story  was  told 
and  believed  that  William's  death  was  announced 
at  Rome  and  in  Calabria  among  those  whom  he  had 
banished,  on  the  day  of  his  death  at  Rouen  ;  and 
Orderic  sees  in  it  the  joy  of  the  Evil  One,  conveying 
the  news  to  the  powers  of  violence  and  lawlessness, 
that  their  great  enemy  was  no  more.  But  at  Rouen, 
for  three  hours  all  were  thunderstruck,  and  no  one 
dared  to  come  near  the  place  where  the  dead  king 
lay,  forsaken  and  almost  naked.  "  O  magnificence 
of  the  world,"  cries  Orderic,  "how  worthless  thou 
art,  and  how  vain  and  frail  :  like  the  rain  bubbles 
of  the  shower,  swollen  one  moment,  burst  into  nothing 
the  next.  Here  was  a  most  mighty  lord,  whom 
more    than    a   hundred   thousand   warriors  just  now 


150       CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.         [chap. 

eagerly  served,  and  before  whom  many  nations  feared 
and  trembled  ;  and  now,  by  his  own  servants,  in  a 
house  not  his  own,  he  lies  foully  stripped,  and  from 
the  first  to  the  third  hour  of  morning  is  left  deserted 
on  the  bare  floor.  The  townsmen  of  Rouen,  when 
they  heard  the  news,  were  amazed,  and  lost  their 
senses  like  drunken  men ;  they  could  not  have  been 
more  troubled  if  there  had  been  a  host  of  enemies 
at  their  gates.  Every  one  rose  up  from  the  place 
where  he  was,  and  sought  counsel  what  to  do  from 
his  wife  or  his  friend,  or  the  acquaintance  he  met 
with  on  the  way.  Each  man  moved,  or  prepared  to 
move  his  goods,  and  in  his  panic  hid  them  where 
they  might  not  be  found." 

The  strong  king  was  dead  ;  powerless  to  guard 
or  to  punish ;  and  it  was  now  every  man  for  himself. 
The  clergy  of  Rouen  at  last  collected  their  senses, 
and  came  in  procession  to  pay  the  last  offices  to 
their  king.  William  Bonne-Ame,  the  Archbishop, 
ordered  the  body  to  be  taken  for  burial  to  the  minster 
at  Caen.  But  it  seems  that  William  Bonne-Ame, 
the  king's  chosen  Archbishop,  spoken  of  as  a  model 
of  goodness,  did  not  feel  himself  bound  to  provide 
the  means  of  transport.  Perhaps  Orderic  only  re- 
peats the  gossip  of  the  cloister  of  St.  Evroul ;  but 
Orderic  says  that  "the  king's  brethren  and  kindred 
had  departed  from  him,  and  they  and  his  servants  had 
wickedly  left  him,  as  if  he  were  but  a  barbarian. 
And  there  was  not  one  of  all  his  vassals  to  care  for 
his  burial."  Why  not  the  Primate  of  Normandy, 
the  Archbishop  whom  William  had  honoured  and 
exalted,  in  his  own  city  ?  But  as  the  Bishop  of 
Lisieux  had  deserted  his  king's  corpse  and  fled  to  his 


vii.]         CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.  151 

own  house,  so  it  seems  that  it  was  no  business  of  the 
Archbishop  of  Rouen  to  transport  the  body  to  Caen 
for  burial.  It  was  left  to  a  certain  "  country  knight " 
named  Herlwin,  who  was  "touched  with  natural 
goodness,  and  who,  for  the  love  of  God  and  the  honour 
of  his  race,  like  a  man  "  took  the  duty  on  him.  He, 
at  his  own  charges,  hired  those  who  prepared  the  body 
for  burial  and  who  were  to  carry  it  to  the  grave  ;  and 
putting  it  on  board  a  ship,  he  carried  it  round  to  Caen. 
To  the  last,  the  same  dark  shadow  lowers  over  the 
end  of  the  great  king.  Orderic  relates  how,  as  the 
funeral  entered  Caen,  a  terrible  fire  broke  out,  and 
the  clergy  alone  were  left  to  conduct  the  body  to  the 
Minster  of  St.  Stephen.  At  least  the  funeral  office 
might  be  expected  to  correspond  to  his  greatness, 
If  the  lords  and  captains,  and  chief  estates  of  Nor- 
mandy were  not  there,  the  leaders  of  the  Norman 
Church  had  assembled  round  the  bier  of  their  pro- 
tector. Orderic  recites  their  names  :  William  of  Rouen, 
Gilbert  of  Evreux,  Gilbert  of  Lisieux,  Michael  of 
Avranches,  Geoffrey  of  Coutances,  Gerard  of  Seez,  and, 
only  just  released  from  his  captivity  on  the  King's 
death-bed,  and  released  with  the  deepest  reluctance 
and  misgiving,  Odo,  the  king's  half-brother,  Bishop 
of  Bayeux  and  Earl  of  Kent.  There,  too,  came  the 
abbots  of  the  famous  monasteries,  almost  as  great 
persons  as  the  bishops  ;  Anselm  of  Bee,  William  of 
Fecamp,  Gerbert  of  Fontanelle,  Guntard  of  Jumieges, 
Mainer  of  St.  Evroul,  Fulk  of  Dives,  Durand  of 
Troarn,  Robert  of  Seez,  Osbern  of  Bernay,  Roger  of 
Mount  St.  Michael  in  the  Peril  of  the  Sea  ;  and  those 
of  the  great  houses  of  Rouen,  St.  Ouen,  and  the 
Mount  of  the  Holy  Trinity.     The  "Great  Gilbert," 


152         CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.        [chap. 

Bishop  of  Evreux,  made  an  eloquent  oration,  in 
which  he  set  forth  the  magnificence  of  the  king ; 
how  he  had  extended  the  bounds  of  Normandy ; 
how  he  had  exalted  his  nation  more  than  all  his 
predecessors  had  done  ;  how  he  had  kept  peace  and 
justice  in  all  his  dominion ;  how  he  had  chastised 
thieves  and  robbers  with  the  rod  of  law  ;  how,  by  the 
sword  of  valour,  he  had  stoutly  guarded  clergy  and 
monks  and  the  defenceless  folk.  He  ended  with 
many  tears,  beseeching  the  people,  in  the  love  of 
God,  that,  since  no  mortal  man  can  live  here  without 
sin,  they  would  intercede  for  him  to  the  Almighty 
God;  and  that,  if  in  aught  the  dead  had  offended 
them,  they  would  forgive  him.  The  call  was  answered. 
"  Then  stood  up  Asceline,  son  of  Arthur,  and,  with  a 
loud  voice  in  the  audience  of  them  all,  put  forward 
this  complaint  :  '  The  ground  on  which  you  stand 
was  the  place  of  my  father's  house,  which  this  man, 
for  whom  you  make  request,  when  he  was  yet  Count 
of  Normandy,  took  away  from  my  father  by  violence, 
and,  utterly  refusing  justice,  he  by  his  strong  hand 
founded  this  church.  This  land,  therefore,  I  claim,  and 
openly  demand  it  back;  and  in, the  behalf  of  God  I 
forbid  the  body  of  the  spoiler  to  be  covered  with  the 
sod  that  is  mine,  and  to  be  buried  in  my  inheritance.' " 
On  the  spot  the  claim  was  investigated  and  acknow- 
ledged ;  and,  before  the  body  could  be  lowered  into  the 
stone  coffin,  a  bargain  was  struck  for  the  grave,  and 
the  ground  round  it.  But  the  miseries  of  the  scene 
were  not  yet  ended.  "  The  debt  was  paid,  the  price 
of  that  narrow  plot  of  earth,  the  last  bed  of  the 
Conqueror.  Asceline  withdrew  his  ban ;  but  as  the 
swollen  corpse  sank  into  the  ground,  it  burst,  filling 


vii.]         CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.  153 

the  sacred  edifice  with  corruption.  The  obsequies 
were  hurried  through,  and  thus  was  William  the 
Conqueror  gathered  to  his  fathers,  with  loathing, 
disgust,  and  horror."  1 

"  Behold ! "  writes  Orderic,  "  I  have  with  care  in- 
quired and  with  truth  related  what,  in  the  Duke's 
fall,  was  pointed  out  beforehand  by  God's  ordering 
hand.  It  is  no  fancy  tragedy  that  I  am  palming 
off;  I  am  not  courting  the  laughter  of  idlers  by 
the  quaint  speeches  of  a  comedy;  but  to  thought- 
ful readers  I  present  the  reality  of  change  and 
chance.  In  the  midst  of  prosperity,  disasters  ap- 
peared, that  the  hearts  of  men  on  earth  might 
fear.  A  king  once  mighty  and  warlike,  the  terror 
of  many  people  in  many  countries,  lay  naked  on 
the  ground,  deserted  by  those  whom  he  had 
nourished  up.  He  needed  borrowed  money  for  his 
uneral ;  he  needed  the  help  of  a  common  soldier 
to  provide  a  bier  and  bearers  of  it,  he  who  had,  up  to 
that  moment,  such  a  superfluity  of  riches.  Past  a  town 
in  flames,  he  was  carried  by  frightened  men  to  his 
minster  ;  and  he  who  had  ruled  over  so  many  cities 
and  towns  and  villages,  wanted  a  free  spot  of  earth, 
that  was  his  own,  for  his  burial.  .  .  .  Rich  and  poor 
are  alike  in  their  lot  :  both  are  a  prey  to  death  and 
the  worm.  Put  not,  then,  your  trust  in  princes, 
which  are  nought,  O  ye  sons  of  men  ;  but  in  God,  the 
Living  and  the  True,  who  is  the  Maker  of  all.  Con- 
sider the  train  of  things  in  the  Old  and  the  New 
Testament,  and  there  take  for  yourselves  examples 
without  number  of  what  to  avoid  and  what  to  desire. 
Trust  not  in  wrong  and  robbery,  and  desire  not  the 

1  Sir  F.  Paltrrave. 


154       CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.         [chap. 

fruit  of  violence.  If  riches  increase,  set  not  your 
heart  upon  them.  For  all  flesh  is  grass,  and  all  the 
glory  of  it  as  the  flower  of  the  grass.  The  grass 
withereth,  and  the  flower  thereof  fadeth  away ;  but 
the  v/ord  of  the  Lord  endureth  for  ever." 

Orderic  concludes  with  a  sermon.  But  had  he  not 
indeed  a  text ;  and  is  his  sermon  more  than  the 
thought  which  would  rise  of  itself  in  all  hearts  at 
such  a  spectacle  ? 

The  reign  of  strength  was  over ;  the  reign  of  insolent 
lawlessness  and  brute  force  began.  Robert  of  Belesme, 
the  head  in  Normandy  of  the  fierce  house  of  Talvas, 
the  rival  of  that  of  Rollo,  was  entering  Brionne  on  his 
way  to  the  king's  court  at  Rouen,  when  the  tidings 
met  him.  At  once  he  turned  his  horse,  and  riding  to 
Alencon,  expelled  from  the  castle  the  garrison  which 
kept  it  for  the  king.  He  did  the  same  at  Belesme, 
and  seized  or  destroyed  all  the  holds  of  his  weaker 
neighbours.  Other  lords  in  the  south-east,  rivals  or 
enemies,  followed  his  example.  William,  Count  of 
Evreux,  turned  out  the  royal  garrison  from  the 
"  donjon "  of  the  castle.  William  of  Breteuil,  and 
Ralph  of  Conches,  and  all  the  strong  hands  round, 
seized  each  all  the  fortified  posts  within  reach  ;  that 
"  each  might  freely  carry  on  his  execrable  quarrels 
against  his  neighbour  and  the  dweller  next  him. 
Then  the  chief  men  of  Normandy  drove  out  all 
the  King's  guards  from  their  strongholds,  and  vied 
with  one  another  in  spoiling  with  their  own  hands 
a  country  abounding  in  wealth.  And  so  the  riches 
which  they  had  torn  by  violence  from  the  English 
and  other  nations,  they  lost,  as  they  deserved,  by 
their  own    robberies  and  plunderings  among   them- 


vii.]  CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.  155 

selves."  It  was  a  foretaste  of  what  was  coming, 
though  in  different  ways  in  England  and  Normandy. 
That  break-up  of  society  to  which  military  feudalism 
was  always  tending — that  dispersion  of  power  from  a 
central  authority  among  a  crowd  of  fierce  and  greedy 
soldier  chiefs,  plotting,  robbing,  destroying,  fighting 
each  man  for  himself;  the  substitution  of  arbitrary 
will  not  only  for  law  but  for  custom  ;  the  dissolution 
of  all  ties  of  duty  and  faith,  of  all  restraints  which 
held  men  back  from  the  wild  savageness  and  appetites 
of  beasts — came  upon  the  lands  over  which  the  great 
Conqueror  had  ruled.  He  had  kept  the  anarchy  of  his 
generation  at  bay ;  he  had  shamed  and  cowed  its 
licence.  His  serious  and  severe  temper,  his  iron  hand, 
his  instincts  of  kingly  greatness,  the  countenance 
which  he  had  given  so  conspicuously  to  that  religion 
which,  hard,  narrow,  imperfect  as  it  might  be,  carried 
with  it  a  weight  which  the  age  could  understand  on 
the  side  of  self-conquest,  of  obedience  to  a  rule  of 
life,  of  peace  and  industry,  of  the  belief  in  an  ideal  of 
human  nature  superior  to  material  things,  of  the  con- 
viction of  human  brotherhood,  and  faith  in  divine 
charity,  had  for  the  time  accustomed  his  realms  to  a 
state  of  things  in  which  something  was  paramount, 
which,  if  it  was  not  yet  law,  was  stronger  than  dis- 
order. Under  him  turbulence  was  dangerous  and 
unprofitable,  and  riot  was  unfashionable.  Now  the 
curb  was  taken  away ;  and  it  was  soon  made  evident 
what  the  Conqueror's  government,  uneasy  and  harsh 
as  it  was,  had  kept  down,  and  from  what  he  had 
saved  his  subjects. 

The  great  power  which  he  had  founded  fell  apart, 
at  least  for  a  time,  at  his  death.     The  succession  to 


156         CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.       [chap. 

Normandy  had  long  been  pledged  to  his  eldest  son 
Robert.  Vicious  and  unruly,  he  had  been  his  father's 
enemy  and  scourge :  but  he  had  a  strong  party  in 
Normandy ;  Orderic  makes  William  say  that  the 
majority  of  the  barons  had  acknowledged  him  ;  his 
father  left  him  Normandy,  to  be  misgoverned  and 
ruined  ;  but  he  would  not  give  him  England.  Eng- 
land, he  said,  according  to  Orderic's  report,  God  had 
given  to  him  ;  it  had  not  come  to  him  by  hereditary 
right  in  the  same  way  as  the  Duchy  ;  and  as  it  had 
been  given  to  him,  he  dared  not  give  it ;  he  only 
wished  and  hoped  that  his  second  son  William  might 
have  it  :  and  he  sent  him  away  to  England  bearing 
a  letter  to  the  Archbishop  Lanfranc,  asking  for  his 
aid  to  make  William  king.  He  was  without  difficulty 
acknowledged  in  England,  and  consecrated  by  Lan- 
franc at  Westminster  before  the  month  wras  out  in 
which  his  father  died.  Henry,  the  youngest  and 
the  ablest,  was  left  with  a  large  treasure  in  money, 
to  bide  his  time. 

The  ungovernable  wildness  of  the  old  barbarian 
stock  of  the  Pirate  Sea  Kings  seemed  to  have 
revived  in  the  two  eldest  sons.  In  Robert  it  showed 
itself  in  alternating  fits  of  fierce  energy  and  lazy 
torpor  and  exhaustion,  like  the  succession  of  wakeful 
ferocity  with  slumberous  inactivity  in  a  wild  animal. 
In  William  all  was  wakefulness.  He  had  all  his  father's 
force  of  character,  his  father's  wary  boldness,  his 
father's  terrible  inflexibility  of  will,  his  father's  vigour 
and  decision  and  rapidity  in  action  ;  but  without  those 
perceptions  of  right,  that  feeling  after  something  better, 
that  deep  though  confused  respect  for  goodness,  that 
living  though  often  clouded  fear  of  God,  which  had 


vii.]  CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.  157 

given  whatever  nobleness  it  had  to  his  father's  royalty- 
Imagine  the  Conqueror  without  his  aversion  to  the 
confusion  and  anarchy  which  he  made  it  his  task  to 
quell, — imagine  him  blind  to  the  great  intellectual 
and  religious  movement  in  Normandy  which  was 
embodied  and  typified  in  Lanfranc, — imagine  him 
without  his  passionate  faithfulness  to  his  wife  ; — and 
his  triumph,  supported  by  ability  at  the  time  un- 
equalled, would  have  been  a  reign  of  wickedness 
and  horror  to  which  the  actual  miseries  of  his  rule, 
even  the  laying  waste  of  the  North  and  the  murder 
of  Earl  Waltheof,  would  have  seemed  light  in  com- 
parison. These  makeweights  to  the  Conqueror's 
unscrupulousness  and  hardness  were  taken  away  in 
his  son ;  and  we  have  the  king  who  reigned  in  his 
stead. 

In  another  point,  also,  they  were  a  contrast.  The 
Conqueror  was  austere  and  his  court  a  grave  one. 
According  to  a  reaction  often  seen,  William  the  Red 
turned  with  revengeful  disgust  against  the  solemn 
ways  and  speech  of  his  father's  household,  in  which 
doubtless  he  had  seen  many  hypocrisies,  and  broke 
out  into  reckless  and  ostentatious  mockery  of  the 
restraints  and  beliefs  of  the  time.  The  decorum 
which  had  been  in  fashion  gave  place  in  him  to  a 
new  fashion  of  shameless  licentiousness  which  seemed 
to  aim  at  affronting  and  defying  what  was  most  sacred 
and  revered.  Unmarried,  he  shocked  by  his  profligacy 
an  age  which  was  accustomed  to  lawlessness  of  all 
kinds ;  and  a  noisy  openness  of  speech  and  boisterous 
and  riotous  merriment,  which  made  a  very  distinct 
impression  on  observers  round  him,  partly  relieved, 
and   partly   masked,  as  is  not  seldom  the  case,  the 


158        CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.         [chap. 

keen  shrewdness  and   craft,  and  the  pitiless  selfish- 
ness, of  the  real  man  beneath. 

Yet  the  difference  at  first  sight  seems  small  between 
the  father's  rule  and  the  son's.     The  father  was   un- 
scrupulous and  oppressive ;  the  son  could  command  like 
his   father.     He  crushed  rebellion  as   effectually;  he 
hung  without  mercy  thieves  and  felons ;  no  man,  says 
Orderic,  as  he  might  have  said  in  his  rhetorical  eulogy 
of  the  Conqueror,  dared  mutter  a  word  against  him. 
The  crown  of  England  was  as  safe  in  the  Red  King's 
keeping,  and  as  much  feared  by  its  subjects  and  its 
neighbours,  as  it  had  been  in  his  father's  time.     What 
then  made  the  difference  between  the  two  royalties, 
outwardly  so   like  ?     It  was  the  incipient  order,  the 
faint  half-conscious  preludes  of  civilization,  the  sense 
of  something   higher   than  force,  the  purpose,  how- 
ever dim,  of  maintaining  right,    which  were  present 
in   the   Conqueror's  notions  of  kingship,  and  which 
disappeared    for   the   time  under  William    the    Red. 
The  beginnings  of  moral  elevation  under  the  father 
went  back  under  the  two  elder  sons  to  the  more  naked 
and   undisguised   selfishness  common  in   all  ages  to 
men  who  think  that  power  is  in  their  hands  to  do  what 
they  like  with,  and  natural  especially  to  an  untaught 
and  untrained  stage  of  political  life  which  is  painfully 
and  with  many  relapses  emerging  from  barbarism.    In 
Normandy  all  was  anarchy  under  the  indolent  and  reck- 
less Robert  ;  in  England  all  was  powerful  and  vigilant 
tyranny  under  his  formidable  and  ambitious  brother  : 
but  both  had   lost   that  which   had  prevented  their 
father's  rule  from  being  confounded  with  the  common 
self-will  and  violence  of  the  kings  and  princes  of  his 
time,  and  had  given  him  his  best  claim  to  greatness. 


vil]  CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.  159 

In  Normandy,  as  has  been  said,  the  elements  of 
disorder  broke  loose  at  once,  and  there  was  no  hand 
to  check  them.  But  in  England,  where  William  the 
Red  had  been  accepted  and  consecrated  as  an  English 
king  at  Westminster,  and  had  given  the  solemn  pro- 
mise of  an  English  king  to  maintain  right  and  peace, 
turbulence,  the  turbulence  of  the  foreigners,  found 
its  master.  There  was  one  keen  and  decisive  trial 
of  strength  between  William  and  the  fierce  Norman 
lords  who  looked  upon  England  as  their  prey.  Odo 
the  warrior-bishop  of  Bayeux  was  no  sooner  released 
from  his  prison  than  he  was  at  the  head  of  a  great 
confederacy  of  the  strangers  to  conquer  back  Eng- 
land for  the  Duke  of  Normandy  and  his  lawless 
and  greedy  soldiers.  Odo,  once  the  greatest  man 
next  the  king,  had  met  with  a  rival  in  Lanfranc. 
He  had  contended  with  Lanfranc  for  lands  and  for 
influence  :  to  Lanfranc's  counsel  his  imprisonment  was 
ascribed.  That  Lanfranc  had  crowned  William  and 
was  his  adviser  would  be  a  reason  with  Odo  for 
urging  Robert  to  invade  England.  But  William 
could  guard  his  own.  The  English  were  with  him 
and  fought  for  him.  London  was  with  him,  and 
Kent.  He  had  the  hearty  support  of  Lanfranc  and 
Wolfstan ;  of  the  foremost  of  the  foreign  churchmen, 
of  the  saintliest  of  the  English.  And  his  triumph 
was  rapid  and  complete.  He  was  king  at  home  ; 
not  indeed  without  outbursts  of  hostility  and  dis- 
affection in  the  Welsh  and  Scottish  march-lands,  or 
among  the  Norman  lords  in  distant  Northumberland; 
but  William's  rapid  energy  and  decision  easily  foiled 
them  :  his  State  was  never  in  danger  after  the  first 
trial  of  strength;   and  henceforth  his  thoughts  were 


160       CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.         [chap. 

given  to  carrying  out  his  vengeance  and  extending 
his  power  abroad.  His  reign  began  with  hope.  He 
had  promised  to  be  an  English  king,  just,  merciful, 
and  true  :  he  had  fought  with  Englishmen  for  his 
soldiers  against  insolent  and  traitorous  "  Frenchmen," 
and  had  triumphed  :  he  had  the  great  Lanfranc, 
his  father's  friend  and  counsellor,  from  whose  hand 
he  had  received  knighthood  and  then  the  crown,  the 
illustrious  stranger,  who  reluctantly,  yet  with  sin- 
cerity, had  taken  part  with  the  English  people,  to 
be  his  adviser  and  supporter.  But  the  hope  soon 
passed.  In  the  year  after  the  Red  King's  coronation 
Lanfranc  followed  his  great  master  to  the  grave ; 
and  then,  what  Lanfranc  had  been  to  the  father, 
that,  to  the  son — the  soul  of  his  counsels,  the 
minister  of  his  policy,  the  suggester  and  instrument 
of  his  deeds — was  the  low-born  Norman  priest,  the 
scandal,  amusement,  and  horror  of  his  age,  Ranulf 
or  Ralph,  nicknamed  Flambard,  the  Firebrand.  The 
difference  between  the  two  reigns  is  expressed  in 
the  contrast  between  Lanfranc  and  Ralph  Flambard. 

Flambard  was  one  of  a  class  of  churchmen  who  were 
characteristic  of  a  low  and  imperfect  stage  of  civiliza- 
tion, and  who  passed  away  with  it.  They  are  not  to 
be  confounded  with  the  statesmen-ecclesiastics  of  the 
middle  and  later  ages  who,  whatever  we  think  of 
them,  must  be  judged  of  on  very  different  principles, 
Becket,  Wolsey,  Ximenes,  were  statesmen,  because  to 
a  great  churchman  all  human  interests  were  thought 
to  belong  of  right,  and  he  was  not  going  out  of  his 
high  and  comprehensive  sphere  when  he  handled 
them.  The  ideal  at.  least  was  a  great  one,  however 
it  at  last  failed  in  practice,  which  made  those  who 


vil]         CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.  161 

are  charged  with  man's  highest  laws  and  concerns,  the 
companions    and    yokefellows    of   kings,    the  guides 
of  earthly  government,  the  arbiters  of  the  policy  of 
nations,  the  interpreters   of  the  wants  and  aims   of 
society.      But   these    men,    though   they   united   the 
priest  with  the  statesman,  and  often  did  so  to  the 
great  hurt  of  one  or  other  character,  and  sometimes 
of  both,  never  forgot  their  churchmanship.     But  the 
other  order  of  men,  of  whom  Ralph  Flambard  was 
a   typical   instance,    simply   merged    and    lost   their 
ecclesiastical  functions  in  their  secular  business,  and 
used    their    clerkship    to    make    themselves     more 
serviceable  instruments  of  administration  and  tools 
of   power.      The   feudal    house   or    meisney   of   the 
eleventh   century   had    its    military   family   and    its 
clerical  family — one  for  hand-work,  the  other  for  head- 
work  ;  both  equally  portions  of  the  royal  or  baronial 
court,  and  one  as  indispensable  as  the  other.      The 
clerics,  most  of  them  in  orders  but  not  all  priests, 
did   all   the  writing,  account-keeping,  law  business, 
all  that   had  to  do  with    estate  agency  or  the   do- 
mestic economy ;  they  furnished,  besides    the  mass- 
priests   and    chaplains,   the    secretaries,   chancellors, 
attorneys,    "purveyors,"  and  clerks  of    the   kitchen. 
They  were  by  no  means  useless,  all  of  them.   The  work 
which  is  now  done  in  the  Exchequer,  the  Treasury, 
the  offices  of  Chancery,  by  the  Boards  of  Revenue 
and   Customs,  by  the  law  officers  of  the  Crown,  by 
the  departments  of  Public  Works  and  Crown  Domains, 
the  business  of  public  accounts  and  state  correspon- 
dence, was  mostly  in  the  hands  of  these  men ;  and 
their  work  was  by  no  means  always  ill  done.     They 
had  among  them  the  contriving  brains,  the  quick  pens, 
s.l.  x.  M 


i62         CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.        [chap. 

the  calculating  heads  of  their  time ;  they  had  the 
financial  inventiveness,  the  legal  resource,  the  busi- 
nesslike coolness,  necessary  for  their  work.  The 
finance  and  the  office  routine  of  the  age  were  rude, 
but  they  were  beginnings  ;  and  though  much  in  them 
was  blundering,  and,  what  was  worse,  corrupt  and  op- 
pressive, we  are  even  now  in  many  things  beholden  to 
these  early  clerical  pioneers  of  English  administration. 
But  of  all  conceivable  employments  and  functions,  it 
is  difficult  to  imagine  any  that  less  suit  a  man  invested 
with  Christian  orders. 

But  there  were  differences  among  them,  and  Ralph 
Flambard  was  one  of  the  worst  specimens  of  the  worst 
kind  of  the  class.  The  accounts  which  remain  of  him 
are  so  unanimous,  so  distinct,  so  consistent,  and  reflect 
such  deep  indignation  and  scorn,  that  we  feel  that  we 
have  to  be  on  our  guard  in  judging  of  a  man  so 
detested  both  in  Normandy  and  in  England.  Gossip 
greedily  gathers  round  an  unpopular  name ;  about  his 
parents,  about  his  first  steps  in  life,  about  the  early 
tokens  of  an  evil  bent  and  readiness  for  mischief,  of 
audacity,  craft,  servile  suppleness ;  such  stories  may  be 
but  the  growth  of  later  hatred,  and  must  be' taken 
with  allowance  for  the  feelings  of  which  they  are  the 
evidence.  There  is  no  reason,  however,  to  doubt  the 
accuracy  of  the  portrait,  drawn  probably  by  those 
who  had  seen  him,  of  his  manners  and  qualities ;  of  a 
man  without  education,  but  with  much  mother-wit 
and  boundless  fluency  of  tongue  ;  coarse,  impudent, 
cunning,  boisterous,  a  formidable  bully,  a  ready 
mocker,  free  in  his  loud  banter  and  noisy  horse- 
laughs. But  what  is  certain  is  this  : — that  Ralph 
Flambard  being  a  churchman,  and  rising  to  the  high 


vil]  CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.  163 

dignities  of  the  Church,  deliberately  set  himself  not 
only  to  plunder  but  to  injure  and  degrade  the  Church; 
that,  uniting  in  his  own  person  the  chief  management 
of  the  revenue  and  the  administration  of  justice,  he 
was  the  thorough-going  and  unscrupulous  minister 
of  a  policy  of  fiscal  wrong  and  oppression  such  as 
was  never  in  England ;  that  he  was  the  prompter  and 
instrument  of  a  system  of  barefaced  and  daring 
venality  which  set  everything  in  Church  and  State 
to  sale.  In  a  reign  in  which  legal  chicane  was 
placed  at  the  service  of  greedy  violence,  and  the  land 
racked  to  furnish  means  to  the  vast  ambition  of  a 
king  who  yet  seemed  to  have  no  other  end  in  ruling 
but  to  have  all  human  rights  under  his  feet,  Ralph 
Flambard  was  the  soul  of  his  counsels,  the  man  on 
whose  quick  wit  and  fearless  hand,  and  bold  and  over- 
bearing tongue,  the  king  relied  to  outface  the  opposi- 
tion and  scandal  which  his  outrages  provoked,  and  to 
find  new  means  to  replenish  a  treasury  which  his  per- 
sonal manner  of  life  and  his  ambitious  political  schemes, 
in  which  bribes  played  as  important  a  part  as  his  war- 
like qualities,  were  continually  emptying.  Of  this  rule, 
so  ignoble  in  purpose,  and  as  barren  of  all  wholesome 
fruit  of  government  as  that  of  a  rapacious  Roman 
Praetor  or  a  Turkish  Pacha  who  has  bought  his  pro- 
vince— a  rule  redeemed  from  ignominy  only  (if  that 
be  a  redemption)  by  its  merciless  strength — Flambard 
was  the  civil  representative.  Of  what  it  was  in  point 
of  law,  of  what  it  was  in  respect  for  justice  and  wish 
to  elevate  and  improve,  he  is  the  measure.  The  charge 
that  Orderic  brings  against  him  in  his  dealing  with 
secular  property,  of  tampering  with  the  measurements 
and  valuations  of  Doomsday,  and  subverting  the  old 

M  2 


1 64        CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.        [chap. 

English  understanding  of  the  quantities  and  rents  of 
estates  for  the  benefit  of  the  Treasury,  might  be  sus- 
pected of  exaggeration — the  usual  exaggeration  of  the 
tax-payer  when  the  rights  of  the  revenue  are  sharply 
looked  after — were  it  not  certain  that,  in  a  case  where 
there  was  no  room  for  mistake,  in  his  treatment  of 
church  property,  Flambard  did  not  stop  at  the  most 
flagrant  and  high-handed  wrong.  That  the  king 
should  keep  great  church  offices  vacant  simply  that 
he  might  seize  and  appropriate  their  revenues,  is  a  pro- 
ceeding which  does  not  admit  of  being  overcoloured ; 
it  is  simple  and  intelligible ;  it  is  exactly  of  the  same 
kind  as  any  other  sort  of  robbery.  And  this  was  the 
great  financial  invention  devised  by  Flambard.  When 
a  bishop  or  abbot  died,  the  king's  officer — Flambard 
himself  when,  as  at  Canterbury,  the  dignity  was  great 
enough — entered  on  the  property,  and  kept  it  for  the 
king's  use  as  long  as  he  pleased.  After  Lanfranc's 
death  the  see  of  Canterbury  was  vacant  for  more  than 
three  years,  and  its  rents  were  taken  possession  of  by 
the  king.  They  were  again  seized  when  Anselm  left 
England,  and  remained  in  the  king's  hands  for  three 
years  more,  till  his  death.  When  he  fell  in  the  New 
Forest  he  held,  besides  the  lands  of  Canterbury,  those 
of  Winchester  and  Sarum,  and  eleven  abbeys  besides. 
The  minister  of  all  this  iniquity  had  to  go  through 
the  ups  and  downs  of  such  a  career  of  adventure. 
William  the  Red  made  him  Bishop  of  Durham.  His 
brother's  first  act  on  succeeding  to  the  crown  was  to 
imprison  Flambard  in  the  Tower.  He  escaped  by 
making  his  guards  drunk  ;  and  the  manner  of  his 
escape,  and  how  the  "fat  prelate,"  sliding  down  the 
rough  rope  which  was  not  long  enough  to  reach  the 


vil]         CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.  165 

ground,  scraped  off  the  skin  from  his  hands,  and 
finished  with  a  heavy  tumble  at  the  end,  became  one 
of  the  good  stories  of  the  time.  He  came  to  Nor- 
mandy, and,  in  the  anarchy  under  Duke  Courtehose, 
quartered  himself  at  Lisieux,  where  Bishop  Gilbert 
Maninot  the  astrologer,  the  Conqueror's  old  friend 
and  physician,  had  just  died.  Flambard  got  the 
bishopric  for  his  brother  Fulcher ;  on  his  death  he 
held  it  three  years  for  his  own  son,  a  child  of  twelve 
years  old,  with  the  promise  from  the  Duke,  that  if  this 
boy  should  die,  the  bishopric  should  go  to  another 
son ;  then,  when  the  outcry  against  this  arrangement 
became  too  strong,  he  got  the  bishopric  for  one  of  his 
creatures,  who  was  turned  out  of  it  for  his  simoniacal 
bargain  with  the  Duke.  Finally,  when  the  battle  of 
Tinchebrai  had  made  it  clear  which  was  the  winning 
side,  Flambard,  who,  as  Orderic  says,  was  "  residing 
as  a  prince  in  the  town  of  Lisieux,"  made  his  sub- 
mission to  Henry,  recovered  his  bishopric  of  Durham, 
and  left  the  name  of  a  grand  prelate  and  a  mag- 
nificent builder,  dying,  it  is  said,  peacefully  and  a 
penitent. 

It  was  this  brutality  and  misrule,  this  detestable 
and  ungovernable  sway  of  selfishness,  passion,  and 
cruelty,  this  treatment  of  kingdoms  and  states  as  a 
wicked  landlord  treated  his  tenants,  which  roused 
zeal  and  indignation  in  the  awakening  conscience  and 
awakening  intelligence  of  Christian  Europe.  The 
opposition  to  it  came  from  the  clergy  ;  primarily,  and 
as  to  the  origin  of  the  impulse,  from  the  monasteries — 
places  where  the  search  after  peace  and  light  and 
purity,  the  forgiveness  of  sin,  and  the  conquest  of 
evil,   were,  in   however    imperfect    and    mistaken   a 


1 66        CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.        [chap. 

way,  made  the  objects  of  human  life ;  where  the 
new  learning  of  the  time  disclosed  more  and  more 
what  men  were  made  for,  and  might  be ;  where  prayer 
and  charity  opened  a  spiritual  world  for  them ;  where 
self-discipline  made  them  know  what  those,  who 
would,  could  do.  From  the  monasteries  the  im- 
pulse was  communicated,  not  to  the  secular  clergy, 
as  a  body,  but  to  their  leaders,  to  the  bishops,  who 
carried  with  them  the  ideas  of  the  monasteries  into 
public  life ;  at  last  to  the  heads  of  the  hierarchy,  the 
popes.  By  the  mouth  of  the  clergy,  spoke  the  voice 
of  the  helpless,  defenceless  multitudes,  who  shared 
with  them  in  the  misery  of  living  in  a  time  when  law 
was  the  feeblest  and  most  untrustworthy  stay  of  right, 
and  men  held  everything  at  the  mercy  of  masters, 
who  had  many  desires  and  few  scruples,  quickly  and 
fiercely  quarrelsome,  impatient  of  control,  superiority, 
and  quiet,  and  simply  indifferent  to  the  suffering,  the 
fear,  the  waste,  that  make  bitter  the  days  when 
society  is  enslaved  to  the  terrible  fascination  of  the 
sword.  In  the  conflict  which  ensued,  there  was  much 
of  a  mixed  character,  much  that  was  ambiguous. 
Those  who  were  on  the  right  side  were  not  always 
right,  those  on  the  wrong  side  not  always  wrong.  The 
personal  interests  of  the  clergy  were  involved  in  their 
efforts  against  military  insolence  and  self-will,  as  well  as 
the  interests  of  justice  and  the  interests  of  the  poor. 
Doubtless  they  had  much  to  lose  by  the  uncontrolled 
reign  of  the  sword ;  but  they  had  also  much  to  lose 
by  opposing  it.  To  resist  and  counterbalance  it,  they 
brought  in  another  kind  of  power,  which  in  the  course 
of  things  worked  great  mischief  and  had  to  be  taken 
away.     What  is  worse,  they  based  this  power,  not 


vii.]  CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH.  167 

always  consciously,  indeed,  yet,  in  fact,  upon  ideas 
and  documents  which  were  false.  Their  great  lever 
was  a  belief  in  a  divine  universal  theocracy,  appointed 
by  God  and  assigned  by  Christ  to  the  Pope ;  a  belief 
which,  springing  out  pf  the  natural  growth  of  tradi- 
tions, utilities  and  claims,  and  encouraged  by  the  ne- 
cessity of  the  times,  was  at  last  boldly  founded  on 
gross  forgeries,  and  has  developed  into  the  preten- 
sions of  the  later  Popes,  which  to  this  day  astonish 
a  world  which  has  seen  many  wonders.  But  this  is 
all  easy  to  say  after  the  event,  and  the  experience  of 
nearly  nine  centuries.  Before  the  event,  in  the  dark- 
ness and  perplexity  of  the  eleventh  century,  things 
looked  very  different.  Then,  in  those  days  of  armed 
and  lawless  power,  it  was  no  unnatural  thing  for  a 
great  Pope  to  match  his  moral  and  spiritual  power 
against  the  cruel  forces  which  seemed  to  be  amenable 
to  no  other  check.  Then  it  was  most  natural  for 
Christians,  hating  the  pride  that  defied  God's  law  and 
the  licence  which  trod  its  sanctities  under  foot,  to  rally 
round  the  conspicuous  and  traditional  centre  of  Chris- 
tendom, and  seek  there  a  support  which  failed  them  at 
the  extremities.  They  must  be  judged  by  what  they 
knew,  and  what  they  could  see.  It  is  unjust,  as  well 
as  unphilosophical,  to  import  into  the  disputes  of  the 
Hildebrandine  age  the  ideas  and  axioms  which  belong 
to  later  times.  Pride,  arrogance,  falsehood,  of  course, 
are  the  same  in  all  ages,  and  wherever  we  meet  them 
deserve  our  condemnation.  But  it  is  a  fallacy  to 
carry  back,  in  our  thoughts  and  associations,  what  a 
thing  has  become,  to  what  it  was  under  earlier  and 
different  conditions.  We  all  acknowledge  this  rule 
of  caution  in  judging  of  philosophical  and  religious 


1 68    CHANGES  AT  WILLIAM'S  DEATH,     [chap.  vn. 

development.  It  is  equally  true  of  institutions, 
government,  and  policy.  It  is  a  mistake,  in  comparing 
two  different  and  remote  stages  of  the  same  thing, 
to  make  a  later  false  and  corrupt  direction  the 
measure  of  a  former  natural  and  innocent  one.  A 
thing  may  even  turn  out  in  the  long  run,  and  under 
altered  conditions,  mistaken  and  mischievous,  while 
yet  at  the  first  it  was  the  best  and  wisest — perhaps  the 
only  course  to  accept  with  unreserved  earnestness. 

Of  such  a  nature  was  the  contest  which  has  made 
Anselm's  name  famous  in  English  history :  a  contest 
in  which,  as  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  he  carried  to 
extremity  his  opposition  to  two  kings  of  England  ;  a 
contest  in  which  he  threw  himself  on  the  support  of 
the  popes,  and  the  result  of  which  did  much  to  con- 
firm their  power  in  England  ;  a  contest  in  which  the 
part  he  took  has  made  the  most  illustrious  name 
of  his  age  a  byword  with  English  historians,  and 
an  object  of  dislike  to  some  who,  but  for  that, 
would  not  be  insensible  to  the  power  of  one  of  the 
most  perfect  examples  of  middle-age  saintliness  ;  a 
contest  in  which  what  he  did  conduced  in  the  end  to 
results  which  bore  evil  fruit  in  England,  but  in  which, 
notwithstanding,  according  to  all  that  he  could  judge 
by  then,  he  was  right. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ANSELM,    ARCHBISHOP   OF   CANTERBURY. 

"  Who  is  the  Happy  Warrior?     Who  is  he 
That  every  man  in  arms  should  wish  to  be  ? 
****** 

'Tis  he  whose  law  is  reason  ;  who  depends 

Upon  that  law  as  on  the  best  of  friends  ; 

Whence,  in  a  state  where  men  are  tempted  still 

To  evil  for  a  guard  against  worse  ill, — 

And  what  in  quality  or  act  is  best 

Doth  seldom  on  a  right  foundation  rest, — 

He  labours  good  on  good  to  fix,  and  owes 

To  virtue  every  triumph  that  he  knows  ; 

— Who,  if  he  rise  to  station  of  command, 

Rises  by  open  means  ;  and  there  will  stand 

On  honourable  terms  or  else  retire  ; 

Who  comprehends  his  trust,  and  to  the  same 

Keeps  faithful  with  a  singleness  of  aim ; 

And  therefore  does  not  stoop,  nor  lie  in  wait 

For  wealth  or  honour,  or  for  worldly  state  ; 

Whom  they  must  follow  ;  on  whose  head  must  fall, 

Like  showers  of  manna,  if  they  come  at  all. " 

Wordsworth's  Happy  Warrior. 

THERE  can  be  no  doubt  that  towards  the  end  of 
the  Conqueror's  reign  the  fame  of  the  school  of  Bee 
was  pre-eminent  in  his  dominions,  above  all  other 
places  of  religion  and  learning  ;  and  that  next  to  the 
illustrious  name  of  its  creator  Lanfranc,  was  that  of 
Anselm,  his  pupil  and  successor  at  Bee.  There  can 
be  little  doubt,  either,  that  when  Lanfranc  died,  the 


170  ANSELM,  [chap. 

thoughts  of  all  who  looked  upon  him  as  the  great 
ecclesiastical  leader  of  his  day  turned  to  Anselm,  as 
the  man  to  carry  on  his  work.  Anselm  was  known 
in  England  as  well  as  in  Normandy ;  known  as  Lan- 
franc's  friend  ;  known  in  the  cloister  of  Canterbury  as 
the  sharer  of  his  counsels  ;  known  at  the  Conqueror's 
court ;  known  as  even  more  full  of  sympathy  for  the 
native  English  than  even  Lanfranc  himself.  Every- 
thing pointed  him  out  as  the  fittest  man  that  Nor- 
mandy could  furnish  to  take  the  great  place  which 
Lanfranc  had  left  vacant.  He  would  probably  have 
been  the  Conqueror's  choice  ;  and  by  all  who  desired, 
for  whatever  reason,  that  the  see  of  Canterbury 
should  be  filled  in  a  way  suitable  to  its  eminence  and 
importance,  he  was  marked  at  once  as  the  person 
whom  it  would  most  become  the  Conqueror's  son  to 
choose. 

But  for  such  appointments,  which  had  been  a  matter 
of  great  consequence  with  his  father,  William  the  Red 
had  little  care.  Lanfranc  was  gone,  and  Ralph  Flam- 
bard  was  the  king's  new  counsellor ;  and  even  that  age 
of  violence  was  shocked  when,  instead  of  naming  an 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  the  King  of  England  seized 
the  possessions  of  the  see,  and  that  he  might  rack  its 
revenues,  refused  to  fill  it  up.  For  nearly  four  years 
this  lasted ;  and  the  patience  with  which  the  scandal 
was  endured, — keenly  felt  as  it  was  even  by  the  rough 
barons  of  William's  court, — is  the  measure  of  what  a 
bold  bad  king  could  do,  who  knew  how  to  use  his 
power.  A  contemporary  picture  of  the  actual  state  of 
things  in  a  case  like  this  is  valuable.  Eadmer  was  a 
monk  at  Canterbury,  and  describes  what  passed  before 
his  eyes.     "  The  king,"  he  says,  "  seized  the  Church  at 


viil]  ARCHBISHOP  OF  CANTERBURY.  171 

Canterbury,  the  mother  of  all  England,  Scotland, 
and  Ireland,  and  the  neighbouring  isles ;  all  that 
belonged  to  it,  within  and  without,  he  caused  to  be 
inventoried  by  his  officers  ;  and  after  fixing  an  allow- 
ance for  the  support  of  the  monks,  who  there  served 
God,  he  ordered  the  remainder  to  be  set  at  a  rent  and 
brought  into  his  domain.  So  he  put  up  the  Church  of 
Christ  to  sale  ;  giving  the  power  of  lordship  over  it  to 
any  one  who,  with  whatever  damage  to  it,  would  bid  the 
highest  price.  Every  year,  in  wretched  succession,  a 
new  rent  was  set ;  for  the  king  would  allow  no  bargain  to 
remain  settled,  but  whoever  promised  more  ousted  him 
who  was  paying  less  ;  unless  the  former  tenant,  giving 
up  his  original  bargain,  came  up  of  his  own  accord  to  the 
offer  of  the  later  bidder.  You  might  see,  besides,  every 
day,  the  most  abandoned  of  men  on  their  business 
of  collecting  money  for  the  king,  marching  about  the 
cloisters  of  the  monastery,  regardless  of  the  religious 
rule  of  God's  servants,  and  with  cruel  and  threatening 
looks,  giving  their  orders  on  all  sides;  uttering  menaces, 
lording  it  over  every  one,  and  showing  their  power  to 
the  utmost.  What  scandals  and  quarrels  and  irregu- 
larities arose  from  this  I  hate  to  remember.  The 
monks  of  the  church  were  some  of  them  dispersed  at 
the  approach  of  the  mischief,  and  sent  to  other  houses, 
and  those  who  remained  suffered  many  tribulations 
and  indignities.  What  shall  I  say  of  the  church 
tenants,  who  were  ground  down  by  such  wasting  and 
misery ;  so  that  I  might  doubt,  but  for  the  evils  which 
followed,  whether  with  bare  life  they  could  have  been 
more  cruelly  oppressed  ?  Nor  did  all  this  happen  only 
at  Canterbury.  The  same  savage  cruelty  raged  in  all 
her  daughter  churches  in  England  which,  when  bishop 


172  ANSELM,  [chap. 

or  abbot  died,  at  that  time  fell  into  widowhood.  And 
this  king,  too,  was  the  first  who  ordained  this  woful 
oppression  against  the  churches  of  God ;  he  had 
inherited  nothing  of  this  sort  from  his  father :  he  alone, 
when  the  churches  were  vacant,  kept  them  in  his 
own  hands.  And  thus  wherever  you  looked,  there  was 
wretchedness  before  your  eyes ;  and  this  distress 
lasted  for  nearly  five  years  over  the  Church  of  Canter- 
bury, always  increasing,  always,  as  time  went  on, 
growing  more  cruel  and  evil." 

The  feeling  of  the  time  was  against  fiscal  oppression 
carried  on  in  this  wholesale  way  against  the  Church. 
The  rough  and  unscrupulous  barons  had  a  kind  of 
respect  for  the  monks,  who  in  peace  lived  as  hard 
lives  as  soldiers  in  a  campaign,  and  seemed  so  much 
better  men  than  themselves  ;  and  though  in  passion  or 
quarrel  they  themselves  might  often  use  them  ill,  they 
looked  with  a  disapproving  eye  on  a  regular  system 
for  insulting  and  annoying  them,  and  for  enriching  the 
king  out  of  lands  which  benefactors  had  given  for 
the  benefit  of  their  souls,  and  in  hope  of  sharing  in 
the  blessings  of  perpetual  prayers.  And  in  the  case 
of  Canterbury  the  p-ride  was  touched  both  of  English- 
men and  of  Norman  barons.  For  Canterbury  was  a 
see  of  peculiar  and  unmatched  dignity  in  the  west, 
and  its  archbishop  was  a  much  greater  person  in 
court  and  realm  than  any  archbishop  of  Rouen  or 
Lyons.  He  was  a  spiritual  father  to  the  whole  king- 
dom ;  the  most  venerable  among  its  nobles,  the  repre- 
sentative and  spokesman  of  the  poor  and  the  humble  ; 
the  great  centre  of  sacred  and  divine  authority,  with- 
out whose  assent  and  anointing  the  king's  title  was 
not  complete,  and  who  was  the  witness  between  the 


Vlll.]  ARCHBISHOP  OF  CANTERBURY.  173 


king  and  his  people  of  the  king's  solemn  promises 
of  righteous  government,  of  mercy,  mildness,  and 
peace.  The  king's  council  was  imperfect  while  no 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury  was  there  to  be  his  ad- 
viser. The  honour  of  the  English  crown  and  realm 
suffered,  when  the  archbishopric  lay  vacant  year  after 
year,  in  the  hands  of  Ralph  Flambard  and  his  men  ; 
and  people  talked  among  themselves  that  the  place 
which  Lanfranc  had  filled  so  worthily,  there  was  now 
Lanfranc's  friend  to  fill. 

Whether  or  not  with  any  thought  of  this  kind, 
and  it  probably  was  so,  in  the  year  1092  Hugh  of 
Avranches,  Earl  of  Chester,  an  old  friend  of  Anselm's, 
invited  him  over  to  England  to  organize  a  house  in 
which  he  had  substituted  monks  for  seculars,  St. 
Werburg's  at  Chester.  Hugh  the  Wolf,  one  of  the 
Conqueror's  march  lords  on  the  Welsh  border,  is 
painted  for  us  with  much  vividness  in  one  of  the  rude 
but  vigorous  portraits  which  Orderic  liked  to  draw, 
— a  violent,  loose-living,  but  generous  barbarian, 
honouring  self-control  and  a  religious  life  in  others, 
though  he  had  little  of  it  himself;  living  for  eating 
and  drinking,  for  wild  and  wasteful  hunting,  by  which 
he  damaged  his  own  and  his  neighbours'  lands; 
for  murderous  war  against  the  troublesome  Welsh  ; 
for  free  indulgence,  without  much  reference  to  right 
or  wrong ;  very  open-handed  ;  so  fat  that  he  could 
hardly  stand  ;  very  fond  of  the  noise  and  riotous  com- 
pany of  a  great  following  of  retainers,  old  and  young, 
yet  keeping  about  him  also  a  simple-minded  religious 
chaplain,  whom  he  had  brought  with  him  from 
Avranches,  and  who  did  his  best,  undiscouraged, 
though  the  odds  were  much  against  him,  to  awaken 


174  ANSELM,  [chap 

a  sense  of  right  in  his  wild  flock,  and  to  prove  by  the 
example  of  military  saints  like  St.  Maurice  and  St. 
Sebastian,  that  soldiers  might  serve  God.  It  is  one 
of  the  puzzles  of  those  strange  days,  what  there 
could  have  been  in  common  between  Earl  Hugh  and 
Anselm  to  have  been  the  foundation  of  the  mutual 
regard  which  from  old  date  seems  to  have  been 
acknowledged  between  them.  Anselm,  however, 
declined  the  earl's  invitation.  It  was  already  whis- 
pered about,  that  if  he  went  to  England  he  would  be 
archbishop.  Such  a  change  was,  in  truth,  entirely 
against  his  own  inclination  and  habits  of  life,  and  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  against  accepting  it ;  but  he  would 
not  give  room  to  suspicions  by  seeming  to  put  him- 
self in  the  way  of  it.  Again  Earl  Hugh  sent  for  him  ; 
he  was  sick,  and  wanted  the  help  of  an  old  friend.  If 
the  fear  of  the  archbishopric  kept  Anselm  away,  "  I 
declare,"  he  said,  "on  my  faith,  that  in  the  reports 
which  are  flying  about  there  is  nothing  ;"  and  it  would 
ill  become  him  to  be  hindered  by  such  misgivings  from 
succouring  a  friend  in  necessity.  Again  Anselm 
refused,  and  again  Earl  Hugh  repeated  his  pressing 
message.  "No  peace  that  Anselm  could  have  in 
eternity,  would  save  him  from  regretting  for  ever  that 
he  had  refused  to  come  to  his  friend."  Anselm's  sen- 
sitive conscience  was  perplexed  ;  to  refuse  to  go  seemed 
like  putting  the  care  of  his  own  character  for  disinter- 
estedness above  the  wishes  and  perhaps  the  real  needs 
of  one  who  had  been  from  old  time  his  familiar  friend. 
So,  commending  his  intention  and  purpose  to  God,  he 
went  to  Boulogne  and  crossed  to  Dover.  Eadmer  adds, 
that  others  among  the  chief  men  of  England  who  had 
chosen  him  as  the  "comforter  and  physician"  of  their 


viii.]  ARCHBISHOP  OF  CANTERBURY.  175 

souls,  pressed  his  coming  over  ;  and  when  once  he  had 
come  over,  the  community  of  Bee,  which  possessed 
property  in  England  which  no  doubt  needed  look- 
ing after,  made  it  a  matter  of  command  to  their 
abbot  that  he  should  remain  till  he  had  put  their 
affairs  in  order.  He  came  to  Canterbury,  meaning 
to  remain  there  the  next  day,  which  was  a  festival ; 
but  he  was  met  with  cries  of  welcome,  as  the  future 
archbishop,  and  he  hurried  away  at  once.  At  the 
court,  which  he  passed  on  his  way  to  Chester,  he 
was  received  with  great  honour  even  by  the  king. 
There  he  and  the  Red  King  had  their  first  experience 
of  one  another.  At  a  private  interview  Anselm, 
instead  of  entering,  as  the  king  expected,  on  the 
affairs  of  the  monastery,  laid  before  him,  in  the 
unceremonious  fashion  of  those  times,  the  complaints 
and  charges  which  were  in  every  one's  mouth  against 
his  government.  "Openly  or  secretly,  things  were 
daily  said  of  him  by  nearly  all  the  men  of  his  realm 
which  were  not  seemly  for  the  king's  dignity."  It  is 
not  said  how  William  received  the  appeal,  and  they 
parted.  Anselm  went  to  Chester,  and  found  Earl 
Hugh  recovered.  But  the  affairs  of  Bee,  and  the 
ordering  of  the  Chester  monastery,  had  still  to  be 
arranged ;  and  Anselm  was  kept  on  nearly  five 
months  in  England.  The  talk  about  the  arch- 
bishopric dropped,  and  he  ceased  to  think  about  it. 
But  when  he  wished  to  return  to  Normandy,  the  king 
refused  to  give  him  the  necessary  leave  to  go  out  of 
the  realm. 

Why  William  detained  him  is  one  of  the  unex- 
plained points  in  Eadmer's  otherwise  clear  and 
distinct  narrative.     It  seems  as  if  William  felt  that  if 


176  ANSELM,  [chap. 

there  was  to  be  an  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  he,  like 
the  rest  of  the  world,  would  rather  have  Anselm  than 
anyone   else ;   but   that  he   saw    no   reason   for   the 
present  to  make  up  his  mind  to  surrender  so  con- 
venient  a   possession   as   the   archbishop's   heritage. 
So  he  kept  Anselm  in  England,  on  the  chance  of  his 
being  necessary.     The  nobles  and  bishops  who  had 
perhaps  hoped  that  Anselm's  being  on  the  spot  might 
bring  matters  to  a  point,  and  were  disappointed  at 
the   king's   showing   no  signs  of  relenting,   had    re- 
course, in  their  despair  of  any  direct  influence,  to  a 
device  which,  even  to  Eadmer,  seemed  a  most  extra- 
ordinary one,  and  treated  their  fierce  king  as  if  he 
were  an  impracticable  child  who  could  only  be  worked 
upon  by  roundabout  means.     By  one  of  the  quaintest 
of  all  the  quaint  and  original  mixtures  of  simplicity 
and  craft  of  which  the  Middle  Ages  are  full,  it  was  pro- 
posed at  the  meeting  of  the  court  at  Gloucester  at 
Christmas  1092,  that  the  king  should  be  asked  by  his 
barons  and  bishops,  who  were  troubled  and  distressed 
at  the  vacancy  of  Canterbury,  to  allow  prayers  to  be 
said  in  all  the  churches  of  the  realm  that  God  would 
put  it  into  the  king's  heart  to  raise  up  the  widowed  see 
from  its  scandalous   and    unprecedented   desolation. 
He   was   "somewhat    indignant"   at   the   suggestion 
when  it  was  first  laid  before  him,  but  he  assented  to 
it ;    adding,   as   his   view  of  the   matter,    "  that   the 
Church  might  ask  what  it  liked,  but  he  should  not 
give  up  doing  what  he  chose."     The  bishops  took 
him  at  his  word,  and  the  person  to  whom  they  applied 
to   draw  up  the   form  of  prayer  was   Anselm.      He 
objected   to   do,   as   a    mere    abbot,   what    properly 
belonged   to   bishops    to   do.      But    they   persisted : 


viil]  ARCHBISHOP  OF  CANTERBURY.  177 

prayers  were  accordingly  ordered  throughout  all  the 
churches  of  England,  and  the  court  broke  up.  When 
the  king's  temper  was  sounded,  he  was  as  obstinate 
as  ever.  One  of  his  chief  men  in  familiar  talk  spoke 
of  the  Abbot  of  Bee  as  the  holiest  man  he  had  ever 
known ;  "  he  loved  God  only,  and,  as  was  plain  in  all 
his  ways,  desired  nothing  transitory."  "  Not  even  the 
archbishopric  ?"  rejoined  William  with  his  character- 
istic scoff.  The  other  maintained  his  opinion,  and 
said  that  there  were  many  who  thought  the  same. 
"If  he  thought  that  he  had  but  the  least  chance  of 
it,"  said  the  king,  "  would  he  not  dance  and  clap  his 
hands  as  he  rushed  to  embrace  it  ?  But,"  he  added, 
"by  the  Holy  Face  of  Lucca,"  (his  usual  oath,) 
"neither  he  nor  any  one  else  at  this  time  shall  be 
"archbishop  except  myself." 

The  king  was  still  at  Gloucester,  when,  in  the 
beginning  of  1093,  he  was  seized  with  a  dangerous 
illness.  The  times  were  so  unsettled,  that  the  anxiety 
caused  by  it  brought  back  the  bishops  and  great  men 
who  had  just  dispersed.  William  thought  himself 
dying,  and  he  looked  back  and  looked  forward  with 
the  feelings  so  common  in  those  days,  when  men 
were  reckless  in  health  and  helpless  in  the  hour  of 
need.  The  victims  of  his  rapacity  and  injustice,  the 
prisoners  in  his  dungeons,  the  crown  debtors  ground 
down  and  ruined  by  fiscal  extortion,  the  churches 
which  he  had  plundered  and  sold,  and  kept  without 
pastors,  all  rose  up  before  his  mind :  above  all,  the 
flagrant  and  monstrous  wrong  to  the  nation  as 
well  as  to  religion,  of  the  greatest  see  of  the  realm, 
treated  with  prolonged  and  obstinate  indignity  and 
left   unfilled.      His   barons   as    well   as    his   bishops 

S.L.  x.  N 


178  AN S ELM,  [chap. 

spoke  their  minds  plainly,  and  pressed  for  reparation 
and  amendment.  And  now,  as  was  natural,  the 
influence  of  a  spiritual  counsellor  like  Anselm  was 
at  once  thought  of.  In  those  times,  sick  men  thought 
nothing  of  sending  across  the  sea  for  a  comforter 
whose  knowledge  and  goodness  they  trusted,  to  aid 
and  advise  them  in  their  ignorance  and  terror  :  and 
Anselm  had  the  greatest  name  of  all  of  his  time 
for  that  knowledge  which  heals  the  soul.  He  was 
staying,  ignorant  of  the  king's  illness,  somewhere 
not  far  from  Gloucester,  when  he  was  summoned 
in  all  haste  to  attend  upon  the  dying  man.  He 
came  ;  "  he  goes  into  the  king,"  as  Eadmer  tells  the 
story ;  "  he  is  asked  what  advice  he  thinks  most 
wholesome  for  the  soul  of  the  dying.  He  first  begs 
to  be  told  what  had  been  counselled  to  the  sick 
man  by  his  attendants.  He  hears,  approves,  and 
adds — 'It  is  written,  Begin  to  the  Lord  in  confession, 
and  so  it  seems  to  me  that  first  he  should  make  a 
clean  confession  of  all  that  he  knows  that  he  has 
done  against  God,  and  should  promise  that,  if  he 
recovers,  he  will  without  pretence  amend  all  ;  and 
then  that  without  delay  he  should  give  orders  for  all 
to  be  done  which  you  have  recommended.'  The  pur- 
port of  this  advice  is  approved,  and  the  charge 
assigned  him  of  receiving  this  confession.  The 
king  is  informed  of  what  Anselm  had  said  to  be 
most  expedient  for  his  soul's  health.  He  at  once 
agrees,  and  with  sorrow  of  heart  engages  to  do  all 
that  Anselm's  judgment  requires,  and  all  his  life 
long  to  keep  more  fully  justice  and  mercifulness. 
He  pledges  to  this  his  faith,  and  he  makes  his  bishops 
witnesses  between  himself  and  God,  sending  persons 


viil]  ARCHBISHOP  OF  CANTERBURY.  179 

to  promise  this  his  word  to  God  on  the  altar  in  his 
stead.  An  edict  is  written,  and  sealed  with  the 
king's  seal,  that  all  prisoners  whatsoever  should  be 
set  free  in  all  his  dominion ;  all  debts  irrevocably 
forgiven  ;  all  offences,  heretofore  committed,  be  par- 
doned and  forgotten  for  ever.  Further,  there  are 
promised  to  all  the  people  good  and  holy  laws,  the 
inviolable  upholding  of  right,  and  such  a  serious  in- 
quiry into  wrong-doing  as  may  deter  others."  "  The 
king,"  says  Florence,  with  the  Peterborough  Chronicle, 
"when  he  thought  himself  soon  to  die,  promised  to 
God,  as  his  barons  recommended  to  him,  to  correct 
his  life,  to  sell  no  more  churches,  nor  put  them  out 
to  farm,  but  to  defend  them  by  his  kingly  power, 
to  take  away  unrighteous  laws,  and  to  establish 
righteous  ones." 

There  was  one  more  matter  to  be  settled :  the 
king,  who  believed  himself  and  was  believed  by 
others  to  be  dying,  was  dying  with  the  vacant  arch- 
bishopric in  his  possession  and  on  his  conscience. 
There  could  be  no  question  now  'with  him  about 
getting  free  from  the  perilous  load.  But  who  was 
to  be  archbishop?  All  waited  for  the  king  to 
name  him.  He  named  Anselm.  Anselm,  he  said, 
was  most  worthy  of  it. 

And  now  followed  a  scene,  which  we  read  with 
different  feelings,  according  as  we  are  able  to  believe 
that  a  great  post  like  the  archbishopric  may  have 
had  irresistible  terrors,  overwhelming  all  its  attractions 
or  temptations,  to  a  religious  mind  and  conscience 
in  the  eleventh  century.  If  Anselm's  reluctance 
was  not  deep  and  genuine,  the  whole  thing  was  the 
grossest   of   comedies ;    if   his   reluctance   was   real, 

N  2 


180  ANSELM,  [chap.. 

the  scene  is  one  of  a  thousand  examples  of  the  way 
in  which  the  most  natural  and  touching  feelings  may 
be  expressed  in  shapes,  which  by  the  changes  of 
times  and  habits  come  to  seem  most  grotesque  and 
unintelligible.  But  if  it  was  a  comedy,  or  even  if  he 
did  not  know  his  own  mind,  then  the  whole  view 
which  was  taken  of  Anselm  in  his  own  time  was  mis- 
taken, and  the  conception  of  his  character  on  which 
the  present  account  is  written,  is  fundamentally 
wrong.  His  writings,  the  picture  of  the  man  shown 
in  his  letters,  and  the  opinion  of  those  who  knew  him 
by  reputation  and  of  those  who  knew  him  best  and 
wrote  of  him,  have  conspired  to  lead  us  wrong. 

When  the  king's  choice  was  announced  to  Anselm, 
he  trembled  and  turned  pale.  The  bishops  came  to 
bring  him  to  the  king,  to  receive  the  investiture  of 
the  archbishopric  in  the  customary  way,  by  the 
delivery  of  a  pastoral  staff.  Anselm  absolutely  re- 
fused to  go.  Then  the  bishops  took  him  aside  from 
the  bystanders,  and  expostulated  with  him.  "What 
did  he  mean  ?  How  could  he  strive  against  God  ? 
He  saw  Christianity  almost  destroyed  in  England,  all 
kinds  of  wickedness  rampant,  the  churches  of  God 
nigh  dead  by  this  man's  tyranny ;  and  when  he  could 
help,  he  scorned  to  do  so.  Most  wonderful  of  men, 
what  was  he  thinking  about !  Where  were  his  wits 
gone  to  ?  He  was  preferring  his  own  ease  and  quiet 
to  the  call  which  had  come  to  him  to  raise  up  Can- 
terbury from  its  oppression  and  bondage,  and  to 
share  in  the  labours  of  his  brethren."  He  insisted, 
"  Bear  with  me,  I  pray  you,  bear  with  me,  and  attend 
to  the  matter.  I  know  that  the  tribulations  are 
great.     But  consider,  I  am  old  and  unfit  for  work  : 


vili.]  ARCHBISHOP  OF  CANTERBURY.  181 

how  can  I  bear  the  charge  of  all  this  Church  ?  I 
am  a  monk,  and  I  can  honestly  say,  I  have  shunned 
all  worldly  business.  Do  not  entangle  me  in  what 
I  have  never  loved,  and  am  not  fit  for."  But  they 
put  aside  his  plea.  Only  let  him  go  forward  boldly 
and  be  their  guide  and  leader,  and  they  would  take 
care  of  the  temporal  part  of  his  work.  No,  he  said, 
it  could  not  be.  There  was  his  foreign  allegiance, 
his  foreign  obedience  to  his  archbishop,  his  ties  to 
his  monastery,  which  could  not  be  dissolved  without 
the  will  of  his  brethren.  These  matters,  they  an- 
swered naturally  enough,  could  easily  be  arranged  ; 
but  he  still  refused.  "  It  is  no  use,"  he  said  ;  "  what 
you  purpose  shall  not  be."  At  last  they  dragged 
him  by  main  force  to  the  sick  king's  room  :  William, 
in  his  anguish  and  fear,  was  deeply  anxious  about  the 
matter,  and  entreated  him  with  tears,  by  the  memory  of 
his  father  and  mother,  who  had  been  Anselm's  friends, 
to  deliver  their  son  from  the  deadly  peril  in  which 
he  stood.  The  sick  man's  distress  moved  some  of 
the  bystanders,  and  they  turned  with  angry  remon- 
strances on  Anselm.  "  What  senseless  folly  this  was ! 
The  king  could  not  bear  this  agitation.  Anselm 
was  embittering  his  dying  hours  ;  and  on  him  would 
rest  the  responsibility  of  all  the  mischiefs  that  would 
follow,  if  he  would  not  do  his  part  by  accepting  the 
pastoral  charge."  Anselm  in  his  trouble  appealed 
for  encouragement  to  two  of  his  monks,  Baldwin  and 
Eustace,  who  were  with  him.  "  Ah,  my  brethren,  why 
do  not  you  help  me  ? "  "  Might  it  have  been  the 
will  of  God,"  he  used  to  say,  speaking  of  those 
moments,  "  I  would,  if  I  had  the  choice,  gladly  have 
died,  rather  than  been  raised  to  the  archbishopric." 


[CHAP. 

Baldwin  could  only  speak  of  submitting  to  the  will 
of  God  ;  and  burst,  says  Eadmer,  into  a  passion  of 
.tears,  blood  gushing  from  his  nostrils.  "Alas!  your 
staff  is  soon  broken,"  said  Anselm.  Then  the  king 
bade  them  all  fall  at  Anselm's  feet  to  implore  his  assent ; 
he,  in  his  turn,  fell  down  before  them,  still  holding 
to  his  refusal.  Finally,  they  lost  patience  ;  they  were 
angry  with  him,  and  with  themselves  for  their  own 
irresolution.  The  cry  arose,  "A  pastoral  staff!  a 
pastoral  staff!"  They  dragged  him  to  the  king's 
bed-side,  and  held  out  his  right  arm  to  receive  the 
staff.  But  when  the  king  presented  it,  Anselm 
kept  his  hand  firmly  clenched  and  would  not  take 
it.  They  tried  by  main  force  to  wrench  it  open  ; 
and  when  he  cried  out  with  the  pain  of  their  violence, 
they  at  last  held  the  staff  closely  pressed  against 
his  still  closed  hand.  Amid  the  shouts  of  the  crowd, 
"Long  live  the  Bishop"  with  the  Te  Denm  of  the 
bishops  and  clergy,  "he  was  carried,  rather  than  led, 
to  a  neighbouring  church,  still  crying  out,  It  is  nought 
that  ye  are  doing,  it  is  nought  that  ye  are  doing." 
He  himself  describes  the  scene  in  a  letter  to  his 
monks  at  Bee.  "  It  would  have  been  difficult  to 
make  out  whether  madmen  were  dragging  along  one 
in  his  senses,  or  sane  men  a  madman,  save  that 
they  were  chanting,  and  I,  pale  with  amazement  and 
pain,  looked  more  like  one  dead  than  alive."  From 
the  church  he  went  back  to  the  king :  "  I  tell  thee,  my 
lord  king,"  he  said,  "that  thou  shalt  not  die  of  this 
sickness  ;  and  hence  I  wish  you  to  know  how  easily 
you  may  alter  what  has  been  done  with  me  ;  for  I  have 
not  acknowledged  nor  do  I  acknowledge  its  validity." 
Then,  when  he   had    left    the    king's    chamber,    he 


viil]  ARCHBISHOP  OF  CANTERBURY.  183 

addressed  the  bishops  and  nobles  who  were  escort- 
ing him.  They  did  not  know,  he  said,  what  they 
had  been  doing.  They  had  yoked  together  to  the 
plough  the  untameable  bull  with  the  old  and  feeble 
sheep  ;  and  no  good  could  come  of  the  union.  The 
plough  was  the  Church  of  God ;  and  the  plough  in 
England  was  drawn  by  two  strong  oxen,  the  king 
and  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury :  the  one,  by  his 
justice  and  power  in  things  of  this  world  ;  the  other, 
by  his  teaching  and  governance  in  things  divine. 
One,  Lanfranc,  was  dead  ;  and  in  his  room,  with  his 
fierce  companion,  they  had  joined  the  poor  sheep, 
which  in  its  own  place  might  furnish  milk  and  wool 
and  lambs  for  the  service  of  the  Lord,  but  now  could 
only  be  the  victim  of  violence  which  it  was  helpless 
to  prevent.  When  their  short  satisfaction  at  the 
relief  which  they  had  gained  had  passed,  they  would 
find  that  things  would  become  worse  than  ever.  He 
would  have  to  bear  the  brunt  of  the  king's  savage 
temper:  they  would  not  have  the  courage  to  stand 
by  him  against  the  king  ;  and  when  he  was  crushed, 
they  would  in  their  turn  find  themselves  under  the 
king's  feet.  Then  dismissing  them,  he  returned  to 
his  lodging.  He  was  almost  overcome  and  faint 
with  distress  ;  they  brought  him  holy  water  and  made 
him  drink  it.  This  happened  on  the  First  Sunday 
in  Lent,  March  6,  1093.  The  king  immediately 
ordered  that  he  should  be  invested  with  all  the 
temporalities  of  the  see,  as  Lanfranc  had  held  them. 

There  was  plainly  no  escape.  His  acceptance 
was  the  one  chance  open  for  better  things.  If  there 
was  to  be  an  archbishop,  it  must  be  Anselm.  On 
cooler  thoughts,  he  recognized  what  had  happened  as 


1 84  AN S  ELM,  [chap. 

the  will  of  God  ;  though,  as  he  said,  whether  in  mercy 
or  wrath,  he  could  not  tell :  and  he  bowed  to  it.    There 
were   still   many  steps  between  him  and    the  arch- 
bishopric.    The  consents  of  the  Duke  of  Normandy, 
of  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen,  and  of  the  monks  of 
Bee  were  necessary,  in  order  to  release  Anselm  from 
his   existing    obligations.      From  the  Duke  and  the 
Archbishop  the  requisite  consent  was  easily  obtained. 
The  monks  of  Bee  were  more  difficult.    It  is  a  curious 
feature  in  the  monastic  discipline,  that  while  the  abbot 
was  supreme  over  the  monastery,  the  monastery  as  a 
body  had  the  right  to    command  the    abbot   on  his 
obedience  to  bow  to  their  claims  on  his  service.     At 
Bee,  they  were  disposed  to  insist  on  this  right.     They 
did  not  like  to  lose  their  famous  abbot.     Some  were 
deeply    attached    to    him.      There   were   some   who 
whispered    complaints    of    his    ambition    and     self- 
seeking.      They   refused    at    first    to   set  him    free. 
At  the  solemn  chapter  held  to  decide  on  the  matter, 
there   was   an   obstinate   minority   which   refused   to 
concur   in   relieving    him    from    his    duties    to    Bee. 
Their    discontent   was    shared    by     others.       Duke 
Robert   spoke   disrespectfully   of  Anselm's    motives. 
Gilbert,  Bishop  of  Evreux,  the  diocese  in  which  Bee 
was  situated,  who  had  given  to  Anselm  the  consecra- 
tion  of   abbot,    expressed   himself   unfavourably   to 
Anselm's   honesty   in   taking   the   archbishopric.     It 
is  plain  that,  as    was    natural    enough,  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  talk  in  Normandy  and  the   neighbour- 
hood about  the  motives  which  had   drawn  away  the 
Abbot  of  Bee  to  England. 

Anselm   was   in   the    position,    always    a    difficult 
one  to  act  in,  and  for  others  to  judge  about,  of  a  man 


viil]  ARCHBISHOP  OF  CANTERBURY.  185 

long  marked  out  for  high  and  difficult  office,  who  has 
at  first  violently  shrunk  from  the  appointment  which 
seemed  almost  called  for,  and  has  then  made  up  his 
mind  to  take  it.  There  is  indecision  in  such  a  situa- 
tion ;  and  he  has  to  bear  the  consequences.  He  can 
but  throw  himself  on  his  character,  on  the  imperious 
necessities  of  the  call,  on  the  equitable  interpretation  of 
circumstances.  There  certainly  was  a  cause.  "  If  you 
knew,"  he  writes  to  the  monks  at  Bee,  "what  mischief 
the  continuance  of  this  long  vacancy  (of  Canterbury) 
has  done  both  to  souls  and  bodies,  and  how  hateful  it 
is,  and  they,  too,  by  whom  it  is  caused,  to  all  the  better 
and  wiser  sort,  yes,  and  to  the  English  people,  I  think 
if  you  had  the  feelings  of  men  you  too  would  detest 
its  prolongation."  "  There  are  some,  I  hear,"  he  says  in 
another  letter, —  "  who  they  are  God  knows, —  who 
either  spitefully  fancy,  or  through  misunderstanding 
suspect,  or  are  stung  by  unruly  vexation  to  say,  that  I 
am  rather  drawn  to  the  archbishopric  by  corrupt  am- 
bition, than  forced  to  it  by  a  religious  necessity.  I  know 
not  what  I  can  say  to  persuade  them  of  what  is  in  my 
conscience,  if  my  past  life  and  conversation  do  not 
satisfy  them.  I  have  lived  for  thirty-three  years  in 
the  monastic  habit :  three  without  office,  fifteen  as 
prior,  as  many  as  abbot ;  and  those  who  have  known 
me  have  loved  me,  not  from  care  of  my  own  about  it, 
but  by  God's  mercy ;  and  those  the  more,  who  knew 
me  the  most  intimately  and  familiarly;  and  no  one 
saw  in  me  anything  from  which  he  could  gather  that  I 
took  delight  in  promotion.  What  shall  I  do  then  ?  How 
shall  I  drive  away  and  quench  this  false  and  hateful 
suspicion,  that  it  may  not  hurt  the  souls  of  those  who 
once  loved  me  for  God's  sake,  by  chilling  their  charity  ; 


1 86  ANSELM,  [chap 

or  of  those  to  whom  my  advice  or  example,  be  it  worth 
what  it  may,  might  be  of  use,  by  making  them  think 
me  worse  than  I  really  am ;  or  of  those  who  do  not 
know  me  and  hear  this,  by  setting  before  them  an  evil 

example Thou  God    seest   me  ;    be   thou    my 

witness,  that  I  know  not,  as  my  conscience  tells  me, 
why  the  love  of  anything,  which  thy  servant  as  a 
despiser  of  the  world  ought  to  despise,  should  drag 
and  bind  me  to  the  archbishopric  to  which  I  am 
suddenly  hurried."  "  Here,"  he  proceeds,  "  is  my 
conscience,  about  my  wish  for  the  archbishopric  or 
my  dislike  to  it.  If  I  deliberately  lie  to  God,  I  don't 
know  to  whom  I  can  speak  the  truth."  He  goes 
on,  after  warning  those  who  were  busy  in  fostering 
suspicion,  "  whether  many  or  one,"  to  notice  some  of 
the  forms  in  which  the  claim  of  the  monastery  to  keep 
him  was  put.  u  Some  of  you  say  that  I  might  have 
reasonably  held  out  against  the  election  ;  they  say, 
'  When  he  was  compelled  to  be  an  abbot,  he  delivered 
himself  as  a  servant  to  us  in  the  name  of  the  Lord! 
.  .  .  But  what  did  I  give  you  in  l  the  name  of  the  Lord?' 
Surely  this  :  that  I  would  not  of  my  own  will  with- 
draw myself  from  your  service,  nor  seek  to  withdraw 
myself,  except  under  the  obligation  of  that  order 
and  obedience  of  which  I  was  before,  according  to 
God's  will,  the  servant.'  He  ought,  they  said,  to 
have  put  forward  this  previous  surrender  of  himself 
to  Bee  as  a  bar  to  any  other  office.  He  had  been  given 
to  the  brethren  at  Bee,  "  according  to  God ; "  and 
after  the  analogy  of  marriage,  no  one  ought  to  take 
away  him  whom  God  had  given.  They  reminded  him 
that  he  had  been  used  to  say,  that  he  desired  not  to 
live  except  for  them  ;  that  he  never  would  have  any 


viii.]  ARCHBISHOP  OF  CANTERBURY.  187 

other  government  except  that  of  Bee.  The  answer 
is  that  God's  will  has  overruled  it  all.  "  I  trusted  to 
my  strength  and  wit  to  keep  myself  where  I  wished 
to  be ;  God  has  been  stronger  and  craftier  than  I, 
and  my  confidence  has  come  to  nothing."  The 
reluctance  of  the  monks  to  part  with  him,  notwith- 
standing the  shapes  which  it  took,  and  the  irritation 
which  the  change  created,  are  remarkable  proofs  of 
what  Anselm  had  been  at  Bee.  "  Many  of  you,"  he 
writes,  "  nearly  all,  came  to  Bee  because  of  me  ;  but 
none  of  you  became  a  monk  because  of  me :  it 
was  for  no  hope  of  recompense  from  me  that  you 
vowed  yourselves  to  God  ;  from  Him  to  whom  you 
gave  all  you  had,  from  Him  look  for  all  you  want. 
Cast  all  your  burden  upon  Him  and  He  will  nourish 
you.  For  myself  I  pray  that  you  will  not  love  me 
less,  because  God  does  His  will  with  me ;  that  I  may 
not  lose  my  reward  with  you,  if  I  have  ever  wished  to 
do  your  will,  because  now  I  dare  not  and  ought  not 
and  cannot  resist  the  will  of  God,  nor  up  to  this  time 
see  how  I  can  withdraw  myself  from  the  Church  of 
the  English,  except  by  resisting  God.  Show  that  you 
have  loved  me,  not  only  for  yourselves,  but  for  God's 
sake  and  my  own." 

All  these  difficulties  caused  delay.  The  king 
meanwhile  got  well,  and  with  health  came  regrets  for 
the  engagements  made  on  his  sick-bed.  Eadmer  says 
that  his  public  promises  were  without  scruple  broken. 
The  amnesty  to  prisoners  was  recalled  ;  the  cancelled 
debts  were  again  exacted  ;  the  suits  and  claims  of  the 
crown,  which  had  been  abandoned,  were  revived. 
"Then  arose  such  misery  and  suffering  through  the 
whole    realm,    that    whoever    remembers    it    cannot 


ANSELM,  [chap. 


remember  to  have  seen  anything  like  it  in  England. 
All  the  evil  which  the  king  had  done  before  he  was 
sick  seemed  good  in  comparison  with  the  evils  which 
he  did  when  restored  to  health."  He  seemed  to  look 
back  on  his  illness  with  fierce  bitterness.  Gundulf, 
Bishop  of  Rochester,  an  old  pupil  and  friend  of 
Anselm's  at  Bee,  and  the  king's  chief  architect,  remon- 
strated. "Be  assured,  Bishop,"  was  the  answer,  per- 
haps in  half-jest  to  people  who  understood  no  jesting  on 
such  matters,  "  that,  by  the  Holy  Face  of  Lucca,  God 
shall  never  have  me  good  for  the  ill  that  He  has  brought 
on  me."  But  he  had  shown  no  wish  to  revoke  Anselm's 
appointment.  Anselm  received  the  formal  consent 
to  his  election  from  Normandy  before  it  reached 
the  king.  Anselm,  however,  was  not  yet  bound.  At 
Rochester,  where  he  met  William  in  the  course  of  the 
summer,  he  set  before  the  king  three  conditions  on 
which  only  he  would  accept  the  archbishopric.  All 
the  possessions  of  the  see,  as  Lanfranc  had  held 
them,  must  be  granted  to  him  without  trouble  ;  and 
if  the  see  had  claims  for  lands  which  had  been  taken 
from  it,  the  king  must  do  him  right.  Then,  in  things 
pertaining  to  God  and  Christian  religion,  the  king 
must  give  special  weight  to  his  counsel ;  and  as  he 
took  the  king  for  his  earthly  lord  and  defender,  so 
the  king  must  have  him  for  his  spiritual  father  and 
ghostly  adviser.  Lastly,  he  reminded  the  king  that 
in  the  quarrel  that  was  going  on  between  the  rival 
Popes,  Urban  and  the  Anti-Pope  Clement,  who  was 
recognized  by  the  Emperor,  he,  with  the  rest  of  the 
Norman  Church,  had  acknowledged  Urban,  and  that 
from  this  allegiance  he  could  not  swerve.  The  caution 
was   necessary,   because   England   as   yet   had   been 


viii.]  ARCHBISHOP  OF  CANTERBURY.  189 

neutral,  and  had  acknowledged  neither.  Let  the 
king,  he  said,  declare  his  mind  on  these  points,  that 
I  may  know  what  my  course  is  to  be.  The  king 
summoned  two  of  his  advisers,  William  de  St. 
Carileph  Bishop  of  Durham,  and  Robert  Count  of 
Meulan,  or,  as  it  was  then  written,  Mellent,  and  asked 
Anselm  to  repeat  his  words.  He  did  so  ;  and  the 
king  by  his  council  answered,  that  as  to  the  see 
property,  Anselm  should  have  all  that  Lanfranc  had, 
but  that  about  any  further  claim  he  would  make  no 
promise.  And  as  to  this  and  other  points  he  would 
trust  Anselm  as  he  should  find  that  he  ought.  A  few 
days  after  he  also  received  from  Normandy  the  letters 
releasing  Anselm.  He  summoned  Anselm  to  Wind- 
sor, where  the  court  was  staying,  and  invited  him  to 
acquiesce  in  the  choice  made  by  himself  and  the 
whole  realm ;  but  he  went  on  to  beg  of  Anselm,  as 
a  personal  favour  to  himself,  that  he  would  agree  that 
the  grants  of  Church  lands  made  by  the  king  since 
Lanfranc's  death  to  military  vassals  of  the  Crown,  on 
tenure  of  service  to  himself,  should  stand.  This  meant 
that  these  lands  were  to  be  withdrawn  for  good 
from  the  see.  To  this  Anselm  would  not  agree.  He 
would  not  bargain  to  spoil  a  church  office  which  was 
not  even  yet  his.  His  view,  repeated  more  than  once 
in  his  letters,  was  clear  and  simple.  It  was  a  time 
when  reckless  giving  was  followed  by  unscrupulous 
encroachment ;  and  his  successor,  he  foresaw,  would 
have  just  as  much  as,  and  no  more  than,  he  himself 
should  have  on  the  day  when  he  died.  If  other  people 
robbed  Church  lands,  or  connived  at  the  robbery,  the 
wrong  might  be  repaired.  "  But  now  as  the  king  is 
the  advocate  of  the  Church,  and  the  Archbishop  the 


190  Ah  S ELM,  [chap. 

trustee,  the  answer  hereafter  will  be,  to  any  claim  of 
restitution,  that  what  the  king  has  done,  and  the 
archbishop  confirmed  by  allowing,  must  hold  good." 
The  king  was  so  irritated  by  this  refusal  that  the 
whole  matter  was  suspended.  Anselm,  says  Eadmer, 
began  to  hope  that  he  should  escape  the  burden.  "  I 
said  and  did  for  six  months,"  he  says  to  his  friend 
the  Archbishop  of  Lyons,  "all  that  I  could  without 
sin  that  I  might  be  let  off."  But  the  complaints  of 
the  ruin  of  the  Church  began  again,  and  were,  after 
what  had  passed,  too  much  for  the  king.  The  monks 
of  Canterbury  assailed  Anselm  with  eager  and  angry 
appeals.  At  last  he  consented.  At  Winchester  he 
was,  "  according  to  the  custom  of  the  land,  made 
the  king's  man,  and  ordered  to  be  seised  of  the 
whole  archbishopric  as  Lanfranc  had  been."  On  the 
5th  of  September  he  came  to  Canterbury,  and  was 
enthroned.  On  the  very  day  of  the  solemnity  Ralph 
Flambard  appeared  there,  with  his  airs  of  insolence 
and  his  harshness,  to  disturb  the  festivities  by  a  suit 
in  the  king's  name  against  some  of  the  archbishop's 
tenants.  The  people's  minds  were  deeply  wounded  at 
the  insult ;  that  "  a  man  like  Anselm  should  not  be 
allowed  to  pass  the  first  day  of  his  dignity  in  peace." 
He  himself  took  it  as  a  presage  of  what  awaited  him. 
On  the  4th  of  December,  1093,  he  was  consecrated 
by  the  Archbishop  of  York,  in  the  presence  of  nearly 
all  the  English  bishops.  According  to  the  old  ritual, 
the  Book  of  the  Gospels,  opened  at  random,  was  laid 
on  the  shoulders  of  the  newly  consecrated  prelate, 
and  the  passage  at  which  it  opened  was  taken  as  a 
sort  of  omen  of  his  episcopate.  The  passage  which 
turned  up  was,  "  He  bade  many,  and  sent  his  servant 


viii.]  ARCHBISHOP  OF  CANTERBURY.  191 

at  supper-time  to  say  to  them  that  were  bidden, 
Come ;  for  all  things  are  now  ready.  And  they  all 
with  one  consent  began  to  make  excuse." 

His  first  intercourse  with  the  king  was  friendly ; 
but  it  was  soon  clouded.     William  was  in  the  midst 
of  his  projects  against  his  brother  Robert,  and  money 
was  his  great  want.     Among  others  who  offered  their 
presents,  Anselm,  urged  by  his  friends,  brought  500 
marks.      The   king   at   first    received   it   graciously. 
But  the  men  round  him  represented  to  him  that  he 
might  reasonably  expect  a  much  greater  sum  from 
one  to  whom  he  had  done  such  honour.     Accordingly, 
as  his  practice  was  when  he  was  dissatisfied  with  a 
present,  Anselm's  500  marks  were  refused.     He  went 
to   the   king   and   expostulated.      "  It   was    his   first 
present,  but  not  his  last ;   and  a  free  gift  was  better 
than  a  forced  and  servile  contribution."     His  words 
implied  a  reproof  to  the  king's  system  of  extortion  ; 
and  William  answered  angrily,  that  he  wanted  neither 
his  money  nor  his   scolding,  and  bade  him  begone. 
Anselm  thought,  says  Eadmer,  of  the  words  of  the 
Gospel  which  had  been  read  on  the  day  when  he  first 
entered    his    cathedral — "  No    man    can    serve    two 
masters."     But  the   refusal  was  a  relief.     A  sum  of 
money  in  the  shape  of  a  free  gift,  after  a  man  was 
consecrated,  was  one  of  the  ways  in  which  church 
offices  were  sold  and  bought.    Implacable  opposition  to 
this  system  was  one  of  the  main  points  in  the  policy  of 
the  reforming  party  with  whom  Anselm  sympathised. 
He  congratulated  himself  that  he  was  saved  even  from 
the  appearance  of  a  corrupt   bargain   for  the  arch- 
bishopric.    He  was  urged  to  regain  the  king's  favour 
by  doubling  his  present,  but  he  refused  ;  he  gave  away 


192  ANSELM,  [chap. 

the  money  to  the  poor,  and  left  the  court  when  the 
Christmas  festival  was  over. 

He  soon  met  William  again.  With  the  rest  of  the 
great  men  of  England  he  was  summoned  in  February 
1094,  to  meet  the  king  at  Hastings,  where  he  was 
waiting  for  a  fair  wind  to  carry  him  over  to  Nor- 
mandy. The  bishops  were  to  give  their  blessing  to 
the  expedition,  and  to  help  the  king  by  their  prayers 
against  the  perils  of  the  sea.  There  was  a  long  delay 
from  contrary  winds,  and  Anselm  now  made  his 
appeal  to  the  king  for  help  in  the  work  which  the 
king  had  forced  upon  him.  The  points  on  which  he 
insisted  were  two.  He  wanted  some  check  to  the 
unbridled  licence  of  manners  to  which  the  contem- 
porary chronicles  bear  ample  and  detailed  evidence  ; 
and  he  wanted  important  religious  posts,  like  those 
of  the  abbots  of  the  monasteries,  to  be  filled  up.  The 
customary  remedy  for  disorders,  well  known  in  Eng- 
land as  in  Normandy,  was  a  council  of  bishops, 
meeting  with  the  king's  sanction,  whose  regulations 
were  to  be  backed  by  his  authority.  Anselm  asked 
for  such  a  council,  "  by  which  Christian  religion,  which 
had  well-nigh  perished  in  many  men,  might  be  restored," 
and  the  influence  of  its  teachers  revived  and  strength- 
ened. William  demurred.  He  would  call  a  council 
only  at  his  own  time — when  he  pleased,  not  when 
Anselm  pleased ;  and,  with  a  sneer,  he  asked  what 
the  council  was  to  be  about  ?  "  The  whole  land,"  said 
Anselm,  "unless  judgment  and  discipline  are  exer- 
cised in  earnest,  will  soon  be  a  Sodom."  William  was 
not  pleased,  and  answered  shortly,  "  What  good  would 
come  of  this  matter  for  you?"  "If  not  for  me,  at 
least,  I  hope,  for  God  and  for  you."     "  Enough,"  said 


vin.]  ARCHBISHOP  OF  CANTERBURY.  193 

the  king  ;  "talk  to  me  no  more  about  it."  Anselm  left 
the  subject,  and  spoke  of  the  vacant  abbeys,  repre- 
senting: the  ruin  caused  to  the  monks  themselves,  and 
the  great  danger  to  the  king's  soul,  of  leaving  all  this 
evil  unredressed.  William  could  no  longer  contain  his 
anger.  "  What  are  the  abbeys  to  you  ?  Are  they  not 
mine  ?  Go  to ;  you  do  what  you  like  with  your 
farms,  and  am  I  not  to  do  what  I  like  with  my 
abbeys?"  "  Yours,"  was  the  answer,  "to  protect  as 
their  advocate,  not  to  waste  and  destroy  and  use  for 
the  expense  of  your  wars."  The  king  expressed 
again  his  great  displeasure.  "  Your  predecessor,"  he 
said,  "would  not  have  dared  to  speak  thus  to  my 
father.    I  will  do  nothing  for  you."    And  they  parted. 

Anselm  thought  that  in  these  ungracious  answers 
the  old  anger  about  the  money  might  be  working ; 
and  he  resolved  to  send  a  message  by  the  bishops 
asking  for  the  king's  friendship.  "  If  he  will  not 
give  it  me,  let  him  say  why ;  if  I  have  offended,  I  am 
ready  to  make  amends."  "  No,"  the  king  answered, 
"  I  have  nothing  to  accuse  him  of;  but  I  will  not 
grant  him  my  favour,  because  I  do  not  hear  any  reason 
why  I  should."  The  bishops  brought  back  the  reply, 
and  Anselm  asked  what  he  meant  by  "  not  hearing 
why  he  should."  The  bishops  saw  no  difficulty  in 
understanding  him.  "  The  mystery,"  they  said,  "  is 
plain.  If  you  want  peace  with  him,  you  must  give 
him  money." — "  Give  him  the  five  hundred  pounds 
you  offered,"  was  their  advice,  "  and  promise  as  much 
more ;  and  he  will  give  you  back  his  friendship.  We 
see  no  other  way  of  getting  out  of  the  difficulty ;  and 
we  have  no  other  for  ourselves."  "  Far  be  it  from  me," 
said  Anselm,  "  to  take  this  way  out  of  it."     To  such  a 

s.l.  x.  O 


194     AN S ELM,  ARCHBISHOP  OF  CANTERBURY. 

precedent  for  extortion  he  could  never  lend  himself.. 
Besides,  his  tenants  had  been  racked  since  Lanfranc's 
death ;  and  was  he  "  to  strip  them  in  their  nakedness,, 
or  rather  flay  them  alive  ?"  It  was  unworthy  to  think 
of  buying  the  king's  favour,  as  he  would  a  horse  or  an 
ass,  for  money.  What  he  asked  was  to  have  as  arch- 
bishop his  love,  and  to  give  himself  and  all  he  had' 
to  his  king's  service.  His  business-like  brethren  re- 
marked, that  "at  any  rate  he  could  not  refuse  the 
five  hundred  marks  already  offered."  "  No,"  he  said, 
"  he  would  not  offer  what  had  been  rejected ;  and 
besides,  the  greater  part  of  it  was  gone  to  the  poor."' 
When  William  was  told  of  this,  he  sent  back  the 
following  answer : — "  Yesterday  I  hated  him  much, 
to-day  still  more  ;  to-morrow  and  ever  after  he  may 
be  sure  I  shall  hate  him  with  more  bitter  hatred.  As 
father  and  archbishop  I  will  never  hold  him  more ; 
his  blessings  and  prayers  I  utterly  abhor  and  refuse. 
Let  him  go  where  he  will,  and  not  wait  any  longer 
for  my  crossing  to  give  me  his  blessing."  "  Anselm 
departed  with  speed,"  says  Eadmer,  who  appears 
from  this  time  as  the  archbishop's  constant  com- 
panion, "  and  left  him  to  his  will."  William  crossed 
to  Normandy,  for  what  seemed  at  the  time  an 
inglorious  summer  war,  in  which  all  that  was  clear 
was  that  it  had  cost  him  vast  sums  of  money,  wrung 
from  the  English  people,  the  English  churches,  and 
the  English  monks.  Normandy  was  not  yet  his.  But 
it  was  soon  to  be,  and  his  was  money  not  spent  for 
nothine. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE   MEETING  AT   ROCKINGHAM. 


"  O  happy  in  their  souls'  high  solitude 
Who  commune  thus  with  God  and  not  with  earth  ! 
Amid  the  scoffings  of  the  wealth-enslaved 
A  ready  prey,  as  though  in  absent  mood 
They  calmly  move,  nor  hear  the  unmannered  mirth." 

Lyra  Apostolica,  xxiv. 

The  signs  of  the  approaching  storm  had  shown 
themselves.  William  had  found  that  the  new  arch- 
bishop was  not  a  man  to  be  frightened  by  rough 
words  into  compliance  with  arbitrary  and  unreason- 
able demands.  Anselm  had  found  what  he  had 
anticipated,  that  the  king,  once  more  in  health, 
with  his  political  objects  before  him  and  his  need  of 
money  pressing  him,  would  not  listen  to  remon- 
strances, nor  change  his  ways.  Naturally  enough, 
the  king  thought  he  had  made  a  great  mistake  in 
forcing  the  archbishopric  on  Anselm.  He  began  to 
think  how  he  could  force  it  from  him.  Occasions  for 
attempting  this  were  not  likely  to  be  wanting. 

On  his  return  from  Normandy  a  new  cause  of 
difference  was  opened  between  him  and  Anselm. 
The  rule  had  been  established  by  the  Popes,  and 
accepted  by  Western  Christendom,  that  a  metro- 
politan must  go  to  Rome  to  get  from  the  Pope  his 
Pallium,  the  white  woollen  stole  with  four  crosses  which 

O    2 


196  THE  MEETING  AT  ROCKINGHAM.      [chap. 

was  the  badge  of  his  office  and  dignity,  and  is  still 
the  special  blazon  in  the  armorial  bearings  of  Canter- 
bury.    The  usage  was  an  acknowledged  one  at  this 
time  :    Lanfranc  himself  had  gone  to   Rome  for  the 
purpose.     But  the  chair  of  St.  Peter  was  now  claimed 
by  two   rivals,   Urban   and    Clement.     Anselm    had 
foreseen   a   difficulty   in    the    matter.      France    and 
Normandy  had  acknowledged  Urban ;    England  had 
acknowledged     neither.      Anselm,    before    his    final 
acceptance,    had    given    fair    warning    that    to    him 
Urban   was   the   true  Pope  ;    the    king   had    evaded 
the  subject.    Anselm  now  asked  leave  to  go  to  Rome 
for  his  Pallium.     William  was  at  Gillingham,  a  royal 
residence    near   Shaftesbury,   on  the   borders  of  the 
Forest   of   Selwood.      "  From    which    Pope  ?"   asked 
the  king.     Anselm  had  already  given  the  answer  to 
the   question,  and    he   could  but   repeat   it — "From 
Pope  Urban."     "  Urban,"  said  the  king,  "  I  have  not 
acknowledged.      By  my  customs,  by  the  customs  of 
my  father,  no  man  may  acknowledge  a  Pope  in  Eng- 
land without  my  leave.    To  challenge  my  power  in  this, 
is  as  much  as  to  deprive  me  of  my  crown."     Anselm 
reminded   him   of    the   warning  given  at  Rochester. 
The  king  broke  forth  in  anger,  declaring  that  Anselm 
could  not  keep  his  faith  to  the  king,  and  his  obedience 
to  the  Apostolic  See,  without  the  king's  leave.     The 
question    thus   raised    could    not   be    left   unsettled. 
Was    that    indeed   the   rule   for   the    Churchmen   of 
England  ?      Anselm    demanded    that    it   should    be 
answered  by  the   great   council   of    England.      The 
demand  could  not  be  refused,  and  an  assembly  was 
summoned    to    consider    the  whole   matter,  and    to 
give  the  king  advice  upon  it. 


ix.]  THE  MEETING  AT  ROCKINGHAM.  197 

Accordingly  a  great  meeting  of  the  chief  men  in 
Church  and  State  was  held  at  the  Castle  of  Rock- 
ingham. "  The  tangled  forest  of  Rockingham,"  says 
Sir  F.  Palgrave,  "a  continuation  of  the  Derbyshire 
woodlands,  was  among  the  largest  and  most  secluded 
in  the  kingdom.  At  a  much  later  period,  this  dreary 
weald  measured  thirty  miles  in  length.  The  castle, 
raised  by  the  Conqueror,  had  been  planned  by  the 
cautious  sovereign  quite  as  much  for  the  purpose  of 
coercing  the  inhabitants,  as  for  the  protection  of  the 
glowing  furnaces.  Echoes  of  facts  and  opinions,  the 
mediaeval  traditions,  represent  the  forgemen  as  a 
peculiarly  barbarous  class  ;  had  Anselm  been  faint- 
hearted, he  might  have  dreaded  placing  himself  in  a 
spot  where  the  executioners  of  any  misdeed  or  cruelty 
might  be  so  readily  found."  But  he  had  no  reason 
for  such  fears.  Fierce  as  the  age  was,  and  fierce  as 
William  was,  such  an  end  to  his  quarrel  with  Anselm 
was  never  thought  of.  Roughness,  insult,  treachery, 
high-handed  injustice,  were  weapons  to  be  used  with- 
out scruple ;  but  it  is  not  enough  to  say  that  the 
murder  of  an  opponent  like  Anselm,  judicial  or  secret, 
would  have  shocked  everybody  :  it  never  presented 
itself  to  the  king's  mind.  Anselm  all  along  was  quite 
safe  of  his  life,  and  felt  himself  to  be  so. 

The  great  council — w.e  might  almost  call  it  a  par- 
liament— met  on  Mid-Lent  Sunday,  March  11,  1095, 
probably  in  the  church  of  the  castle.  There  were  the 
bishops,  abbots,  and  nobles ;  and  besides  a  numerous 
throng,  watching  and  listening,  of  "  monks,  clerics, 
and  laymen."  The  king  did  not  appear ;  he  had  his 
private  council  sitting  apart,  from  which  messages 
passed  to  and  fro  between  him   and  the  archbishop 


198  THE  MEETING  AT  ROCKINGHAM.       [chap. 

in  the  larger  public  assembly.  The  proceedings  are 
reported  in  great  detail,  day  by  day,  by  Eadmer,  who 
was  present,  and  who  probably  heard  what  passed  on 
the  king's  side  from  Gundulf,  the  one  bishop  who  did 
not  take  part  against  Anselm.  Anselm  stated  his  case, 
and  the  reasons  why  he  invoked  their  judgment  and 
arbitration.  It  was  the  same  question  which  was  to 
be  put  by  the  king,  and  answered  so  emphatically  by 
bishops  and  parliament,  four  centuries  later;  but  it 
was  put  under  very  different  circumstances,  and  under 
very  different  conditions  at  this  time.  "The  king," 
said  Anselm,  "  had  told  him  that  he  had  not  yet  ac- 
knowledged Urban  as  Pope,  and  that  he  therefore  did 
not  choose  that  Anselm  should  go  to  Urban  for  the 
Pallium."  He  had  added,  "  If  you  receive  in  my  realm 
Urban  or  any  one  else  for  Pope,  without  my  choice 
and  authority,  or  if  having  received  him  you  hold  to 
him,  you  act  against  the  faith  which  you  owe  to  me, 
and  offend  me  not  less  than  if  you  tried  to  deprive 
me  of  my  crown.  Therefore  be  assured  that  in  my 
realm  you  shall]  have  no  part,  unless  I  have  the  proof 
by  plain  declarations  that,  according  to  my  wish, 
you  refuse  all  submission  and  obedience  to  Urban." 
Anselm  went  on  to  remind  them  that  it  was  by  no 
wish  or  seeking  of  his  own  that  he  was  archbishop ; 
that  he  had  been  driven  to  it ;  that  he  had  known 
his  own  infirmities,  and  urged  them ;  further,  that  on 
this  point  he  had  from  the  first  given  fair  notice  that 
he  had  acknowledged  Urban,  and  would  not  swerve 
from  his  obedience  for  an  hour.  "  They  knew,"  he  said, 
"  how  much  he  had  desired  the  burden,  how  attractive 
he  had  held  it,  what  pleasure  he  had  found  in  it."  He 
declared   once  more  that  he   would  rather,  with  all 


IX.]  THE  MEETING  AT  ROCKINGHAM.  199 

reverence  to  the  will  of  God,  have  been  cast  into 
the  fire  than  have  been  exalted  to  the  archbishopric. 
"  But,"  he  said,  "  seeing  that  you  were  importunate,  I 
have  trusted  myself  to  you,  and  taken  up  the  load  you 
put  upon  me,  relying  on  the  hope  of  your  promised 
assistance."  Now  the  time  had  come  to  claim  the 
promise.  The  question  had  been  adjourned  to  this  as- 
semblage,  that  they  all  might  by  joint  counsel  inquire 
whether,  saving  his  faith  to  the  king,  he  could  keep 
his  obedience  to  the  Apostolic  See.  He  especially  ap- 
pealed to  his  brethren  the  bishops,  that  "  they  would 
show  him  how  he  might  neither  do  anything  contrary 
to  his  obedience  to  the  Pope,  nor  offend  against  the 
faith  which  he  owed  to  the  king.  For  it  is  a  serious 
thing  to  despise  and  deny  the  Vicar  of  St.  Peter  ;  it 
is  a  serious  thing  to  break  the  faith  which  I  pro- 
mised to  keep,  according  to  God,  to  the  king :  but 
that,  too,  is  serious  which  is  said,  that  it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  keep  the  one  without  breaking  the  other." 

It  was  a  fair  question  to  men  with  the  inherited 
and  unbroken  convictions  of  the  religion  of  that  age. 
The  claim  which  William  maintained  had  come  down 
to  him  from  his  father,  who  had  insisted  on  it  reso- 
lutely, with  Lanfranc's  sanction  or  acquiescence,  even 
against  Gregory  VII.  "  It  was  a  prerogative,"  the 
bishops  declared,  "  which  their  lord  held  chief  above 
anything  in  his  government,  and  in  which  it  was  clear 
that  he  excelled  all  other  kings."  On  the  other  hand, 
no  one  in  those  days  imagined  Christianity  without 
Christendom,  and  Christendom  without  a  Pope ;  and 
all  these  bishops  understood  exactly  as  Anselm  did 
the  favourite  papal  text,  "Thou  art  Peter,  and  on 
this  rock  I  will  build  my  Church."     Nobody  in  those 


2oo  THE  MEETING  AT  ROCKINGHAM.      [chap. 

days  doubted  the  divine  authority  of  the  Pope :  the 
claim  on  which  the  Norman  kings  laid  so  much  stress 
had  naturally  and  reasonably  arisen  from  the  contest 
of  rival  popes,  and  the  doubt  who  was  really  the  true 
Pope.  No  one  had  held  more  intimate  relations  with 
Rome,  or  made  more  use  of  the  Pope's  power,  than 
William  the  Conqueror.  But  with  Anselm,  the  only 
question  that  there  could  be,  who  was  the  Pope,  was, 
as  he  had  from  the  first  declared,  no  question  at  all ; 
he,  with  Normandy,  and  all  Gaul,  had  recognized 
Urban  as  the  true  Pope.  It  was  part  of  William's 
policy  of  mingled  bullying  and  trickery,  the  trust 
placed  in  evasion  and  delay  by  a  man  who  doubted 
of  all  men's  straightforwardness  and  disinterestedness, 
and  hoped  that  with  time  their  selfishness  would  be 
his  sure  ally,  that  he  shut  his  eyes  to  what  was  plain 
from  the  first,  that  the  Pope  whom  Anselm  had 
acknowledged,  he  would  stick  to. 

But  the  bishops  were  in  heart,  as  well  as  by  the 
forms  of  the  law,  the  king's  men.  Some  of  them 
had  bought  their  bishoprics,  most  of  them  were  afraid 
of  William,  and  were  always  expecting  to  have  to  ap- 
pease his  wrath  by  heavy  gifts  of  money.  They  saw, 
too,  that  a  quarrel  of  this  kind  was  most  dangerous  to 
the  already  precarious  peace  of  their  churches ;  and  they 
refused  to  be  drawn  into  it.  With  compliments  on 
Anselm's  wisdom,  which  ought,  they  said,  to  be  their 
guide,  they  declined  to  give  any  other  advice  than 
that  he  should  submit  himself  without  conditions  to 
the  king's  will.  They  were  willing,  however,  to 
report  his  words  to  the  king,  and  the  proceedings 
were  adjourned  to  the  morrow.  On  the  Monday 
accordingly,   they  met  again,  and  Anselm   repeated 


IX.]  THE  MEETING  AT  ROCKINGHAM.  201 


his  question,  to  which  they  gave  the  same  answer. 
They  would  advise  him  only  on  condition  of  his  sub- 
mitting himself,  without  qualification  or  reserve,  to  the 
king's  will.  It  was  the  answer  of  cowards,  convicted 
by  their  own  conscience,  and  knowing  that  all  who 
heard  them  knew  what  was  in  their  conscience. 
"  Having  said  these  words,  they  were  silent,"  says 
Eadmer,  "  and  hung  down  their  heads,  as  if  to  receive 
what  was  coming  on  them."  Then  Anselm,  his  eyes 
kindling,  made  his  appeal.  "  Since  you,"  he  said,  "  the 
shepherds  of  the  Christian  people,  and  you  who  are 
called  chiefs  of  the  nation,  refuse  your  counsel  to  me, 
your  chief,  except  according  to  the  will  of  one  man,  I 
will  go  to  the  Chief  Shepherd  and  Prince  of  all ;  I  will 
hasten  to  the  Angel  of  great  counsel,  and  receive  from 
Him  the  counsel  which  I  will  follow  in  this  my  cause, 
yea,  His  cause  and  that  of  His  Church.  He  says  to 
the  most  blessed  of  the  apostles,  Peter,  '  TJwu  art 
Peter,  and  on  this  rock  will  I  build  my  Church,'  &c. 
.  .  .  And,  again,  to  all  the  apostles,  jointly  :  *He  that 
hears  you  hears  me,  and  he  that  despises  you  despises 
me ;  and  he  who  touches  you  touches  the  apple  of 
mine  eye!  It  was  primarily  to  St.  Peter,  and  in  him 
to  the  other  apostles ;  it  is  primarily  to  St.  Peter's 
vicar,  and  through  him  to  the  other  bishops  who  fill 
the  apostles'  places,  that  these  words,  as  we  believe, 
were  said  ;  not  to  any  emperor  whatsoever,  not  to  any 
king,  to  no  duke,  or  count.  But  wherein  we  must 
be  subject  and  minister  to  earthly  princes,  the  same 
Angel  of  great  counsel  teaches  us,  saying  :  'Render 
to  Ccesar  the  things  that  are  Caesar's,  and  the  things 
that  are  God's  to  God'  These  are  God's  words,  these 
are  God's  counsels.     These  I  allow  and  accept,  and 


202  THE  MEETING  AT  ROCKINGHAM.      [chap. 

from  them  will  I  not  depart.  Know  ye,  therefore,  all 
of  you,  that  in  the  things  that  are  God's  I  will  render 
obedience  to  the  Vicar  of  St.  Peter ;  and  in  those 
which  belong  of  right  to  the  earthly  dignity  of  my 
lord  the  king,  I  will  render  him  both  faithful  counsel 
and  service,  to  the  best  of  my  understanding  and 
power."  The  chief  men  of  the  assembly  were  not 
prepared  for  this  bold  and  direct  announcement. 
Their  irritation  broke  out  in  angry  and  confused 
clamour,  "so  that  it  might  be  thought  that  they 
were  declaring  him  guilty  of  death ; "  and  they 
peremptorily  and  angrily  refused  to  report  Anselm's 
words  to  the  king,  to  whose  chamber  they  retired. 
Anselm,  finding  no  one  whom  he  could  trust  to  inform 
William  of  what  had  passed,  went  to  him  and  re- 
peated his  words  in  his  presence.  William  was,  of 
course,  very  angry.  He  intended  that  Anselm  should 
be  silenced  as  well  as  forced  to  submission  ;  and  he 
looked  to  his  bishops  especially  to  silence  him.  It 
was  not  easy  for  them  "to  find  something  to  say 
which  should  at  once  soothe  the  king's  wrath,  and  not 
openly  contradict  the  alleged  words  of  God."  Eadmer 
describes  their  perplexity,  as,  broken  up  into  knots 
of  two  or  three,  they  discussed  the  matter ;  while 
Anselm,  who  had  returned  to  the  church,  sat  by 
himself  to  wait  the  result,  and  at  last,  wearied  by 
the  delay,  "leaning  his  head  against  the  wall,  fell 
into  a  calm  sleep." 

At  length,  late  in  the  day,  the  bishops  with  some 
of  the  lay  nobles  came  to  him  from  the  king.  Their 
language  was  a  mixture  of  coaxing  and  menace. 
"The  king,"  they  said,  "requires  peremptorily  an 
immediate  settlement,  once  for  all,  of  the  question 


ix.]  THE  MEETING  AT  ROCKINGHAM.  203 


which  had  been  opened  at  Gillingham  and  adjourned 
at  Anselm's  request  to  the  present  time.  The  matter 
was  perfectly  plain  and  needed  no  argument.  The 
whole  realm  cried  out  against  him  for  impairing  the 
honour  of  their  lord's  imperial  crown ;  for  to  take 
away  the  customs  of  the  royal  dignity  was  as 
good  as  taking  away  the  king's  crown  ;  one  could 
not  be  duly  held  without  the  other."  Then  they 
appealed  to  his  pride  and  self-interest.  "  This  Urban 
could  be  of  no  use  to  him ;  why  not  shake  off  the 
yoke  of  subjection  to  him,  and  be  free,  as  becomes  an 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  to  fulfil  the  commands  of 
our  lord  the  king.  Let  him  like  a  wise  man  ask 
pardon,  and  fall  in  with  the  king's  wish  ;  and  so  they 
who  hated  him,  and  exulted  over  his  troubles,  would 
be  put  to  confusion  by  the  restoration  of  his  high 
place."  Anselm,  still  declining  to  withdraw  his  obedi- 
ence from  Pope  Urban,  asked,  as  the  day  was  closing, 
to  put  off  his  reply  to  the  morrow,  "  so  that  thinking 
over  it  I  may  answer  what  God  shall  please  to  inspire." 
They  judged  that  this  meant  that  he  was  wavering. 
The  leader  and  spokesman  on  the  king's  side  was 
the  Bishop  of  Durham,  William  de  St.  Carileph. 
William — by  Eadmer's  own  account,  a  ready  and 
clever  speaker,  for  he  gives  him  this  credit,  while  he 
denies  him  that  of  ft  true  wisdom" — had,  early  in  the 
king's  reign,  begun  by  measuring  his  strength  against 
the  king ;  he  had  resisted  the  claim  of  jurisdiction  of 
the  king's  court  on  a  bishop ;  he  had  tampered  with, 
if  he  had  not  joined  in,  the  great  conspiracy  of  the 
Normans  under  Bishop  Odo  of  Bayeux  and  Bishop 
Geoffry  of  Coutances  ;  he  had  been  forced  to  make 
terms  with  the  king,  to  leave  his  bishopric,  and  spend 


204  THE  MEETING  AT  ROCKINGHAM,      [chap. 

some  years  in  banishment ;  and  now  he  was  reconciled 
with  the  king,  and  had  formed  the  hope,  that  if  he 
could  get  Anselm  out  of  the  archbishopric  he  might 
be  his  successor.  He  had  done  his  best  to  foment 
the  quarrel  between  the  king  and  Anselm  ;  and  now, 
encouraged  by  Anselm's  request  for  delay,  he  boldly 
engaged  to  William  either  to  make  him  renounce  the 
Pope,  or  to  force  him  to  resign  the  see  by  the  sur- 
render of  the  ring  and  staff.  Either  would  suit 
William's  policy:  Anselm  would  be  discredited  and 
unable  to  speak  and  act  with  authority,  if  he  gave  up 
the  Pope  ;  or  the  king  would  be  rid  of  him  altogether, 
and  have  established  his  absolute  power  by  the  most 
signal  proof  of  strength.  "  For  what  he  wished  was  to 
take  from  Anselm  all  authority  for  carrying  out  Chris- 
tian religion.  For  he  had  a  misgiving  that  he  was  not 
in  complete  possession  of  the  royal  dignity,  as  long 
as  any  one  in  all  the  land  was  said,  even  in  matters  of 
conscience  {secundum  Deum),  to  hold  anything  or  to 
have  any  power,  except  through  him."  The  Bishop 
of  Durham,  accordingly,  returned  to  Anselm  with 
the  king's  final  summons.  Anselm  had  dared  to  make 
the  Bishop  of  Ostia  Pope  without  the  king's  authority 
in  this  his  England.  "  Clothe  him  again,  if  you  please, 
with  the  due  dignity  of  his  imperial  crown,  and  then 
talk  of  delay.  Else,  he  imprecates  the  hatred  of 
Almighty  God  on  himself,  and  we  his  liegemen  join 
in  the  imprecation,  if  he  grant  even  for  an  hour  the 
delay  you  ask  for  till  to-morrow.  Therefore,  answer 
at  once,  or  you  shall  on  the  spot  feel  the  doom  which 
is  to  avenge  your  presumption.  Think  it  no  matter 
of  jest.  To  us  it  is  a  matter  of  great  pain  and  anger. 
And  no  wonder.     For  that  which  your  Lord  and  ours 


ix.]  THE  MEETING  AT  ROCKINGHAM.  205 

has  as  the  chief  prerogative  of  his  rule,  and  in  which 
it  is  certain  that  he  excels  all  other  kings,  you,  as  far 
as  you  can,  rob  him  of,  against   the  faith  you  have 
pledged   him,  and  to  the   great  distress  and  trouble 
of  all  his  friends."      But  William  de  St.  Carileph  had 
overshot  his  mark  and  mistaken  the  man  with  whom 
he  had   to   deal.      This   threat   of  instant   summary 
judgment  at  the  king's  will  and  word  might  frighten  ; 
but  if  it  did  not  frighten,  it  would  be  thrown  away  on 
anyone  who  could  appeal  to  the  by  no  means  dor- 
mant  ideas   of  law   and   justice.       Anselm    listened 
patiently,  and  replied,  "  Whoever  would  prove  that, 
because   I   will  not  renounce   the   obedience    of  the 
venerable  bishop  of  the  holy  Roman  Church,  I  am 
violating  my  faith  and  my  oath  to  my  earthly  king, 
let  him  present   himself,  and   he   shall  find  me  pre- 
pared to  answer  him,  as  I  ought,  and  where  I  ought." 
When  the   Bishop   of  Durham   and   his  companions 
came  to  see  the  meaning  of  Anselm's  words,  "  as  I 
ought  and    where  I  ought,"  they   recognized  in  it  a 
plea  to  which  they  had  no  answer ;  for  it  meant  that 
no  one  could  pass   judgment  on  an   Archbishop  of 
Canterbury,  except  the  highest  judge  and  authority 
in   Christendom,  the    Pope   himself ;    and  the  claim 
came  home  too  powerfully  to  the  minds  of  men,  both 
as    Christians    and    as    Englishmen,    for    the   king's 
Norman   bishops  to   think    of  questioning   it.      The 
sympathy  of  the  crowd  had  been  with  Anselm  ;  but 
fear  of  the  king  had  kept  down  the  expression  of  it  to 
faint  murmurs.     But  now  a  soldier  stepped  out  of  the 
throng,  and    kneeling    before    the   archbishop,    said, 
"  Lord  and  Father,  thy  children,  through  me,  beseech 
thee  not  to  let  thy  heart  be  troubled  by  what  thou  hast 


206  THE  MEETING  AT  ROCKINGHAM,     [chap. 

heard ;  but  remember  how  holy  Job  on  the  dunghill 
vanquished  the  devil,  and  avenged  Adam  whom  the 
devil  had  vanquished  in  Paradise."  The  quaint  at- 
tempt at  encouragement  cheered  Anselm.  "  He 
perceived  that  the  feeling  of  the  people  was  with 
him.  So  we  were  glad,  and  were  more  at  ease  in 
our  minds,  being  confident,  according  to  the  Scrip- 
ture, that  the  voice  of  the  people  is  the  voice 
of  God." 

But  in  the  court  there  was  great  vexation.  "  What 
shall  I  do  ?"  says  our  reporter  Eadmer — literally  our 
reporter,  for  he  was  present  during  the  whole  ses- 
sion:— "Were  I  to  attempt  to  describe  the  threats, 
reproaches,  insults,  false  and  foul  language  with  which 
the  archbishop  was  assailed,  I  should  be  judged  an 
exaggerator."  The  king  was  exasperated,  "  even  to 
the  dividing  of  his  spirit,"1  with  the  failure  of  the 
bishops  :  "  What  is  this  ?  Did  you  not  promise  that 
you  would  treat  him  according  to  my  will,  judge  him, 
condemn  him  ?"  The  Bishop  of  Durham  was  tho- 
roughly disconcerted  ;  his  words  on  every  point  were 
tame  and  halting ;  he  seemed  to  have  lost  his  head. 
He  could  only  suggest  what  he  had  refused  to  Anselm, 
delay  till  the  morrow.  On  the  morrow,  Tuesday 
morning,  Anselm  and  his  companions  were  in  their 
accustomed  seats,  waiting  the  king's  orders.  For  a 
long  time  none  came.  The  council  was  perplexed. 
The  Bishop  of  Durham  had  nothing  better  to  recom- 
mend than  open  violence.  As  a  matter  of  argument 
there  was  nothing  to  be  said ;  Anselm  had  the  words 
of  God,  the  authority  of  the  Apostle  on  his  side.  But 
his  staff  and  ring  could  be  taken  from  him  by  force, 
1  Heb.  iv.  12,  Vulsj. 


ix.]  THE  MEETING  A  T  ROCKINGHAM.  207 


and  he  expelled  the  kingdom.  The  Bishop  of  Durham 
suggested  the  last  expedient  which  the  bishops  could 
agree  in.  Such  a  termination  to  the  quarrel  would 
be  at  least  the  king's  act,  not  their  own,  as  it  would 
be  if  they  passed  judgment  on  him  or  on  his  plea. 
An  impracticable  and  dangerous  leader  would  be  got 
rid  of  by  lay  violence,  and  they  would  not  be  compro- 
mised. But  if  the  bishops  acquiesced,  the  laymen  of 
the  council  were  dissatisfied.  They  were  beginning 
to  think  that  things  were  going  too  far.  The  same 
feeling  which  made  the  commons  see  in  the  arch- 
bishop the  first  of  Englishmen,  the  successor  of  the 
great  Englishman  Dunstan,  of  the  great  Italian  who 
had  turned  Englishman,  Lanfranc,  made  the  nobles 
see  in  him  the  first  of  their  own  order,  the  Father  of 
the  chiefs  of  the  realm,  with  whom  they  could  have 
no  rivalry,  the  mediator  and  arbiter  between  them 
and  the  crown,  and  the  bulwark  against  its  tyranny. 
Only  second  to  the  crown,  as  part  of  the  honour  and 
dignity  of  the  land,  was  the  archbishopric  of  Canter- 
bury :  an  injury  to  its  honour  was  as  serious  as  an 
injury  to  that  of  the  crown.  The  barons  refused 
to  agree  with  the  advice  of  the  bishop.  "  His 
words  did  not  please  them."  "  What  does  please  you 
then,"  said  the  king,  "  if  they  do  not  ?  While  I  live, 
equal  in  my  realm  I  will  not  endure.  And  if  you 
knew  that  he  had  such  strength  on  his  side,  why  did 
you  let  me  engage  in  this  legal  conflict  against  him  ? 
Go,  go,  take  counsel  together ;  for  by  God's  counte- 
nance, if  you  do  not  condemn  him,  I  will  condemn 
you."  One  of  the  shrewdest  of  them,  Robert  Count 
of  Mellent,  who  was  hereafter  to  be  one  of  Anselm's 
stoutest  enemies,  answered,  apparently  with  a  sense  of 


208  THE  MEETING  A  T  ROCKINGHAM.      [chap. 

amusement  at  the  baffled  eagerness  of  the  bishops,  and 
perhaps  with  something  of  a  sportsman's  admiration  for 
the  gallantry  of  the  single-handed  defence,  "About  our 
counsels,  I  don't  know  quite  what  to  say.  For  when 
we  have  been  arranging  them  all  day  long,  and  have 
settled,  by  talking  them  over  among .  ourselves,  how 
they  are  to  hold  together,  he  goes  to  sleep,  and  thinks 
no  harm  ;  and  the  moment  they  are  opened  before 
him,  with  one  breath  of  his  lips  he  breaks  them  as  if  they 
were  cobwebs."  The  king  turned  again  to  the  bishops : 
"What  could  they  do?"  It  was  out  of  the  question, 
they  said,  to  judge  him  ;  but  they  agreed  in  the  king's 
strange  suggestion,  that  though  they  could  not  judge 
him,  they  could  withdraw  their  obedience  from  him, 
and  deny  him  their  brotherly  friendship.  This,  then, 
was  agreed  upon  ;  and,  accompanied  by  some  of  the 
English  abbots,  they  finally  announced  to  the  arch- 
bishop that  they  withdrew  their  obedience  from  him, 
as  the  king  also  withdrew  from  him  his  protection 
and  confidence,  and  would  never  more  hold  him  for 
archbishop  and  ghostly  father.  Anselm  was  to  be- 
come a  kind  of  outlaw,  abandoned  by  all  his  brethren, 
deprived  of  the  king's  protection  and  out  of  the 
king's  peace,  put  to  shame  before  the  whole  realm. 
His  answer  was  calm  and  temperate.  There  must  be 
two  to  make  a  quarrel,  and  he  on  his  part  would  not 
quarrel  either  with  them  or  with  the  king.  He  re- 
newed his  own  promise  of  fidelity  and  service  to  the 
king  ;  he  would  still  hold  himself  responsible  for  the 
king's  spiritual  welfare,  as  far  as  the  king  deigned  to 
allow  him  ;  and,  come  what  might,  he  should  still 
retain  the  authority  and  name  of  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury.     William  heard  his  answer  with  displea- 


IX.]  THE  MEETING  AT  ROCKINGHAM.  209 

sure  ;  he  had  probably  expected  submission  or  re- 
signation. There  was  still  one  more  thing  to  do  :  the 
ecclesiastical  members  of  the  council  had  formally 
deserted  Anselm,  but  the  laymen  had  not.  The  king 
turned  to  them :  "  No  man  shall  be  mine,"  he  said, 
"who  chooses  to  be  his;"  appealing  to  the  feudal 
feeling  about  homage  :  and  he  called  on  his  barons  to 
follow  the  example  of  the  bishops.  But  the  tide  had 
now  completely  turned.  They  absolutely  refused  to 
lend  themselves  to  a  precedent  so  dangerous  to  all 
their  liberties.  They  in  their  turn  appealed  to  the 
subtleties  of  feudal  customs.  "We  never  were  his 
men,  and  we  cannot  abjure  the  fealty  which  we  never 
swore.  He  is  our  archbishop.  He  has  to  govern 
Christian  religion  in  this  land,  and  in  this  respect  we, 
who  are  Christians,  cannot  refuse  his  guidance  while 
we  live  here,  especially  as  no  spot  of  offence  attaches 
to  him  to  make  you  act  differently  as  regards  him." 

The  answer  altered  the  whole  face  of  matters.  It 
turned  what  had  seemed  the  winning  side  into  the 
beaten  and  disappointed  one.  It  upset  all  the  king's 
plans,  and  the  three  days'  laborious  and  shifty  attempts 
of  the  Bishop  of  Durham  and  his  fellows.  The  lay- 
men, high  and  low,  refused  to  go  with  them  ;  and  the 
defeat  was  confessed.  The  king,  angry  as  he  was, 
dared  not  carry  things  too  far  with  his  unruly  barons. 
The  bishops  had  made  their  sacrifice  of  honour  and 
conscience  for  nothing  ;  nothing  was  gained  by  the 
public  display  of  their  subserviency,  which  it  was  not 
even  thought  worth  while  to  follow  up.  On  all  sides 
they  met  mocking  eyes  and  scowling  looks,  and  heard 
themselves  spoken  of  in  bywords  of  reproach  :  "  This 
or  that  bishop  you  might  hear  branded  now  by  one 

S.L.  x.  p 


210  THE  MEETING  AT  ROCKINGHAM.      [chap. 

man,  then  by  another,  with  some  nickname,  ac- 
companying bursts  of  disgust :  Judas  the  traitor, 
Pilate,  Herod,  and  the  like."  Nor  was  this  all.  The 
king  turned  upon  them,  and,  as  if  suspicious  of  their 
straightforwardness,  put  to  them  a  test  one  by  one  : 
did  they  renounce  obedience  to  Anselm  uncondition- 
ally, or  only  so  far  as  he  claimed  it  by  the  authority 
of  the  Pope  ?  The  answers,  as  might  be  expected, 
were  various.  Those  who  gave  it  boldly  and  without 
reserve  were  treated  with  marks  of  favour  as  the 
king's  faithful  friends  and  liegemen  ;  "those  who 
qualified  it,  were  driven  from  his  presence,  as  quibblers 
and  treacherous  equivocators,  and  ordered  to  await 
the  sentence  of  his  judgment  in  a  distant  part  of  the 
castle.  Thus  terrified  and  covered  with  confusion  upon 
confusion,  they  skulked  away  to  a  corner  of  the  build- 
ing. There  they  soon  found  the  wholesome  and  familiar 
counsel  on  which  they  were  wont  to  rely :  they  gave 
a  large  sum  of  money,  and  they  were  received  back 
into  the  king's  favour." 

Anselm,  however,  could  not  treat  this  public  inti- 
mation from  the  king,  that  he  was  out  of  the  king's 
protection,  merely  as  a  feint.  He  at  once  demanded 
a  safe-conduct  for  one  of  the  outports,  that  he  might 
quit  the  kingdom.  But  it  was  not  William's  game 
that  he  should  leave,  still  "  seised "  of  the  arch- 
bishopric ;  there  was  no  way  to  "  disseise "  him,  and 
the  demand  was  an  unpleasant  surprise.  The  bishops 
had  got  the  king  into  the  difficulty  with  their  advice, 
and  he  had  now  in  his  irritation  broken  up  his 
party  among  them,  by  inflicting  on  them  the  humi- 
liation of  the  test  question  about  their  sincerity  in 
renouncing  Anselm.     He  consulted  with  the  barons  ; 


ix.]  THE  MEETING  A T  ROCKINGHAM.  2 1 1 

and  by  their  advice,  the  archbishop  was  again  told  to 
retire  to  his  lodging  and  come  on  the  morrow  for  his 
answer.  Early  on  Wednesday  morning  he  received 
a  message  :  "  Our  lord  the  king  desires  you  to  come 
to  him."  He  went,  anxious  to  know  his  fate,  divided 
between  the  hope  of  escape  from  his  burdens  and  the 
fear  of  remaining  in  England.  "  We  mounted  up,  we 
went  and  took  our  seat  in  our  accustomed  place,  eager 
to  know  the  final  issue  of  our  matter."  The  message 
came  in  the  shape  of  a  proposed  adjournment  of  the 
whole  question.  Anselm  said  that  it  was  only  an 
attempt  to  gain  time  ;  but  it  was  not  for  him  to  refuse 
delay ;  and  a  "  truce "  was  agreed  upon  till  the  fol- 
lowing Whitsuntide  ;  the  king  still  intimating  that  the 
question  could  only  be  settled  on  his  present  terms. 

Anselm  accordingly  left  the  court.  But  the  policy 
of  annoyance  and  ill-usage  did  not  cease.  The  king's 
ill-humour  vented  itself  on  his  friends.  Baldwin  of 
Tournai,  a  monk  of  Bee,  who  had  been  much  in 
Anselm's  confidence,  was  summarily  expelled  the 
kingdom.  The  archbishop's  chamberlain  was  arrested 
in  his  very  chamber  before  his  eyes.  The  vexatious 
system  of  the  king's  treasury  and  law  courts  was 
carried  on  against  the  monks  at  Canterbury.  "  That 
Church,"  says  Eadmer,  "  suffered  such  a  storm  in  all 
its  tenants,  that  every  one  agreed  that  it  would  be 
better  to  be  without  a  pastor  at  all  as  they  had  been, 
than  to  have  such  a  pastor  as  this."  The  archbishop, 
according  to  the  ways  of  the  time,  spent  his  time  in 
his  various  country  manors  ;  Harrow,  Hayes,  and 
Mortlake. 


P  2 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   FINAL   QUARREL   WITH   WILLIAM. 

"  Whose  powers  shed  round  him  in  the  common  strife, 
Or  mild  concerns  of  ordinary  life, 
A  constant  influence,  a  peculiar  grace  ; 
But  who,  if  he  be  called  upon  to  face 
Some  awful  moment,  to  which  Heaven  has  joined 
Great  issues,  good  or  bad,  for  human  kind, 
Is  happy  as  a  Lover ;  and  attired 
With  sudden  brightness,  like  a  man  inspired  ; 
And,  through  the  heat  of  conflict,  keeps  the  law 
In  calmness  made,  and  sees  what  he  foresaw. 

*  *  -x  *  *  *  * 

Who,  with  a  toward  or  untoward  lot, 
Prosperous  or  adverse,  to  his  wish  or  not — 
Plays,  in  the  many  games  of  life,  that  one 
Where  what  he  most  doth  value  must  be  won. " 

Wordsworth's  Happy  Warrior, 

William  had  not  the  least  intention  to  disown  the 
Pope  or  to  quarrel  with  Rome  ;  and  his  first  step  was 
an  attempt  to  play  off  Urban's  name  and  authority  on 
his  own  side  against  Anselm.  When  the  question 
first  arose  he  had  sent  two  of  the  clerks  of  the  chapel, 
Gerard,  afterwards  Archbishop  of  York,  and  William 
of  Warelwast,  to  Rome,  to  inquire  into  the  state  of 
things  between  the  rival  popes ;  and  further,  to  per- 
suade the  Pope,  by  the  means  which  were  usual  in 
those  days,  and  which  were  supposed  even  under  the 
reformed  papacy  of  Gregory  VII.  to  have  great  power 
at  Rome,  to  send  the  archiepiscopal  pall  to  the  king, 


ch.  x.]     FINAL  QUARREL  WITH  WILLIAM.  213 

to  be  given  by  him,  with  the  Pope's  sanction,  to  the 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  the  name  of  the  arch- 
bishop being  suppressed.  They  found  Urban  in  pos- 
session of  Rome,  and  acknowledged  him ;  and  in 
answer  to  the  king's  request  Walter,  Bishop  of 
Albano,  came  to  England  as  papal  legate,  in  com- 
pany with  the  two  chaplains,  shortly  before  the 
appointed  time  at  Whitsuntide,  bringing  with  him 
the  pallium.  But  the  greatest  secrecy  was  observed. 
He  passed  through  Canterbury  privately,  taking  no 
notice  of  the  archbishop,  and  proceeded  straight  to 
the  king.  His  first  object  was  to  secure  the  formal 
recognition  of  Urban  in  England.  Anselm's  friends 
heard  with  consternation  that  the  Pope's  legate  had 
encouraged  the  king  to  hope  that  all  his  wishes 
would  be  granted,  and  that  he  had  said  not  a  word 
in  Anselm's  favour,  or  done  anything  on  behalf  of  one 
whose  loyalty  to  the  Pope  had  cost  him  so  dear.  The 
disappointment  was  great :  "  What  are  we  to  say  ? 
If  Rome  prefers  gold  and  silver  to  justice,  what  help 
and  counsel  and  comfort  may  those  expect  in  their 
troubles  who  have  not  wherewithal  to  pay  that  they 
may  have  right  done  them  in  their  cause  ?" 

What  passed  between  the  king  and  the  Bishop  of 
Albano  does  not  appear.  Eadmer  says  that  the  legate 
reported  the  Pope  ready  to  agree  to  all  the  king's 
wishes,  and  willing  to  grant  them  by  special  privilege 
for  his  lifetime.  But  the  result  was  that  Urban  was 
formally  acknowledged  as  Pope  in  England.  Having 
recognized  Urban,  the  king  then  asked  for  the  depo- 
sition of  Anselm  by  the  Pope's  authority.  He  offered, 
says  Eadmer,  a  large  annual  payment  to  the  Roman 
Church  if  he  could  have  his  wish.     But  this  was  too 


214       FINAL  QUARREL  WITH  WILLIAM.        [chap. 

much  ;  and  he  gave  up  the  project,  regretting  that  he 
had  gained  so  little  by  his  recognition  of  Urban,  but, 
as  the  mistake  was  past  remedy,  intending  to  make  the 
best  of  it. 

At  Whitsuntide,  Anselm,  who  had  been  keeping  the 
festival  at  his  manor  of  Mortlake,  was  summoned  to 
the  neighbourhood  of  Windsor,  where  the  king  was, 
and  came  to  Hayes,  another  of  his  manors.  He  was 
visited  the  next  day  by  nearly  all  the  bishops,  and 
their  errand  was  once  more  to  prevail  on  him  to  make 
up  the  quarrel  by  a  payment  of  money.  Anselm  was 
inflexible.  He  would  not  do  his  lord  the  shame  to 
treat  his  friendship  as  a  matter  of  bargain ;  he  asked 
for  it  freely,  as  his  archbishop  and  his  subject.  If  he 
could  not  have  it  on  these  terms,  he  asked  again  for  a 
safe-conduct  to  quit  the  realm.  "  Have  you  nothing 
else  to  say  to  us  ?"  They  then  told  him  of  the  arrival 
of  the  archiepiscopal  stole,  sent  by  the  Pope  to  the 
king.  Here  it  was,  to  be  had  without  the  trouble  of 
the  journey.  Would  he  not  make  some  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  benefit  to  himself?  Would  he  not,  for 
his  own  credit's  sake,  offer  the  king  at  least  what  he 
would  have  spent  on  the  journey  ?  But  he  would  not 
hear  of  it,  and  bade  them  leave  off.  The  king  saw 
that  his  game  had  been  a  false  one,  and  threw  it  up 
at  last  frankly.  Trouble  was  abroad,  and  it  was  no 
time  to  be  keeping  up  a  quarrel  in  which  he  was 
baffled,  and  in  which  he  could  not  carry  the  opinion 
of  his  subjects  with  him.  Rebellion  was  threatening 
in  the  north  :  Robert  Mowbray,  Earl  of  Northumber- 
land, had  refused  the  king's  summons  to  appear 
at  Windsor ;  the  Welsh  marches  were  always  dan- 
gerous.    William  was  preparing  for  a  busy  and  critical 


x.]  FINAL  QUARREL  WITH  WILLIAM.  215 

summer,  and  he  could  not  afford  to  offend  his  chief 
men.  Without  more  ado  he  followed  their  advice,  and 
freely  restored  Anselm  to  his  favour.  Bygones  were 
to  be  bygones,  and  he  granted  that  the  archbishop 
should  freely  exercise  his  office  as  the  spiritual  father 
of  the  realm.  They  met  publicly  at  Windsor  as 
friends,  in  the  presence  of  the  nobles  and  the 
assembled  multitude  ;  and  while  they  were  con- 
versing, "  behold,"  says  Eadmer,  "  that  Roman  Walter 
appears,  and  pleasantly  quotes  the  verse,  '  Behold,  how 
good  and  joyful  a  thing  it  is,  brethren,  to  dwell  together 
in  unity'  And,  sitting  down,  he  discoursed  somewhat 
from  the  Lord's  words  about  peace,  praising  the 
revival  of  it  between  them,  though  feeling  all  the 
while  to  his  shame  that  it  was  not  by  his  exertions 
that  peace  had  been  sown." 

It  was  still  hoped  that  Anselm  might  flatter  the 
king  by  receiving  the  pall  from  his  hands.  But  he 
refused  :  what  everyone  looked  upon  as  St.  Peter's 
gift  it  did  not  belong  to  the  royal  dignity  to  convey 
to  him.  His  view  was  the  natural  one,  and  he  was 
not  pressed.  It  was  arranged  that  it  was  to  be  laid 
on  the  altar  at  Canterbury,  and  that  Anselm  was  to 
take  it  from  thence.  There  accordingly,  on  the  Third 
Sunday  after  Trinity,  June  10,  1095,  it  was  brought 
with  great  ceremony  by  Bishop  Walter  in  a  silver 
case.  Anselm,  bare-footed  and  surrounded  by  the 
bishops,  took  it  from  the  altar.  Again,  it  is  said,  as 
at  his  consecration,  the  Gospel  of  the  day  happened 
to  be  the  parable  of  the  great  supper,  with  the 
words  about  "  calling  many,"  and  "  all  with  one  con- 
sent beginning  to  make  excuse."  These  things  then 
impressed  men's  minds  as  significant,  and  the  double 


216        FINAL  QUARREL  WITH  WILLIAM.        [chap. 

coincidence  naturally  excited  much  remark.  For  the 
time  Anselm  was  left  in  peace.  On  his  way  from 
Windsor  two  other  bishops  who  had  taken  part 
against  him  at  Rockingham,  Osmund  of  Salisbury 
and  Robert  of  Hereford,  the  special  friend  of  St. 
Wulfstan  of  Worcester,  followed  him  and  asked  his 
forgiveness.  They  turned,  says  Eadmer,  into  a  little 
church  by  the  way,  and  there  he  absolved  them.  His 
chief  antagonist,  William  de  St.  Carileph,  a  foiled  and 
disappointed  man,  felt  the  anger  of  his  hard  master. 
His  ill-success  was  harshly  visited  on  him.  "  He 
received  a  summons,"  says  Sir  F.  Palgrave,  "  to 
appear  before  the  curia  Regis,  the  '  King's  Court,'  as 
a  delinquent.  Grievously  ill,  he  requested  a  respite. 
Rufus  rudely  and  cruelly  refused  the  strictly  lawful 
essoigu,  de  malo  lecti  (the  excuse  of  a  sickness  which 
confined  him  to  his  bed) ;  one  which,  according  to  our 
ancient  jurisprudence,  the  meanest  defendant  might 
claim  as  a  matter  of  right — swearing  the  excuse  was  a 
sham.  The  bishop  was  compelled  to  follow  the  court, 
in  which  he  had  recently  paraded  so  proudly  ;  but  he 
sank  under  the  combined  effects  of  vexation  and 
disease,  for  when  he  reached  Windsor  he  took  again 
to  his  bed,  from  whence  he  never  rose.  Anselm  dili- 
gently and  affectionately  attended  him,  received  his 
confession,  administered  the  last  sacraments,  prayed 
with  him  and  for  him.  The  bishop's  corpse  was 
interred  in  Durham  cloister,  before  the  chapter  door. 
St.  Carileph,  though  urged,  refused  to  allow  his 
decaying  body  to  intrude  within  St.  Cuthbert's  tower- 
ing minster,  the  noble  monument  which  he  had 
raised."  His  possessions,  like  those  of  other  bishops 
who  died  in  this  reign,  were  seized  by  Ralph  Flam- 


x.]  FINAL  QUARREL  WITH  WILLIAM.  217 

bard  and  his  brother  Fulbert  for  the  king's  use. 
Three  years  and  a  half  afterwards  Ralph  Flambard 
gained  his  great  bishopric  for  himself-—"  the  Palatine 
see"  of  England. 

A  year  of  comparative  respite  followed.  The  year 
1096  was  a  busy  year  for  the  king.  It  had  begun 
with  the  signal  vengeance  taken  by  him  at  Salisbury 
against  the  conspirators  of  the  year  before,  and  it  was 
the  year  of  the  First  Crusade.  All  Europe  was  stirred  by 
an  impulse  which  seemed  to  set  not  armies  but  whole 
populations  in  motion,  and  to  reverse  the  long  accus- 
tomed current  of  migration,  turning  it  backward  to 
the  East.  Robert  of  Normandy,  unable  to  govern, 
but  ready  for  adventure  and  fresh  conquest,  was  car- 
ried away  by  the  enthusiasm  of  the  time  ;  he  had  no 
money,  and  William  saw  at  last  his  opportunity  arrive. 
He  bought  Normandy  of  his  brother  for  three  years. 
The  money  was,  as  usual,  to  be  drawn  from  England, 
and  the  statements  of  Eadmer  and  the  English 
chroniclers  may  well  be  believed  that  it  was  a  hard 
time  for  England.  The  lands  were  racked ;  the 
churches  spoiled  of  their  treasures — their  chalices,  and 
reliquaries,  and  volumes  of  the  Gospels  bound  in  gold 
and  silver.  Anselm  only  suffered  as  the  rest.  He  had 
of  course  to  furnish  his  contribution,  and  he  judged 
it  but  reasonable  and  fitting  that  he  should  do  so. 
But  the  see  had  been  so  impoverished  that  his  own 
means  were  insufficient ;  he  had  to  take  two  hundred 
marks  of  silver  from  the  treasury  of  the  Church  of 
Canterbury  ;  and  that  it  might  not  be  a  bad  precedent 
to  his  successors,  he  mortgaged  to  the  Church  his 
archiepiscopal  manor  of  Peckham  for  seven  years  to 
repay  the  debt.    It  was  a  good  bargain  for  the  monks, 


2i 8  FINAL  QUARREL  WITH  WILLIAM.      (chap. 

and  with  the  Peckham  rents  they  built  part  of  their 
church.  But  Eadmer  is  particular  in  giving  these 
details,  because  even  while  he  was  writing,  there  were 
those  who  accused  Anselm  of  robbing  the  Church  of 
Canterbury.  Between  the  king  and  the  monks  his 
money  difficulties  were  not  easy  to  arrange. 

But  other  difficulties  were  soon  to  return  on  him. 
Wales  was  as  troublesome  to  William  as  Ireland  was 
to  Elizabeth.  He  marched  through  the  country,  but 
he  failed  to  subdue  it ;  and  he  lost  many  men  and 
horses  in  the  attempt.  In  1097  he  tried  to  strike  a  more 
serious  blow ;  but  little  came  of  it.  He  came  back 
in  ill-humour.  Anselm  again  felt  it.  He  received  a 
letter  from  the  king,  complaining  of  the  contingent 
of  soldiers  whom  the  archbishop  had  sent  to  the 
army :  "  He  had  nothing  but  evil  thanks  to  give 
him  for  them ;  they  were  insufficiently  equipped,  and 
not  fit  for  the  work  required."  The  king  therefore 
required  him  to  be  ready  to  "  do  the  king  right "  for 
their  default,  according  to  the  judgment  of  the  King's 
Court,  whenever  the  king  chose  to  summon  him. 
"  We  looked  for  peace"  said  Anselm,  when  he  received 
the  message,  **  but  no  good  came  ;  for  a  time  of  healthy 
and  behold  trouble!'  He  had,  says  Eadmer,  been 
biding  his  time  in  hope  to  get  the  kings  ear,  and  had 
been  restraining  the  impatience  of  those  who  urged 
him  about  the  state  of  Christian  religion  ;  but  now  he 
saw  that  his  opponents  were  too  strong  for  him.  The 
summons  before  the  King's  Court  meant  at  the  time 
a  foregone  conclusion  against  the  defendant.  The  king 
had  him  now  at  his  mercy,  not  on  a  question  of 
religion,  but  of  feudal  service.  "  The  king,"  says  Sir 
F.    Palgrave,   "was  judge  in  his  Court  whenever  he 


x.j  FINAL  QUARREL  WITH  WILLIAM.         219 

pleased.  The  security  of  securities,  the  doctrine  that 
the  king  had  irrevocably  delegated  his  judicial 
authority  to  the  ermine  on  the  bench,  required 
centuries  ere  it  could  be  perfected.  Let  the  reader 
carefully  treasure  this  in  his  mind,  and  recollect  that 
when,  in  Anglo-Norman  times,  you  speak  of  the  'King's 
Court,'  it  is  only  a  phrase  for  the  king's  despotism." 
"  Knowing,"  says  Eadmer,  "  that  all  judgments  of  the 
King's  Court  depended  on  the  king's  word,  and  that 
nothing  was  considered  there  but  what  he  willed,. 
Anselm  thought  it  an  unbecoming  farce  to  strive  as 
litigants  do  about  a  verbal  charge,  and  to  submit  the 
truth  of  his  cause  to  the  judgment  of  a  court,  of  which 
neither  law,  nor  equity,  nor  reason  were  the  warrant. 
He  held  his  peace  therefore,  and  gave  no  answer  to 
the  messenger,  looking  on  this  kind  of  summons  as. 
belonging  to  that  class  of  annoyances  which  he  well 
remembered ;  and  this  only  he  earnestly  prayed,  that 
God  would  calm  them."  But  he  made  up  his  mind 
that  he  was  powerless  to  stop  the  mischief  and  wrong, 
for  which  yet  he  was  looked  upon  as  partly  respon- 
sible. There  was  but  one  course  for  him.  He  must 
seek  counsel  and  support  from  the  head  of  the 
Hierarchy  and  the  Church. 

At  the  Whitsun  meeting,  while  people  were  asking 
what  was  to  come  of  this  charge,  whether  Anselm 
would  have  to  pay  a  large  fine,  or  to  submit  to  the 
king  and  never  lift  up  his  head  more,  he  sent  a  request 
to  the  king  for  permission  to  go  to  Rome.  The  request 
was  a  surprise.  William  refused.  "  Anselm  could  have 
no  sin  needing  such  absolution  ;  and  as  for  counsel, 
that  he  was  more  fit  to  give  it  to  the  '  Apostolicus,' 
the  Apostle's  Vicar,  than  the  Apostolicus  to  give  it  to 


22o       FINAL  QUARREL  WITH  WILLIAM.        [chap. 

him."  "  Perhaps,  if  not  this  time,  he  will  grant  me 
leave  next  time,"  was  Anselm's  answer ;  but  nothing 
more  was  heard  of  the  charge  in  the  King's  Court. 
Again  at  a  great  meeting  in  August  Anselm  renewed 
his  request  with  the  like  result.  In  October  he  came 
by  appointment  to  the  king  at  Winchester,  and 
again  repeated  his  prayer.  The  king  peremptorily 
refused,  with  threats  if  he  persisted  in  his  request, 
or  if  he  went  without  leave.  The  scenes  of  Rock- 
ingham were  repeated.  Walkelin  the  Bishop  of 
Winchester  took  the  place  which  had  been  filled  by 
William  of  Durham,  and  was  joined  as  before  by 
several  other  bishops.  They  urged  obedience  to 
the  king,  and  the  uselessness  of  going  to  the  Pope. 
When  Anselm  urged  their  duties  as  bishops  of  the 
Church  of  God,  they  plainly  said,  that  such  high 
views  were  very  well  for  a  man  like  Anselm  ;  but 
they  had  their  friends  and  relations  to  think  of; 
they  had  important  business  to  care  for  ;  and  they 
could  not  afford  to  u  rise  to  his  heights,  or  despise 
this  world  with  him."  "You  have  said  well,"  was 
the  answer :  "  go  to  your  lord,  I  will  hold  to  my 
God."  But  now  the  barons  were  against  him.  It 
was  not  according  to  the  customs  of  the  realm  that 
a  man  of  Anselm's  dignity  should  leave  it  without 
the  king's  licence ;  and  they  urged  strongly  that 
Anselm  had  sworn  to  obey  these  customs.  "  Accord- 
ing to  right,  and  according  to  God,"  he  immediately 
rejoined  ;  but  the  qualification  was  scouted.  The 
discussion  became  hot  and  vehement.  Anselm  had 
proceeded  straight  to  the  king's  presence,  when  this 
message  about  the  obligation  of  his  oath  was  brought 
to  him  ;  and  seating  himself,  according  to  the  custom, 


x.]  FINAL  QUARREL  WITH  WILLIAM.  221 

at  the  king's  right  hand,  maintained  the  necessary 
limitations  of  all  oaths,  and  the  ties  which  bound 
him,  as  a  duty  to  God,  to  allegiance  to  the  Head  of 
Christendom.  "  You,  O  king,"  he  said,  "  would  not 
take  it  easily  if  one  of  your  rich  and  powerful  vassals 
hindered  one  of  his  dependants,  who  was  busy  on 
your  service,  from  doing  the  duty  to  which  by  his 
fealty  he  was  bound."  "  A  sermon,  a  jsermon  !"  cried 
out  together  the  king  and  Robert  Count  of  Mellent ; 
and  this  was  a  signal  for  a  general  outcry.  Anselm 
listened,  and  then  went  on  quietly.  "  You  want  me 
to  swear,  in  order  that  you  may  feel  safe  of  me, 
that  I  will  never  more  appeal  to  St.  Peter  or  his 
Vicar.  This  is  a  demand  which  as  a  Christian  you 
ought  not  to  make.  For  to  swear  this  is  to  forswear 
St.  Peter  ;  and  to  forswear  St.  Peter  is  to  forswear 
Christ,  who  has  made  him  chief  over  His  Church. 
When  then  I  deny  Christ,  then  I  will  readily  pay 
the  penalty  in  your  court,  for  asking  for  this  licence." 
The  Count  of  Mellent  made  a  scornful  reply:  "He 
might  present  himself  to  Peter  and  the  Pope ; 
they  knew  well  enough  what  they  were  about."  "God 
knows,"  Anselm  answered,  "  what  awaits  you  ;  and 
He  will  be  able  to  help  me,  if  He  wills  it,  to  the 
threshold  of  His  apostles."  The  company  broke 
up.  A  message  followed  Anselm,  to  the  effect  that, 
if  he  went  himself,  he  was  to  carry  nothing  away 
with  him  belonging  to  the  king.  "Does  he  mean 
my  horses,  and  dress,  and  furniture,  which  he  may 
perhaps  call  his  own?"  The  message  was  a  burst 
of  that  mere  desire  to  insult  and  annoy  which 
William  was  ashamed  of  when  he  had  indulged  it ; 
and  he  sent  word  that  Anselm  was  within  ten  days  to 


:22        FINAL  QUARREL  WITH  WILLIAM.        [chap. 


"be  at  the  sea,  and  there  the  king's  officer  would 
meet  him,  to  settle  what  he  might  take  with  him. 
The  parting  then  had  come,  perhaps  the  leavetaking. 
Anselm's  affectionate  nature  was  moved,  and  he 
could  not  restrain  a  burst  of  kindly  feeling.  Nor 
was  William  himself  unmoved  by  it.  With  cheerful 
and  bright  countenance  he  returned  to  the  king : 
*'  My  lord,"  he  said,  "  I  go.  If  it  could  have  been 
with  your  good-will,  it  would  have  better  become 
you,  and  been  more  agreeable  to  all  good  people. 
But  as  things  have  gone  contrary,  though  on  your 
behalf  I  am  sorry,  yet  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I 
will  bear  it  with  an  even  mind,  and  not  for  this  will 
I  give  up,  by  God's  mercy,  my  love  for  your  soul's 
health.  And  now,  not  knowing  when  I  shall  see  you 
again,  I  commend  you  to  God ;  and  as  a  spiritual 
father  to  his  beloved  son,  as  the  Archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury to  the  King  of  England,  I  would  fain  before 
I  go,  if  you  refuse  it  not,  give  God's  blessing  and 
my  own."  "  I  refuse  not  thy  blessing,"  the  king 
answered.  He  bowed  his  head,  and  Anselm  lifted  his 
right  hand,  and  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  on  him. 
And  so  they  parted:  on  Thursday,  Oct  15,  1097, 

Anselm  returned  at  once  to  Canterbury,  where, 
after  taking  leave  of  the  monks,  he  took  at  the  altar 
the  pilgrim's  staff  and  scrip,  and  set  forth  to  Dover. 
At  Dover  he  was  detained  a  fortnight  by  the  weather, 
and  he  found  there  the  king's  officer,  one  of  the 
clerks  of  the  royal  chapel,  William  Warelwast,  who 
lived  with  him  during  his  detention.  When  at  last 
the  wind  became  fair  and  Anselm  was  embarking, 
William  Warelwast,  to  the  surprise  and  disgust  of 
the   bystanders,  came  forward,  and  required  all  the 


x.]  FINAL  QUARREL  WITH  WILLIAM.  223 

baggage  to  be  searched.  It  was  meant  as  a  part- 
ing indignity ;  and  it  came  the  worse  from  an  eccle- 
siastic who  had  been  living  all  the  time  at  Anselm's 
table.  But  no  treasure  was  found  ;  and  he  and  his 
company  landed  safely  at  Witsand.  William  imme- 
diately seized  the  property  of  the  see,  and  kept  it 
till  his  death. 

And  thus  began  that  system  of  appeals  to  Rome, 
and  of  inviting  foreign  interference  in  our  home 
concerns,  which  grew  to  such  a  mischievous  and 
scandalous  height ;  and  Anselm  was  the  beginner  of 
it.  Yet  he  began  it  not  only  in  good  faith  but  with 
good  reason.  He  had  the  strongest  grounds  and  the 
most  urgent  motives  for  insisting  on  it  ;  and  his 
single-handed  contest  with  power  in  order  to  maintain 
it  was  one  of  the  steps,  and  though  one  serving  but 
for  the  time,  not  the  least  noble  and  impressive  of  the 
steps,  in  the  long  battle  of  law  against  tyranny, 
of  reason  against  self-will,  of  faith  in  right  against 
worldliness  and  brute-force.  It  is  true  that,  unan- 
swerable as  Anselm's  pleas  were  according  to  the 
universal  traditions  and  understandings  of  the  time, 
the  instinct  of  the  lawless  king  and  his  subservient 
prelates  was  right,  even  when  they  knew  not  how  to 
silence  Anselm  and  their  own  conscience,  and  were 
leagued  together,  the  one  to  defy  all  control,  the 
other  to  uphold  injustice  as  the  price  of  serving  their 
own  interests.  They  were  right,  though  for  wrong 
reasons,  in  their  jealousy  of  any  rival  to  the  crown  in 
England  :  and  experience  has  amply  shown,  century 
after  century,  that  supreme  and  irresponsible  authority 
has  no  protection  against  the  most  monstrous  abuse 
by   being   for   spiritual   ends  ;    and   that   the   power 


224       FINAL  QUARREL  WITH  WILLIAM.        [chap. 

of  that  great  tribunal  which  Hildebrand  imagined 
and  created,  to  keep  the  great  ones  of  the  earth  in 
order  and  to  maintain  the  right  of  the  helpless  against 
the  mighty,  quickly  became,  in  the  hands  of  men,  as 
lawless,  as  unscrupulous,  as  infamously  selfish,  as  the 
worst  of  those  tyrannies  of  this  world  which  it  pro- 
fessed to  encounter  with  the  law  of  God  and  the 
authority  of  Christ.  But  in  Anselm's  time  all  this 
was  yet  future,  and  men  must  do  their  work  with  the 
instruments  and  under  the  conditions  of  the  present. 
To  him  the  present  showed  a  throne  of  judgment, 
different  in  its  origin  and  authority  from  all  earthly 
thrones  ;  a  common  father  and  guide  of  Christians 
whom  all  acknowledged,  and  who  was  clothed  with 
prerogatives  which  all  believed  to  come  from  above ; 
a  law  of  high  purpose  and  scope,  embodying  the 
greatest  principles  of  justice  and  purity,  and  aiming, 
on  the  widest  scale,  at  the  elevation  and  improve- 
ment of  society  ;  an  administration  of  this  law, 
which  regarded  not  persons  and  was  not  afraid  of 
the  face  of  man,  and  told  the  truth  to  ambitious 
emperors  and  adulterous  kings  and  queens.  In  Eng- 
land Anselm  had  stood  only  for  right  and  liberty  ; 
he,  the  chief  witness  for  religion  and  righteousness, 
saw  all  round  him  vice  rampant,  men  spoiled  of  what 
was  their  own — justice,  decency,  honour,  trampled 
under  foot.  Law  was  unknown,  except  to  ensnare 
and  oppress.  The  King's  Court  was  the  instrument 
of  one  man's  selfish  and  cruel  will,  and  of  the  devices 
of  a  cunning  and  greedy  minister.  The  natural  reme- 
dies of  wrong  were  destroyed  and  corrupted ;  the 
king's  peace,  the  king's  law,  the  king's  justice,  to 
which  men  in  those  days  looked  for  help,  could  only 


x.J  FINAL  QUARREL  WITH  WILLIAM.  225 

be  thought  of  in  mocking  contrast  to  the  reality. 
Against  this  energetic  reign  of  misrule  and  injustice, 
a  resistance  as  energetic  was  wanted  ;  and  to  resist  it 
was  felt  to  be  the  call  and  bounden  duty  of  a  man  in 
Anselm's  place.  He  resisted,  as  was  the  way  in  those 
days,  man  to  man,  person  to  person,  in  outright 
fashion  and  plain-spoken  words.  He  resisted  lawless- 
ness, wickedness,  oppression,  corruption.  When  others 
acquiesced  in  the  evil  state,  he  refused ;  and  further, 
he  taught  a  lesson  which  England  has  since  largely 
learned,  though  in  a  very  different  way.  He  taught 
his  generation  to  appeal  from  force  and  arbitrary  will 
to  law.  It  was  idle  to  talk  of  appealing  to  law  in 
England  ;  its  time  had  not  yet  come.  But  there  was 
a  very  real  and  living  law  in  Christendom  ;  a  law,  as 
we  know  now,  of  very  mixed  and  questionable  growth, 
yet  in  those  days  unsuspected,  and  in  its  character  far 
more  complete,  rational,  and  imposing  than  any  other 
code  which  had  grown  up  in  that  stage  of  society — 
equal,  impartial,  with  living  and  powerful  sanctions. 
On  it  Anselm  cast  himself.  We  see,  perhaps,  in  what 
he  did,  an  appeal  against  his  king,  against  the  con- 
stitution of  England  and  the  independent  rights  of  the 
nation,  to  a  foreign  power.  If  we  see  with  the  eyes 
of  his  own  age,  we  shall  see  the  only  appeal  practi- 
cable then  from  arbitrary  rule  to  law. 

If  anyone  wishes  to  see  the  modern  counterpart  of 
this  quarrel  on  a  still  vaster  and  more  eventful  scale, 
let  him  read  the  detailed  history  of  the  conflict 
between  the  Emperor  Napoleon  and  Pope  Pius  VII.1 
There,  as  in  this  case,  on  the  ultimate  rights  and 
grounds    of  the   controversy,    sympathies    were,    in 

1  D'Haussonville,  L'Eglise  Romaine  et  le  Premier  Empire. 
s.l.  x.  q 


226  FINAL  QUARREL  WITH  WILLIAM. 

England    at    least,    much    divided.      All   but    those 
who  accept  the  claims  of  the  Roman  see,  will  think 
that  the  Pope  was  fighting  for  a   power  based  for 
centuries  on  usurpation  and  false  teaching,  and  in  its 
results  full  of  mischief  to  the  world.     All  but  those 
who  think  religion  the  creature  and  minister  of  the 
state,  will  hold   that  if  Napoleon  resisted   wrongful 
claims  and  upheld  the  just  demands  of  law  and  civil 
government,  he  did  so  with  cruel  contempt  for  the 
faith  and  consciences  of  men,  with  the  most  arbitrary 
and  insolent  imposition  of  his  own  will.     The  cause  of 
religious  freedom  was  mixed  up  with  that  of  the  mis- 
government  of  the  Roman  court ;  the  cause  of  civil 
independence   was   mixed    up   with   that   of   pitiless 
despotism.    In  the  conduct  of  the  quarrel,  too,  though 
the  balance  of  wrong  was  immeasurably  on  one  side, 
the  side  which  suffered  such  monstrous  injury  was  not 
free  from  blame :  Pius  VII.  did  many  things  which, 
though   they   were   as    nothing   compared    with   the 
wickedness  of  his  oppressor,  yet  must  be  read  of  with 
regret.      But  the  quarrel  was,  after  all,  one  between 
true  sense  of  duty  and  belief  in  spiritual  truth  on  the 
one  hand,  and   brutal   irresistible  force,  professedly 
contemptuous  of  truth  and  duty,  on  the  other.    It  was 
a  contest  between  the  determination  to  do  right  at  all 
hazards,  held  to  under  the  severest  trials  with  a  meek 
dignity  and  an  unfailing  Christian  charity ;  and  the 
resolution  to  break  that  spirit,   now  with  the  most 
terrible  menaces,  now  with  the  most  incredible  and 
astounding  indignities,  now  with  the  coarsest  and  vul- 
garest  temptations  of  money  or  selfish  convenience. 


CHAPTER  XL 

ANSELM    ON   THE   CONTINENT. 

"  It  is  not  long  since  these  two  eyes  beheld 
A  mighty  prince  of  most  renowned  race, 
Whom  England  high  in  count  of  honour  held, 
And  greatest  ones  did  sue  to  gain  his  grace  ; 
Of  greatest  ones,  he  greatest  in  his  place. 
***** 
I  saw  him  die,  I  saw  him  die,  as  one 
Of  the  mean  people,  and  brought  forth  on  bier ; 
I  saw  him  die,  and  no  man  left  to  moan 
His  doleful  fate,  that  late  him  loved  dear ; 
Scarce  any  left  to  close  his  eyelids  near ; 
Scarce  any  left  upon  his  lips  to  lay 
The  sacred  sod,  or  requiem  to  say. " 

Spenser's  Ruins  of  Time. 

Anselm,  in  the  month  of  November  1097,  began  his 
winter  journey  to  Italy,  accompanied  by  two  friends, 
Baldwin  of  Tournai,  his  most  trusted  agent,  and 
Eadmer,  who  has  preserved  in  his  simple  and  clear 
manner  a  curious  record  of  the  details  of  a  journey 
in  those  days.  Their  resting-places  were  generally 
the  monasteries  which  were  to  be  found  at  the  end  of 
each  day's  ride.  Anselm,  of  course,  was  received  with 
honour  ;  but  there  was,  besides,  a  charm  about  his 
personal  presence  and  manner,  which  Eadmer  delights 
to  dwell  upon.  At  St.  Omer,  he  relates,  children  were 
brought  to  Anselm  in  great  numbers  for  confirmation, 
and  then,  as  no  bishop  had  confirmed  there  for  a  long 

Q2 


228  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.        [chap. 

time,  came  grown  persons.  "  Men  and  women,  great 
and  small,  you  might  see  rushing  from  their  houses, 
and  crowding  to  our  lodging."  He  spent  several  days 
there,  and  on  the  last  morning,  just  as  they  were 
mounting  their  horses,  a  young  girl  came  begging 
with  tears  to  be  confirmed.  He  would  not  have 
refused,  but  his  companions  objected  to  being  de- 
layed :  there  was  a  long  day  before  them  ;  it  was 
dangerous  to  be  overtaken  by  the  night  in  unknown 
roads  ;  there  were  others,  too,  waiting  about  the  door 
who  would  make  the  same  request.  He  was  over- 
ruled, and  they  started.  But  as  they  rode  along,  the 
poor  girl's  wish  came  back  to  his  thoughts  and  made 
him  very  unhappy.  He  could  not  forget  it;  and  while 
he  lived,  he  said,  he  should  never  forgive  himself  for 
having  sent  the  child  away  with  a  refusal. 

He  spent  Christmas  at  Cluni,  where  he  had  a  friend 
in  the  abbot,  Hugh,  the  old  superior  of  Prior  Hilde- 
brand,  the  counsellor  of  Pope  Gregory ;  and  he 
spent  the  rest  of  the  winter  with  another  Hugh,  also 
one  of  Gregory's  friends,  like  him  a  monk  of  Cluni, 
the  energetic  and  ambitious  Archbishop  of  Lyons, 
who  had  almost  added  another  to  the  anti-popes  of 
the  time,  because  he  was  not  chosen  Pope  in  Gregory's 
place.  In  the  spring,  Anselm,  with  his  two  com- 
panions, travelling  as  simple  monks,  passed  into 
Italy  by  the  Mont  Cenis,  which  so  many  years  before 
he  had  crossed,  going  northwards  to  find  his  calling. 
Eadmer  likes  to  tell  of  the  perils  of  robbers  which 
they  escaped,  and  which  were  increased  in  their  case, 
partly  by  the  reports  of  the  wealth  of  an  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury,  partly  by  the  hostility  of  the  partisans 
of  the    emperor   and    the   anti-pope,   who   held  the 


XL]  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.  229 

passes,  to  all  travellers  who  were  on  the  side  of 
Pope  Urban.  He  tells,  too,  with  a  kind  of  simple 
amusement,  how  well  they  preserved  their  incog- 
nito how  the  monks  at  different  monasteries  told 
them  about  Anselm's  movements,  or  asked  news 
about  him  ;  and  how  skilfully  Baldwin  put  them  off 
from  any  suspicion  about  their  unknown  guest.  He 
stopped  for  Passiontide  and  Easter  at  the  monas- 
tery of  St.  Michael,  near  Chiusa,  the  convent  on  the 
great  hill  that  seems  to  shut  the  valley  between 
Susa  and  Turin ;  the  spot  where  the  Lombard  Desi- 
derius  vainly  tried  to  make  his  stand  against  Charles, 
King  of  the  Franks — the  Sagro  di  San  Michele,  one  of 
the  burial-places  of  the  kings  of  the  House  of  Savoy, 
which  still  arrests  travellers,  who  can  be  tempted  to 
turn  aside  from  the  hurry  of  the  railway,  by  a  singular 
mixture  of  natural  beauty  with  ancient  remains  of 
great  interest.     In  due  time  they  arrived  at  Rome. 

At  Rome  they,  like  so  many  others,  were  to  find 
disenchantment,  and  to  come  on  those  hard  resisting 
realities  of  difficulty  and  necessity  which  cause  such 
abatements  and  retrenchments  in  all  practical  theories. 
The  Pope  in  Anselm's  theory  was  the  divinely  con- 
stituted and  divinely  supported  father  of  Christendom, 
the  oracle  of  truth,  the  defender  of  the  oppressed,  the 
avenger  of  wrong,  armed  with  power  from  Heaven, 
before  which  the  proud  must  quail  ;  in  the  reality,  he 
was  a  conscientious  but  wise  and  cautious  old  man 
with  long  and  varied  experience  of  the  world,  encom- 
passed with  trouble  and  danger,  and  hardly  maintain- 
ing a  very  precarious  footing ;  with  the  empire  and 
half  Italy  against  him,  with  an  anti-pope  keeping  St. 
Angelo  in  Rome  itself,  and  fully  alive  to  the  necessity 


30  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.         [chap. 

of  prudence  and  a  wary  policy.  Nothing  could 
exceed  the  honour  and  sympathy  shown  to  Anselm. 
He  was  lodged  in  the  Lateran  with  Urban  ;  he  was 
shown  to  the  court  as  the  great  champion  of  its 
claims  in  distant  and  strange  England  ;  Eadmer,  ins 
his  delight  and  admiration,  does  not  know  which  to 
be  most  pleased  with,  Anselm's  modesty  and  humility, 
and  the  irresistible  charm  of  his  unselfishness  and 
sweetness,  or  the  extraordinary  respect  paid  to  him. 
"In  assemblies  of  the  nobles,  in  stations,  in  pro- 
cessions, he  was  second  only  to  the  Pope  himself."' 
The  Pope  spoke  of  him  as  his  equal,  "  the  Patriarch, 
the  Apostolicus  or  Pope  of  a  second  world."  But 
Urban  had  many  disputes  on  his  hands,  and  he  would 
not,  if  he  could  help  it,  add  another  with  so  reckless 
and  so  dangerous  a  person  as  William  of  England. 
Letters,  of  course,  were  written,  to  remonstrate  and 
require  amendment.  Letters  came  back,  accusing 
Anselm  of  leaving  England  without  the  king's  leave ;, 
and  with  the  letters,  what  ordinarily  accompanied 
them,  gifts  of  money,  not  of  course  for  Urban,  who 
was  quite  above  all  suspicion,  but  for  the  people 
round  him,  of  whom  it  is  equally  taken  for  granted,  by 
Eadmer  as  by  other  writers  of  the  time,  that  money 
was  of  much  power  with  them.  William's  envoys 
were  roughly  and  sharply  chided  ;  his  conduct  was 
declared  to  be  without  excuse.  Anselm's  cause  was 
laid  before  councils  ;  threats  were  held  out  if  amend- 
ment was  not  shown  by  a  fixed  time.  But  when  a 
year  and  a  half  had  passed,  Anselm  and  his  company 
became  convinced  that  the  Pope  could  do  nothing  for 
them ;  he  had  too  much  on  his  hands  to  take  up  in 
earnest  another  serious  quarrel  ;  and  it  was  plain  that 


XL]  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.  231 

he  was  not  going  beyond  words  and  threats.  He 
tried  to  make  up  by  the  honours  which  he  lavished  on 
Anselm  for  the  little  substantial  help  he  was  able  to 
give  him. 

Rome  was  an  unhealthy  residence  for   strangers  ; 
and  after  his  first  reception,  Anselm  accepted  the  invi- 
tation of  an  old  Italian  scholar  of  Bee,  now  abbot  of  a 
monastery  at  Telese,  on  the  Calore,  near  Benevento 
to  take  up  his  abode  with  him.     The  Pope  approved 
of  the  arrangement :   Abbot  John  was  "  the  Joseph 
sent  before   by  God's  providence  to  prepare  for  his 
father  Jacob."     The  summer  heats  were  "  burning  up 
everything  round,"  and  made  even  Telese  a  dangerous 
sojourn   for  the  northern  strangers ;  and  the   abbot 
transferred  them  to  a  mountain  village  belonging  to 
the  monastery,  called  Schlavia  (Schiavi).     Here,  amid 
his  wanderings  and  troubles,  Anselm  had  a  summer 
of   respite    and    refreshment.      The  little  village  was 
perched  on  a  hill-top ;  there  was  no  one  living  in  it 
but  the  labourers   and   a   monk  who  superintended 
them  :  the  summer  sky  was  bright,  the  mountain  air 
was   sweet  and  fresh   and  healthy,  while   the  plains 
were  fainting  with   the  heat.      After  his  vexed  and 
weary   life,  the   old   man's   heart   leaped   up  at  the 
charms  of  nature  and  repose.      Hie  requies  mea,  he 
broke  forth,  in  the  words  of  the  Psalm — "  Here  shall 
be  my  rest  for  ever  :  here  will  I  dwell,  for  I  have  a 
delight  therein."     He  went  back  at   once  to  his  old 
habits  of  life,  as  when  he  was  a  simple  monk,  and  before 
he  had  any  office ;  he  resumed  his  old  train  of  work. 
In  the  midst  of  the  strife  and  troubles  of  his  last  year 
in  England,  he  had  thought  out,  and  had  begun  to 
compose  a  work  which  was,  like  other  works  of  his,  to 


3  s  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.        [chap. 

open  new  views  in  theology,  and  permanently  to  affect 
the  thoughts  of  men.  It  was  the  famous  dialogue, 
Cur  DeiLs  Homo,  in  which,  seeking  the  rational  ground 
of  the  Incarnation,  he  lays  down  a  profound  and 
original  theory  of  the  Atonement,  which,  whether 
accepted  or  impugned,  has  moulded  the  character  of 
all  Christian  doctrine  about  it  since.  What  he  began 
amid  the  fears  and  distresses  of  uncongenial  England, 
he  finished  in  the  light  and  peaceful  summer  days  of 
his  mountain  retreat  at  Schiavi.  As  was  to  be  ex- 
pected, the  presence  of  such  a  man  raised  the  expec- 
tation of  miracles.  The  name  of  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury  clung  for  centuries  to  a  well  of  fresh  and 
health-giving  water,  the  spring  of  which  was  said  to 
have  gushed  out  of  the  rock  in  answer  to  his  prayers. 
But  he  could  not  long  enjoy  retirement.  He  had 
to  meet  the  Pope  in  the  camp  of  the  Norman  Duke 
of  Apulia,  before  Capua ;  and  there  Eadmer  notices 
again  that  ever-present  charm  of  face  and  manner 
which  attracted  to  him  the  reverence  and  interest  of 
the  heathen  "  Saracens  "  of  Duke  Roger's  army,  over 
whom  Anselm's  presence  exercised  such  a  spell  that 
they  always  saluted  him  as  he  passed  by,  "  raising 
their  hands  to  heaven,  kissing  their  hands  to  him, 
and  kneeling  down  before  him  ; "  and  many  of  them 
would  have  given  themselves  to  him  to  be  taught  and 
converted  by  him  if  they  had  not  been  afraid  of  the 
Duke's  cruel  discipline.  He  earnestly  entreated  the 
Pope  to  relieve  him  of  the  archbishopric :  his  expe- 
rience of  William  showed  that  they  never  could  work 
together ;  and  travellers  from  the  West  brought  over 
new  stories  of  his  brutal  scorn  for  all  religious  belief 
and  feelings.     But  such  a  step  did  not  suit  the  papal 


XL]  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.      .         233 


policy  any  more  than  a  declared  breach  with  the 
kino-.  All  kinds  of  good  reasons  were  addressed  to 
Anselm  why  he  should  keep  his  archbishopric.  He 
was  invited  to  be  present  at  the  Council  of  Bari 
(October  1098),  of  which  Eadmer  gives,  after  his 
fashion,  a  curious  account.  Anselm  was  made  much 
of ;  the  famous  theologian  was  called  upon  to  defend 
the  language  of  the  Western  creed  against  the 
Greeks  ;  and  Eadmer  tells  of  the  flattering  language 
in  which  the  Pope  invited  him  to  address  the  assem- 
bly, of  the  mingled  interest  and  curiosity  of  the 
audience,  not  quite  familiar  with  his  name,  but  crowd- 
ing and  getting  the  best  seats  to  hear  one  whom  the 
Pope  so  distinguished,  and  of  the  admiration  which 
his  learning  and  arguments  excited.  The  Pope  pro- 
ceeded to  lay  before  the  council  Anselm's  dispute 
with  the  king,  and  the  sympathy  of  the  council  was 
so  roused,  that  when  the  Pope  asked  their  opinion, 
they  were  of  one  mind  in  advising  the  king's  excom- 
munication ;  and  it  was  hindered  only,  says  Eadmer, 
by  Anselm's  intercession.  It  may,  perhaps,  be  doubt- 
ful whether  the  Pope  meant  more  than  a  demonstra- 
tion. From  the  council  at  Bari  they  returned  for  the 
winter  to  Rome.  There,  also,  appeared  William  Warel- 
wast,  with  whom  Anselm  had  parted  on  the  beach 
at  Dover,  to  state  the  king's  case  against  Anselm. 
In  the  public  audience  the  Pope  was  severe  and  per- 
emptory. But  Warelwast  prevailed  on  the  Pope  to 
grant  a  private  interview;  he  distributed  his  gifts  among 
those  about  the  Pope ;  and  the  result  was  that  nine 
months'  grace  was  granted  to  the  king  to  arrange 
the  matter  instead  of  three,  from  Christmas  1098. 
"  Seeing   which  things,"   says    Eadmer,    "  we  under- 


234  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.         [chap. 


stood  that  we  vainly  looked  for  counsel  or  help  there, 
and  we  resolved  to  ask  leave  to  return  to  Lyons." 
But  the  Pope  could  not  let  Anselm  go.  A  council 
was  to  be  held  about  Easter  time  at  the  Lateran,  and 
he  must  wait  for  it.  Meanwhile  every  honour  was 
paid  to  him.  When  the  council  met,  the  masters  of 
ceremonies  were  puzzled  where  to  place  him;  for 
no  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  had  ever  attended  a 
council  in  Rome.  The  Pope  ordered  a  seat  to  be 
set  for  him  in  the  most  honourable  place.  The 
council  (April,  1099)  renewed  various  decrees  of 
discipline  on  the  subjects  which  occupied  the  Church 
reformers  of  the  time ;  simony,  clerical  marriage, 
and  lay  investiture.  The  English  ecclesiastics  heard 
the  decree  of  excommunication  passed  with  acclama- 
tion against  all  who  gave  and  all  who  received  the 
investiture  of  churches  from  lay  hands,  and  who, 
for  church  honours,  became  "the  men,"  of  temporal 
lords ;  that  is,  against  what  had  been  the  established 
and  unquestioned  usage  in  England  and  Normandy 
to  which  Anselm  himself  had  conformed.  But  a  re- 
markable incident  startled  and  impressed  the  assem- 
bly. When  the  canons  were  to  be  read  in  St.  Peter's, 
the  crowd  being  very  great,  and  there  being  much 
noise  made  by  the  stream  of  people  going  and  coming 
at  St.  Peter's  tomb,  the  Bishop  of  Lucca,  Reinger  by 
name,  a  man  of  tall  stature,  and  loud  and  ringing 
voice,  was  appointed  to  read  them.  He  began ;  but 
when  he  had  got  a  little  way  his  countenance  kindled, 
and  under  the  influence  of  strong  emotion  he  stopped. 
"  What  are  we  doing  here  ? "  he  said,  looking  round 
the  assembly.  "We  are  loading  men  with  laws,  and 
we  dare  not  resist  the  cruelties   of  tyrants.     Hither 


XI.]  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.  235 

are  brought  the  complaints  of  the  oppressed  and  the 
spoiled  ;  from  hence,  as  from  the  head  of  all,  counsel 
and  help  are  asked  for.  And  with  what  result  all  the 
world  knows  and  sees.  One  is  sitting  among  us  from 
the  ends  of  the  earth,  in  modest  silence,  still  and 
meek.  But  his  silence  is  a  loud  cry.  The  deeper 
and  gentler  his  humility  and  patience,  the  higher  it 
rises  before  God,  the  more  should  it  kindle  us.  This 
one  man,  this  one  man,  I  say,  has  come  here  in 
his  cruel  afflictions  and  wrongs,  to  ask  for  the  judg- 
ment and  equity  of  the  apostolic  see.  And  this  is  the 
second  year ;  and  what  help  has  he  found  ?  If  you 
do  not  all  know  whom  I  mean,  it  is  Anselm,  Arch- 
bishop of  England :"  and  with  this  he  thrice  struck  his 
staff  violently  on  the  floor,  and  a  burst  of  breath  from 
his  closed  teeth  and  lips  showed  his  indignation. 
"Brother  Reinger,"  exclaimed  the  Pope,  "enough, 
enough.  Good  order  shall  be  taken  about  this." 
Reinger,  drawing  his  breath,  rejoined,  "  There  is 
good  need.  For  otherwise  the  thing  will  not  pass 
with  him  who  judges  justly."  And  proceeding  to 
read  the  canons,  he  finished  with  a  further  warning 
before  he  sat  down.  But  this  burst  of  feeling  led 
to  nothing,  and  meant  nothing.  "  On  the  following 
day,"  says  Eadmer,  "  we  got  leave,  and  we  left  Rome, 
having  obtained  nought  of  judgment  or  advice  through 
the  Roman  Bishop,  except  what  I  have  said." 

Anselm  found  his  way  again  to  Lyons,  and  lived 
there,  helping  his  friend  the  archbishop.  In  the 
following  July  (1099)  Urban  died.  "May  God's 
hatred  light  on  him  who  cares  for  it,"  is  said  to 
have  been  William's  remark  when  he  heard  it :  "and 
what  sort  of  person  is  his  successor  ? "     "  A  man  in 


236  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.        [chap. 

some  respects  like  Anselm,"  was  the  answer.  "  By 
God's  countenance,  then,  he  is  no  good.  But  he  may 
keep  to  himself,  for  his  Popeship  shall  not  this  time 
get  over  me.  I  will  use  my  freedom  now."  Every- 
thing seemed  to  prosper  with  him,  says  Eadmer  ; 
even  the  wind,  if  he  wanted  to  cross  to  Normandy, 
served  his  wishes.  "  It  seemed  as  if  God  would  try 
how  far  he  might  be  touched  by  having  all  things  to 
his  mind."  There  was  no  longer  any  one  to  trouble 
him,  duke,  king,  or  pope.  Ralph  Flambard  became 
Bishop  of  Durham.  William  built  no  churches,  but 
he  completed  a  great  memorial  of  himself,  destined 
to  witness  more  memorable  scenes  of  English  jus- 
tice and  English  injustice  than  any  other  place  in 
the  land,  the  great  Hall  at  Westminster.  There  in 
i  ioo,  for  the  second  time,  he  wore  his  crown  at  Pente- 
cost, and  gathered  his  great  council.  On  the  second 
of  the  following  August  he  perished  by  an  uncertain 
hand  in  the  New  Forest. 

Anselm  had  been  all  this  time  in  Gaul,  spending 
his  time  partly  at  Lyons,  partly  at  places  around, 
Vienne,  Cluni,  Macon,  confirming,  preaching,  writing. 
When  he  confirmed  for  the  Archbishop  of  Lyons,  the 
people  flocked  to  him  to  receive  the  "  holy  anoint- 
ing;" whole  days  were  spent  in  the  administration, 
and  his  attendants  were  very  weary  ;  but  he  never 
lost  his  bright  and  cheerful  mood,  and  never  would 
send  the  people  away.  "  So  that,"  says  Eadmer, 
"  there  grew  up  an  extraordinary  and  incredible  affec- 
tion for  him  among  all  the  people,  and  his  goodness 
was  spoken  of  far  and  wide."  From  such  a  man  the 
ideas  of  the  day  expected  miracles ;  the  sick  came  to 
him  for  relief;  his  attendants  were  ready  to  believe 


xi.]  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.  237 


that  they  had  good  reason  for  coming ;  and  Eadmer 
has  his  confident  stories  of  cures,  which  he  relates  as 
an  eye-witness.  As  Eadmer  tells  them,  they  do  not 
read  like  inventions  ;  they  are  the  genuine  impressions, 
told  in  good  faith,  of  one  whose  whole  manner  of 
thought  made  them  to  him  the  most  likely  things  in  the 
world.  As  regards  Anselm  himself,  as  far  as  appears 
from  Eadmer,  he  believed,  like  everybody  else,  that 
miraculous  help  might  be  expected  and  bestowed  ;  he 
believed  in  the  probability  of  such  answers  to  prayer  ; 
but  he  shrunk  altogether  from  the  thought  of  miracu- 
lous gifts  being  entrusted  to  him  or  ascribed  to  him. 
Two  stories  illustrate  at  once  the  way  in  which  people 
believed,  and  the  natural  behaviour  of  a  good  man, 
humble  and  true,  and  trying  to  think  as  he  ought 
about  himself,  who  did  not  disbelieve  the  possibility 
or  even  the  frequency  of  such  exercises  of  God's 
power  and  mercy. 

"At  Vienne,"  says  Eadmer,  "  when  he  was  taking  his 
repast  after  having  celebrated  mass  and  preached,  two 
knights  came  before  him,  in  form  and  voice  showing 
the  marks  of  serious  illness,  and  asking  him  to  deign  to 
give  them  some  crumbs  from  the  bread  which  he  was 
eating.  '  No,'  he  said,  '  I  see  that  you  want  neither 
a  whole  loaf  nor  crumbs.  But  if  you  are  pleased  to 
partake,  there  is  plenty  of  room  ;  sit  down,  and,  with 
the  blessing  of  God,  eat  what  is  set  before  you.'  They 
had  not  come  for  this,  they  answered.  '  I  cannot  do 
anything  else  for  you,'  he  said,  for  he  perceived  what 
they  had  meant.  One  of  those  who  were  sitting  on  his 
right  saw  that  they  had  come  for  health,  and  that 
Anselm  would  do  nothing  which  might  be  set  down 
to  a  miracle ;    so,  as  if  tired   of  their   importunity, 


238  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.         [chap. 

this  person  took  a  fragment  from  the  table  and 
gave  it  them,  and  told  them  to  retire,  lest  they  should 
annoy  the  archbishop.  They  accordingly  went  out 
with  his  blessing,  and  tasted  the  bread.  After  dinner 
they  took  me  aside,  and  earnestly  begged  of  me  to 
help  them  to  receive  the  communion  of  the  Lord's 
body  and  blood  from  his  hands  at  mass.  I  willingly 
agreed,  and  told  them  when  and  where  it  might  be 
done.  They  answered  thankfully,  and  said,  '  We  will 
certainly  come,  if  by  this  medicine  which  we  have 
received  from  his  table  we  are  not  relieved  from  the 
deadly  quartan  fevers  and  intolerable  pains  of  body 
from  which  we  suffer.  And  this  shall  be  a  sign 
between  us  and  you :  if  we  get  well,  we  will  not 
come ;  we  will  come  if  we  do  not.'  And  so  we  sepa- 
rated." They  did  not  come  back  ;  and  hence  Eadmer 
supposes  that  they  were  healed. 

On  another  occasion  "he  was  met,  when  on  his  road 
to  Cluni,  by  an  ecclesiastic,  whose  sister  was  out  of 
her  mind,  and  who  with  tears  besought  him  to  give 
her  his  blessing  and  lay  his  right  hand  on  her.  '  By 
the  wayside  where  you  will  pass  she  is  held  by  a 
number  of  people,  who  hope  that  if  you,  my  lord,  will 
lay  your  hand  on  her,  she  by  God's  mercy  will  be 
straightway  restored  to  her  mind.'  But  Anselm 
passed  on  without  speaking,  and  as  if  not  hearing. 
When  the  priest  insisted  with  many  prayers,  Anselm 
sent  him  away,  saying  most  earnestly,  that  on  no 
account  would  he  venture  on  so  strange  an  act. 
Meanwhile  we  went  on,  and  beheld  her  in  the  midst  of 
the  crowd,  showing  all  the  signs  of  raving  madness. 
The  people  surrounded  Anselm,  held  the  reins  of  his 
horse,  and  redoubled  their  entreaties  that  he  would 


XL]  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.  239 

lay  his  hand  on  the  miserable  woman.  He  resists, 
saying  that  what  they  ask  is  against  good  sense  and 
wisdom.  They,  after  the  manner  of  the  common 
people,  urge  whatever  comes  into  their  heads,  hoping 
to  prevail  at  least  by  rude  pressure.  Then,  seeing 
that  he  could  not  otherwise  escape,  he  yielded  to 
them  in  this  alone,  that  he  did  for  her  what  he  never 
refused  to  any  one  ;  he  lifted  up  his  right  hand  and 
signed  her  with  the  sign  of  the  holy  cross.  And  then, 
urging  his  horse,  he  hastened  away,  and  pulling  the 
head  of  his  cowl  over  his  face,  he  kept  apart  from  his 
companions,  and  gave  vent  to  his  tears  at  the  distress 
of  the  unhappy  woman.  So  in  sorrow  we  arrived  at 
Cluni,  and  she,  pushed  on  by  the  crowd,  went  home.  Her 
foot  had  scarcely  touched  the  threshold  when  she  was 
restored  to  health,  and  the  tongues  of  all  broke  out  in 
praise  of  Anselm.  When  we  heard  it  at  Cluni,  we  were 
glad,  and  gave  glory  and  thanks  to  God  for  His  mercy." 
As  no  history  at  this  time,  even  if  only  concerned, 
so  far  as  this  was  possible,  with  secular  affairs,  was 
without  miracles,  it  cannot  be  expected  that  such  a 
life  as  Anselm's  could  be  witnessed  without  expecting 
them,  or  told  without  implying  them.  They  were  part 
of  the  unquestioned  belief  and  tacit  assumptions  of 
everybody  who  lived  round  him.  Undoubtedly  he 
believed,  that  such  things  happened.  What  might  be 
looked  for  in  a  good  man,  with  such  a  belief,  is  that  he 
would  not  refuse  his  prayer  or  his  blessing,  but  that  he 
would  give  no  encouragement  to  the  ready  disposition 
to  ascribe  to  him  special  power  and  favour.  And  it 
seems  plain  that  while  Eadmer  was  only  too  glad  to 
believe  miracles  of  his  great  master,  Anselm  was 
as  far  as  possible  from  wishing  him  to  do  so. 


240  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.        [chap. 

All  our  authorities  speak  of  presages  of  different 
kinds  preceding  William's  death.  Such  stories  are 
probably  the  reflection,  after  the  event,  of  strong 
feelings  before  it,  surviving  in  men's  memory  ;  but  it 
is  remarkable  that  there  should  have  been  such  a 
variety  and  such  a  number  of  stories  of  the  kind.  The 
different  writers  record*  their  own  omens ;  Eadmer 
among  the  rest.  One  of  these  stories  has  a  curious  little 
touch  of  the  domestic  ways  of  the  time.  It  was  at 
Lyons  :  "  The  feast  of  St.  Peter,  which  is  celebrated 
on  the  ist  of  August,  was  at  hand  ;  and  having  said 
matins,  we,  who  were  constantly  about  Anselm,  wished 
to  allow  ourselves  some  sleep.  One  clerk  was  lying 
near  the  door  of  the  chamber,  and,  not  yet  asleep,  had 
his  eyes  shut  to  go  to  sleep.  And  lo  !  a  young  man, 
in  dress  and  countenance  of  no  mean  appearance, 
stood  and  called  him  by  his  name — '  Adam,  are  you 
asleep?'  'No,'  answered  the  clerk.  The  young 
man  said,  'Would  you  hear  news?'  'Gladly.'  'Know 
then,  for  certain,'  said  the  other,  '  that  all  the  quarrel 
between  Archbishop  Anselm  and  King  William  is 
ended  and  appeased.'  At  these  words  the  clerk 
eagerly  lifted  up  his  head,  and  opening  his  eyes, 
looked  round.     But  he  saw  no  one." 

The  news  reached  Anselm  at  the  Abbey  of  "  God's 
House"  (Casa  Dei,  Chaise  Dieu),  near  Brioude,  in  the 
Auvergne  country,  a  little  place  on  the  top  of  a  hill, 
where,  though  the  monastery  has  disappeared,  a  re- 
markable church,  but  much  later  than  Anselm's  time, 
still  remains,  with  the  tombs  in  it  of  two  Popes, 
Clement  VI.  and  Gregory  XL,  two  of  the  French 
Avignon  line,  whose  family  came  from  the  neigh- 
bourhood.    Within  a  week  after  "William's  death,  two 


XL]  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.  241 

monks,  one  of  Canterbury,  the  other  of  Bee,  were  at 
Chaise  Dieu  with  the  tidings.  Anselm  had  not  ceased 
to  pray  for  the  king.  Eadmer  says  that  he  was 
greatly  affected  ;  he  was  at  first  thunderstruck  and 
silent ;  then  he  burst  into  "  the  bitterest  weeping." 
The  party  returned  to  Lyons;  and  messenger  after 
messenger  soon  arrived  from  England,  from  Canter- 
bury, from  the  king,  from  the  great  men  of  the  realm, 
urging  his  instant  return.  The  land  was  in  suspense 
till  the  archbishop  went  back  to  sanction  what  was 
done,  and  business  was  at  a  standstill  in  the  uncer- 
tainty created  by  his  absence.  The  new  king,  Henry, 
was  especially  pressing,  promising  redress  of  abuses, 
and  willing  attention  to  his  counsel.  On  the  23rd  of 
September  Anselm's  party  landed  at  Dover ;  and 
shortly  after  he  was  with  the  king  at  Salisbury. 

So  sudden  and  unthought-of  an  end  as  William's 
might  have  thrown  England  into  confusion ;  but 
there  had  been  a  man  on  the  spot  equal  to  the 
crisis,  and  probably  long  prepared  for  it.  Henry, 
the  youngest  of  the  Conqueror's  sons,  was  hunting 
in  the  New  Forest  when  his  brother  was  shot.  As 
soon  as  he  heard  of  what  had  happened,  he  imme- 
diately did  as  William  had  done  before  him :  he 
seized  the  treasure  at  Winchester,  and  he  laid  his 
claim  to  the  crown  before  the  Witan,  the  prelates 
and  barons  assembled  about  the  king;  in  this  case 
only  a  certain  number  of  the  great  council  which 
gathered  to  the  court  three  times  a  year.  The 
king's  title  had  not  yet  become  a  matter  of  pure 
inheritance  :  one  man's  title  was  better  than  another's, 
and  birth  was  an  important,  for  the  most  part  a 
preponderating,  element  in   it ;   but  birth  alone  was 

S.L.  X.  R 


242  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.        [chap. 

not  a  complete  and  conclusive  claim.  It  had  to  be 
formally  and  distinctly  accepted  by  the  representa- 
tives of  the  land  ;  it  had  to  be  sealed  and  hallowed 
by  an  almost  priestly  consecration  at  the  hands  of 
the  chief  bishop  of  the  Church ;  and  it  had  to  be 
accompanied  by  the  most  solemn  promises  to  the 
people  of  justice,  mercy,  and  good  laws.  "On  the 
Thursday  [Aug.  2]  William  was  slain,"  writes  the 
Peterborough  chronicler,  "  and  on  the  morrow 
buried  ;  and  after  he  was  buried,  the  Witan,  who 
were  then  near  at  hand,  chose  his  brother  Henry 
for  king ;  and  he  forthwith  gave  the  bishopric  of 
Winchester  to  William  GifTard  and  then  went  to 
London  ;  and  on  the  Sunday  following  [Aug.  5],  before 
the  altar  at  Westminster,  he  promised  to  God  and 
all  the  people  to  put  down  the  injustice  which  was 
in  his  brother's  time,  and  to  keep  the  best  laws 
that  stood  in  any  king's  days  before  him ;  and 
after  this,  Maurice  the  Bishop  of  London  hallowed 
him  to  be  king;  and  they  all  in  this  land  submitted 
to  him,  and  swore  oaths  and  became  his  men." 
Informal  as  the  transaction  appears,  described  with 
the  simplicity  of  a  narrative  from  the  Books  of  Kings, 
it  was  the  right  and  legitimate  procedure — it  was 
the  way  in  which  by  the  custom  and  law  of  England 
the  right  of  the  crown  was  then  given  and  acquired. 

But  Henry  knew  that  he  would  have  to  fight  for 
it.  Robert  of  Normandy  was  on  his  way  home  ;  he 
had  never  given  up  his  claim,  though  his  father  had 
refused  to  sanction  it ;  and  Robert  was  sure  of  a  strong 
party  among  the  Normans  in  England.  At  any 
rate,  Henry  might  expect  as  a  matter  of  course  to 
have  his  strength  tried.     His  first  steps  were  to  win 


XL]  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.  243 

the  feelings  of  the  country  on  his  side  by  reversing 
the  misrule  of  the  late  reign.  He  imprisoned  Ralph 
Flambard,  now  Bishop  of  Durham,  in  the  Tower.  He 
at  once  recalled  Anselm.  Far  from  scrupulous  him- 
self, he  yet  disliked  the  coarse  profligacy  and  riot 
which  had  reigned  in  William's  court,  and  at  once  put 
them  down.  Before  the  end  of  the  year  he  tried  to 
bind  himself  by  another  tie  to  Englishmen,  by  marry- 
ing [Nov.  11]  the  English  maiden,  Edith,  the  daughter 
of  Malcolm  King  of  Scotland,  and  the  noble  and  saintly 
Margaret,  one  of  the  last  remaining  children  of  the 
old  English  line  of  kings,  "  through  whom  the  blood 
and  the  right  of  the  Imperial  House  of  Wessex 
have  passed  to  the  Angevin,  the  Scottish,  and  the 
German  sovereigns  of  England." 1 

Some  of  Anselm's  first  dealings  with  Henry  were 
with  reference  to  this  marriage.  He  did  for  Henry, 
what  Lanfranc  had  done  for  Henry's  father ;  he  pro- 
tected a  marriage  fair  and  honourable  in  all  ways, 
and  far  more  deserving  of  respect  than  most  of  the 
great  marriages  of  those  days,  from  the  prejudices 
and  narrow  rigour  of  his  own  order  and  his  own  party. 
And  he  did  this  more  bravely  and  with  less  of 
compromise  than  Lanfranc ;  he  boldly  and  outright 
threw  aside  objections,  which  to  many  of  the  strict 
people  of  the  time  must  have  seemed  formidable. 
Edith,  in  the  troubled  times  which  had  ended  in  her 
father's  death  by  Norman  treachery,  and  her  mother's 
death  in  the  same  week  from  a  broken  heart  [Nov.  13, 
19,  1093],  had  been  sent  to  England,  to  be  under 
the  care  of  her  aunt  Christina,  Abbess  of  Romsey. 
"  She  was  very  beautiful.     She  inherited  her  mother's 

a  Freeman,  ii.  370. 
R  2 


244  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.        [chap. 

talent,  her  mother's  warm  affections,  sweetness,  pa- 
tience, piety,  and  had  profited  by  all  the  cultivation, 
both  intellectual  and  moral,  that  Margaret  had  be- 
stowed."1 Such  a  lady  was  likely  to  have  suitors.  But 
she  was  said  by  her  aunt  Christina  to  have  made  her 
profession  as  a  nun ;  and  while  William  the  Red 
lived  she  continued  at  Romsey,  wearing  the  nun's 
dress.  When  Henry  became  king,  his  thoughts 
turned  to  Edith ;  it  is  said  that  he  had  before  been 
a  suitor  for  her  hand  ;  and  such  a  marriage  would 
obviously  be  a  politic  one.  One  difficulty  was  soon 
disposed  of  in  those  days ;  the  Welsh  lady  with  whom 
he  had  been  living,  after  the  fashion  of  the  house  of 
Rollo,  though  she  was  not  his  wife,  and  who  had 
borne  him  several  children,  was  dismissed  and  married 
to  one  of  his  military  chieftains,  Gerald  of  Windsor, 
whose  lands  were  in  Pembrokeshire.  The  other 
difficulty  was  more  serious.  It  was  commonly  be- 
lieved that  Edith  had  taken  the  vows  as  a  nun. 
She  denied  it,  and  accounted  intelligibly  enough  for 
wearing  the  nun's  dress  and  countenancing  the  belief 
that  she  had  taken  the  veil,  in  days  like  those  of 
William  the  Red.  Her  aunt  had  forced  her  to  wear 
it  to  save  her  from  Norman  brutality,  and  had  also 
wished  to  make  her  a  nun  in  good  earnest.  But  the 
niece  had  resisted,  in  spite  of  blows  and  hard  words ; 
when  she  dared,  she  would  tear  off  her  nun's  head- 
gear, throwing  it  on  the  ground  and  stamping  upon  it. 
If  her  ecclesiastical  judge  had  been  a  formalist 
or  a  pedant,  she  might  have  found  it  hard  to  make 
him  believe  her  story.  But  Anselm,  when  she  ap- 
pealed to  him  as  the  highest  Church  authority,  put 

1  Palgrave,  iv.  366. 


XL]  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT.  245 

aside  the  ecclesiastical  prejudices  which  might  have 
told  with  many  against  her,  and  ordered  a  full  and 
impartial  investigation.  She  offered  to  submit  her 
account  of  the  matter  to  the  judgment  of  the  whole 
Church  of  the  English.  An  assembly  of  great  persons, 
religious  and  secular,  was  held  at  Lambeth,  then  a  manor 
belonging  to  Rochester.  Commissioners  were  sent  to 
the  monastery  where  Edith  had  been  brought  up. 
Anselm  opened  the  matter,  but  abstained  from  taking 
any  side,  and  left  it  to  the  justice  of  this  great  jury  to 
decide  on  the  facts.  For  the  principle  of  the  case, 
there  was  a  precedent  fortified  by  Lanfranc's  great 
authority.  He  had  on  grounds  of  equity  released 
from  actual  vows  women  who  had  taken  them  from 
fear  of  the  violence  which  followed  on  the  Conquest. 
The  assembly  gave  their  verdict  for  her.  With 
this  judgment,  and  with  her  solemn  and  circum- 
stantial account  of  her  repugnance  to  take  vows, 
which  Anselm  himself  must  have  thought  as  high  and 
noble  as  they  were  inviolable,  he  was  satisfied.  He 
pronounced  her  free  ;  he  frankly  accepted  her  story ; 
and  he  refused  the  confirmation  which  she  offered 
of  any  of  the  further  proofs  or  ordeals  which  were 
in  use  at  the  time.  Before  a  great  gathering  of  the 
nobility,  and  the  "  lesser  people  "  crowding  the  doors 
of  the  church  and  surging  all  round  it,  to  witness  the 
marriage  and  benediction  of  the  new  queen,  Anselm 
stood  up  and  declared  the  manner  and  result  of  the 
inquiry  ;  and  then,  according  to  the  custom  still  in 
use,  called  on  anyone  who  doubted,  or  who  thought 
that  by  the  Christian  law  the  marriage  was  unlawful, 
to  stand  forth  and  speak  his  mind.  Such  a  challenge 
in  these  days,  as  we  have  seen  in  the  case   of  the 


246  ANSELM  ON  THE  CONTINENT. 

Conqueror's  funeral,  was  not   simply  formal  ;  but  a 
shout  of  assent  was  the  answer. 

This  judgment,  larger  and  more  generous  than 
would  have  been  given  by  many  good  men  of  his 
day,  gave  to  Henry  a  queen  who  was  worthy  of  her 
place,  whose  influence  was  throughout  for  gentleness 
and  right,  and  who,  under  her  changed  Norman 
name,  adopted  perhaps  from  Henry's  mother,  became 
dear  to  Englishmen  as  "  Good  Queen  Maude."  But 
there  were  many  people,  Eadmer  says,  relating  the 
matter  as  having  been  present  and  as  having  seen 
and  heard  everything,  who  blamed  Anselm  for  his 
departure  from  the  hard  and  severe  rules  by  which 
such  cases  were  commonly  disposed  of;  rules  which 
were  often  made  merely  to  create  an  occasion  for  a 
dispensation  or  a  privilege,  granted  not  to  simple 
equity  but  to  a  heavy  compensation. 


CHAPTER    XII. 


ANSELM    AND   HENRY    I. 


"  We  would  every  deed 
Perform  at  once  as  grandly  as  it  shows 
After  long  ages,  when  from  land  to  land 
The  poet's  swelling  song  hath  rolled  it  on. 
It  sounds  so  lovely  what  our  fathers  did, 
When  in  the  silent  evening  shade  reclined,      • 
We  drink  it  in  with  music's  melting  tones. 
And  what  we  do,  is,  as  it  was  to  them, 
Toilsome  and  incomplete." 

Goethe's  Iphigenia  (ii.  i),  translated  by 
Miss  Swanwick. 

Anselm  came  back  to  England  with  good  hope  to 
<lo  something  for  the  great  purpose  for  which  he  now 
lived — the  purification  and  elevation  of  life,  first  in 
the  clergy;  then  in  the  monasteries,  which  were  the 
pattern  schools  and  models  of  religion  and  devotion ; 
and  then  in  the  lay  society,  with  which,  monk  as  he 
was,  he  had  such  strong  sympathy,  and  which  he 
looked  upon  as  specially  his  charge  and  flock  as  being 
the  first  spiritual  officer  of  the  English  Church.  The 
new  king  had  solemnly  promised  to  put  an  end  to 
the  odious  wrong  and  the  insolent  tyranny  of  the  last 
reign.  "The  holy  Church  of  God  I  make  free,  so 
that  I  will  neither  sell  it  nor  let  it  to  farm ;  nor  on  the 


248  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  L  [chap. 

death  of  archbishop,  or  bishop,  or  abbot,  will  I  take 
anything  from  the  domain  of  the  Church,  or  from  its 
men,  till  the  successor  comes  into  possession  ;" — this 
had  been  the  first  article  of  the  kingly  promise  given 
at  Westminster,  when  the  Bishop  of  London,  in 
Anselm's  absence,  had  consecrated  and  crowned  him 
king. 

Henry's  position,  too,  was  still  insecure.  Robert  was 
back  in  Normandy  with  a  newly-married  wife,  fresh 
from  the  glory  of  the  Crusade,  and  fully  intending  to 
dispute  the  claims  of  the  younger  brother,  whom  both 
he  and  William  had  been  accustomed  to  despise  and 
to  make  use  of,  and  whom  he  had  joined  with  William 
in  excluding  from  the  succession.  The  English  feeling 
was  strong  for  Henry  :  he  was  not  without  friends 
among  the  Norman  barons  ;  but  as  a  body  the  Nor- 
mans were  not  to  be  trusted  till  they  had  learned  to 
know  the  strength  of  their  master.  They  had  accepted 
Henry  in  Robert's  absence,  many  of  them  with  a  secret 
preference  for  Robert,  a  king  who  would  let  them  have 
their  own  way,  and  a  secret  dislike  for  Henry,  a  king 
who  perhaps  might  not ;  and  with  a  reserve  which 
fear  only,  or  the  sense  of  their  own  interest,  could  at 
last  bring  to  an  issue.  Henry  had  made  to  them, 
as  well  as  to  the  Church,  large  promises.  They 
were  not  content  with  general  engagements  against 
bad  customs  and  unjust  exactions ;  a  number  of 
the  alleged  usurpations  by  the  crown  on  the  rights 
of  landowners,  of  arbitrary  exactions  and  acts  of 
power,  of  abuses  in  the  administration  of  justice, 
were  specified  and  definitely  condemned ;  and  a 
great  charter,  of  which  copies  were  sent  to  the 
shires  of  the  kingdom  and  laid  up  in  the  treasuries 


xii.]  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  249 

of  cathedrals  and  abbeys,  attested  the  liberties 
which  had  been  granted  to  his  barons  and  all  his 
faithful  people  by  King  Henry,  "by  God's  appoint- 
ment elected  by  the  clergy  and  people,  by  God's 
mercy  and  the  common  counsel  and  assent  of  the 
barons  of  the  realm  of  England,  crowned  king 
thereof."  Henry  had  much  on  his  side  in  the  hopes 
which  he  inspired,  in  the  acceptance  of  the  nation, 
in  his  own  consciousness  of  ability  and  strength. 
But  he  could  not  afford  yet  to  overlook  anything 
which  could  make  him  more  secure ;  and  a  good 
understanding  with  a  man  of  Anselm's  high  place, 
reputation,  and  popularity,  was  very  important  to 
him. 

But  there  were  difficulties  in  the  position  of  each  of 
them  which  were  not  long  in  showing  themselves. 
Henry,  whom  the  world  hardly  knew  yet,  who  had 
since  his  father's  death  been  buffeted  by  fortune,  and 
had  gone  through  the  experiences  of  a  princely  exile 
while  patiently  biding  his  time  till  his  father's  dying 
words  of  prophecy  should  be  fulfilled  ;  who  had  alter- 
nately made  himself  useful  to  both  his  brothers,  and 
had  received  scant  recompense  from  them — combined 
with  an  outward  self-command  and  easiness  of  manner, 
strongly  contrasting  with  his  father's  hardness  and  his 
brothers'  boisterous  and  overbearing  roughness,  an 
iron  strength  of  will,  not  less  tenacious  and  formidable 
than  theirs,  though  disguised  for  a  time  under  softer 
manners  and  an  apparently  more  pliant  temper. 
There  were  two  points  in  which  it  at  once  disclosed 
itself.  Amid  all  his  concessions  he  peremptorily 
refused  any  relaxation  of  the  hateful  and  merciless 
forest   laws;    to   the    mighty    hunters   of    William's 


250  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  [chap. 

family  the  crown  was  not  worth  having,  without  the 
cruel  privileges  of  the  chase.  There  was  yet  another 
matter  on  which  he  was  resolved  to  yield  nothing. 
The  ecclesiastical  "customs"  which  had  been  in  force 
in  his  father's  time  he  would  maintain.  Bishops  and 
abbots  should  not  only  be  appointed  by  him,  but  they 
[should,  like  his  barons,  become  "his  men;"  they 
should  receive  the  investiture  of  their  offices  from  him  ; 
the  pastoral  staff  which  was  the  token  of  their  spiritual 
authority  they  should  take  from  his  hand.  "  I  will 
have  all  the  crosiers  in  England  in  my  hand,"  was  a 
saying  ascribed  to  the  Conqueror  ;  and,  in  spite  of  the 
canons  then  beginning  to  be  passed  from  time  to  time 
at  Rome,  Lanfranc  had  not  contested  the  point,  and 
Anselm  himself  had,  as  a  matter  of  course,  com- 
' plied  with  the  custom  when  he  received  the  arch- 
bishopric from  William  Rufus.  There  were  obvious 
reasons  why  Henry  should  maintain  his  claim.  To 
resign  it  would  have  been  to  seem  to  show  himself 
weaker  at  the  critical  beginning  of  his  reign  than 
his  father  and  brother.  There  was  no  strong  feeling 
against  the  custom  among  the  English* or  Norman 
clergy.  It  gave  him  a  special  and  personal  hold  on 
the  service  and  obedience  of  the  Church,  entirely 
analogous  to  that  which  he  had  over  the  allegiance 
of  his  barons  and  tenants.  It  was  a  good  deal 
more  than  the  right  of  nomination  and  patronage. 
That  was  much  ;  but  it  was  much  more  that  bishops, 
when  appointed,  should  not  only  acknowledge  his 
authority  as  faithful  subjects,  but  should  be  bound  to 
him  by  the  special  ties,  first,  of  having  become  "his 
men,"  and  next  of  holding,  not  their  temporal  posses- 
sions only  but  their  office  itself,  by  a  significant  form 


xii.]  ANSELM  AND  HENR  Y  I.  251 

which  made  it  seem  simply  a  derivation  from  .  his 
authority.  These  customs  had  been  accepted  as  a 
matter  of  course,  without  complaint,  without  protest, 
without  remark,  by  the  religious  men  of  the  Con- 
queror's age.  That  they  had  not  only  given  rise  to 
intolerable  abuse  and  mischief  in  his  brother's  time, 
but  that  they  had  deeply  corrupted  the  spirit  of 
churchmen,  and  made  them  look  upon  their  office  as 
a  thing  that  might  be  bought  and  sold,  and  then  used 
with  courtly  subservience  or  cynical  selfishness,  was 
hardly  a  consideration  which  could  be  expected  to 
weigh  with  Henry,  or  to  keep  him  from  stiffly 
asserting  his  claims.  For  a  man  of  Henry's  temper, 
bent  as  strongly  as  his  father  or  his  brother  on  beating 
down  or  eluding  every  check  on  his  will  and  his 
power,  the  spectacle  of  the  way  in  which,  in  the 
late  reign,  the  Church  had  been  humbled,  degraded, 
and  reduced  to  helplessness,  would  be  distasteful  only 
from  the  frantic  extravagance  which  had  defeated  its 
own  ends.  ^ 

It  was  natural  for  the  king  to  insist  on  these 
cherished  customs  of  homage  and  investiture.  He! 
thought  that  they  signified  a  great  deal,  and  so  they 
did ;  but  to  Anselm  also  they  signified  a  great  deal.  | 
He  had  made  no  difficulty,  as  we  have  seen,  in  con- 
forming to  them  at  his  own  election ;  but  much  had 
happened  since  then.  He  had  been  the  witness  and 
the  victim  of  the  system  which  placed  the  duty  and 
conscience  of  Christian  bishops  under  the  heel  of 
feudal  royalty,  and  gave  to  insolent  oppression  the 
right  of  appealing  mockingly  to  their  own  oaths  of 
fealty  and  acts  of  submission  as  the  bonds  of  their 
unconditional  and  uncomplaining  submission.   A  reign 


252  ANSELM  jIND  HENRY  /.  [chap. 

like  that  of  the  Red  King  was  a  lesson  not  to  be  soon 
forgotten:  the  "customs"  which  had  seemed  so  natural 
and  endurable  under  the  father,  had  received  a  new 
meaning  and  a  new  sting  under  the  policy  of  the  son. 
Further,  Anselm  was  in  a  new  position  compared 
with  that  of  Lanfranc,  and  with  his  own  at  his  elec- 
tion. William's  violence  had  driven  him  abroad ; 
and  there  he  had  been  compelled  to  become  cognizant, 
in  a  far  more  distinct  way  than  before,  of  the  legis- 
lation by  which  Church  rulers  and  Church  councils  on 
the  Continent  were  attempting  to  meet  the  rival 
(claims  of  the  feudal  lords.  <  No  one  then  doubted  the 
authority  of  that  great  office  which  they  believed  to 
be  held  in  succession  from  the  Prince  of  the  Apostles. 
They  might  doubt  between  the  claims  of  this  or  that 
pope  or  anti-pope ;  they  might  question  the  wisdom 
of  the  pope's  decisions,  or  disobey  his  orders,  or  defy 

his    excommunications,    or    bribe    his    advisers,    or 

i. 

imprison  his  person  ;  but  the  general   belief  in   his 

authority  was  no  more  impaired  by  such  things  than 
resistance  and  disobedience  affected  the  general  per- 
suasion of  the  authority  of  kings.  The  see  of  St. 
Peter  was  the  acknowledged  constitutional  centre  of 
spiritual  law  in  the  West  to  all  that  "diversity  of 
nations  who  were  united  in  the  confession  of  the 
name  of  Christ ;"  it  was  looked  upon  as  the  guide 
and  regulator  of  teaching,  the  tribunal  and  court  from 
which  issued  the  oracles  of  right  and  discipline,  the 
judgment-seat  to  which  an  appeal  was  open  to  all, 
and  which  gave  sentence  on  wrong  and  vice  without 
fear  or  favour,  without  respect  of  persons,  even  the 
highest  and  the  mightiest.  The  ideal  was  imperfectly 
realized ;  it  was  marred  by  the  extravagance  of  asser- 


xil]  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  253 

tion,  the  imperiousness  of  temper,  the  violence  of 
means  with  which  these  claims  were  urged  ;  it  was 
spoiled  by  the  inextricable  mixture  of  by-ends  with 
grand  and  noble  purposes,  of  unscrupulous  cunning 
and  crafty  policy  with  intense  and  self-sacrificing  con- 
viction ;  it  was  more  fatally  degraded  and  discre- 
dited by  the  selfish  and  faithless  temporizing,  and  the 
shameless  greediness,  which  grew  into  proverbs  wher- 
ever the  name  of  Rome  was  mentioned.  And  every 
succeeding  century  these  things  grew  worse ;  the  ideal 
became  more  and  more  a  shadow,  the  reality  became 
more  and  more  a  corrupt  and  intolerable  mockery. 
But  if  ever  there  was  a  time  when  the  popes  honestly 
endeavoured  to  carry  out  the  idea  of  their  office,  it 
was  just  at  this  period  of  the  Middle  Ages.  They 
attempted  to  erect  an  independent  throne  of  truth 
and  justice  above  the  passions  and  the  force  which 
reigned  in  the  world  around.  It  is  the  grandest  and 
most  magnificent  failure  in  human  history.  But  it 
had  not  then  been  proved  to  be  a  failure ;  and  those 
whose  souls  believed  in  truth  and  thirsted  for  purity, 
righteousness,  and  peace,  amid  the  wrong  and  con- 
fusion of  their  time,  turned  to  it  with  hope  and 
loyalty.  Anselm  probably  had  troubled  himself  little 
with  distant  Rome  and  its  doings  while  busy  in  the 
cloister  of  Bee  with  teaching  and  meditation.  The 
hopelessness  of  all  justice  at  home  drove  him  on  what 
offered  itself,  and  was  looked  on  by  all,  as  the  refuge 
for  the  injured  and  helpless.  And  while  there  he  had 
of  necessity  become  acquainted  for  himself  with  the 
stringency  and  earnestness  with  which  the  highest 
Church  authority  had  condemned  the  customs  of 
homage  and  lay  investiture.     It  was  doubtful  whether 


254  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  [chap. 

he  had  not  himself  come  under  the  penalties  pro- 
nounced against  them.  He  had  been  present  at 
solemn  councils  where  the  prohibitions  against  them 
were  reiterated  in  the  plainest  and  most  peremptory 
manner.  After  what  he  had  seen  and  heard  at 
Rome,  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  henceforward 
to  appear  to  sanction  usages  in  which  he  himself  had 
once  seen  no  harm. 

Henry  appears  to  have  brought  on  the  question  in 
an  extreme  and  unusual  form,  at  his  first  meeting 
with  Anselm  at  Salisbury.  He  demanded  from  An- 
selm  a  renewal  of  homage,  and  required  that  he  should 
receive  the  archbishopric  afresh  by  a  new  act  of  in- 
vestiture. "  Lofty  as  the  pretensions  of  the  crown  had 
been,"  says  Sir  F.  Palgrave,  *  this  demand  was  entirely 
unprecedented,  at  least  so  far  as  we  can  collect 
from  any  existing  historical  evidence.  It  imported 
that,  on  the  death  of  the  Sovereign,  the  archbishop's 
commission  expired — that  his  office  was  subordinate 
and  derivative,  and  the  dignity  therefore  reverted  to 
the  crown."  The  principle  of  a  fresh  grant  of  lands 
and  privileges  at  the  demise  of  the  lord  was  not 
unknown  in  civil  matters  ;  but  "  we  have  no  trace 
that  this  principle  was  ever  extended  to  the  Church." 
Henry  appears  to  have  meant  by  this  demand,  which 
went  beyond  what  had  been  claimed  by  his  prede- 
cessors, to  put  the  meaning  of  these  forms  beyond 
question,  and  to  settle  a  point  raised  and  left  uncertain 
by  the  disputes  ;  perhaps  he  intended  it  as  an  answer 
beforehand,  and  a  forward  step  in  meeting,  what  he 
must  probably  have  known,  would  now  be  the  demands 
of  the  Church  for  the  abolition  of  "the  customs." 
"  Cherishing  the  consuetudines patentee"  the  hereditary 


xii.]  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  255 

"  usages,"  says  Sir  F.  Palgrave,  "  and  pledging  himself 
in  his  own  heart  and  mind  not  to  abate  a  jot  of  his 
supremacy  over  the  clergy,  he  would  exercise  his 
authority  in  Church  affairs  somewhat  more  decently 
than  his  father,  and  a  great  deal  more  than  his 
brother ;  but  that  was  all." 

Anselm,  when  the  demand  was  made,  at  once' 
stated  his  position.  He  had  no  choice.  He  had 
heard  with  his  own  ears  the  canons  of  the  Church 
and  the  solemn  decisions  and  sanctions  of  a  great 
council.  "  If  his  lord  the  king,"  he  said,  "was  willing 
to  accept  these  laws,  they  could  work  together.  If  not, 
there  was  no  use  in  his  remaining  in  England  ;  for  he 
could  not  hold  communion  with  those  who  broke 
these  laws.  He  had  not  come  back  to  England  to  live 
there  on  condition  of  disobedience  to  his  spiritual 
head.  And  he  begged  a  plain  decision,  that  he  might 
take  his  course."  Both  parties  behaved  with  dignity 
and  temper,  fitting  the  gravity  of  the  question. 
u  The  king  was  much  disturbed ;  for  it  was  a  grave 
matter  to  lose  the  investitures  of  churches  and  the 
homages  of  prelates  ;  it  was  a  grave  matter,  too,  to  let 
Anselm  take  his  departure,  while  he  himself  was  not 
yet  fully  confirmed  in  the  kingdom.  For  on  one  side 
it  seemed  to  him  to  be  losing,  as  it  were,  half  of  his 
kingdom ;  on  the  other,  he  feared  lest  Anselm  should 
make  his  brother  Robert,  who  would  most  easily  be 
brought  into  subjection  to  the  apostolic  see,  King  of 
England."  It  was  agreed  that  the  matter  should  be 
referred  to  the  Pope,  things  remaining  unchanged  till 
an  answer  could  come  back  from  Rome.  Anselm 
knew  enough  of  the  temper  of  Rome  to  be  sure  that 
the  appeal  which  Henry  made  for  a  direct  exemption 


256  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  L  [chap. 

from  the  general  law  was  hopeless  ;  but  all  along  in 
this  matter  of  investiture  his  line  was  simple  obedience 
to  authorities  and  rules  which,  even  in  the  ideas  and 
belief  of  his  antagonists,  had  a  rightful  and  para- 
I  mount  claim  to  it.  j  There  is  no  appearance  that 
personally  he  felt  very  strongly  about  the  matter  of 
j  "*  the  dispute ;  it  was  with  him  purely  a  question  of 
obeying,  what  to  him  and  to  his  age  represented  the 
law  of  God  against  the  will  and  power  of  manj  But 
Henry's  proposal,  if  merely  for  the  purpose  of  gaining 
time,  was  not  an  unreasonable  one,  and  the  Archbishop 
wished  to  avoid  anything  that  might  seem  to  endanger 
the  new  order,  or  to  give  ground  to  the  suspicions  or 
the  hopes  of  those  who  looked  on  the  dispute  as  it 
might  affect  the  interests  of  Robert.  In  the  meanwhile, 
the  king  and  the  archbishop  remained  good  friends ; 
Anselm's  good  sense  and  justice  gave  the  king  his 
English  bride ;  and  at  Martinmas  (Oct.  II,  noo),  he 
gave  his  benediction  to  Edith-Matilda  as  wife  and 
queen. 

It  was  not  the  only  service  which  Henry  owed 
him.  The  critical  first  year  of  his  reign  was 
yet  to  be  passed.  Ralph  Flambard,  Bishop  of 
Durham,  had  escaped  from  the  Tower,  and  was  in 
Normandy  stirring  up  Robert  against  the  new  King 
of  England,  as  Odo  Bishop  of  Bayeux  had  passed 
from  his  prison  to  stir  up  Robert  against  William 
the  Red.  Flambard's  familiar  acquaintance  with 
England  was  dangerous ;  he  knew  who  was  doubt- 
ful, and  who  could  be  corrupted,  and  how  to 
corrupt  them.  He  gained  over  the  sailors  who  were 
to  defend  the  Channel.  Under  his  guidance,  Robert 
landed   at   Portsmouth.      At   the   first   news   of  the 


xii.]  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  257 

approaching  invasion,  Henry,  suspecting  his  nobles 
and  suspected  by  them,  had  endeavoured  to  bind 
them  to  him  by  a  new  and  distinct  compact.  "  The 
whole  nobility  of  the  realm,  with  a  multitude  of  the 
people,  when  they  met  to  receive  the  engagement  of 
the  king's  faith,  made  Anselm  their  arbiter  between 
themselves  and  the  king,  that  to  him,  in  their  stead,  I 
the  king,  holding  his  hand  in  Anselm's  hand,  should 
promise  to  govern  the  whole  kingdom  in  all  things,  as 
long  as  he  lived,  by  just  and  holy  laws."  But  when 
it  was  known  that  Robert  was  actually  in  England, 
the  Norman  chiefs  at  once,  forgetful  of  their  plighted 
troth,  prepared  to  desert  the  king.  The  English  and 
the  common  soldiers  were  true ;  but  the  king's  camp 
was  full  of  the  fears,  mistrust,  disloyal  balancings  of 
the  Norman  lords.  Anselm  knowing  most  about  their 
suspicions  and  disaffection,  was  afraid  to  speak  of  all 
he  knew,  for  fear  of  driving  them  at  once  to  Robert's 
side.  But  he  was  the  only  man  the  king  could  trust. 
He  threw  his  influence  on  Henry's  side.  He  brought 
the  Norman  chiefs,  one  by  one,  to  the  king,  that 
seeing  one  another  face  to  face  they  might  be 
reassured  by  mutual  explanations  and  intercourse. 
Henry  made  him  fresh  promises.  Anselm  made  a 
public  appeal  to  the  chiefs,  in  the  presence  of  the 
army,  not  to  shame  themselves  by  breaking  their  faith 
and  betraying  their  king.  The  danger  was  weathered. 
A  battle  was  avoided  at  a  critical  time  ;  Henry 
submitted  for  the  present  to  hard  conditions,  and 
Robert,  finding  the  Norman  lords  less  forward  than 
he  expected,  and  fearing  Anselm's  excommunication 
against  him,  as  an  unjust  invader,  made  peace. 
Henry    was    to    have    his    revenge     in    a     different 


258 


ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I. 


[chap. 


fashion  at  Tinchebrai ;  but  at  that  time,  says  Eadmer, 
if  Anselm's  fidelity  and  exertions  had  not  turned 
the  scale,  King  Henry  would  have  lost  his  possession 
of  the  realm  of  England. 

The  answer  from  Rome  had  been  long  in  coming, 
but  it  came  at  last.  Henry  had  asked,  so  the  Pope 
put  it,  that,  as  a  special  favour  in  return  for  the 
reversal  of  his  brother's  policy  and  his  good-will  to 
the  Church,  he  might  be  privileged  by  the  Roman 
Church  to  make  bishops  and  abbots  by  the  delivery 
of  the  pastoral  staff.  It  was  not  the  exact  account : 
Henry  never  wavered  about  his  claim  ;  and  the  indul- 
gence he  professed  to  ask  for  was,  not  that  he  might 
keep  the  usages,  but  that  Anselm  might  comply  with 
them.  To  this  Pope  Paschal  had  answered  as  might 
have  been  expected.  He  was  willing  to  grant  many 
favours  and  indulgences,  but  not  this.  His  long  letter 
contained  the  current  arguments  and  usual  texts  and 
quotations,  common  since  the  time  of  Gregory  VII.  ; 
but  through  its  false  analogies  and  forced  parallels,  and 
the  extravagant  and  conventional  exaggerations  of  its 
rhetoric,  a  true  and  reasonable  feeling  is  apparent  of 
the  shame  and  mischief  of  allowing  great  Church 
offices  to  be  disposed  of  by  the  kings  and  princes  of 
the  time,  without  an  effort  to  assert  their  meaning 
and  sacredness,  and  to  force  the  world  to  acknowledge 
their  paramount  spiritual  and  religious  character.  A 
breach  now  seemed  inevitable.  Anselm  was  called  to 
the  court,  and  required,  as  in  the  first  instance,  to 
give  way.  His  answer  was  the  same:  he  threw  him- 
self on  the  decrees  of  the  Roman  Council  at  which 
he  had  been  present.  "  What  is  that  to  me  ?"  said  the 
king :    "  I  will  not  lose  the  customs  of  my  predeces- 


xil]  ANSELM  AND  HENR  Y  I.  259 

sors,  nor  suffer  in  my  realm  a  man  who  is  not  mine." 
The  bishops  and  nobles  this  time  fully  took  part  with 
the  king ;  as  before,  says  Eadmer,  there  was  going 
to  and  fro  between  the  king  and  the  archbishop,  all 
striving  to  comply  with  the  king's  will  and  earnestly 
insisting  that  he  should  not  be  subject  to  the  obe- 
dience of  the  Roman  Pontiff.  The  dispute  was 
inflamed,  Eadmer  says,  by  the  influence  of  Duke 
Robert  and  his  friends,  who  remembered  what  Anselm 
had  done  against  them;  but  Henry  wanted  no  urging, 
and  fully  knew  his  own  mind.  But  it  was  not  yet 
convenient  to  come  to  an  open  quarrel.  England 
was  not  yet  fairly  in  hand.  On  the  troublesome 
Welsh  border,  the  worst  and  most  hateful  of  the  bad 
house  of  Talvas  and  Mabel  of  Belesme,  the  restless 
and  pitiless  Robert,  who  seemed  bent  on  fulfilling  his 
grandfather's  curse  on  William  the  Bastard  by  urging 
on  his  children  to  destroy  one  another,  had  succeeded 
his  brother  Hugh,  the  only  one  of  Mabel's  children 
of  whom  any  good  is  told,  in  the  great  earldom  of 
Shrewsbury  and  the  guardianship  of  the  Welsh  march- 
land.  He  was  lord,  too,  at  the  other  end  of  England, 
of  Arundel  on  the  Sussex  shore.  He  had  done 
homage  to  Henry  ;  he  had  deserted  to  Robert ;  and 
the  year  following  the  treaty  (1102)  he  was  in  full 
revolt,  letting  the  Welsh  loose  upon  the  English 
shires,  and  holding  the  castles  which  he  had  fortified 
and  prepared,  in  Sussex,  in  Yorkshire,  and  on  the 
Severn,  as  centres  of  rebellion.  Henry  met  him  vigo- 
rously, and  crushed  him ;  and  Robert  of  Belesme  was 
driven  from  England,  once  again  to  try  his  strength 
against  his  mightier  foe,  to  fail,  and  at  last  to  end  his 
days  in  one  of  Henry's  prisons.     But  while  he  had 

S  2 


260  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  1.  [chap. 

Robert  of  Belesme  on  his  hands,  Henry  probably 
thought  it  best  to  temporize  with  Anselm.  At 
any  rate,  he  again  made  conciliatory  advances  to  the 
I  archbishop,  and  proposed  a  second  embassy  to  Rome 
,of  more  distinguished  persons:  Gerard,  now  Arch- 
bishop of  York,  one  of  William  the  Red's  chaplains 
and  envoys  to  Rome,  and  two  bishops,  together  with 
two  of  Anselm's  most  trusted  friends,  Baldwin,  his 
late  companion,  and  another.  Men  of  such  weight 
and  knowledge  of  affairs  could  explain,  it  was  said,  to 
the  Pope  the  difficulties  of  the  case  and  the  critical 
state  of  matters  better  than  could  be  done  by  letter  or 
by  agents  of  less  dignity  and  consequence.  Accord- 
ingly they  went;  in  their  public  audiences  they  found 
the  Pope  inflexible,  and  indignant  that  he  should  be 
pressed  to  tear  up  the  deliberate  ordinances  of  the  holy 
Fathers  and  of  his  predecessors  for  the  threat  of 
one  man.  He  would  not  do  so,  he  said,  to  save  his 
head.  Letters  were  written  in  the  same  firm  tone  as 
before  to  the  king  and  to  Anselm,  and  with  these  the 
envoys  returned  home. 

A  curious  transaction  followed.  On  the  return  of 
jthe  envoys,  an  assembly  of  the  great  men  was  sum- 
moned in  London,  and  Anselm  was  again  required  by 
[messengers  from  the  king  to  submit  to  the  "usages." 
But  the  Pope's  letter  to  the  king  was  not  made  public. 
Anselm  showed  to  every  one  who  chose  to  see  it  the 
letter  which  he  had  himself  received,  and  asked  that 
the  letter  to  the  king  should  be  made  known.  But 
Henry  refused  ;  he  put  aside  the  Pope's  reply  as 
irrelevant,  and,  throwing  himself  on  his  own  rights, 
required  unconditional  submission.  Meanwhile,  the 
Pope's  letter  to  the  king  got  abroad.  Then  occurred  a 


xii.]  ANSELM  AND  HENR  Y  I.  261 

scene,  which  is  like  nothing  so  much  as  some  of  the 
passages  in  Napoleon's  negotiations  through  the 
bishops  of  his  party  with  Pius  VII.  The  Archbishop 
of  York  and  his  brethren,  the  bishops  of  Chester  and 
Thetford,  announced  what  they  declared  on  the  faith 
of  bishops  to  be  the  real  result  of  their  embassy.  The 
Pope,  they  said,  in  a  private  interview,  had  charged 
them  with  a  verbal  message  to  the  king,  that  so  long 
as  he  acted  as  a  good  king  and  appointed  religious 
prelates,  the  Pope  would  not  enforce  the  decrees 
against  investiture.  And  the  reason,  they  said,  why 
he  could  not  give  this  privilege  in  writing  was  lest,  if 
it  became  public,  other  princes  might  use  it  to  the 
prejudice  of  the  Roman  see.  They  also,  equally  on 
their  faith  and  honour  as  bishops,  conveyed,  in  the 
Pope's  name,  his  commands  to  Anselm  to  give  them 
full  credit,  and  follow  their  counsel.  If  he  refused,' 
the  king  might  act  as  he  pleased  on  the  Pope's 
authority,  in  spite  of  Anselm,  and  might,  if  Anselm 
still  insisted  on  the  Pope's  letter,  banish  him  from  the; 
kingdom.  This  strange  story  took  everyone  by  sur- 
prise, and  called  forth  immediate  remonstrance  from 
Anselm's  representatives.  They  had  heard  nothing 
of  the  message,  which  was  utterly  inconsistent  with 
everything  which  had  passed  in  public  between  them 
and  the  Pope.  When  the  bishops  insisted  that  the 
Pope's  language  was  one  thing  in  public,  and  another  to 
themselves  in  a  private  interview,  Baldwin  indignantly 
charged  them  with  breaking  their  canonical  oaths  and 
making  the  apostolic  see  infamous.  But  they  held 
to  their  story,  and  there  was  a  strong  division  of 
opinion  and  hot  altercation  in  the  excited  assembly. 
When  one  side  insisted  on  the  authority  of  the  actual 


262  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  [chap. 

document,  sealed  with  the  Pope's  signet,  the  rejoinder 
was  fierce  and  insolent.  The  word  of  these  bishops 
ought  to  weigh  more  than  parchments, — "  sheepskins, 
with  a  lump  of  lead  at  the  bottom,"  backed  by  the  testi- 
mony of  "paltry  monks,  who,  when  they  renounced  the 
world,  lost  all  weight  as  evidence  in  secular  business." 
"But  this  is  no  secular  business,"  said  Baldwin.  "We 
know  you,"  was  the  reply,  "  to  be  a  man  of  sense  and 
vigour ;  but  difference  of  rank  itself  requires  us  to 
set  more  by  the  testimony  of  an  archbishop  and  two 
bishops  than  by  yours."  "  But  what  of  the  testimony 
of  the  letters  ?"  he  asked.  He  was  answered  with  a 
sneer :  "  When  we  refuse  to  receive  the  testimony  of 
monks  against  bishops,  how  could  we  receive  that 
of  sheepskins  ?"  "Woe!  woe!"  burst  forth  from  the 
shocked  and  excited  monks,  "  are  not  the  Gospels 
written  on  sheepskins  ?" 

Of  course  in  such  a  dead  lock,  there  was  nothing 
\r  (for  it  but  to  send  another  deputation  to  Rome  ;  and  in 
the  meanwhile  a  compromise  was  agreed  to.  The  king 
was  to  act  as  if  the  bishops  had  truly  reported  the 
Pope's  intentions ;  he  was  to  be  at  liberty  to  invest  fresh 
prelates,  and  Anselm,  till  the  real  fact  was  known, 
was  not  to  refuse  communion  with  them.  Anselm,  on 
the  other  hand,  until  things  were  cleared  up,  was  not 
to  be  required  to  consecrate  them.  He  felt  keenly,  as 
was  natural,  the  embarrassment  of  his  position.  He 
wrote  to  the  Pope,  stating  what  had  happened,  and 
begging  to  know  for  certain  what  the  Pope  meant 
him  to  do.  If  the  Pope  thought  proper  to  take  off 
generally  in  England  the  excommunication  pro- 
nounced against  lay  investiture,  or  to  make  special 
exceptions,  let  him  only  say  so  distinctly.     Anselm 


xii.]  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  263 

felt  all  through  that  the  matter  was  one  of  positive 
law,  and  that  he  was  but  an  officer  bound  to  carry 
out,  at  all  personal  inconvenience,  the  acknowledged 
law  of  the  Church,  and  the  commands  of  his  lawful 
superior.  He  only  entreated  for  clear  instructions.  "  I 
am  not  afraid,"  he  wrote,  "of  banishment,  or  poverty, 
or  torments,  or  death ;  for  all  these,  God  strengthening 
me,  my  heart  is  ready  in  obedience  to  the  apostolic 
see,  and  for  the  liberty  of  my  mother  the  Church  ; 
all  I  ask  is  certainty,  that  I  may  know  without  doubt 
what  course  I  ought  to  hold  by  your  authority." 

The  king  gained  time.  He  did  not  wish  to  quarrel 
if  he  could  help  it  ;  and  probably  thought  that  he 
had  more  chance  at  Rome  than  with  Anselm.  He 
proceeded  at  once  to  invest  two  of  his  clerks  with 
bishoprics.  He  gave  Salisbury  to  his  chancellor 
Roger,  originally  a  poor  priest  of  Caen,  who  had 
followed  him  in  his  adverse  fortunes,  and  had  first 
pleased  Henry  by  the  speed  with  which  he  got 
through  his  mass  ;  and  who  rose  to  be  one  of  the 
greatest  and  richest  of  the  king's  servants.  He  gave 
Hereford  to  another  Roger,  the  superintendent  or 
clerk  of  his  larder.  It  is  hardly  wonderful,  with  such 
appointments,  made  as  a  matter  of  course,  from  men 
broken  in  to  the  ways  of  feudal  courts,  and  accustomed 
to  make  themselves  useful  in  them,  ecclesiastics  in 
nothing  but  their  qualifications  as  scribes,  accountants, 
and  clever  men  of  business,  that  bishoprics  were  indif- 
ferently filled ;  and  that  those  who  wished  to  see  them 
filled  as  they  ought  to  be^  thought  nothing  too  much 
to  do  and  to  suffer,  in  order  to  break  down  the  pre- 
scriptive system,  which  made  these  appointments 
seem  natural  and  fit. 


264  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  [chap. 

Anselm  also  gained  what  he  had  from  the  first  been 
asking  for.  A  council  in  those  days  was  the  ordinary 
and  approved  remedy  for  disorders  in  the  Church  and 
society;  as  later  a  parliament  was  for  disorders  in  the 
State  and  Church  also.  A  great  council  was  held,  with 
the  king's  consent,  about  Michaelmas  1102,  at  West- 
minster, of  the  bishops  and  abbots  of  the  whole  realm. 
"  In  this  council,"  it  is  said,  in  the  record  of  it  drawn 
up  by  Anselm,  "  were  present,  by  the  request  made 
by  Anselm  the  archbishop  to  the  king,  the  chief  men 
of  the  realm,  so  that  whatever  was  decreed  by  the 
authority  of  the  said  council  might  be  kept  safe  by  the 
harmonious  care  and  solicitude  of  each  order.  For  so 
it  was  necessary,  seeing  that  for  many  years,  the  ob- 
servance of  synods  having  been  intermitted,  the  thorns 
of  vice  had  grown  up,  and  the  earnestness  of  Christian 
religion  had  grown  too  cold  in  England."  The  subjects 
of  its  decrees  and  orders  were  many  ;  but  in  general 

':)  it  may  be  said  to  have  had  in  view  two  things  :  to 
draw  tighter  the  strings  of  discipline  among  the  clergy, 
and  to  arrest  the  tendency  always  at  work  among 
them  to  forget  their  calling  in  the  liberty  and  the 

fc)  business  of  ordinary  life  ;  and,  next,  to  strike  hard  at 
some  special  forms  of  gross  and  monstrous  depravity 
with  which  society  was  at  this  time  infested,  and 
which  seem  to  have  broken  out  and  become  fashion- 
able in  the  younger  generation  since  the  Conqueror's 
death.  Abbots  who  bought  their  offices,  and  clergy 
who  would  not  put  away  their  wives,  were  visited 
equally  with  the  severity  of  the  council.  Among  the 
canons  is  one  against  the  "  wicked  trade  used  hitherto 
in  England,  by  which  men  are  sold  like  brute  animals." 
But   to    enact   was   one   thing,   to    enforce   another. 


xil]  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  265 


The  Council  of  London,  Eadmer  says,  soon  made 
many  transgressors  of  its  rules  among  all  sorts  of 
men.  Anselm  had  proposed  to  publish  weekly  its 
excommunication  against  the  more  heinous  sins.  But 
he  found  it  expedient  to  alter  this.  All  that  imme-j 
diately  came  of  the  council  was  the  proof  that  the 
Church  felt  that  it  ought  not  to  look  on  sin  with  indif- | 
ference.  But  most  of  the  bishops  were  too  deeply 
tainted  with  the  worldliness  which  their  canons 
denounced  to  give  any  hearty  support  to  Anselm  in 
his  efforts  to  correct  it.  Yet  these  efforts  were  not 
in  vain.  His  earnest  spirit,  his  high  ideal,  and  his 
single-minded  zeal  against  what  was  wrong  were 
beginning  to  raise  the  tone  of  the  religious  society 
round  him,  though  but  gradually  and  partially.  A 
proof  of  this  was  shortly  after  given  in  a  quarter 
where  it  was  least  to  be  expected.  One  of  Henry's 
first  acts  had  been  to  nominate  William  Giffard 
to  the  bishopric  of  Winchester.  His  name  suggests 
that  he  belonged  to  the  family  of  the  Giffards,  Earls  of 
Buckingham  and  Counts  of  Longueville  in  Normandy, 
a  house  descended  from  a  sister  of  the  famous  Duchess 
Gunnor,  the  wife  of  the  first  Duke  Richard.  He 
had  long  belonged  to  the  king's  chapel  :  he  had  served 
the  Conqueror  ;  he  is  called  chancellor  under  the  Red 
King  ;  he  was  an  ecclesiastic  deep  in  the  secular  busi- 
ness of  the  court,  and  much  trusted  by  it.  A  change  of 
ideas  must  have  been  setting  in  when  William  Giffard, 
Henry's  first  choice  for  a  bishopric,  positively  declined 
to  receive  investiture  by  the  pastoral  staff  from  the 
king's  hands.  The  appointment  appears  to  have  been 
a  popular  one  ;  it  is  said  that  the  clergy  and  people 
of  Winchester   pressed   to   have   him  ;  that   he   was 


266  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  L  [chap. 

"  elected  "  by  them  ;  and  finally,  by  the  king's  consent 
or  connivance,  he  had  publicly  received  the  pastoral 
staff  and  the  charge  of  the  bishopric  from  Anselm's 
hands.  The  king  now  called  on  Anselm  to  consecrate 
him,  and  with  him  the  two  new  bishops  of  Salisbury 
and  Hereford.  The  "  king's  larderer  "  had  died  shortly 
after  his  nomination,  having  vainly  made  the  strange 
request  that  Anselm  would  give  a  commission  to  the 
bishops  of  London  and  Rochester  to  consecrate  him 
bishop  on  his  death-bed ;  and  in  his  place  had  been 
named  Reinhelm,  another  clerk  of  the  royal  chapel, 
who  was  chancellor  to  the  queen.  This  demand  was 
a  departure  from  the  terms,  on  which  both  parties  had 
agreed  to  wait  for  the  issue  of  a  reference  to  Rome. 
Anselm  looked  on  it  as  an  attempt  to  steal  a  march 
on  him,  and,  says  Eadmer,  was  somewhat  moved  by  it 
"  from  his  tranquillity  of  mind."  He  was  willing  to 
consecrate  William  Giffard,  but  refused  in  the  most 
solemn  way,  "  with  the  sanction  of  an  oath,"  to  con- 
secrate the  other  two.  On  this  refusal  the  king 
ordered  Gerard,  the  Archbishop  of  York,  to  consecrate. 
Gerard  was  ready  enough ;  he  was  a  courtier,  an  old 
antagonist  of  Anselm's,  and  only  too  glad  to  mor- 
tify the  pride  of  the  rival  see  of  Canterbury.  But 
the  tide  was  turning.  The  strong  feeling  for  the 
honour  of  Canterbury  may  have  had  something  to  do 
with  it.  To  every  one's  surprise,  the  new  bishop-elect 
of  Hereford  brought  back  to  the  king  the  ring  and 
staff  with  which  he  had  received  investiture,  regretting 
that  he  had  ever  taken  them,  and  feeling  sure  that  to 
receive  consecration  from  Gerard's  hands  would  be  to 
receive  a  curse  instead  of  a  blessing.  The  king  was 
very  wroth,  and  drove  him  from  the  court.     The  con- 


Y^ 


xii.]  AN S ELM  AND  HENRY  I.  267 

secration  of  the  other  two  was  appointed  to  take 
place  in  London.  All  was  ready,  the  church  was  full, 
the  bishops  were  assembled  to  ask  the  solemn  preli- 
minary questions,  when  William  Giffard's  conscience 
smote  him,  and  interrupting  the  service,  he  declared 
that  he  would  rather  be  spoiled  of  all  his  goods  than 
receive  consecration  in  such  a  fashion.  Gerard,  trying 
to  mortify  Anselm,  had  brought  unexpected  humi- 
liation on  himself.  The  service  was  broken  off,  and 
the  bishops  in  confusion  and  anger  retired  to  report 
the  matter  to  the  king.  il  Then  the  shout  of  the  whole 
multitude  who  had  come  together  to  see  the  issue 
rung  out ;  with  one  voice  their  cry  was,  that  William 
was  a  friend  of  the  right,  that  the  bishops  were  no 
bishops,  but  perverters  of  justice."  William  Giffard 
was  summoned  to  the  presence  of  the  king,  to  hear 
the  complaints  of  the  bishops  and  the  threats  of  the 
court.  "  There  he  stood,"  says  Eadmer,  "  but  he  could 
not  be  drawn  aside  from  the  right ;  so  he  was  despoiled 
of  all  that  he  had  and  banished  from  the  realm." 
Anselm's  expostulations  were  of  course  useless. 

In  due  time  the  Pope's  answer  to  the  reference 
arrived.  As  was  to  be  expected,  he  indignantly  dis- 
avowed the  verbal  message  attributed  to  him  by 
Gerard  of  York  and  his  companions  :  he  reiterated  the 
prohibitions  against  lay  investiture,  and  excommuni-l  ' 
cated  the  bishops  as  liars,  and  false  to  their  trust./  $8 
That  they  should  have  lied  outright,  with  the  cer- 
tainty of  being  found  out,  seems  more  incredible  than 
that  they  should  have  blundered.  Pope  Paschal  was 
"  no  Gregory,"  as  one  of  Anselm's  correspondents  said ; 
he  was  very  desirous  to  keep  well  with  Henry  in  his 
own  critical  position  ;  and  in  his  first  letter  to  Anselm 


268  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  [chap. 

after  his  own  election  he  lays  great  stress  on  getting 
the  revenue  which  the  Roman  Church  derived  from 
England,  and  which,  he  said,  it  sorely  needed.  It  is 
possible  that  he  may  have  held  out  some  vague  hopes 
or  hinted  some  ambiguous  civilities,  which  Gerard  mis- 
understood or  made  too  much  of.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  bishops'  story  was  a  very  circumstantial  one; 
and  nothing  in  Paschal's  character  warrants  us  in  think- 
ing that  he  was  willing  to  give  way  privately  on  a 
point  on  which  he  was  so  stiff  publicly:  And  the 
writers  who  mention  the  story,  Eadmer  and  William 
of  Malmsbury,  take  for  granted,  in  accordance  with 
Paschal's  account  of  the  matter,  that  the  whole  thing 
was  a  trick,  not  of  the  Pope  to  make  things  pleasant, 
but  of  unscrupulous  court  bishops  to  gain  time. 

But  no  one  yet  knew  what  the  Pope's  letter,  which 
was  directed  to  Anselm,  contained.  The  king  would 
not  hear  of  having  it  read  to  him,  or  its  contents 
reported  to  him  ;  he  probably  knew  what  it  contained. 
Anselm  would  not  break  the  seal,  lest,  if  the  king 
should  ask  to  see  it  and  found  it  unsealed,  he  should 
talk  of  forgery  and  interpolations.  Anselm  feared 
also  lest  its  contents  might  at  once  force  him  to  ex- 
treme measures  with  some  of  the  bishops  ;  and  it  was 
not  opened  till  Anselm  was  out  of  England.  But  in 
the  middle  of  Lent  (1103)  Henry,  on  some  pretence, 
suddenly  appeared  at  Canterbury.  The  reason  soon 
appeared.  His  patience,  he  let  Anselm  understand, 
was  exhausted,  and  he  must  have  his  own,  as  his 
predecessors  had  had,  without  evasion  and  without 
delay.  "  What  had  he  to  do  with  the  Pope  about 
what  was  his  own  ?  Let  all  who  loved  him  know  for 
certain  that  whoever  denied  him   his  father's  usages 


xii.]  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  269 

was  his  enemy."  "  I  neither  am  taking,  nor  wish  to 
take  from  him  anything  that  is  his,"  was  the  answer  ; 
"  but  to  save  my  life,  unless  the  same  see  which  laid  on 
the  prohibition  takes  it  off,  I  may  not  consent  to  him 
about  the  matters  which  I  heard  with  my  own  ears 
decreed  in  the  Roman  Synod."  The  king  was  known 
to  be  exasperated  and  disposed  for  extreme  measures ; 
people  began  to  talk  of  personal  violence.  Things 
looked  dangerous.  "  I  have  seen,"  says  Eadmer,  "  the 
very  chief  men,  on  whose  advice  the  king  relied,  in 
tears  at  the  prospect  of  the  mischief  to  come." 
Prayers  were  made  that  evil  might  be  averted.  But,; 
in  the  midst  of  the  excitement,  Henry's  tone  at  once 
changed.  "  Would  the  archbishop  go  himself  to 
Rome,  and  try  what  he  could  do  with  the  Pope,  lest  I 
the  king  by  losing  the  rights  of  his  predecessors 
should  be  disgraced."  Anselm  answered  that  if  the 
chief  men  of  the  realm  thought  it  right  for  him  to  go, 
weak  as  he  was,  he  was  ready  according  as  God 
should  give  him  strength  ;  but  that  if  he  should  reach 
the  successor  of  the  apostles,  he  could  do  nothing 
to  the  prejudice  of  the  liberty  of  the  Church  or  his 
own  honour;  he  could  but  bear  witness  to  facts. | 
The  reply  was  that  nothing  more  was  wanted  ;  the 
king's  envoy  would  be  there  also,  to  state  the  case 
for  his  master. 

This  was  arranged  at  the  Easter  court  at  Win- 
chester (1103).  Anselm  returned  to  Canterbury,  and 
four  days  after  set  out  on  his  journey  to  Rome.  In 
contrast  with  his  first  departure,  Eadmer  says  that  he 
departed  "  in  the  king's  peace,  invested  with  all  that 
belonged  to  him."  Correspondence  was  kept  up  in 
measured  but  not  unfriendly  terms.     Anselm  landed 


270  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  [chap. 

at  Witsand,  and  proceeded  by  Boulogne  to  Bee  and 
Chartres.      He  had  friends  everywhere :  the  Countess 
Ida,  the  mother  of  two  kings  of  Jerusalem,  at  Bou- 
logne; the  Countess  Adela,  the  Conqueror's  daughter, 
at  Chartres  ;  and  at  Chartres  he  was  also  welcomed  by 
the  famous  Bishop  Ivo,  one  of  the  most  learned  and 
moderate  canonists  of  the  time,  Anselm's  fellow-pupil 
under  Lanfranc  at  Bee,  who  was  not  at  first,  though 
he  became  so  afterwards,  of  Anselm's  mind  on  the 
great  question  of  the  day.  The  seasoif  was  an  unusually 
hot  one  ;  every  one  said  it  was  madness  to  attempt  a 
summer  journey  to  Italy  ;  and  Anselm  was  persuaded 
|to  delay.     He  spent  the  time  at  his  old  home  at  Bee. 
Such  delay  probably  suited  the  king.    Partly  because 
he  had  rather  that  Anselm,  now  that  he  was  out  of 
England,  should  not   tell   his  own  story  at   Rome, 
partly  perhaps  from  a  real  feeling  of  kindness  which 
seems  to  have  been  between  the  two  men  in  spite  of 
their  differences,  he  became  anxious  for  "his  arch- 
bishop's "  health,  and  wrote,  urging  him  to  spare  him- 
self the  fatigue  of  the  journey,  and  do  his  business  by 
envoys.     But  Anselm  had  already  set  out  at  the  end 
of  August,  and  his  answer  is  dated  from  the  valley 
of  Maurienne,  at  the  foot  of  Mont  Cenis.     At  Rome 
he   found   his   old  acquaintance,  the  searcher  of  his 
baggage  at  Dover,  his  opponent  at  Rome  in  the  days 
of  Pope    Urban,  William  Warelwast,  who  had  pro- 
bably made  more  journeys   to    Rome  in  the  king's 
service  than  any  other  of  the  clerks  of  the  chapel.    In 
due   time  the  subject  was  brought  before  the  Pope 
and  the  Roman  court.     William  Warelwast  was  an 
able  and  bold  advocate  of  the  king's  rights.      He 
asked  that  the  Pope  would  sanction  and  legalize  for 


xii.]  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  271 

King  Henry  the  old  customs  of  William  the  Con- 
queror. He  urged  the  humiliation  of  depriving  him 
of  well-established  usages  ;  and  he  dilated  on  the 
munificence  of  the  English  kings,  and  on  what  the 
Romans  would  lose  by  offending  them.  His  words, 
and  it  may  be  something  more,  brought  over  a  good 
many  of  his  Roman  hearers.  "  The  wishes,"  it  was 
said,  "  of  so  great  a  man  as  the  King  of  England  were 
on  no  account  to  be  overlooked."  Anselm  was  silent. 
"  He  would  not,"  says  Eadmer,  "  give  his  advice  that 
mortal  man  should  be  made  the  door  of  the  Church  ; " 
but  all  along  his  part  was  not  to  press  his  own  view, 
but  to  take  the  law  from  the  supreme  judge.  Paschal 
also  had  only  listened.  Warelwast  thought  he  had 
made  an  impression,  and  might  venture  to  clench  it. 
"  Know  all  men  present,"  he  added  with  vehemence, 
"  that  not  to  save  his  kingdom  will  King  Henry  lose 
the  investitures  of  the  churches."  "  Nor,  before  God,; 
to  save  his  head,  will  Pope  Paschal  let  him  have 
them,"  was  the  immediate  retort.  William  was  taken 
aback,  and  the  feeling  of  the  assembly  veered  round. 
The  advice  was  given  by  the  Pope's  counsellors  that 
Henry  should  be  indulged  in  some  matters  of  custom, 
which  might  put  him  in  good  humour,  and  not  give 
cause  to  other  princes  to  take  offence  :  that  he 
himself  should  be  personally  exempted  from  excom-! 
munication ;  but  that  the  prohibition  of  investiture 
must  be  maintained,  and  all  those  who  had  infringed 
it  regarded  as  excommunicate.  A  letter,  such  as! 
commonly  came  from  the  milder  popes  at  this  time, 
of  compliment,  remonstrance,  and  devotional  appeal, 
firm,  but  leaving  the  door  open  for  further  negotia- 
tion, was  sent  to  the   kin?.     With  arguments  from 


272  ANSELM  AND  HENR  Y I.  [chap. 

Scripture  texts,  like  *  I  am  the  door,"  assurances  that 
the  customs  claimed  were  really  of  no  value,  and  with 
large  promises  of  consideration  for  the  king's  wishes, 
were  mingled  congratulations  on  the  birth  of  his  son, 
"  whom,"  adds  the  Pope,  "  we  hear  that  you  have 
named  by  the  name  of  your  famous  father,  William." 
To  Anselm  the  Pope  gave  his  blessing,  and  the  con- 
,inrmation  of  the  Primacy  of  Canterbury.  There  was 
'nothing  more  to  do  at  Rome,  and  Anselm  prepared 
ito  return  to  England. 

He  was  escorted  through  the  Apennines  by  the 
great  Countess  Matilda.  On  the  road  they  were 
joined  by  William  Warelwast,  who  had  remained 
behind  at  Rome  in  the  hope  of  doing  something 
more  in  Anselm's  absence ;  but  he  found  the  attempt 
useless.  He  travelled  in  Anselm's  company  over  the 
Alps  ;  but  he  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  home,  and  turned 
off  before  they  reached  Lyons,  where  Anselm  was  to 
spend  Christmas.  Before  he  went  he  delivered  to 
Anselm  a  message  from  the  king:  it  was  his  last 
word  ;  but  it  was  accompanied  with  assurances  of  the 
king's  love  and  good-will  to  the  archbishop.  "  I  had 
hoped,"  he  said,  "  that  our  business  at  Rome  would 
have  had  another  issue,  and  I  therefore  deferred  till 
now  to  communicate  what  my  lord  bid  me  say  to  you. 
But  now  I  must  tell  you.  He  says  that  if  you  return, 
to  be  to  him  what  your  predecessors  have  been  to 
his,  he  desires  and  will  gladly  welcome  your  com- 
ing." "Have  you  nothing  more  to  say?"  Anselm 
asked.  "I  speak  to  a  man  of  understanding,"  was 
the  only  answer.  "  I  understand,"  said  Anselm. 
There  was  no  difficulty  in  understanding,  though  he 
wrote    to    Henry  to  ask   if  Warelwast   had    rightly 


XII.]  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  273 

delivered  his  message.     Warelwast  went  forward  on 
his  journey,  and  Anselm  a  second  time  took  up  his  i 
abode  at  Lyons  with  his  friend  Archbishop  Hugh. 

The  matter  was  left  exactly  as  Henry  wished  it. 
The  Pope  had  no  intention  of  quarrelling  with  the 
king.  He  saved  matters  with  Henry  by  exempting 
him  personally  from  the  Church  laws,  and  with  his 
own  conscience  by  enforcing  it  against  everybody  else. 
Paschal  had  serious  difficulties  on  his  hands  at  home  ; 
and   this   seemed   to   be   the   most   hopeful    way   of 


arranging  the  English  question.  He  compromised 
and  surrendered  nothing;  but  he  kept  up  negotiations! 
and  interchange  of  friendly  messages  with  Henry.  ' 
Henry  also  had  not  given  way;  and  he  personally  was 
saved  harmless.  Anselm's  hands  were  for  the  present 
tied,  and  he  could  not  speak  or  influence  others  by  his 
presence  in  England.  But  not  even  with  him  was 
Henry  inclined  to  deal  as  the  Red  King  had  done. 
On  Warelwast's  return,  the  revenues  of  the  archbishop- 
ric were  seized  for  the  king's  use.  But  he  appointed, 
as  receivers,  two  of  the  archbishop's  own  "  men,"  with 
the  "  kindly  forethought,"  says  Eadmer,  "  that  as  they 
were  bound  by  fealty  and  oaths  to  Anselm,  they  would 
exercise  their  office  less  vexatiously  to  the  tenants" — 
an  intention  which  Eadmer  intimates  was  imperfectly 
fulfilled.  The  correspondence  between  the  king  and  the 
archbishop  did  not  cease,  and  it  was  kept  up  in  words 
of  good-will  and  grave  courtesy.  "  You  tell  me,"  writes 
the  king,  "  that  you  cannot  come  to  me  nor  be  with  me, 
as  Lanfranc  your  predecessor  was  with  my  father.  I  am 
very  sorry  that  you  will  not  do  so.  If  you  would,  I  would 
gladly  receive  you  ;  and  all  the  instances  of  honour, 
dignity,  and  friendship  which  my  father  showed  to  him 

S.L.  x.  t 


274  AN S ELM  AND  HENRY  I.  [chap. 

I  would  show  to  you.  But  our  lord  the  Pope  has 
sent  to  me  his  requests  and  admonitions  on  certain 
points.  Wherefore  I  wish  to  send  ambassadors  to 
Rome,  and  by  the  counsel  of  God  and  my  barons 
answer  our  lord  the  Pope  about  them,  and  ask  for 
that  which  I  ought  to  ask  for.  When  I  have  received 
his  answer,  I  will  write  to  you  as  God  may  put  it 
into  my  mind.  Meanwhile  I  am  willing  that  you 
should  have  what  is  convenient  from  the  profits  of  the 
Church  of  Canterbury ;  though  I  do  this  unwillingly;  for 
there  is  no  man  living  whom  I  would  rather  have  in  my 
kingdom  with  me  than  you,  if  there  was  nothing  with 
you  against  it."  The  queen,  who  was  ever  full  of  love 
and  reverence  for  Anselm,  and  with  whom  he  kept  up 
a  constant  correspondence,  assured  him  that  her  hus- 
band's mind  towards  him  was  much  more  softened  than 
many  people  thought,  and  that  her  influence  should 
not  be  wanting  to  produce  agreement  and  harmony 
between  them.  But  there  was  no  sign  of  relenting,  or 
of  any  intention  to  alter  or  give  up  the  usages.  Hard 
things  were  said  of  Anselm.  The  king  declared  that  he 
alone  thwarted  him, — implying  that  the  Pope  would 
have  been  more  favourable,  but  for  Anselm.  Anselm's 
answer,  that  he  could  not  do,  under  altered  circum- 
stances, what  Lanfranc  had  done,  gave  a  natural  and 
obvious  handle  for  invidious  reflections  ;  his  steady 
friend  Queen  Matilda  writes  regretfully  that  his  intem- 
perate words  had  disturbed  the  evenmindedness  of 
the  king  and  the  nobles.  "  I  have  said  nothing,"  he 
writes  in  reply,  "against  the  king's  father  and 
Archbishop  Lanfranc,  men  of  great  and  religious 
name,  when  I  said  that  neither  in  my  baptism 
nor    in    my  ordination    had    I    pledged    myself    to 


xii.]  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  275 

their  laws  and  customs,  and  when  I  declared 
that  I  would  not  deny  the  law  of  God.  As  to  what 
is  now  demanded  of  me,  on  the  ground  that  they  did 
it,  I,  on  account  of  what  with  my  own  ears  I  heard  at 
Rome,  cannot  do  it  without  the  heaviest  offence.  But 
that  ill-natured  meaning  which  has  been  put  on  my 
words,  according  to  which  I  have  spoken  foolishly,  I  do 
not  suppose  to  be  so  taken  either  by  the  king  or  by  you  ; 
for  the  king,  as  I  understand,  received  my  letter  in  the 
first  instance  kindly ;  but  afterwards  some  one  or  other, 
I  know  not  who,  spitefully  gave  it  an  ill  meaning  and 
stirred  him  up  against  me." 

The  precedent  of  Lanfranc  was  a  point  on  which 
Anselm  felt  himself  specially  open  to  misinterpre- 
tation. "  Some  mischievous  busybody  or  other," — he 
writes  to  his  "  old  and  ever  new  friend,  Gundulf,  bishop 
of  Rochester,"  the  only  one  of  the  bishops  who  had 
stuck  by  him  throughout, — "  has  interpreted  my 
letter  to  the  king  out  of  the  evil  of  his  own  heart ; 
as  if  I  boasted  that  I  always  have  kept  God's  law  and 
slandered  the  king's  father  and  Archbishop  Lanfranc,  as 
if  they  had  lived  out  of  God's  law.  But  they  who 
say  this  have  too  small  or  too  evil  a  mind.  In  their 
time,  the  king's  father  and  Archbishop  Lanfranc, 
great  and  religious  men  as  they  were,  did  some 
things  which  I  at  this  time  cannot  do  according  to 
God's  will,  or  without  the  condemnation  of  my  own 
soul." 

Anselm's  position  was  a  hard  one.  About  the 
"  usages  "  themselves,  he  never  had  the  strong  feelings 
of  Gregory  VII.,  which  were  kept  up  at  Rome.  In- 
tellectually and  morally,  his  was  not  a  mind  to  lay 
great  stress  on  matters  of  this  kind ;  in  temper  he  was 

T  2 


276  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  [chap. 


too  considerate  and  ready  to  allow  for  others,  in  his 
ways  of  thinking  he  was  too  intent  on  wider  and 
loftier  views,  to  see  such  a  question  as  this  with  the 
keen  and  accurate  instinct  of  a  statesman.  His  own 
conduct  shows  that  there  was  nothing  in  homage  or 
investiture,  taken  by  themselves,  to  shock  him  ;  at 
first  he  looked  on  them  as  a  matter  of  course.  Since 
then,  he  had  learned  that  a  meaning  could  be  put  on 
them  ;  he  had  felt  what  an  engine  they  could  be  made 
for  hindering  a  bishop  in  his  duty,  and  for  making  him 
think  unworthily  of  his  office.  But  this  of  itself  was 
not  the  reason  why  he  so  unflinchingly  set  himself 
against  the  "  customs  "  which  Henry  truly  said  were 
those  of  Lanfranc  and  the  Conqueror.  There  is  very 
little  of  the  current  argument  against  them  in  his  own 
writings.  His  attitude  throughout  was  that  of  simple 
obedience  to  the  law  and  to  its  lawful  expounder,  and 
his  own  spiritual  superior,  though  he  himself  had  come 
to  see  only  too  good  reason  for  the  law.  He  had  heard 
the  law  promulgated.  He  had  heard  its  authorized 
interpreter  enforce  the  universal  application  of  it. 
When  there  could  be  no  longer  any  doubt  about  this, 
there  was  nothing  left  for  him  but  to  obey.  And  to 
obey  was  all  that  he  pretended  to  do.  It  was  the 
Pope's  business  to  speak  in  the  matter ;  that  was  not 
disputed  even  in  England  :  what  the  king  wanted,  was 
for  the  Pope  to  do,  as  Popes  were  too  much  accustomed 
to  do,  to  grant  some  personal  privilege  or  exemption 
from  the  general  law.  And  Henry  wanted  Anselm  to 
believe  that,  sooner  or  later,  he  should  persuade  the 
Pope  into  giving  it,  and  to  go  on  in  the  meanwhile  as  if 
it  had  been  given.  This  was  what  Anselm  would  not 
do,  and  for  which  he  was  in  exile.     But  let  the  Pope 


xil]  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  277 


speak,  let  him  decide  in  what  way  he  would,  let  him 
modify  the  law  entrusted  to  his  administration,  let 
him  make  what  terms  seemed  to  him  expedient,  and 
Anselm  would  be  only  too  glad  to  go  back  to  the 
more  congenial  work  of  trying  to  raise  up  religion 
and  morality  in  England.  What  his  opinion  really 
was  as  to  what  was  expedient  or  right  for  the  Pope  to 
arrange,  hardly  appears ;  he  would,  no  doubt,  have 
been  glad,  when  the  question  about  investiture  was 
once  opened,  to  get  rid  of  a  mischievous  and  unbe- 
coming practice  ;  he  thought  that  it  was  not  a 
matter  for  trifling ;  and  he  thought  that  on  both 
sides  there  was  too  much  of*  an  intention  to  gain  time, 
and  to  leave  things  in  suspense ;  but  to  the  decision, 
when  it  came,  and  whatever  it  was,  he  was  ready  to 
bow.  But  the  decision  was  just  the  thing  which  it 
seemed  hopeless  to  look  for.  Embassies  came  and 
went;  each  embassy  just  avoided  bringing  things  to 
extremities,  and  invited  another.  "The  decision  of 
the  whole  matter,"  as  Anselm  wrote  to  the  Pope, 
"  lies  with  you."  Let  Paschal  dispense  with  the  law  ; 
let  him  take  off  the  excommunication,  and  Anselm  was 
ready  to  communicate  with  those  whom  the  Pope 
dispensed  with,  to  do  homage,  to  allow  investiture, 
if  the  Pope  thought  he  could  make  exceptions  to  the 
canons.  "  You  tell  me,"  he  says  in  one  of  his 
letters  to  England,  with  unwonted  sharpness,  "that 
they  say  that  it  is  I  who  forbid  the  king  to  grant 
investitures.  Tell  them  that  they  lie.  It  is  not  I  who 
forbid  the  king  ;  but  having  heard  the  Vicar  of  the 
Apostles  in  a  great  council  excommunicate  all  who 
gave  or  received  investiture,  I  have  no  mind  to  hold 
communion    with     excommunicates,    or    to    become 


278  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  [chap. 

excommunicate   myself."     And  his  language  on  this 
point  never  varied. 

But,  as  was  not  unnatural,  the  blame  of  everything 
was  thrown  on  him.  Not  unnaturally  —  for  he 
was  the  one  man  who  saw  his  duty  and  his  line 
perfectly  clear,  and  whom  nothing  could  move  from 
them.  He  was  ready  to  do  whatever  the  Pope  bade 
him — to  resist,  to  comply,  to  compromise ;  only  his 
chief  must  give  his  orders.  And  people  felt  that  it 
was  his  unflinching  constancy  and  single-minded 
purpose  which  prevented  the  authorities  at  Rome, 
for  very  shame,  from  conniving,  in  the  case  of 
distant  and  rich  England,  at  a  breach  of  their  own 
recent  and  solemn  laws.  William  Warelwast  would 
have  had  much  more  chance  of  arranging  matters  at 
Rome,  if  he  had  not  had  to  encounter  there,  not 
Anselm's  words,  but  his  silence  and  his  readiness 
to  accept  the  "  usages,"  if  only  the  Pope  would  take 
the  responsibility  of  commanding  him  to  accept 
them.  And  so  everybody,  friends  and  foes,  turned 
on  him.  The  queen  wrote,  beseeching  him  somehow 
or  other  to  find  a  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  The 
monks  of  Canterbury  charged  on  him  the  vexations 
which  they  suffered  in  his  absence;  whatever  hap- 
pened amiss  in  the  church  was  laid  at  his  door. 
He  was  depriving  the  king  of  his  rights.  He  was 
letting  the  king's  wicked  clerks  invade  the  Church. 
He  was  obstinate  and  impracticable.  He  was  taking 
his  ease  and  evading  the  duty  and  danger  of  his 
post.  He  was  led  away  by  "  his  iron  will ; "  he  was 
a  coward,  and  "  had  fled  from  his  flock  and  left  them 
to  be  torn  to  pieces,  at  the  word  of  one  William." 
"  He  was  busying  himself  about  other  men's  matters, 


xil]  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  279 

and  neglecting  his  own  work."  His  letters  at  this 
time,  differing  in  their  nervous  and  direct  conciseness 
from  the  sermon-like  fashion  of  letter-writing — which 
is  his  ordinary  style,  as  it  was  the  style  of  his  age — 
show  that  he  felt  keenly,  and  had  to  command  himself, 
in  noticing  and  answering  the  peevish  and  ill-natured 
complaints,  the  gossip,  the  suspicions,  the  misinter- 
pretations, the  impatient  and  unreasonable  entreaties, 
which  came  to  him  from  England. 

Anselm  waited  a  year  and  a  half  at  Lyons,  while 
the  king  was  negotiating  at  Rome.  In  March  1105 
he  received  a  letter  from  Paschal,  saying  that  he 
had  excommunicated  the  counsellors  who  instigated 
the  king  to  insist  on  investiture,  and  especially 
Robert  Count  of  Mellent,  the  shrewdest  and  most 
ambitious  of  them  ;  but  that  he  was  waiting  for 
another  embassy  from  England  before  he  settled 
anything  about  the  king.  "  Then  Anselm  understood 
that  it  was  useless  for  him  to  wait  at  Lyons  for 
help  from  Rome;  for  all  that  he  had  got  in  answer 
to  letters  and  messages  was  some  sort  of  consolatory 
promises,  bidding  him  expect  something,  from  one 
fixed  time  to  another."  He  had  also  written  more 
than  once  to  Henry  asking  for  restitution  of  the 
property  of  the  see,  which  without  any  form  of  judg- 
ment had  been  seized  for  the  king's  use;  and  had 
received  no  answers  but  polite  excuses  for  delay.  He 
at  length  resolved  to  do  something  himself  to  bring 
matters  to  an  issue. 

He  left  Lyons  and  came  northwards.  On  his  road 
he  heard  that  the  Countess  Adela  of  Blois  and 
Chartres,  Henry's  sister,  who  had  of  old  treated  him 
with  great  kindness  and  had  taken  him  for  her  spiri- 


28o  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  [chap. 

tual  guide,  was  dangerously  ill  at  Blois.  A  visit 
under  such  circumstances  was  looked  upon  in  those 
days  as  an  indispensable  duty  of  friendship  and 
religion ;  Anselm  turned  out  of  his  road  and  went 
to  Blois.  She  recovered  ;  and  then  Anselm  "  did  not 
conceal  from  her,  that  for  the  injury  which  for  two 
years  Henry  had  done  to  God  and  to  himself,  he 
was  come  to  excommunicate  him." 

The  countess  was  alarmed  and  distressed  ;  and 
set  herself  in  earnest  to  avert  the  blow.  Excom- 
munications were  the  usual,  and  according  to  the 
ideas  of  the  time  the  lawful,  weapons,  in  contests 
of  this  kind  about  the  wrongful  seizure  of  property; 
and  they  were  not  uncommon,  even  against  kings  and 
princes.  But  an  excommunication  from  a  man  of 
Anselm's  character,  who  had  suffered  so  much  and 
so  long,  was  felt  to  be  a  more  serious  thing  than 
ordinary.  It  was  particularly  inconvenient  to  Henry 
just  at  this  time,  when  he  was  preparing  for  his 
decisive  struggle  with  his  brother  Robert  for  the 
possession  of  Normandy.  The  report  spread,  and 
Henry  was  alarmed.  "  In  many  places  in  England, 
France,  and  Normandy,  it  was  noised  abroad  that 
the  king  himself  was  on  the  point  of  being  excom- 
municated by  Anselm ;  and  thereupon  many  mischiefs 
began  to  be  hatched  against  a  Power  not  over 
much  loved,  which  it  was  thought  might  be  more 
effectually  carried  out  against  one  excommunicated 
by  a  man  like  Anselm."  But  Henry  was  too  prudent 
to  allow  things  to  come  to  extremities.  The  Countess 
Adela  carried  Anselm  with  her  to  Chartres,  and 
through  her  mediation  an  interview  was  arranged 
between    the    king   and    the    archbishop.     He    and 


XII.]  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  281 

the  Countess  met  Henry  (July  22,  1 105)  at  the  Castle 
of  L'Aigle  on  the  Rille.  "  They  found  the  king 
overjoyed  at  Anselm's  coming,  and  not  a  little  softened 
from  his  old  harshness."  The  reconciliation  seemed 
hearty  and  frank.  Anselm  was  put  in  possession 
of  the  revenues  of  his  see,  and  restored  to  the  king's 
friendship.  Henry  was  as  gracious  as  he  could  be; 
whenever  anything  had  to  be  discussed,  he  would 
always  go  himself  to  visit  Anselm,  instead  of  sending 
for  him.  Efforts  were  made  that  Anselm  should  at 
once  return  to  England.  But  Henry  insisted  on  the 
old  conditions — recognition  of  the  right  of  investiture. 
And  on  this  point  a  reference  to  Rome  was  necessary. 
Things  were  only  half  settled  ;  and  Henry  made 
the  most  of  the  opportunity  in  a  characteristic  way. 
He  was  at  this  time  in  pressing  need  of  money  for 
his  war  in  Normandy ;  and  the  Church  of  course 
did  not  escape  "  in  the  manifold  contributions,  which 
never  ceased,"  says  the  English  chronicler,  "  before 
the  king  went  over  to  Normandy,  and  while  he 
was  there,  and  after  he  came  back  again."  Henry 
had  some  skill  in  inventing,  on  such  emergencies, 
new  forisfacta — matters  for  fines  and  forfeiture — 
questions  for  the  Curia  Regis  to  settle  between 
him  and  his  lieges.  On  this  occasion  he  was 
seized  with  a  zeal  for  Church  discipline.  Many 
of  the  parochial  clergy  were  living  in  disobedience 
to  the  canons  of  the  late  synod  of  Westminster, 
which  had  forbidden  clerical  marriage ;  "  this  sin  the 
king  could  not  endure  to  see  unpunished."  So  to 
bring  the  offenders  to  their  duty,  he,  of  his  own  mere 
motion,  proceeded  to  mulct  them  heavily.  The  tax, 
however,   proved,    unfortunately,   not   so    productive 


282  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  [chap. 

as  he  had  anticipated;  and  therefore,  changing  his 
mind,  he  imposed  the  assessment  on  the  whole  body 
of  the  parochial  clergy,  innocent  as  well  as  guilty, 
throughout  the  kingdom.  Anselm  expostulated ; 
the  offending  clergy  ought  to  be  punished,  he  said, 
not  by  the  officers  of  the  Exchequer,  but  by  their 
bishops.  Henry,  in  his  reply,  is  much  surprised  at 
the  archbishop's  objections;  he  thought  that  he  was 
only  doing  his  work  for  him,  labouring  in  his  cause ; 
but  he  would  see  to  it :  "  however,"  he  said,  "  whatever 
else  had  happened,  the  archbishop's  people  had  been 
left  in  peace."  But  as  to  the  mass  of  the  clergy, 
seizures,  imprisonment,  and  every  kind  of  annoy- 
ance, had  enforced  the  tax-gatherer's  demands. 
Two  hundred  priests  went  barefoot  in  procession, 
in  alb  and  stole,  to  the  king's  palace,  "with  one 
voice  imploring  him  to  have  mercy  upon  them ; " 
but  they  were  driven  from  his  presence ;  "  the  king, 
perhaps,  was  busy."  They  then,  u  clothed  with  con- 
fusion upon  confusion,"  besought  the  intercession 
and  good  offices  of  the  queen :  she  was  moved  to 
tears  at  their  story;  but  she  was  afraid  to  interfere 
in  their  behalf.  What  is  a  still  greater  proof  of 
Henry's  tyranny  is  that  the  court  party  among 
the  clergy,  among  them  the  excommunicated  bishops, 
began  to  turn  their  eyes  towards  Anselm.  Gerard 
of  York  found  himself  in  trouble,  and  wrote  with 
apologies  and  prayers  for  help  to  the  man  whom 
he  had  done  his  best  to  ruin.  A  letter  was  further 
sent,  signed  by  several  of  the  bishops,  entreating 
Anselm  to  return,  as  the  only  means  of  remedying 
the  misery  of  the  English  Church.  "  We  have 
waited  for  peace,  but  it  has  departed  far   from   us. 


xii.]  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  283 

Laymen  had  broken  in,  even  unto  the  altar.  Thy 
children,"  they  continue,  "  will  fight  with  thee  the 
battle  of  the  Lord  ;  and  if  thou  shalt  be  gathered 
to  thy  fathers  before  us,  we  will  receive  of  thy  hand 
the  heritage  of  thy  labours.  Delay  then,  no  longer ; 
thou  hast  now  no  excuse  before  God.  We  are  ready, 
not  only  to  follow  thee,  but  to  go  before  thee,  if 
thou  command  us;  for  now  we  are  seeking  in  this 
cause,  not  what  is  ours,  but  what  is  the  Lord's." 
Among  the  names  attached  to  this  letter  are  those 
of  Anselm's  old  opponents,  Gerard  of  York,  Herbert 
of  Norwich,  and  Robert  of  Chester. 

At  length,  after  more  delays,  more  embassies,  more 
intrigues,  and  bargainings  at  Rome,  the  end  of  this 
dreary  contest  came  for  Anselm ;  and  except  that 
haggling  is  part  of  a  bargain,  it  is  not  easy  to  see 
why  it  might  not  have  come  before.  In  April  1106, 
fresh  instructions  came  from  the  Pope.  It  released,  or 
gave  Anselm  authority  to  release,  all  who  had  come 
under  excommunication  for  breaking  the  canons 
about  homage  and  investiture  ;  thus  enabling  Anselm 
to  return  to  England  and  take  part  with  the  offending 
bishops;  but  it  laid  down  no  rule  for  the  future. 
Henry  was  now  very  anxious  to  get  Anselm  to 
England ;  but  he  was  detained  at  Jumieges  and  Bee 
by  repeated  attacks  of  alarming  illness.  The  king's 
letters  and  messages  expressed  the  warmest  interest 
in  him.  "  All  that  the  king  had  in  Normandy  was  at 
his  disposal."  Henry  at  length  crossed  over  to  Nor- 
mandy ;  he  had  a  great  enterprise  on  hand ;  and  he 
found  time  to  visit  Anselm  at  Bee.  Various  matters 
were  arranged  to  put  a  stop  to  the  arbitrary  exactions 
which  had  grown  up  under  the  Red   King;  and  at 


284  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  [chap. 

length  Anselm  returned  once  more  to  England,  where 
he  was  received  with  joyful  welcome.  "My  lord  the 
king,"  Anselm  wrrites  in  one  of  his  letters,  "  has  com- 
mended to  me  his  kingdom  and  all  that  belongs  to 
him,  that  my  will  might  be  done  in  all  that  is  his : 
in  which  he  has  shown  the  kindness  of  his  good-will 
towards  me,  and  his  affection  for  me."  The  queen 
met  him,  and  prepared  his  lodgings  at  the  places 
where  he  halted  ;  and,  as  always,  was  foremost  in  her 
affection  and  honour  for  him.  Shortly,  he  received 
from  the  king  the  account  of  his  final  victory  over 
his  brother  Robert,  in  the  decisive  battle  fought, 
"on  a  day  named  and  fixed,"  at  Tinchebrai  (Sept. 
28,  1 106).  Henry's  enemies  were  now  crushed  and 
in  his  power ;  not  only  his  brother,  but  the  more 
formidable  Norman  lords,  William  of  Mortagne  and 
the  implacable  Robert  of  Belesme.  Ralph  Flambard 
recognized  the  winning  side  and  made  his  peace  with 
Henry.  Henry  had  regained  the  realm  over  which  his 
father  had  ruled  ;  and  the  Norman  and  English  lords 
soon  felt  that  they  had  found  their  master. 

But  the  final  arrangement  of  the  dispute  with  the 
Church  had  yet  to  come.  It  was  not  long  delayed. 
It  might  have  been  expected  that  the  conqueror  of 
Normandy  would  have  been  tempted,  if  not  to  extreme 
terms,  at  least  to  his  old  game  of  delay  and  intrigue. 
But  Anselm  seems  to  have  won  his  respect;  and  Henry 
was  ready  for  concessions  and  a  fair  treaty.  "  On  the 
1st  of  August"  (1107),  says  Eadmer — it  would  have 
been  at  Whitsuntide  but  for  Anselm's  illness — "  an 
assembly  of  bishops,  abbots,  and  chief  men  of  the  realm 
was  held  in  London,  in  the  king's  palace;  and  for 
three  days  continuously  the  matter  of  the  investitures 


xil]  ANSELM  AND  HENRY  I.  285 


of  churches  was  fully  discussed  between  the  king  and 
the  bishops,  Anselm  being  absent ;  some  of  them 
urging  that  the  king  should  perform  them  after  the 
custom  of  his  father  and  brother,  and  not  according  to 
the  command  of  the  Pope.  For  the  Pope,  standing 
firm  in  the  decision  which  had  been  promulgated 
thereupon,  had  allowed  the  homage  which  Pope 
Urban  had  forbidden  equally  with  investitures  ;  and 
by  this  had  made  the  king  inclinable  to  him  on  the 
point  of  investitures.  Then,  in  the  presence  of  Anselm, 
the  multitude  standing  by,  the  king  granted  and 
decreed  that  from  that  time  forth  for  ever  no  one 
should  be  invested  in  England  with  bishopric  or  abbey 
by  staff  and  ring,  either  by  the  king  or  by  any  lay 
hand ;  Anselm  also  allowing  that  no  one  elected  to  a 
prelacy  should  be  refused  consecration  on  account  of 
homage  done  to  the  king.  This,  then,  having  been 
settled,  fathers  were  appointed  by  the  king,  by  the 
counsel  of  Anselm  and  the  chief  men  of  the  realm, 
without  any  investiture  of  the  pastoral  staff  and 
ring,  in  nearly  all  the  churches  in  England  which 
had  long  been  widowed  of  their  pastors."  On  the 
nth  of  the  same  month,  at  Canterbury,  they  were 
consecrated.  Among  them  were  William  Giffard  and 
Reinhelm,  whose  unexpected  scruples  and  resolute 
foregoing  of  high  place  first  opened  Henry's  eyes  to 
the  reaction  which  was  beginning,  even  among  the 
clerks  of  the  chapel ;  among  them,  too,  was  William 
Warelwast,  appointed  to  Exeter,  who,  after  all  his 
hard  work  at  Rome,  had  ended  by  becoming  Anselm's 
friend.  Among  the  consecrating  bishops  was  not 
only  Gerard  of  York,  but  the  Bishop  of  Durham, 
Ralph  Flambard. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

anselm's  last  days. 

"  Still  glides  the  Stream,  and  shall  not  cease  to  glide  ; 
The  Form  remains,  the  Function  never  dies  ; 
While  we,  the  brave,  the  mighty,  and  the  wise, 
We  men,  who  in  our  morn  of  youth  defied 
The  elements,  must  vanish  ; — be  it  so  ! 
Enough,  if  something  from  our  hands  have  power 
To  live,  and  act,  and  serve  the  future  hour  ; 
And  if,  as  towards  the  silent  tomb  we  go, 
Through  love,  through  hope,  and  faith's  transcendent  dower, 
We  feel  that  we  are  greater  than  we  know." — Wordsworth. 

Anselm  had  won  a  great  victory.    What  was  gained 
by  it  ? 

Of  the  victory  itself  there  can  be  no  doubt.  The 
power  which  contested  it  was  too  mighty  and  ener- 
getic ;  the  opposition  too  formidable  and  resolute  ;  the 
object  fought  for  too  much  prized  by  those  who  had 
to  yield  it,  and  too  obstinately  defended  ;  the  prescrip- 
tion assailed  was  of  too  long  date,  too  continuous,  and 
too  natural,  for  it  to  be  a  light  matter  that  the  issue 
of  the  dispute  broke  through  the  cherished  usages 
of  the  Norman  kings.  That  the  arrangement  was 
a  peaceful  compromise,  and  that  the  king  kept  half 
what  he  contended  for,  in  his  view  perhaps  the  most 
important  half,  did  not  make  it  less  a  victory,  that 
any  part  of  what  was  so   valued    should    be    torn 


CH.  xiil]  ANSELM'S  LAST  DA  VS.  287 

from  such  a  grasp  by  the  single-minded  constancy 
of  an  old  man  at  a  distance,  whose  main  weapon 
was  his  conviction  of  the  justice  of  his  cause, 
and  his  unflinching  and  undeviating  steadiness. 
To  have  made  so  marked  a  change  publicly  and 
deliberately  in  the  relations  of  bishops  to  great 
kings,  whose  rule  was  not  so  much  by  law  as  by  the 
loose  claims  and  measures  of  feudal  usages,  and  to 
have  induced  one  of  the  sons  of  the  Conqueror, 
and,  among  them,  to  have  induced  Henry,  the 
shrewdest,  ablest,  hardest  of  them  all,  to  forego  part 
of  the  customs  which  he  valued  at  the  worth  of 
half  his  kingdom,  was  an  achievement  of  which, 
whatever  came  of  it,  no  one  could  mistake  the  mag- 
nitude. It  was,  accomplished,  too,  with  a  remarkable 
absence  of  those  violent  measures  which  were  the 
common  weapons  on  all  sides  in  those  days,  and  which 
were  so  freely  used  in  other  scenes  of  this  same 
contest  on  the  continent  of  Europe.  That  which 
determined  it  as  much  as  anything  was  Anselm's 
personal  character ;  the  boundless  reverence  and,  still 
more,  the  intense  love  and  sympathy  called  out  on 
all  sides,  by  the  union  in  it  of  the  deepest  human 
tenderness  with  grave  and  calm  self-command,  with 
unpretending  courage,  and  with  that  unconscious  and 
child-like  meekness,  so  remarkable  in  him,  with  which 
he  bore  those  great  and  singular  gifts  of  intellect,  in 
which  by  this  time  he  was  known  to  be  without  a 
living  equal  in  Christendom.  Henry,  with  all  his  deep 
and  heavy  faults,  had  eyes  for  this.  He  knew  that  in 
Anselm  he  had  at  Canterbury  the  greatest  Christian 
bishop,  the  greatest  religious  example  of  his  age.  He 
felt  towards  the  archbishop,  as  the  great  persons  about 


288  ANSELM  >S  LAST  DA  VS.  [chap. 

him  and  his  subjects  felt — with  more  admiration,  per- 
haps, of  the  head,  with  not  so  much  sympathy  probably 
of  the  heart,  as  there  was,  at  least,  among  the  people ; 
much  disliking,  much  resenting,  much  fearing  many  of 
Anselm's  ways  and  purposes,  but  unable  to  resist  the 
spell  and  charm  of  his  nobleness,  his  force  of  soul,  his 
unselfish  truthfulness.  Only  Henry,  probably,  saw  it 
more  clearly  than  the  clerks  of  his  chapel,  or  cunning 
men  of  the  world  like  Count  Robert  of  Mellent.  He 
saw  that  it  was,  even  politically,  a  mistake  to  persist 
even  for  the  sake  of  "the  usages"  in  forcing  a  man 
like  Anselm,  whom  he  might  gain  for  a  friend,  to  range 
himself  against  him.  Slowly  and  reluctantly,  but  not 
insincerely  at  last,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  come  to 
terms  ;  and  when  he  had  done  so,  then  with  the  frank- 
ness of  a  really  powerful  mind,  he  let  his  admiration  for 
his  antagonist  have  its  way.  No  honour,  no  confidence 
was  too  much  for  Anselm.  Further,  when  the  question 
was  to  be  settled,  Henry  settled  it  openly  and  fairly  ; 
in  the  way  which  was  the  lawful  way  of  witnessing 
and  establishing  important  constitutional  matters ;  in 
a  great  council  of  the  realm,  where  it  was  debated, 
decided,  and  then  proclaimed  before  the  people, 
gathered  to  hear  the  proceedings  of  their  chiefs,  and 
to  sanction  these  proceedings  by  their  presence. 

This  was  the  victory ;  but  what  was  gained  by  it  ? 
It  was  of  course,  directly  and  outwardly,  the  victory 
of  a  cause  which  has  never  been  popular  in  England ; 
it  renewed  and  strengthened  the  ties  which  connected 
England  with  that  great  centre  of  Christendom,  where 
justice  and  corruption,  high  aims  and  the  vilest 
rapacity  and  fraud,  undeniable  majesty  and  undeni- 
able hollowness,  were  then,  as  they  have  ever  been, 


xiii.]  ANSELM'S  LAST  DA  YS.  289 

so  strangely  and  inextricably  combined.  Anselm's 
victory,  with  its  circumstances,  was  one  of  the  steps, 
and  a  very  important  one,  which  made  Rome  more 
powerful  in  England  :  even  with  the  profound  and 
undoubting  beliefs  of  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  cen- 
turies, that  did  not  recommend  it  to  the  sympathy  of 
Englishmen  ;  it  is  not  likely  to  do  so  now.  But  those 
who  judge  of  events  not  merely  by  the  light  of  what 
has  happened  since,  and  of  what,  perhaps,  have  been 
their  direct  consequences,  but  by  the  conditions  of  the 
times  when  they  happened,  ought  to  ask  themselves 
before  they  regret  such  a  victory  as  an  evil,  what  would 
have  come  to  pass  if,  in  days  like  those  of  William 
the  Red  and  his  brother,  with  the  king's  clerical 
family  as  a  nursery  for  bishops,  and  with  clerks  like 
Ralph  Flambard  or  Gerard  of  York,  or  even  William 
Warelwast,  for  rulers  of  the  Church,  the  king  and  his 
party  had  triumphed,  and  the  claims  founded  on  the 
"usages"  to  the  submission  of  the  Church  and  the 
unreserved  obedience  of  the  bishops  had  prevailed 
without  check  or  counterpoise  ?  Would  a  feudalized 
clergy,  isolated  and  subservient,  have  done  better  for 
religion,  for  justice,  for  liberty,  for  resistance  to 
arbitary  will,  for  law,  for  progress,  than  a  clergy  con- 
nected with  the  rest  of  Christendom  ;  sharing  for 
good,  and  also,  no  doubt,  for  evil,  in  its  general  move- 
ment and  fortunes,  and  bound  by  strong  and  real  ties 
not  only  to  England,  but  to  what  was  then,  after  all, 
the  school  and  focus  of  religious  activity  and  effort, 
as  well  as  the  seat  of  an  encroaching  and  usurping 
centralization,  the  Roman  Church.  Men  must  do 
what  they  can  in  their  own  day  against  what  are  the 
evils  and  dangers  of  their  own  day ;  they  must  use 
s.l.  x.  U 


29o  ANSELAPS  LAST  DA  VS.  [chap. 

against  them  the  helps  and  remedies  which  their  own 
day  gives.  There  was  in  those  times  no  question  of 
what  we  now  put  all  our  trust  in,  the  power  of  law ; 
the  growth  of  our  long  histories  and  hard  experiences, 
and  of  the  prolonged  thought  of  the  greatest  intel- 
lects of  many  generations.  The  power  which  pre- 
sented itself  to  men  in  those  days  as  the  help  of  right 
against  might,  the  refuge  and  protector  of  the  weak 
against  the  strong,  the  place  where  reason  might 
make  its  appeal  against  will  and  custom,  where  liberty 
was  welcomed  and  honoured,  where  it  was  a  familiar 
and  stirring  household  word,  was  not  the  law  and  its 
judgment-seats,  but  the  Church,  with  its  authority, 
concentrated  and  represented  in  the  Pope.  That 
belief  was  just  as  much  a  genuine  and  natural  growth 
of  the  age,  as  the  belief  which  had  also  grown  up 
about  kings  as  embodying  the  power  of  the  nation  ; 
that  it  was  abused  by  tyranny  or  weakness  was 
no  more  felt  to  be  an  argument  against  one  than 
against  the  other.  The  question  which  men  like 
Anselm  asked  themselves  was,  how  best  they  could 
restrain  wrong,  and  counteract  what  were  the  plainly 
evil  and  dangerous  tendencies  round  them.  He  did 
so  by  throwing  himself  on  the  spiritual  power  behind 
him,  which  all  in  his  times  acknowledged  greater  than 
any  power  of  this  world.  What  else  could  any  man  in 
his  struggle  against  tyranny  and  vice  have  done  ?  What 
better,  what  more  natural  course  could  any  man  have 
taken,  earnest  in  his  belief  of  the  paramount  supe- 
riority of  spiritual  things  over  material,  and  of  reason 
over  force  ;  earnest  in  his  longing  for  reformation  and 
improvement  ?  The  central  power  of  the  Pope,  which 
Anselm  strengthened,  grew  rapidly  with  the  growth 


xiii.]  ANSELM'S  LAST  DA  YS.  291 

and  advance  of  the  times  :  it  grew  to  be  abused  ;  it 
usurped  on  the  powers  to  which  it  was  the  counter- 
poise ;  it  threatened,  as  they  had  threatened,  to  absorb 
all  rights  of  sovereignty,  all  national  arid  personal 
claims  to  independence  and  freedom  ;  it  had,  in  its 
turn,  to  be  resisted,  restrained,  at  last  in  England 
expelled.  It  went  through  the  usual  course  of 
successful  power  in  human  hands.  But  this  is  no 
reason  why  at  the  time  it  should  not  have  been  the 
best,  perhaps,  even  the  only  defence  of  the  greatest 
interests  of  mankind  against  the  immediate  pressure 
of  the  tyrannies  and  selfishness  of  the  time.  If  any- 
thing else  could  then  have  taken  its  place  in  those 
days,  the  history  of  Europe  has  not  disclosed  it. 

It  may  be  thought,  on  the  other  hand,  that  the 
actual  point  which  Anselm  gained  was  not  worth  the 
gaining ;  that  while  he  gained,  too  much  in  one  way, 
as  regards  the  influence  of  the  Pope,  he  was  cheated 
out  of  the  substance  of  what  he  had  been  fighting  for 
in  regard  to  checks  on  the  king  in  the  appointment 
of  bishops.  But  this  was  not  the  view  at  the  time. 
Then  the  feeling  was  that  two  things  had  been  done. 
By  the  surrender  of  the  significant  ceremony  of 
delivering  the  bishopric  by  the  emblematic  staff  and 
ring,  it  was  emphatically  put  on  record  that  the 
spiritual  powers  of  the  bishop  were  not  the  king's 
to  give  ;  the  prescription  of  feudalism  was  broken  ; 
a  correction  was  visibly  given  to  the  confused  but 
dangerous  notions  in  which  that  generation  had  been 
brought  up.  In  the  second  place,  the  king  was 
strongly  and  solemnly  reminded  that  he  owed  an 
account  for  the  persons  whom  he  appointed  bishops  ; 
they  were  not  merely  his  creatures  ;  they  were   not 

U   2 


292  ANSELM'S  LAST  DA  VS.  [chap. 

merely  elevated  and  promoted  on  the  terms  on  which 
he  made  a  knight  or  a  baron ;  the  office  was  not  his, 
in  the  sense  that  he  could  sell  it.  There  was  a  body 
of  opinion' to  which  he  owed  deference  in  such  ap- 
pointments ;  there  was  an  authority  with  which  he 
must  reckon,  and  which  had  a  right  to  be  satisfied. 
Whatever  the  final  arrangements  were,  or  if  there  were 
any,  about  the  right  of  appointing  and  electing  pre- 
lates (and  there  is  a  good  deal  of  variation  in  the 
language  in  which  these  transactions  are  described), 
there  can  be-  no  doubt  that  in  the  case  of  important 
dignities,.  Take  those  of  bishops  and  the  great  abbots, 
the  king  would  in  the  long-run  find  a  way  to  get 
them,  or  the  greater  part  of  them,  into  his  patronage. 
But  it  was;  a  distinct  step  that  the  attention  of  the 
public,  both  ecclesiastical  and  civil,  should  be  directed 
to  these  appointments ;  that  the  king  should  be 
reminded,  even  if  he  went  against  the  warning,  as 
Henry  doubtless  in  many  cases  did,  that  there  were 
rules  and  fitnesses  and  other  claims  than  his  own  to 
be  thought  of  in  giving  bishoprics.  Anselm's  struggle 
raised  the  general  feeling  about  the  calling  and  the 
duties  of  a  bishop.  It  was  a  fit  work  for  the  first 
bishop  and  pastor  of  England,  of  one  who  sat  in  the 
first  Christian  see  of  the  West ;  it  was  worth  strug- 
gling for  ;  and  it  was  a  victory  worth  having,  to  have 
in  any  degree  succeeded  in  it. 

And  if  nothing  else  had  been  gained,  or  if,  when  he 
was  gone,  the  tide  of  new  things — new  disputes,  new 
failures,  new  abuses  and  corruptions — flowed  over  his 
work,  breaking  it  up  and  making  it  useless  or  harm- 
ful, this  at  least  was  gained,  which  was  more  lasting — 
the  example  of  a  man  in  the  highest  places  of  the 


xiii.]  ANS ELM'S  LAST  DA  VS.  293 


world  who,  when  a  great  principle  seemed  entrusted  to 
him,  was  true  to  it,  and  accepted  all  tasks,  all  disap- 
pointments, all  humiliations  in  its  service.  The  liberty 
of  God's  Church,  obedience  to  its  law  and  its  divinely 
appointed  chief,  this  was  the  cause  for  which  Anselm 
believed  himself  called  to  do  his  best.  And  he  was 
not  afraid.  He  was  not  afraid  of  the  face  of  the 
r^reat,  of  the  disapprobation  of  his  fellows.  It  was 
then  an  age  of  much  more  plain  speaking  than 
ours,  when  intercourse  between  kings  and  other  men 
was  more  free,  when  expression  was  more  homely, 
and  went  with  less  ceremony  to  the  point.  But  when 
Anselm  dared  to  tell  what  he  believed  to  be  the 
truth  in  the  king's  court,  it  was  more  than  the  bluff- 
ness  of  a  rude  code  of  manners  ;  he  accepted  a  call 
which  seemed  divine,  with  its  consequences  ;  the  call 
of  undoubted  truth  and  plain  duty.  That  for  which 
he  contended  was  to  him  the  cause  of  purity,  honesty, 
justice;  it  involved  the  hopes  of  the  weak  and 
despised,  in  the  everyday  sufferings,  as  unceasing 
then  as  in  the  days  of  which  the  Psalms  tell,  of  the 
poor  and  needy  at  the  hands  of  the  proud  and  the 
mighty.  "  There  might  be  much  to  say  against  his 
course;  the  'usages'  were  but  forms  and  trifles,  or 
they  were  an  important  right  of  the  crown,  and  to 
assail  them  was  usurpation  and  disloyalty,  or  it  was 
a  mere  dream  to  hope  to  abolish  them,  or  they  were 
not  worth  the  disturbance  which  they  caused,  or  there 
were  worse  things  to  be  remedied ;  difficulties  there  were 
no  doubt ;  still,  for  all  this,  he  felt  that  this  was  the 
fight  of  the  day,  and  he  held  on  unmoved.  Through 
what  was  romantic  and  what  was  unromantic  in  his 
fortunes* — whether  the  contest  showed  in  its  high  or 


294  ANSELM'S  LAST  DA  VS.  [chap. 

low  form — as  a  struggle  in  \  heavenly  places '  against 
evil  before  saints  and  angels,  with  the  unfading 
crown  in  view,  or  as  a  game  against  cowardly  selfish- 
ness and  the  intrigue  of  courts ;  cheered  by  the 
sympathies  of  Christendom,  by  the  love  and  reverence 
of  the  crowds  which  sought  his  blessing;  or  brought 
down  from  his  height  of  feeling  by  commonplace 
disagreeables,  the  inconveniences  of  life — dust,  heat, 
and  wet,  bad  roads  and  imperialist  robbers,  debts  and 
fevers,  low  insults  and  troublesome  friends, — through 
it  all  his  faith  failed  not ;  it  was  ever  the  same 
precious  and  ennobling  cause,  bringing  consolation  in 
trouble,  giving  dignity  to  what  was  vexatious  and 
humiliating*  It  was  her  own  fault  if  the  Church 
gained  little  by  the  compromise,  and  by  so  rare  a 
lesson.  In  one  sense,  indeed,  what  is  gained  by  any 
great  religious  movement  ?  What  are  all  reforms, 
restorations,  victories  of  truth,  but  protests  of  a 
minority  ;  efforts,  clogged  and  incomplete,  of  the  good 
and  brave,  just  enough  in  their  own  day  to  stop 
instant  ruin — the  appointed  means  to  save  what  is 
to  be  saved,  but  in  themselves  failures  ?  Good  men 
work  and  suffer,  and  bad  men  enjoy  their  labours 
and  spoil  them  ;  a  step  is  made  in  advance — evil 
rolled  back  and  kept  in  check  for  a  while  only  to 
return,  perhaps,  the  stronger.  But  thus,  and  thus 
only,  is  truth  passed  on,  and  the  world  preserved 
from  utter  corruption.  Doubtless  bad  men  still  con- 
tinued powerful  in  the  English  Church.  Henry 
tyrannized,  evil  was  done,  and  the  bishops  kept 
silence  ;  low  aims  and  corruption  may  have  still 
polluted  the  very  seats  of  justice  ;  gold  may  have  been 
as  powerful  with  cardinals  as  with  King  Henry  and 


xin.]  ANSELM'S  LAST  DAYS.  295 

his  chancellors.  Anselm  may  have  over-rated  his 
success.  Yet  success  and  victory  it  was — a  vantage- 
ground  for  all  true  men  who  would  follow  him  ;  and  if 
his  work  was  undone  by  others,  he  at  least  had  done 
his  task  manfully.  And  he  had  left  his  Church  another 
saintly  name,  and  the  memory  of  his  good  confession, 
enshrining  as  it  were  her  cause,  to  await  the  day  when 
some  other  champion  should  again  take  up  the  quarrel 
— thus  from  age  to  age  to  be  maintained,  till  He  shall 
come,  to  whom  alone  it  is  reserved  '  to  still '  for  ever 
the  enemy  and  the  avenger,  and  to  '  root  out  all 
wicked  doers  from  the  city  of  the  Lord.' " 

There  is  little  more  to  be  said  of  Anselm.  Henry 
was  loyal  to  his  agreement.  He  entirely  gave  up  the 
investiture  of  churches,  so  Anselm  wrote  to  the  Pope, 
even  against  the  resistance  of  many  ;  and  in  filling 
up  vacancies  he  followed  not  his  own  fancy,  but  took 
the  advice  of  religious  men.  His  adviser  in  this  was 
Robert  Count  of  Mellent,  who  had  opposed  Anselm 
so  keenly ;  he  was  the  man  to  whom  the  king  most 
listened,  and  he  had  come  round  to  Anselm's  side. 
The  policy  of  the  late  reign  was  entirely  changed ; 
"  but,"  says  Eadmer,  "  the  count  did  not  love  the 
English,  and  would  not  let  any  Englishmen  be  pro- 
moted to  Church  dignities."  Henry,  now  that  he 
was  safe  on  his  throne,  attended  to  the  representa- 
tions made  to  him  by  Anselm  and  the  chief  men  of 
the  realm,  as  to  the  evils  which  especially  pressed 
upon  the  poor.  Two  are  mentioned  by  Eadmer. 
The  Norman  kings  were  ever  moving  about  through 
their  kingdom  ;  and  the  waste  and  plunder  which  ac- 
companied the  passage  of  their  numerous  attendants 
through  the  country  had  come  to  be,  in  the  lawless 


296  ANSELM'S  LAST  DA  YS.  [chap. 

days  of  the  Red  King,  like  the  desolation  of  hostile 
armies.  "  No  discipline,"  says  Eadmer,  "  restrained 
them ;  they  spoiled,  they  wasted,  they  destroyed. 
What  they  found  in  the  houses  which  they  invaded 
and  could  not  consume,  they  took  to  market  to  sell  for 
themselves,  or  they  burnt  it ;  or  if  it  was  drink,  after 
washing  their  horses'  feet  in  it,  they  poured  it  abroad. 
Their  cruelties  to  the  fathers  of  families,  their  insults 
to  their  wives  and  daughters,  it  shames  me  to  remem- 
ber. And  so,  whenever  the  king's  coming  was  known 
beforehand,  they  fled  from  their  houses,  and  to  save 
themselves  and  what  was  theirs,  as  far  as  they  could, 
hid  themselves  in  the  woods  or  wherever  they  thought 
they  would  be  safest."  This  marauding  of  the  ser- 
vants and  followers  of  the  court,  Henry  attempted 
to  check  by  stern  penalties.  He  was  equally  severe 
and  inexorable  in  punishing  another  crime  from 
which  the  poor  suffered — the  coining  of  false  money  ; 
and  his  efforts  were  not  without  effect,  says  Eadmer, 
in  relieving  the  miseries  of  the  land  during  all  his 
reign. 

Anselm's  life  was  drawing  to  its  close.  The  re- 
enactment,  and  confirmation  by  the  authority  of  the 
great  Whitsuntide  Assembly,  of  the  canons  of  the 
Synod  of  London  against  clerical  marriage,  and  a  dis- 
pute with  two  of  the  Northern  bishops,  his  old  friend 
Ralph  Flambard,  and  the  archbishop-elect  of  York, 
who,  apparently  reckoning  on  Anselm's  age  and  bad 
health,  was  scheming  to  evade  the  odious  obligation 
of  acknowledging  the  paramount  claims  of  the  see  of 
Canterbury,  were  all  that  marked  the  last  year  of  his 
life.  A  little  more  than  a  year  before  his  own  death, 
he  had  to  bury  his  old  and  faithful  friend, — a  friend 


xni.]  ANSELM'S  LAST  DA  VS.  297 

first  in  the  cloister  of  Bee,  and  then  in  the  troubled 
days  of  his  English  primacy,  the  great  builder,  Gun- 
dulf,  Bishop  of  Rochester.  Anselm's  last  days  shall 
be  told  in  the  words  of  one  who  had  the  best  right  to 
record  the  end  of  him  whom  he  had  loved  so  simply 
and  so  loyally — his  attendant  Eadmer. 

"  During  these  events  (of  the  last  two  years  of  his 
life)  he  wrote  a  treatise  '  Concerning  the  Agreement 
of  Foreknowledge,  Predestination,  and  the  Grace  of 
God,  with  Free  Will,'  in  which,  contrary  to  his  wont, 
he  found  difficulty  in  composition  ;  for  after  his  illness 
at  Bury  St.  Edmund's,  as  long  as  he  was  spared  to  this 
life,  he  was  weaker  than  before ;  so  that,  when  he  was 
moving  from  place  to  place,  he  was  from  that  time 
carried  in  a  litter,  instead  of  riding  on  horseback.  He 
was  tried,  also,  by  frequent  and  sharp  sicknesses,  so 
that  we  scarce  dared  promise  him  life.  He,  however, 
never  left  off  his  old  way  of  living,  but  was  always 
engaged  in  godly  meditations,  or  holy  exhortations, 
or  other  good  work. 

"  In  the  third  year  after  King  Henry  had  recalled 
him  from  his  second  banishment,  every  kind  of  food 
by  which  nature  is  sustained  became  loathsome  to 
him.  He  used  to  eat,  however,  putting  force  on  him- 
self, knowing  that  he  could  not  live  without  food  ;  and 
in  this  way  he  somehow  or  another  dragged  on  life 
through  half  a  year,  gradually  failing  day  by  day  in 
body,  though  in  vigour  of  mind  he  was  still  the  same 
as  he  used  to  be.  So  being  strong  in  spirit,  though 
but  very  feeble  in  the  flesh,  he  could  not  go  to  his 
oratory  on  foot ;  but  from  his  strong  desire  to  attend 
the  consecration  of  the  Lord's  body,  which  he  vene- 
rated with  a  special   feeling   of  devotion,  he  caused 


293  ANSELM'S  LAST  DA  VS.  [chap. 

himself  to  be  carried  thither  every  day  in  a  chair. 
We  who  attended  on  him  tried  to  prevail  on  him 
to  desist,  because  it  fatigued  him  so  much  ;  but  we 
succeeded,  and  that  with  difficulty,  only  four  days 
before  he  died. 

"From  that  time  he  took  to  his  bed,  and,  with 
gasping  breath,  continued  to  exhort  all  who  had  the 
privilege  of  drawing  near  him  to  live  to  God,  each  in 
his  own  order.  Palm  Sunday  had  dawned,  and  we, 
as  usual,  were  sitting  round  him  ;  one  of  us  said  to 
him,  '  Lord  Father,  we  are  given  to  understand  that 
you  are  going  to  leave  the  world  for  your  Lord's 
Easter  court.'  He  answered,  '  If  His  will  be  so,  I 
shall  gladly  obey  His  will.  But  if  He  willed  rather 
that  I  should  yet  remain  amongst  you,  at  least  till  I 
have  solved  a  question  which  I  am  turning  in  my 
mind,  about  the  origin  of  the  soul,  I  should  receive  it 
thankfully,  for  I  know  not  whether  anyone  will  finish 
it  after  I  am  gone.  Indeed,  I  hope,  that  if  I  could 
take  food,  I  might  yet  get  well.  For  I  feel  no  pain 
anywhere;  only,  from  weakness  of  my  stomach,  which 
cannot  take  food,  I  am  failing  altogether.' 

"  On  the  following  Tuesday,  towards  evening,  he 
was  no  longer  able  to  speak  intelligibly.  Ralph 
Bishop  of  Rochester  asked  him  to  bestow  his  abso- 
lution and  blessing  on  us  who  were  present,  and  on 
his  other  children,  and  also  on  the  king  and  queen 
with  their  children,  and  the  people  of  the  land  who 
had  kept  themselves  under  God  in  his  obedience. 
He  raised  his  right  hand,  as  if  he  was  suffering 
nothing,  and  made  the  sign  of  the  Holy  Cross  ;  and 
then  dropped  his  head  and  sank  down.  The  con- 
gregation   of    the    brethren   were   already   chanting 


XIII.]  ANSELM'S  LAST  DA  VS.  299 

matins  in  the  great  church,  when  one  of  those  who 
watched  about  our  Father  took  the  book  of  the 
Gospels  and  read  before  him  the  history  of  the 
Passion,  which  was  to  be  read  that  day  at  the  mass. 
But  when  he  came  to  our  Lord's  words,  '  Ye  are  they 
which  have  continued  with  me  in  my  temptations, 
and  I  appoint  unto  you  a  kingdom,  as  my  Father 
hath  appointed  unto  me,  that  ye  may  eat  and  drink 
at  my  table,'  he  began  to  draw  his  breath  more 
slowly.  We  saw  that  he  was  just  going,  so  he  was 
removed  from  his  bed,  and  laid  upon  sackcloth  and 
ashes.  And  thus,  the  whole  family  of  his  children 
being  collected  round  him,  he  gave  up  his  last  breath 
into  the  hands  of  his  Creator,  and  slept  in  peace. 

"  He  passed  away,  as  morning  was  breaking,  on  the 
Wednesday  before  the  day  of  our  Lord's  Supper,  the 
2 1  st  of  April,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord's  Incarnation 
1 109 — the  sixteenth  of  his  pontificate  and  the  seventy- 
sixth  of  his  life." 

The  story  of  his  departure,  told  so  simply  and 
naturally,  has  its  fringe  of  wonder  and  legend.  The 
balsam  with  which  his  body  was  embalmed  seemed 
inexhaustible ;  the  stone  coffin,  which  seemed  too 
small,  wonderfully  enlarged  itself.  The  eye  of  ad- 
miration and  affection  was  ever  on  the  look-out  for 
strange  accompaniments  of  memorable  events,  and 
readily  saw  them  ;  it  was  more  true  and  more  to  be 
depended  on  in  seeing  into  heart  and  character  than 
into  the  outward  facts  of  nature  round  it. 

Those  who  remember  Walton's  account  of  the 
death-bed  of  Richard  Hooker  will  notice  more  than 
one  point  of  likeness  between  the  narrative  of  the 
twelfth  century  and  that  of  the  seventeenth.    The  soul, 


3oo  ANSELM'S  LAST  DA  YS.  [chap. 

vigorous  to  the  very  end,  amid  the  decay  of  the  body 
and  the  "gradual  averseness  to  all  food  ;"  the  cling- 
ing, without  affectation,  to  the  love  of  life  to  finish  a 
cherished  work  ; — "  he  did  not  beg,"  writes  Walton,  "  a 
long  life  of  God  for  any  other  reason  but  to  live  to 
finish  his  three  remaining  books  of  Polity ;  and  then, 
Lord,  let  thy  servant  depart  in  peace ;" — the  calm, 
quiet,  unexcited  continuance  in  the  usual  rites  and 
practices  of  a  religious  life,  long  familiar  and  become 
part  of  everyday  life  ;  the  comfort  of  Eucharist  and 
Gospel  history;  the  employment  to  the  last  moment 
of  the  subtle  and  inquisitive  intellect  on  its  conge- 
nial trains  of  abstruse  thought,  relating  to  the  deep 
mysteries  of  both  worlds,  seen  and  unseen,  and 
rendered  more  real  in  the  face  of  death — Anselm 
revolving  the  origin  of  the  soul,  Hooker  "meditating 
the  number  and  nature  of  angels,  and  their  blessed 
obedience  and  order,  without  which  peace  could  not 
be  in  heaven, — and  oh  that  it  might  be  so  on  earth !" 
— all  these  details  bring  together,  at  the  distance  of  so 
many  ages,  the  two  great  religious  thinkers,  who  out- 
wardly were  so  different.  They  make  us  feel  that  at 
bottom,  in  spite  of  all  changes  and  differences  of 
circumstance  and  custom,  in  spite  of  miracles  told  in 
one  age,  and  the  prosaic  matter-of-fact  of  another,  the 
substance  of  human  affections  and  of  religious  trust  is 
the  same  in  both ;  and  that  to  die  as  Anselm  died,  or 
to  die  as  Hooker  died,  is  to  die  in  much  the  same 
manner  ;  with  the  same  view  of  life  now  and  to  come, 
the  same  sense  of  duty,  the  same  faith  :  the  same 
loyalty  to  the  great  Taskmaster  and  Ruler,  the  same 
hope  for  the  cleansing  of  what  was  ill  in  them,  and 
the  making  perfect  what  was  incomplete ;  the  same 


xiii.]  ANSELM'S  LAST  DA  VS.  301 

submission  to  the  will  of  God,  the  same  loving  hope 
in  Christ. 

Anselm  was  first  buried  next  to  his  friend  Lanfranc 
in  the  body  of  the  minster  of  Canterbury,  before  the 
great  rood  which  rose  up  in  the  midst  of  it  before 
the  choir.  His  remains  were  afterwards  translated  to 
the  chapel  beneath  the  south-east  tower  which  now 
bears  his  name.     There  they  now  rest. 

When  he  was  gone,  his  contemporaries  felt  that  the 
tender-hearted,  high-minded,  resolute  old  man  who 
had  comforted  some  of  them  and  affronted  others,  was 
a  man  whom  they  might  be  proud  to  have  lived  with. 
His  words,  his  wishes,  his  decisions,  were  received, 
even  by  those  who  had  opposed  him,  as  oracles  which 
could  not  be  gainsaid.  His  name,  as  was  to  be  ex- 
pected, passed  into  the  roll  of  saints ;  but  apparently 
the  steps  of  the  process  are  not  clear.  His  canoniza- 
tion was  demanded,  but  without  effect,  by  Thomas 
Becket :  the  final  ratification  of  it  is  ascribed  to  a 
papal  bull  some  centuries  later.  It  was  addressed 
to  Cardinal  Morton,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
under  Henry  VII.  in  1494.1  I  have  mentioned  that 
the  last  abbot  of  Bee  was  M.  de  Talleyrand.  The 
Pope  who  formally  canonized  St.  Anselm  is  said  to 
have  been  Alexander  VI.,  Roderic  Borgia.  "  In  the 
visible  Church  the  evil  are  ever  mingled  with  the 
good." 

But  a  very  different  judge  had  already  interpreted 
the  opinion  of  Christendom  about  Anselm.  Before 
he  had  suffered  the  indignity  of  a  canonization  at  the 
hands  of  Borgia,  Dante  had  consecrated  his  memory, 
and  assigned  him  a  place  with  those  whom  the  Church 

1  Crozet-Mouchet,  p.  482. 


302  ANSELM'S  LAST  DAYS,  [chap. 

honoured  as  her  saints.  The  great  singer  of  Christian 
Europe,  in  his  vision  of  Paradise,  sees  him  among  the 
spirits  of  light  and  power  in  the  sphere  of  the  sun — 
the  special  "  ministers  of  God's  gifts  of  reason  "— 
among  those  whom  the  Middle  Age  reverenced  as 
having  shown  to  it  what  the  human  intellect,  quick- 
ened by  the  love  of  God,  could  do,  in  the  humblest 
tasks  and  sacrifices,  and  in  the  highest  flights  :  with 
prophets,  historians,  and  philosophers ;  with  theo- 
logians and  jurists  ;  with  the  glories  of  the  great 
orders,  St.  Thomas  Aquinas  and  St.  Bonaventura, 
and  with  their  lowly  first-fruits.  He  sees  him  as  one 
in  those  circling  garlands  of  glorified  spirits  which 
he  describes  answering  to  another  as  the  double  rain- 
bow, in  their  movements  of  love  and  joy  : 

' '  As  when  her  handmaid  Juno  summons,  rise 
Two  arches  of  like  hue,  and  parallel, 
Drawn  out  on  fleecy  cloud  athwart  the  skies, 

The  outer  springing  from  the  inner  one. 

Like  to  the  voice  of  that  fair  nymph  that  strayed, 
Consumed  by  love,  as  vapours  by  the  sun  : 
*  ***** 

Even  so  the  twofold  Garland  turned  to  us,  — 
Of  roses  formed,  that  bloom  eternally  ; 
And  one  with  other  corresponded  thus. 

Soon  as  the  sound  of  dance,  and  song,  according 
To  such  glad  movement,  and  the  revelry 
Of  light  to  light  fresh  brilliancy  affording, 

With  one  consent  were  in  a  moment  still, 

Like  eyes  whose  movements  simultaneous  are, 
Opening  and  shutting  at  the  mover's  will ; 

From  one  of  these  new  splendours  came  a  sound."  i 

And  when  the  poet  makes  the  spirit  of  St.  Bonaventura 
enumerate  the  twelve  stars  of  the  garland  in  which 
he  moves,  Dante,  probably  by  accident,  at  any  rate 

1  Paradise,  c.  xii. ,  Wright's  translation. 


xin.]  ANSELM'S  LAST  DA  VS.  303 

by  an  accident  which  suits  the  double  aspect  of 
Anselm's  character,  has  joined  his  name  at  once  with 
those  who  had  stood  for  truth  in  the  face  of  kings 
and  multitudes,  and  with  one  who  was  the  type  of 
the  teachers  of  children  in  the  first  steps  of  know- 
ledge :  the  masters  of  thought  and  language  in  its 
highest  uses  and  its  humblest  forms  ;  with  the  seer 
whose  parable  rebuked  King  David ;  with  the 
preacher  who  thundered  against  Antioch  and  Con- 
stantinople ;  with  the  once  famous  grammarian,  St. 
Jerome's  master,  from  whom  the  Middle  Age  schools 
learnt  the  elementary  laws  which  govern  human 
speech,  and  out  of  whose  book  of  rudiments  Anselm 
had  doubtless  taught  his  pupils  at  Bee : 

"  Nathan  the  seer,  the  metropolitan 
John  Chrysostom,  Anselm,  and  he  whose  hands — 
Donatus — deigned  the  primer's  help  to  plan."  l 

It  is  his  right  place  : — in  the  noble  company  of  the 
strong  and  meek,  who  have  not  been  afraid  of  the 
mightiest,  and  have  not  disdained  to  work  for  and 
with  the  lowliest :  capable  of  the  highest  things ; 
content,  as  living  before  Him  with  whom  there  is 
neither  high  nor  low,  to  minister  in  the  humblest 

1  Dayman's  translation. 


THE   END. 


LONDON  :  R.  CLAY,  SONS,  AND  TAYLOR,  PRINTERS,  BREAD  STREET  HILL. 


The  following  Volumes  are  ready  for  consecutive  publication  : — 

THE  APOSTLE  OF  ITALY: 

THE  LIFE  OF  ST.   FRANCIS  OF  ASSISE 
By  MRS.  OLIPHANT. 

THE  STORY  OF  RECENT  MISSIONARY 

WORKERS. 

By    MISS     YONGE. 

WISE    MEN  OF    THE    EAST. 
By  DR.  REYNOLDS. 

SAINT  AUGUSTINE  AND  HIS    TIMES. 

By  the   Right  Rev.   W.    ALEXANDER, 
Bishop  of  Derry  and  Raphoe. 

ANGELIQUE  ARNAULD : 

THE  STORY  OF  PORT  ROYAL. 

By  FRANCES  MARTIN. 


16,  Bedford  Street,  Covent  Garden, 

London,  W.C 
1870. 

MESSRS.  MACMILLAN  &  CO. 

BEG  TO   ANNOUNCE  THAT  THEY   HAVE   NOW   IN 
COURSE   OF   PUBLICATION 


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HOUSEHOLD    READING. 

In  crown   8vo.    Volumes,  handsomely  bound  in  cloth, 

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Sunday  is  the  day  of  rest,  as  well  as  the  day  of  worship, 
and  this  rest  should  consist  not  o?ily  in  the  cessation  of 
labour,  but  in  the  repose  which  the  spirit  finds  in  the  con- 
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For  Sunday  reading,  therefore,  we  need  not  only  history, 
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The  Publishers  have  secured  the  co-operation  of  very 
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The  following  Volumes  are  now  ready  : — 

THE  PUPILS  OF  ST.  JOHN  THE  DIVINE. 
By  the  Author  of  "The  Heir  of  Redclyffe." 

THE  HERMITS. 

By  the  Rev.  Canon  Kingsley. 

SEEKERS  AFTER  GOD. 

LIVES  OF  SENECA,  EPICTETUS,  AND  MARCUS 

AURELIUS. 

By  the  Rev.  F.  W.  Farrar,  M.A.  F.R.S. 

ENGLAND'S  ANTIPHON. 

A  Historical  Review  of  the  Religious  Poetry  of 

England. 

By  George  MacDonald,  M.A. 

GREAT  CHRISTIANS  OF  FRANCE  :   ST.  LOUIS 
AND  CALVIN. 

By  M.  Guizot. 

CHRISTIAN  SINGERS  OF  GERMANY. 
By  Catherine  Winkworth. 

APOSTLES  OF  MEDIAEVAL  EUROPE. 
By  the  Rev.  G.  F.  Maclear,  B.D. 

ALFRED  THE  GREAT. 

By  T.  Hughes,  M.P.  Author  of  "Tom  Brown's  School  Days." 

NATIONS  AROUND. 

By  Miss  Keary. 


The  following  are  in  Preparation: — 

CLEMENT  OF  ALEXANDRIA  AND  ORIGEN. 
By  the  Rev.  Canon  Westcott. 

HUSS,  WYCLYFFE,  AND  LATIMER. 
By  the  Rev.  Professor  Maurice. 

SAINTS  AND  MYSTICS, 

By  Mrs.  Oliphant. 

SIR  THOMAS  MORE  AND  HIS  TIMES. 
By  L.  B.  Seeley,  M.A. 

ANSELM. 
By  the  Rev.  R.  W.  Church. 

WISE  MEN  OF  THE  EAST. 
By  Dr.  Reynolds. 

SAINT  AUGUSTINE  AND  HIS  TIMES. 
By  the  Right  Rev.  W.  Alexander,  Bishop  of  Derry  and  Raphoe. 

XAVIER  AND  THE  JESUIT  MISSIONARIES. 
By  the  Rev.  Isaac  Taylor,  M.A. 

MODERN  MISSIONARIES. 

By  the  Author  of  "The  Heir  of  Redclyffe." 

Other  eminent  writers,  whose  na?nes  will  appear  in  future 
announcements,  have  also  pro?nised  their  assistance. 


16,  Bedford  Street,  Covent  Garden,  London. 

May,  1870. 


Macmillan  (gr  Co:s  General  Catalogue 
of  Works  in  the  Departments  of  History, 
Biography,  Travels,  Poetry,  a7id  Belles 
Lettres.  With  some  short  Account  or 
Critical  Notice  concerning  each  Book. 

SECTION    I. 

HISTORY,  BIOGRAPHY,  and  TRAVELS. 

Baker  (Sir  Samuel  W.).— THE  NILE  TRIBUTARIES  OF 

ABYSSINIA,  and  the  Sword  Hunters  of  the  Hamran  Arabs. 
By  Sir  Samuel  W.  Baker,  M.A.,  F.R.G.S.  With  Portraits, 
Maps,  and  Illustrations.     Third  Edition,  8vo.  21s. 

Sir  Samuel  Baker  here  describes  twelve  months'  exploration,  during 
'which  he  examined  the  rivers  that  are  tributary  to  the  Nile  from  Abyssinia, 
including  the  Atbara,  Settite,  Royan,  Salaam,  Angrab,  Rahad,  Dinder, 
and  the  Blue  Nile.  The  interest  attached  to  these  portions  of  Africa  differs 
entirely  from  that  of  the  White  Nile  regions,  as  the  whole  of  Upper  Egypt 
■and  Abyssinia  is  capable  of  development,  and  is  inhabited  by  races  having 
some  degree  of  civilization;  while  Central  Africa  is  peopled  by  a  race  of 
savages,  whose  future  is  more  problematical. 

THE  ALBERT  N'YANZA  Great  Basin  of  the  Nile,  and  Explo- 
ration of  the  Nile  Sources.  New  and  Cheaper  Edition,  with 
Portraits,  Maps,  and  Illustrations.     Two  vols,  crown  8vo.  i6j. 

"  Bruce  won  the  source  of  the  Blue  Nile ;  Speke  and  Grant  won  the 
Victoria  source  of  the  great  White  Nile ;   and  L  have  been  permitted  to 
A.  1.  A 


10.000.5.70 


GENERAL  CATALOGUE. 


Baker  (Sir  Samuel  W.)  (continued)— 

succeed  in  completing  the  Nile  Sources  by  the  discovery  of  the  great 
reservoir  of  the  equatorial  waters,  the  Albert  Nyanza,  from  which  the 
river  issues  as  the  entire  White  Nile." — PREFACE. 

NEW  AND  CHEAP  EDITION  OF  THE  ALBERT  N'YANZA. 

I  vol.  crown  8vo.     With  Maps  and  Illustrations,     p.  6d. 

Barker  (Lady). — STATION  LIFE  IN  NEW  ZEALAND. 
By  Lady  Barker.     Crown  8vo.     7*.  6d. 

"  These  letters  are  the  exact  account  of  a  lady's  experience  of  the  brighter 
and  less  practical  side  of  colonization.  They  record  the  expeditions,  ad- 
ventures, and  emergencies  diversifying  the  daily  life  of  the  wife  of  a  Neiv 
Zealand  sheep-farmer ;  and,  as  each  was  written  while  the  novelty  and 
excitement  of  the  scenes  it  describes  were  fresh  upon  her,  they  may  succeed 
in  giving  here  in  England  an  adequate  imp7-ession  of  the  delight  and  free- 
dom of  an  existence  so  far  removed fro7?i  our  own  highly -wrought  civiliza- 
tion.^1— Preface. 

"  We  have  never  read  a  more  truthful  or  a pleasanter  little  book.'1'' 

Athenaeum. 

Baxter  (R.  Dudley,  M.A.).— THE  TAXATION  OF  THE 
UNITED  KINGDOM.  By  R.  Dudley  Baxtep,  M.A.  8vo. 
cloth,  4>r.  6d. 

The  First  Part  of  this  worh,  originally  read  before  the  Statistical 
Society  of  London,  deals  with  the  Amount  of  Taxation  ;  the  Second  Part, 
which  now  constitutes  the  main  portion  of  the  work,  is  almost  entirely  new, 
a7id  embraces  the  important  questions  of  Rating,  of  the  relative  Taxation 
of  Laud,  Personalty,  and  Lndustry,  and  of  the  direct  effect  of  Taxes  tipon 
Prices.  The  author  trusts  that  the  body  of  facts  here  collected  may  be  of 
permanent  value  as  a  record  of  the  past  progress  and  present  condition  of 
the  population  of  the  United  Kingdom,  independently  of  the  transitory 
circumstances  of  its  present  Taxation. 

NATIONAL  INCOME.     With  Coloured  Diagrams.     8vo.  3s.  6d. 

PART  I. — Classification  of  the  Population,  Upper,  Middle,  and  Labour 
Classes.     II. — Lncome  of  the  United  Kingdom. 

"  A  painstaking  and  certainly  most  interesting  inquiry. " — Pall  Mall 
Gazette. 


HISTORY,  BIOGRAPHY,  6-   TRAVELS. 


Bernard.— FOUR  LECTURES  ON  SUBJECTS  CONNECTED 

WITH    DIPLOMACY.      By   Mountague   Bernard,    M.A., 

Chichele  Professor  of  International  Law  and  Diplomacy,  Oxford. 

8vo.  gs. 

Four  Lectures,  dealing  zvith  (i)  The  Congress  of  Westphalia;  (2)  Systems 

of  Policy ;    (3)  Diplomacy,   Past  and  Present ;    (4)    The  Obligations  of 

Treaties. 

Blake.— THE  LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  BLAKE,  THE  ARTIST. 
By  Alexander  Gilchrist.  With  numerous  Illustrations  from 
Blake's  designs,  and  Fac-similes  of  his  studies  of  the  "  Book  of 
Job."     Two  vols,  medium  8vo.  32^. 

These  volumes  contain  a  Life  of  Blake;  Selections  from  his  Writings, 
including  Poems  ;  Letters  ;  Annotated  Catalogue  of  Pictures  and  Drawings, 
List,  with  occasional  notes,  of  Blake's  Engravings  and  Writings.  There 
are  appended  Engraved  Designs  by  Blake ;  (1)  The  Book  of  Job,  twenty  - 
one  photo -lithographs  from  the  originals  ;  (2)  Songs  of  Innocence  and 
Experience,  sixteen  of  the  original  Plates. 

Bianford    (W.  T.).— GEOLOGY     AND     ZOOLOGY     OF 
ABYSSINIA.     By  W.  T.  Blanford.     8vo.     i\s. 

This  work  contains  an  account  of  the  Geological  and  Zoological 
Observations  made  by  the  Author  in  Abyssinia,  when  accompanying  the 
British  Army  on  its  march  to  Magdala  and  back  in  1868,  and  during  a 
short  journey  in  Northern  Abyssinia,  after  the  departure  of  the  troops. 
Parti.  Personal  Narrative;  Part  II.  Geology;  Part  III  Zoology. 
With  Coloured  Illustrations  and  Geological  Map. 

Bright  (John,  M. P.).— SPEECHES  ON  QUESTIONS  OF 

PUBLIC  POLICY.     By  the  Right  Hon.  John  Bright,  M.  P. 

Edited  by  Professor  Thorold  Rogers.     Two  vols.     8vo.     25J. 

Second  Edition,  with  Portrait. 

"  I  have  divided  the  Speeches  contained  in  these  volumes  into  groups. 

The  materials  for  selection  are  so  abundant,  that  I  have  been  constrained 

to  omit  many  a  speech  which  is  worthy  of  careful  perusal.       I  have 

naturally  given  prominence  to  those  subjects  with  which  Mr.  Bright  has 

been  especially  identified,  as,  for  example,  India,  America,  Ireland,  and 

Parliamentary  Reform.     But  nearly  every  topic  of  great  public  interest  on 

which  Mr.  Bright  has  spoken  is  represented  in  these  volumes?"* 

Editor's  Preface, 
a  2 


GENERAL   CATALOGUE. 


Bright,    (John,   M.P.)    {continued)  — 

AUTHOR'S  POPULAR  EDITION.  Extra  fcap.  8vo.  cloth.  Second 
Edition,     y.  6d. 

Bryce.— THE  HOLY  ROMAN  EMPIRE.  By  James  Bryce, 
B.C.L.,  Fellow  of  Oriel  College,  Oxford.  {Reprinting. 

CAMBRIDGE  CHARACTERISTICS.     See  Mullinger. 

CHATTERTON  :  A  Biographical  Study.  By  Daniel  Wilson, 
LL.D.,  Professor  of  History  and  English  Literature  in  University 
College,  Toronto.     Crown  8vo.     6s.  6d. 

The  Author  here  regards  Chatterton  as  a  Poet,  not  as  a  mere  "  j'esetter 
and  dejacer  of  stolen  literary  treasures.'1''  Reviewed  in  this  light,  he  has 
found  much  in  the  old  materials  capable  oj  being  turned  to  new  accoicnt ; 
and  to  these  materials  research  i?t  various  directions  has  enabled  him  to 
make  some  additions. 

Clay.—  THE  PRISON  CHAPLAIN.  A  Memoir  of  the  Rev.  John 
Clay,  B.D.,  late  Chaplain  of  the  Preston  Gaol.  With  Selections 
from  his  Reports  and  Correspondence,  and  a  Sketch  of  Prison 
Discipline  in  England.  By  his  Son,  the  Rev.  W.  L.  Clay,  M.A. 
8vo.  1 5 j. 

"  Few  books  have  appeared  of  late  years  better  entitled  to  an  attentive 
perusal.  .  .  .  It  presents  a  complete  narrative  of  all  that  has  been  done  and 
attempted  by  various  philanthropists  Jor  the  amelioration  of  the  condition  and 
the  improvement  of  the  morals  of  the  criminal  classes  in  the  British 
dominiojis. ' ' — Lon do N  Revi  ew. 

Cobden.— SPEECHES  ON  QUESTIONS  OF  PUBLIC 
POLICY.  By  Richard  Cobden.  Edited  by  the  Right  Hon. 
John  Bright,  M.P  ,  and  Professor  Rogers.  Two  vols.  8vo.  With 
Portrait.     (Uniform  with  Bright's  Speeches.) 

Cooper.  —  ATHENE  CANTABRIGIENSES.  By  Charles 
Henry  Cooper,  F.S.A.,  and  Thompson  Cooper,  F.S.A. 
Vol.  I.  8vo.,  1500—85,  i8j.     Vol.  II.,  1586— 1609,  18s. 

This  elaborate  work,  which  is  dedicated  by  permission  to  Lord  Macaulay, 
contains  lives  of  the  eminent  men  sent  forth  by  Cambridge,  after  the 
fashion  of  Anthony  a  Wood,  in  his  famous  "  A thence  Oxonienses." 


HISTORY,  BIOGRAPHY,  &>  TRAVELS.  5 

Cox    (G.    V.,    M. A.).— RECOLLECTIONS    OF   OXFORD. 

By   G.   V.    Cox,   M.A.,   New  College,   Late  Esquire   Bedel   and 

Coroner  in  the  University  of  Oxford.    Second  Edition.    Crown  8vo. 

I  or.  6d. 

"An  amusing  farrago  of  anecdote,  and  will  pleasantly  recall  in  many 

a  country  parsonage  the  memory  of  youthful  days." — Times. 

Dicey  (Edward).— THE  MORNING  LAND.  By  Edward 
Dicey.  Two  vols,  crown  8vo.  16s. 
"An  invitation  to  be  present  at  the  opening  of  the  Suez  Canal  was  the 
immediate  cause  of  my  journey.  But  I  made  it  my  object  also  to  see  as 
much  of  the  Morning  Land,  of  whose  marvels  the  canal  across  the 
Isthmus  is  only  the  least  and  latest,  as  time  and  opportunity  would  permit. 
The  result  of  my  observations  was  communicated  to  the  journal  I  then 
represented,  in  a  series  of  letters,  which  I  now  give  to  the  public  in  a 
collected  form. " — Extract  from  Author's  Preface. 

Dilke.— GREATER  BRITAIN.     A  Record  of  Travel  in  English- 

speaking  Countries  during  1866-7.      (America,   Australia,  India.) 

By  Sir  Charles  Wentworth  Dilke,  M.P.      Fifth  and  Cheap 

Edition.     Crown  8vo.    6s. 

"  Mr.  Dilke  has  written  a  book  zuhich  is  probably  as  well  worth  reading 

as  any  book  of  the  same  aims  and  character  that  ever  was  written.     Its 

merits  are  that  it  is  written  in  a  lively  and  agreeable  style,  that  it  implies 

a  great  deal  of  physical  pluck,  that  no  page  of  it  fails  to  show  an  acute  and 

highly  intelligent  observer,  that  it  stimulates  the  imagination  as  well  as  the 

judgment  of  the  reader,  and  that  it  is  on  perhaps  the  most  interesting 

subject  that  can  attract  an  Englishman  who  cares  about  his  country. " 

Saturday  Review. 

Diirer  (Albrecht). — HISTORY  OF   THE  LIFE  OF  AL- 

BRECHT  DURER,  of   Nurnberg.     With  a  Translation  of  his 
Letters  and  Journal,  and  some  account  of  his  works.      By  Mrs 
Charles  Heaton.  Royal  8vo.  bevelled  boards,  extra  gilt.  31J.  6d. 
This  work  contains  about  Thirty  Illustrations,  ten  of  which  are  produc- 
tions by  the  Autotype  {carbon)  process,  and  are  printed  in  permanent  tints 
by  Messrs.  Cundall  and  Fleming,  under  license  from  the  Autotype  Com- 
pany, Limited;  the  rest  are  Photographs  and  Woodcuts. 

EARLY    EGYPTIAN     HISTORY    FOR    THE    YOUNG.       See 
"Juvenile  Section." 


GENERAL  CATALOGUE. 


Elliott. — LIFE  OF  HENRY  VENN  ELLIOTT,  oi  Brighton. 
By  Josiah  Bateman,  M.A.,  Author  of  "Life  of  Daniel  Wilson, 
Bishop  of  Calcutta,"  &c.  With  Portrait,  engraved  by  Jeens  ; 
and  an  Appendix  containing  a  short  sketch  of  the  life  of  the  Rev. 
Julius  Elliott  (who  met  with  accidental  death  while  ascending  the 
Schreckhorn  in  July,  1869. )  Crown  8vo.  &s.  6d.  Second  Edition, 
with  Appendix. 

"A  very  charming  piece  of  religious  biography;  no  one  can  read  it 
without  both  pleasure  and  profit '." — British  Quarterly  Review. 

Fairfax.— A  LIFE  OF  THE  GREAT  LORD  FAIRFAX, 
Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Army  of  the  Parliament  of  England. 
By  Clements  R.  Markham,  F.S.A.  With  Portraits,  Maps, 
Plans,  and  Illustrations.     Demy  8vo.      \bs. 

No  full  Life  of  the  great  Parliamentary  Commander  has  appeared ; 
and  it  is  here  sought  to  produce  one — based  upon  careful  research  in  con- 
temporary records  and  upon  family  a?td  other  documents. 

Forbes.  —  LIFE  OF  PROFESSOR  EDWARD  FORBES, 
F.R.S.  By  George  Wilson,  M.D.,  F.R.S.E.,  and  Archibald 
Geikie,  F.R.S.     8vo.  with  Portrait,  i^s. 

"  From  the  first  page  to  the  last  the  book  claims  careful  reading,  as  being 
a  full  but  not  overcrowded  rehearsal  of  a  most  instructive  life,  and  the  true 
picture  of  a  mind  that  was  rare  in  strength  and  beauty." — Examiner. 

Freeman. — history    of    federal    government, 

from  the  Foundation  of  the  Achaian  League  to  the  Disruption  of 
the  United  States.  By  Edward  A.  Freeman,  M.A.  Vol.  I. 
General  Introduction.     History  of  the  Greek  Federations.     8vo. 

2lS. 

"  The  task  Mr.  Freeman  has  undertaken  is  one  of  great  magnitude  and 
importance.  It  is  also  a  task  of  an  almost  entirely  novel  character.  No 
other  work  professing  to  give  the  history  of  a  political  principle  occurs  to 
us,  except  the  slight  contributions  to  the  history  of  representative  govern- 
ment that  is  contained  in  a  course  of  M.  Guizofs  lechires  ....  The 
history  of  the  development  of  a  principle  is  at  least  as  important  as  the 
history  of  a  dynasty,  or  of  a  race.'"  — Saturday  Review. 


HISTORY,  BIOGRAPHY,  &*  TRAVELS.  7 

Freeman  {continued) — 

OLD  ENGLISH  HISTORY  FOR  CHILDREN.  By  Edward  A. 
Freeman,  M.A.,  late  Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Oxford.     With 

Five  Coloured  Maps.  Extra  fcap.  8vo.,  half-bound.  6s. 
"  Its  object  is  to  show  that  clear,  accurate,  and  scientific  vietvs  of  history, 
or  indeed  of  any  subject,  may  be  easily  given  to  children  from  the  very 
first.  .  .  I  have,  I  hope,  shown  that  it  is  perfectly  easy  to  teach  children,  from 
the  very  first,  to  distinguish  true  history  alike  fiom  legend  and  from  wilful 
invention,  and  also  to  understand  the  nature  of  historical  authorities,  and 
to  weigh  one  statement  against  another.  ....  I  have  throughout  striven  to 
connect  the  history  of  England  with  the  general  history  of  civilized  Europe, 
and  I  have  especially  tried  to  make  the  book  serve  as  an  incentive  to  a  more 
accurate  study  of  historical  geography." — PREFACE. 

French     (George      Russell).  —  SHAKSPEAREANA 

GENEALOGICA.  8vo.  cloth  extra,  I$f.  Uniform  with  the 
"Cambridge  Shakespeare." 
Part  I. — Identification  of  the  dramatis  persons  in  the  historical  plays, 
from  King  John  to  King  Henry  VIII.  ;  Notes  on  Characters  in  Macbeth 
and  Hamlet ;  Persons  and  Places  belonging  to  Warwickshire  alhided  to. 
Part  II.  —  The  Shakspeare  and  Arden  families  and  their  connexions,  with 
Tables  of  descent.  The  present  is  the  first  attempt  to  give  a  detailed  de- 
scription, in  consecutive  order,  of  each  of  the  dramatis  personam  in  Shak- 
speare'.r  immortal  chronicle-histories,  and  some  of  the  characters  have  been, 
it  is  believed,  herein  identified  for  the  first  time  A  clue is  furnished 'which, 
followed  up  with  ordinary  diligence,  may  enable  any  one,  with  a  taste  for 
the  pursuit,  to  trace  a  distinguished  Shakspearean  worthy  to  his  lineal 
representative  in  the  present  day. 

Galileo. — THE   PRIVATE  LIFE  OF   GALILEO.      Compiled 

principally    from    his    Correspondence    and    that    of   his    eldest 

daughter,  Sister  Maria  Celeste,  Nun  in  the  Franciscan  Convent  of 

S.  Matthew  in  Arcetri.     With  Portrait.     Crown  8vo.     p,  6d. 

'  It  has  been  the  endeavour  of  the  compiler  to  place  before  the  reader  a 

plain,  ungarbled  statement  of  facts  ;  and  as  a  means  to  this  end,  to  allow 

Galileo,  his  friends,  and  his  judges  to  speak  for  themselves  as  Jar  as  possible. 

Gladstone  (Right.  Hon.  W.  E.,  M.P.).— JUVENTUS 
MUNDI.  The  Gods  and  Men  of  the  Heroic  Age.  Crown  8vo. 
cloth  extra.     With  Map.     io.r.  6d.     Second  Edition. 


GENERAL  CATALOGUE. 


Gladstone  (Right.  Hon.  W.  E.,  M.P.)  {continued)— 

This  new  work  of  Mr.  Gladstone  deals  especially  with  the  historic 
element  in  Homer,  expounding  that  element  and  furnishing  by  its  aid  a 
full  account  of  the  Homeric  men  and  the  Hot?ieric  religion.  It  starts,  after 
the  introductory  chapter,  with  a  discussion  of  the  several  races  then  existing 
in  Hellas,  including  the  influence  of  the  Thcenicians  and  Egyptians.  It 
contains  chapteirs  on  the  Olympian  system,  with  its  several  deities ;  on  the 
Ethics  and  the  Polity  of  the  Heroic  age ;  on  the  geography  of  Homer ;  on 
the  characters  of  the  Poems  ;  presenting,  in  fine,  a  view  of  primitive  life 
and  primitive  society  as  found  in  the  poems  of  Homer.  To  this  New 
Edition  various  additions  have  been  made. 

"GLOBE"  ATLAS  OF  EUROPE.  Uniform  in  size  with  Mac- 
millan's  Globe  Series,  containing  45  Coloured  Maps,  on  a  uniform 
scale  and  projection  ;  with  Plans  of  London  and  Paris,  and  a 
copious  Index.  Strongly  bound  in  half-morocco,  with  flexible 
back,  9.5-. 

This  Atlas  includes  all  the  countries  of  Europe  in  a  series  of  48  Maps, 
drawn  on  the  same  scale,  with  an  Alphabetical  Index  to  the  situation  of 
more  than  ten  thousand  places,  and  the  relation  of  the  various  maps  and 
countries  to  each  other  is  defined  in  a  general  Key-map.  All  the  maps 
being  on  a  uniform  scale  facilitates  the  comparison  of  extent  and  distance, 
and  conveys  a  just  impression  of  the  relative  magnitude  of  different  ceuntries. 
The  size  suffices  to  shozu  the  provincial  divisions,  the  raihvays  and  main 
roads,  the  principal  rivers  and  mountain  ranges.  "This  atlas,"  writes  the 
British  Quarterly,  "  will  be  an  invaluable  boon  for  the  school,  the  desk,  or 
the  traveller1  s  portmanteau. " 

Godkin  (James).— THE  LAND  WAR  IN  IRELAND.     A 

History  for  the  Times.     By  James  Godkin,  Author  of  "Ireland 
and  her  Churches,"  late  Irish  Correspondent  of  the  Times.  8vo.   \2s. 
A  History  of  the  Irish  Land  Question. 

Guizot. — (Author  of  "John  Halifax,  Gentleman.")— M.  DE 
BARANTE,  A  Memoir,  Biographical  and  Autobiographical.  By 
M.  Guizot.  Translated  by  the  Author  of  "John  Halifax, 
Gentleman."     Crown  8vo.  6s.  6d. 

"  The  highest  purposes  of  both  history  and  biography  are  anszuered  by  a 
memoir  so  lifelike,  so  faithful,  and  so  philosophical.'''' 

British  Quarterly  Review. 


HISTORY,  BIOGRAPHY,  fr   TRAVELS. 


HISTORICAL  SELECTIONS.  Readings  from  the  best  Authorities 
on  English  and  European  History.  Selected  and  arranged  by 
E.  M.  Sewell  and  C.  M.  Yonge.     Crown  8vo.  6s. 

When  young  children  have  acquired  the  outlines  of  history  from  abridge- 
ments and  catechisms,  and  it  becomes  desirable  to  give  a  more  enlarged 
view  of  the  subject,  in  order  to  render  it  really  useful  and  interesting,  a 
difficulty  often  arises  as  to  the  choice  of  books.  Two  courses  are  open,  either 
to  take  a  general  and  consequently  dry  history  oj  facts,  such  as  RusselVs 
Modern  Europe,  or  to  choose  some  work  treating  of  a  partiadar  period  or 
subject,  such  as  the  works  of  Macaulay  and  Froude.  The  former  course 
usually  renders  history  uninteresting ;  the  latter  is  unsatisfactory,  because 
it  is  not  sufficiently  comprehensive.  To  remedy  this  difficulty,  selections, 
continuous  and  chronological,  have  in  the  present  volume  been  taken  from 
the  larger  works  of  Freeman,  Milman,  Palgrave,  and  others,  which  may 
serve  as  distinct  landmarks  of  historical  reading.  "  We  know  of  scarcely 
anything,"  says  the  Guardian,  of  this  volume,  " which  is  so  likely  to  raise 
to  a  higher  level  the  average  standard  of  English  education.'''' 


Hole.— A  GENEALOGICAL  STEMMA  OF  THE  KINGS  OF 
ENGLAND  AND  FRANCE.  By  the  Rev.  C.  Hole,  M.A., 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge.     On  Sheet,  Is. 

The  different  families  are  printed  in  distinguishing  colours,  thus  facili- 
tating reference. 


A  BRIEF  BIOGRAPHICAL  DICTIONARY.  Compiled  and 
Arranged  by  the  Rev.  Charles  Hole,  M.A.  Second  Edition. 
iSmo.  neatly  and  strongly  bound  in  cloth,  4s.  6d. 

One  of  the  most  comprehensive  and  accurate  Biographical  Dictionaries 
in  the  world,  containing  more  than  18,000  persons  of  all  countries,  with 
dates  of  birth  and  death,  and  what  they  were  distinguished  for.  Extreme 
care  has  been  bestowed  on  the  verification  of  the  dates  ;  and  thus  numerous 
errors,  current  in  Previous  works,  have  been  corrected.  Its  size  adapts  it 
for  the  desk,  portmanteau,  or  pocket. 

"An  invaluable  addition  to  our  manuals  of  reference,  and,  from  its 
moderate  price,  cannot  fail  to  become  as  popular  as  it  is  useful.'''' — Times. 


io  GENERAL   CATALOGUE. 


Hozier.— THE  SEVEN  WEEKS'  WAR  ;  Its  Antecedents  and 
its  Incidents.  By  H.  M.  Hozier.  With  Maps  and  Plans.  Two 
vols.     8vo.     2&S. 

This  work  is  based  upon  letters  reprinted  by  permission  from  "  The 
Times. "  For  the  most  part  it  is  a  product  of  a  personal  eye-witness  of  some 
of  the  most  interesting  incidents  of  a  war  which,  for  rapidity  and  decisive 
results,  may  claim  an  almost  unrivalled  position  in  history. 


THE  BRITISH  EXPEDITION  TO  ABYSSINIA.  Compiled  from 
Authentic  Documents.  By  Captain  Henry  M.  Hozier,  late 
Assistant  Military  Secretary  to  Lord  Napier  of  Magdala.     8vo.  gs. 

"  Several  accounts  of  the  British  Expedition  have  been  published.  .... 
They  have,  however ^  been  written  by  those  who  have  not  had  access  to  those 
authentic  documents,  which  cannot  be  collected  directly  after  the  termination 

of  a  campaign The  endeavour  of  the  author  of  this  sketch  has  been  to 

present  to  readers  a  succinct  and  impartial  account  oj  an  enterprise  which 
has  rately  been  equalled  in  the  annals  of  war  P — Preface. 


Irving.— THE  ANNALS  OF  OUR  TIME.  A  Diurnal  of  Events, 
Social  and  Political,  which  have  happened  in  or  had  relation  to 
the  Kingdom  of  Great  Britain,  from  the  Accession  ot  Queen 
Victoria  to  the  Opening  of  the  present  Parliament.  By  Joseph 
Irving.     8vo.  half-bound.     \%s. 

tl  We  have  before  us  a  trusty  and  ready  guide  to  the  events  of  the  past 
thirty  years,  available  equally  for  the  statesman,  the  politician,  the  public 
writer,  and  the  general  reader.  If  Mr.  Irving's  object  has  been  to  bring 
before  the  reader  all  the  most  noteworthy  occurrences  which  have  happened 
since  the  beginning  of  Her  Majesty's  reign,  he  may  justly  claim  the  credit 
of  having  done  so  most  briefly,  succinctly,  and  simply,  and  in  such  a 
manner,  too,  as  to  furnish  him  with  the  details  necessary  in  each  case  to 
comprehend  the  event  of  which  he  is  in  search  in  an  intelligent  manner. 
Reflection  will  serve  to  show  the  great  value  oj  such  a  work  as  this  to  the 
journalist  and  statesman,  and  indeed  to  every  one  who  feels  an  interest  in 
the  progress  of  the  age ;  and  we  may  add  that  its  value  is  considerably  in- 
creased by  the  addition  of  that  most  important  of  all  appendices,  an 
accurate  and  instructive  index." — Times. 


HISTORY,  BIOGRAPHY,  &>  TRAVELS. 


Kingsley  (Canon). — ON  THE  ANCIEN  REGIME  as  it 
Existed  on  the  Continent  betore  the  French  Revolution. 
Three  Lectures  delivered  at  the  Royal  Institution.  By  the  Rev. 
C.  Kingsley,  M.A.,  formerly  Professor  of  Modern  History 
in  the  University  of  Cambridge.     Crown  8vo.  6s. 

These  three  lectures  discuss  severally  (i)  Caste,  (2)  Centralization,  (3) 
The  Explosive  Forces  by  which  the  Revolution  was  superinduced.  The 
Preface  deals  at  some  length  with  certain  political  questions  of  the  present 
day. 


THE  ROMAN  AND  THE  TEUTON.  A  Series  of  Lectures 
delivered  before  the  University  of  Cambridge.  By  Rev.  C. 
Kingsley,  M.A.     8vo.     lis. 

Contents  : — Inaugural  Lecture  ;  The  Forest  Children  ;  The  Dying 
Empire;  The  Human  Deluge ;  The  Gothic  Civilizer ;  DietricJi \r  End;  The 
Nemesis  of  the  Goths  ;  Paulus  Diaconus  ;  The  Clergy  and  the  Heatheti  ; 
The  Monk  a  Civilizer  ;  The  Lombard  Laws  ;  The  Popes  and  the  Lombards  ; 
The  Strategy  of  Providence. 


Kingsley  (Henry,  F.R.G.S.).— TALES  OF  OLD 
TRAVEL.  Re-narrated  by  Henry  Kingsley,  F.R.G.S.  With 
Eight  Illustrations  by  Huard.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

Contents:— Marco  Polo;  The  Shipwreck  of  Pelsart ;  The  Wonderful 
Adventures  of  Andrew  Battel;  The  Wanderings  of  a  Capuchin;  Peter 
Carder;  The  Preservation  of  the  " 'Terra  Nova ;"  Spitzbergen;  DHrme- 
nonville 's  Acclimatization  Adventure ;  The  Old  Slave  Trade;  Miles  Philips  ; 
The  Sufferings  of  Robert  Everard ;  John  Fox ;  Alvaro  Nunez;  The  Foun- 
dation of  an  Empire. 


Latham. — BLACK  AND  WHITE :  A  Journal  of  a  Three  Months' 
Tour  in  the  United  States.  By  Henry  Latham,  M.  A.,  Barrister- 
at-Law.     8vo.     iar.  6d. 

"  The  spirit  in  which  Mr.  Latha)n  has  written  about  our  brethren  in 
America  is  commendable  in  high  degree." — Athenaeum. 


GENERAL  CATALOGUE. 


Law. — THE  ALPS  OF  HANNIBAL.  By  William  John  Law, 
M.A.,  formerly  Student  of  Christ  Church,  Oxford.  Two  vols. 
8vo.     2  is. 

u  No  one  can  read  the  work  and  not  acquire  a  conviction  that,  in 
addition  to  a  thorough  grasp  of  a  particular  topic,  its  zvriter  has  at 
command  a  large  store  of  reading  and  thought  upon  many  cognate  points 
of  ancient  history  and  geography ," — Quarterly  Review. 


Liverpool.— THE  LIFE  AND  ADMINISTRATION  OF 
ROBERT  BANKS,  SECOND  EARL  OF  LIVERPOOL,  K.G. 
Compiled  from  Original  Family  Documents  by  Charles  Duke 
Yonge,  Regius  Professor  of  History  and  English  Literature  in 
Queen's  College,  Belfast ;  and  Author  of  "  The  History  of  the 
British  Navy,"  "  The  History  of  France  under  the  Bourbons,"  etc. 
Three  vols.  8vo.     42s. 

Since  the  time  of  Lord  Burleigh  no  one,  except  the  second  Pitt,  ever 
enjoyed  so  long  a  tenure  of  power ;  with  the  same  exception,  no  one  ever 
held  office  at  so  critical  a  time  ....  Lord  Liverpool  is  the  very  last 
minister  who  has  been  able  fully  to  carry  out  his  own  political  views  ;  who 
has  been  so  strong  that  in  matters  of  general  policy  the  Opposition  could 
extort  no  concessions  from  him  which  were  not  sanctioned  by  his  own 
deliberate  judgment.  The  present  zuork  is  founded  almost  entirely  on  the 
correspondence  left  behind  him  by  Lord  Liverpool,  and  now  in  the  possession 
of  Colonel  and  Lady  Catherine  Harcourt. 

"  Full  of  'information  and  instruction."— Fortnightly  Review.     . 
Maclear. — See  Section  "Ecclesiastical  History." 
Macmillan    (Rev.    Hugh).  — HOLIDAYS     ON    HIGH 

LANDS  ;  or,  Rambles  and  Incidents  in  search  of  Alpine  Plants. 
By  the  Rev.  Hugh  Macmillan,  Author  of  "Bible  Teachings  in 
Nature,"  etc.     Crown  8vo.  cloth.     6s. 

"  Botanical  knowledge  is  blended  with  a  love  of  nature,  a  pious  en- 
thusiasm,  and  a  rich  felicity  of  diction  not  to  be  met  with  in  any  works 
of  kindred  character,  if  we  except  those  of  Hugh  Miller."  —Daily 
Telegraph. 


HISTORY,  BIOGRAPHY,   &   TRAVELS.  13 

Macmillan  (Rev.  Hugh),  {continued)— 

FOOT-NOTES     FROM    THE    PAGE     OF     NATURE.       With 
numerous  Illustrations.     Fcap.  8vo.  $s. 

"  Those  who  have  derived  pleasure  and  profit  from  the  study  of  flowers 
and  ferns — subjects,  it  is  pleasing  to  find,  ncnu  everywhere  popular — by 
descending  lower  into  the  arcana  of  the  vegetable  kingdom,  will  find  a  still 
more  interesting  and  delightful  field  of  research  in  the  objects  brought  tinder 
revieiu  in  the  following  pages." — PREFACE. 

BIBLE  TEACHINGS  IN  NATURE.     Fourth  Edition.     Fcap  8vo. 
6s.—  See  also  "Scientific  Section." 


Martin  (Frederick) — the  STATESMAN'S  YEAR-BOOK  : 

A  Statistical  and  Historical  Account  of  the  States  of  the  Civilized 
World.  Manual  for  Politicians  and  Merchants  for  the  year  1870. 
By  Frederick  Martin.  Seventh  Annual  Publication.  Crown 
8vo.     ioj.  6d. 

The  new  issue  has  been  entirely  re-written,  revised,  and  corrected,  on  the 
basis  of  official  reports  received  direct  from  the  heads  of  the  leading  Govern- 
ments of  the  World,  in  reply  to  letters  sent  to  them  by  the  Editor. 

" Everybody  who  knenvs  this  work  is  aware  that  it  is  a  book  that  is  indis- 
pensable to  writers,  financiers,  politicians,  statesmen,  and  all  who  are 
directly  or  indirectly  interested  in  the  political,  social,  industrial,  com- 
mercial, and  financial  condition  of  their  fellow-creatures  at  home  and 
abroad.  Mr.  Martin  deserves  warm  commendation  for  the  care  he  takes 
in  making  '  The  Statesman's  Year  Book '  complete  and  correct. " 

Standard. 


HANDBOOK  OF  CONTEMPORARY  BIOGRAPHY.  By 
Frederick  Martin,  Author  of  "The  Statesman's  Year-Book." 
Extra  fcap.  8vo.     6s. 

This  volume  is  an  attempt  to  produce  a  book  of  reference,  furnishing  in 
a  condensed  form  some  biographical  particulars  of  notable  living  men. 
The  leading  idea  has  bee?i  to  give  only  facts,  and  those  in  the  brief  est  form , 
and  to  exclude  opinions. 


H  GENERAL   CATALOGUE. 


Martineau. — BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCHES,  1852— 1868. 
By  Harriet  Martineau.  Third  Edition,  with  New  Preface. 
Crown  8vo.     8s.  6d. 

A  Collection  of  Memoirs  under  these  several  sections: — (1)  Royal,  (2) 
Politicians,  (3)  Professional,  (4)  Scientific,  (5)  Social,  (6)  Literary.  These 
Memoirs  appeared  originally  in  the  columns  of  the  "  Daily  News." 


Masson  (Professor).— ESSAYS,  BIOGRAPHICAL  AND 
CRITICAL.  See  Section  headed  "  Poetry  and  Belles  Lettres.' 

LIFE  OF  JOHN  MILTON.  Narrated  in  connexion  with  the 
Political,  Ecclesiastical,  and  Literary  History  of  his  Time.  By 
David  Masson,  M.A.,  LL.D.,  Professor  of  Rhetoric  at  Edin- 
burgh.    Vol.  I.  with  Portraits.     8vo.  i8j-.     Vol.  II.  in  the  Press. 

It  is  intended  to  exhibit  Aliltou's  life  in  its  connexions  with  all  the  more 
notable  phenomena  of  the  period  of  British  history  in  which  it  was  cast — 
its  state  politics,  its  ecclesiastical  variations,  its  literature  and  speculative 
thought.  Commencing  in  1608,  the  Life  of  Milton  proceeds  through  the 
last  sixteen  years  of  the  reign  of  Ja?nes  I. ,  includes  the  whole  of  the  reign 
of  Charles  I.  and  the  subsequent  years  of  the  Commonzuealth  and  the 
Protectorate,  and  then,  passing  the  Restoration,  extends  itself  to  1674,  or 
through  fourteen  years  of  the  new  state  of  things  under  Charles  II.  The 
first  volume  deals  with  the  life  of  Milton  as  extending  Jrom  1608  to  1640, 
which  was  the  period  of  his  education  and  of  his  minor  poems. 


Morison.— THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  SAINT  BERNARD, 
Abbot  of  Clairvaux.  By  James  Cotter  Morison,  M.A.  New 
Edition,  revised.     Crown  8vo.     Js.  6d. 

"  One  of  the  best  contributions  in  our  literature  towards  a  vivid,  intel- 
ligent, and  worthy  knowledge  of  European  interests  and  thoughts  and 
feelings  during  the  twelfth  century.  A  delightful  and  instructive  volume, 
and  one  of  the  best  products  of  the  modem  historic  spirit.'" 

Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

Morley  (John).— EDMUND  BURKE,  a  Historical  Study.  By 
John  Morley,  B.A.  Oxon.     Crown  8vo.     js.  6d. 


HISTORY,  BIOGRAPHY,  6-   TRAVELS.  15 


"  The  style  is  terse  and  incisive,  and  brilliant  with  epigram  and  point. 
It  contains  pithy  aphoristic  sentences  which  Burke  himself  would  not  have 
disozvned.  But  these  are  not  its  best  features :  its  sustained  power  of 
reasoning,  its  wide  sweep  of  observation  and  reflection,  its  elevated  ethical 
and  social  tone,  starnp  it  as  a  work  of  high  excellence,  and  as  such  we 
cordially  recommend  it  to  our  readers." — SATURDAY  REVIEW. 

Mullinger.— CAMBRIDGE  CHARACTERISTICS  IN  THE 
SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY.  By  J.  B.  Mullinger,  B.A. 
Crown  8vo.     4s.  6d. 

It  is  a  very  entertaining  and  readable  book." — Saturday  Review. 

"  The  chapters  on  the  Cartesian  Philosophy  and  the  Cambridge  Platonists 
are  admirable." — Athenaeum. 


Palgrave. — HISTORY  OF  NORMANDY  AND  OF  ENG- 
LAND. By  Sir  Francis  Palgrave,  Deputy  Keeper  of  Her 
Majesty's  Public  Records.  Completing  the  History  to  the  Death 
of  William  Rufus.     Four  vols.  8vo.    £4.  4s. 

Volume  I.  General  Relations  of  Alediceval  Europe —  The  Carlovingiau 
Empire — The  Danish  Expeditions  in  the  Gauls — -And  the  Establishment 
of  Rollo.  Volume  II.  The  Three  Eirst  Dukes  of  Normandy ;  Rollo, 
Guillaume  Longtie-Epee,  and  Richard  Sans-Peur — The  Carlovingiau 
line  supplanted  by  the  Capets.  Volume  III.  Richard  Sans-Peur — 
Richard  Le-Bon — Richard  III. — Robert  Le  Diable — William  the  Con- 
queror.     Volume  IV.     William  Rufus — Accession  of  Henry  Beauclerc. 

Palgrave  (W.  G.). — a    narrative    of   a    year's 

JOURNEY  THROUGH  CENTRAL  AND  EASTERN 
ARABIA,  1862-3.  By  William  Gifford  Palgrave,  late  of 
the  Eighth  Regiment  Bombay  N.  I.  Fifth  and  cheaper  Edition. 
With  Maps,  Plans,  and  Portrait  of  Author,  engraved  on  steel  by 
Teens.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

"  Considering  the  extent  of  our  previous  ignorance,  the  amount  of  his 
achievements,  and  the  importance  of  his  contributions  to  our  knowledge,  we 
cannot  say  less  of  him  than  was  once  said  of  a  far  greater  discoverer.  Mr. 
Palgrave  has  indeed  given  a  nezv  world  to  Europe." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 


GENERAL  CATALOGUE. 


Parkes  (Henry). — AUSTRALIAN  VIEWS  OF  ENGLAND. 
By  Henry  Parkes.     Crown  8vo.  cloth.     3*.  6d. 

"  The  following  letters  were  written  during  a  residence  in  England,  in 
the  years  1 861  and  1862,  and  were  published  in  the  "Sydney  Morning 
Herald"  on  the  arrival  of  the  monthly  mails  ....  On  re-perusal,  these 
letters  appear  to  contain  views  of  English  life  and  impressions  of  English 
notabilities  which,  as  the  views  and  impressions  of  an  Englishman  on  his 
return  to  his  native  country  after  an  absence  of  twenty  years,  may  not  be 
without  interest  to  the  English  reader.  The  writer  had  opportunities  of 
mixing  xvith  different  classes  of  the  British  people,  and  of  hearing  opinions 
on  passing  events  from  opposite  standpoints  of  observation.** — Author's 
Preface. 


Prichard.— THE  ADMINISTRATION  OF  INDIA.  From 
1859  to  1868.  The  First  Ten  Years  of  Administration  under  the 
Crown.  By  Iltudus  Thomas  Prichard,  Barrister-at-Law. 
Two  vols.     Demy  8vo.     With  Map.     21s. 

In  these  volumes  the  author  has  aimed  to  supply  a  full,  impartial,  ana 
independent  account  of  British  India  between  1859  and  1868 — which  is 
in  many  respects  the  most  important  epoch  in  the  history  of  that  country 
which  the  present  century  has  seen. 


Ralegh.— THE  LIFE  OF  SIR  WALTER  RALEGH,  based 
upon  Contemporary  Documents.  By  Edward  Edwards.  ,  To- 
gether with  Ralegh's  Letters,  now  first  collected.  With  Portrait. 
Two  vols.  8vo.     32j-. 

"  Mr.  Edivards  has  certainly  written  the  Life  of  Ralegh  from  fuller 
information  than  any  previous  biographer.  He  is  intelligent,  industrious, 
sympathetic  :  and  the  world  has  in  his  huo  volumes  larger  means  afforded 
it  of  knowing  Ralegh  than  it  ever  possessed  before.  The  nezv  letters  and 
the  newly-edited  old  letters  are  in  themselves  a  boon." — Pall  Mall 
Gazette. 

Robinson  (Crabb). — diary,  REMINISCENCES,  AND 
CORRESPONDENCE  OF  HENRY  CRABB  ROBINSON. 
Selected  and  Edited  by  Dr.  Sadler.  With  Portrait.  Second 
Edition.     Three  vols.  8vo.  cloth.     36J. 


HISTORY,  BIOGRAPHY,  &*  TRAVELS*  17 

Mr.  Crabb  Robinsoiis  Diary  extends  over  the  greater  part  of  three- 
quarters  of  a  century.  It  contains  personal  reminiscences  of  some  of  the 
most  distinguished  characters  of  that  period,  including  Goethe,  Wieland,  De 
Quincey,  Wordsworth  (with  whom  Air.  Crabb  Robinson  was  on  terms  of 
great  intimacy),  Madame  de  Stael,  lafayette,  Coleridge,  Iamb,  Milman, 
&>c.  &*c. :  and  includes  a  vast  variety  of  subjects,  political,  literary,  ecclesi- 
astical, and  miscellaneous. 

Rogers  (James  E.  Thorold). — HISTORICAL  GLEAN- 
INGS :  A  Series  of  Sketches.    Montague,  Walpole,  Adam  Smith, 
Cobbett.     By  Rev.  J.  E.  T.  Rogers.     Crown  8vo.     4s.  6d. 
Professor  Rogers's  object  in  the  following  sketches  is  to  present  a  set  of 

historical  facts,  grouped  round  a  principal  figure.      The  essays  are  in  the 

form  of  lectures. 

HISTORICAL   GLEANINGS.      A   Series  of  Sketches.      By  Rev. 
J.  E.  T.  Rogers.     Second  Series.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

A  companion  volume  to  the  First  Series  recently  published.  It  contains 
papers  on  Wiklifi  laud,  Wilkes,  Home  Tooke.  In  these  lectures  the 
author  has  aimed  to  state  the  social  facts  of  the  time  in  which  the  individual 
whose  history  is  handled  took  part  in  public  business. 

Smith     (Professor     Goldwin).  —  three     ENGLISH 

STATESMEN  :  PYM,  CROMWELL,  PITT.  A  Course  of 
Lectures  on  the  Political  History  of  England.  By  Goldwin 
Smith,  M.  A.     Extra  fcap.  8vo.     New  and  Cheaper  Edition.     $s. 

"  A  work  which  neither  historian  nor  politician  can  safely  afford  to 
neglect."— Saturday  Review. 

SYSTEMS  OF  LAND  TENURE  IN  VARIOUS  COUNTRIES. 

A  Series  of  Essays  published  under  the  sanction  of  the  Cobden 

Club.  Demy  8vo.  Second  Edition.  \2s. 
The  subjects  treated  are: — I.  Tenure  of  la j id  in  Ireland;  2.  land 
Laws  of  England ;  3.  Tenure  of  Land  in  India;  4.  Laud  System  of 
Belgium  and  Holland ;  5.  Agrarian  Legislation  of  Prussia  during  the 
Present  Century;  6.  Land  System  of  France ;  7.  Russian  Agrarian 
Legislation  of  1861;  8.  Farm  Land  and  Land  laws  of  the  United 
States. 

B 


GENERAL  CATALOGUE. 


Tacitus.— THE  HISTORY  OF  TACITUS,  translated  into 
English.  By  A.  J.  Church,  M.A.  and  W.  J.  Brodribb,  M.A. 
With  a  Map  and  Notes.     8vo.      ios.  6d. 

The  translators  have  endeavoured  to  adhere  as  closely  to  the  original  as 
was  thought  consistent  with  a  proper  observance  of  English  idiom.  Ai 
the  same  time  it  has  been  their  aim  to  reproduce  the  precise  expressions  oj 
the  author.  This  zuork  is  characterised  by  the  Spectator  as  "  a  scholarly 
and  faithful  translation.'''' 

THE  AGRICOLA  AND  GERMANIA.  Translated  into  English  by 
A.  J.  Church,  M.A.  and  W.  J.  Brodribb,  M.A.  With  Maps 
and  Notes.     Extra  fcap.  8vo.     2s.  6d. 

The  translators  have  sought  to  produce  such  a  version  as  may  satisfy 
scholars  who  demand  a  faithful  re?iderijig  of  the  original,  and  English 
readers  who  are  offended  by  the  baldness  and  frigidity  which  commonly 
disfigure  translations.  The  treatises  are  accompanied  by  introductions, 
notes,  maps,  and  a  chronological  summary.  The  Athenoeum  says  of 
this  work  that  it  is  "  a  version  at  once  readable  and  exact,  which  may  be 
perused  zvith  pleasure  by  all,  and  consulted  with  advantage  by  the  classical 
student."  0  . 

Taylor    (Rev.    Isaac). — words    and    PLACES;     or 

Etymological  Illustrations  of  History,  Etymology,  and  Geography. 
By  the  Rev.   Isaac  Taylor.      Second  Edition.      Crown  8vo. 
12s.  6d. 
"  Mr.  Taylor  has  produced  a  really  useful  book,  and  one  which  stands 
alone  in  our  language. " — Saturday  Review. 

Trench  (Archbishop).— GUSTAVUS  ADOLPHUS  :  Social 
Aspects  of  the  Thirty  Years'  War.  By  R.  Chenevix  Trench, 
D.  D. ,  Archbishop  of  Dublin.     Fcap.  8vo.     2s.  6d. 

"  Clear  and  lucid  in  style,  these  lectures  will  be  a  treasure  to  many  to 
whom  the  subject  is  unfamiliar." — Dublin  Evening  Mail. 

Trench  (Mrs.  R.). — Edited  by  Archbishop  Trench.  Remains 
of  the  late  Mrs.  RICHARD  TRENCH.  Being  Selections  from 
her  Journals,  Letters,  and  other  Papers.  New  and  Cheaper  Issue, 
with  Portrait,  8vo.    6s. 


HISTORY,  BIOGRAPHY,  &>  TRAVELS.  19 


Contains  notices  and  anecdotes  illustrating  the  social  life  of  the  period 
— extending  over  a  quarter  of  a  century  (1799 — 1827).  It  includes  also 
poems  and  other  miscellaneous  pieces  by  Mrs.  Trench. 

Trench  (Capt.  F.,  F.R.G.S.). — THE  RUSSO-INDIAN 

QUESTION,    Historically,    Strategically,    and    Politically    con- 
sidered.   By  Capt.  Trench,  F.R.G.S.    With  a  Sketch  of  Central 
Asiatic  Politics  and  Map  of  Central  Asia.     Crown  8vo.     *]s.  6d. 
"  The  Russo- Indian,  or  Central  Asian  question  has  for  several  obvious 
reasons  been  attracting  much  public  attention  in  England,  in  Russia,  and 
also  on  the  Continent,  within  the  last  year  or  two.   .   .   .  I  have  thought 
that  the  present  volume,  giving  a  short  sketch  of  the  history  of  this  question 
from  its  earliest  origin,  and  condensing  much  of  the  most  recent  and  inte- 
resting information  on   the  subject,  and  on  its  collateral  phases,  might 
perhaps  be  acceptable  to  those  who  take  an  interest  in  it.'''' — Author's 
Preface. 

Trevelyan  (G.O.,  M.P.). — CAWNPORE.     Illustrated  with 
Plan.      By  G.   O.   Trevelyan,    M.P.,   Author  of  "The  Com- 
petition Wallah."     Second  Edition.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 
"In  this  booh  xve  are  not  spared  one  fact  of  the  sad  story ;  but  our 

feelings  are  not  harrowed  by  the  recital  of  imaginary  outrages.     It  is 

good  for  us  at  home  that  we  have  one  who  tells  his  tale  so  zvell  as  does 

Mr.  Trevelyan.'''' — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

THE  COMPETITION  WALLAH.     New  Edition.    Crown  8vo.    6j. 
"  The  earlier  letters  are  especially  interesting  for  their  racy  descriptions 

of  European  life  in  India Those  that  follow  are  of  more  serious 

import,  seeking  to  tell  the  truth  about  the  Hindoo  character  and  English 
influences,  good  and  bad,  upon  it,  as  well  as  to  suggest  some  better  course  of 
treatment  than  that  hitherto  adopted.'1'' — Examiner. 

Vaughan  (late  Rev.  Dr.  Robert,  of  the  British 
Quarterly). — MEMOIR  OF  ROBERT  A.  VAUGHAN. 
Author  of  "Hours  with  the  Mystics."  By  Robert  Vaughan, 
D.D.     Second  Edition,  revised  and  enlarged.    Extra  fcap.  8vo.  gjr. 

"  //  deserves  a  place  on  the  same  shelf  with  Stanley's  '  Life  of  Arnold,'' 
and  CarlyWs  *  Stirling'  Dr.  Vaughan  has  performed  his  painful  but 
not  all  unplcasing  task  with  exquisite  good  taste  and  feeling." — Noncon- 
formist. 

B    2 


2o  GENERAL   CATALOGUE. 


Wagner.— MEMOIR  OF  THE  REV.  GEORGE  WAGNER, 
M.A.,  late  Incumbent  of  St.  Stephen's  Church,  Brighton.  By  the 
Rev.  J.  N.  Simpkinson,  M.A.  Third  and  Cheaper  Edition,  cor- 
rected and  abridged.     ^s. 

"A  more  edifying  biography  we  have  rarely  met  with" — Literary 
Churchman. 

Wallace.— THE  MALAY  ARCHIPELAGO:  the  Land  of  the 
Orang  Utan  and  the  Bird  of  Paradise.  A  Narrative  of  Travel 
with  Studies  of  Man  and  Nature.  By  Alfred  Russel  Wallace. 
With  Maps  and  Illustrations.  Second  Edition.  Two  vols,  crown 
8vo.     24^. 

"  A  carefully  and  deliberately  composed  narrative.   .   .   .    We  advise 
oar  readers  to  do  as  zee  have  done,  read  his  book  through." — Times. 

Ward  (Professor).— THE  HOUSE  OF  AUSTRIA  IN  THE 
THIRTY  YEARS'  WAR.  Two  Lectures,  with  Notes  and  Illus- 
trations. By  Adolphus  W.  Ward,  M.A.,  Professor  of  History 
in  Owens  College,  Manchester.     Extra  fcap.  8vo.     2s.  6d. 

"  Very  compact  and  instructive" — FORTNIGHTLY  Review. 

Warren.— AN  ESSAY  ON  GREEK  FEDERAL  COINAGE. 
By  the  Hon.  J.  Leicester  Warren,  M.A.     8vo.    2s.  6d. 
' '  The  present  essay  is  an  attempt  to  illustrate  Mr.  Freeman's  Federal 
Government  by  evidence  deduced  from  the  coinage  of  the  times  and  countries 
therein  treated  of'' — Preface. 

Wilson.— A     MEMOIR     OF     GEORGE     WILSON,     M.  D., 
F.R.S.E.,    Regius  Professor  of  Technology  in  the  University  of 
Edinburgh.     By  his  Sister.     New  Edition.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 
"  An  exquisite  and  touching  portrait  of  a  rare  and  beautiful  spirit."— 

Guardian. 

Wilson  (Daniel,  LL.D.).— PREHISTORIC  ANNALS 
OF  SCOTLAND.  By  Daniel  Wilson,  LL.D.,  Professor  of 
History  and  English  Literature  in  University  College,  Toronto. 
New  Edition,  with  numerous  Illustrations.  Two  vols,  demy 
8vo.     36J. 


&*   TRAVELS.  21 


This  elaborate  and  learned  work  is  divided  into  four  Parts.  Part  I. 
deals  with  The  Primeval  or  Stone  Period  :  Aboriginal  Traces,  Sepidchral 
Memorials,  Dzvellings,  and  Catacombs,  Temples,  Weapons,  &c.  &c.  ; 
Part  II.,  The  Bronze  Period  :  The  Melallurgic  Transition,  Primitive 
Bronze,  Personal  Ornaments,  Religion,  Arts,  and  Do?nestic  Habits,  with 
other  topics  ;  Part  III.,  The  Iron  Period  :  The  Introduction  of  Iron,  The 
Roman  Invasion,  Strongholds,  &°c.  &=c;  Part  IV.,  The  Christian  Period  : 
Historical  Data,  the  Norrie's  Law  Relics,  Primitive  and  Mediceval 
Ecclesiology,  Ecclesiastical  and  Miscellaneous  Antiquities.  The  work  is 
furnished  with  an  elaborate  Index. 

PREHISTORIC  MAN.  New  Edition,  revised  and  partly  re- written, 
with  numerous  Illustrations.     One  vol.  8vo.     21s. 

This  %vork,  which  carries  out  the  principle  of  the  preceding  one,  but  with 
a  wider  scope,  aims  to  "  viezo  Alan,  as  far  as  possible,  unaffected  by  those 
modifying  influences  which  accompany  the  development  of  nations  and  the 
maturity  of  a  true  historic  period,  in  order  thereby  to  ascertain  the  sources 
from  whence  such  development  and  maturity  proceed. "  It  contains,  for 
example,  chapters  on  the  Primeval  Transition ;  Speech ;  Metals ;  the 
Mound-Builders ;  Primitive  Architecture ;  the  American  Type;  the  Red 
Blood  of  the  West,  &c.  &c. 

CHATTERTON:  A  Biographical  Study.  By  Daniel  Wilson, 
LL.D.,  Professor  of  History  and  English  Literature  in  University 
College,  Toronto.     Crown  8vo.     6s.  6d. 

The  Author  here  regards  Chattcrton  as  a  Poet,  not  as  a  " mere  resetter 
and  defacer  of  stolen  literary  treasures. "  Reviewed  in  this  light,  he  has 
found  much  in  the  old  materials  capable  of  being  turned  to  new  account : 
and  to  these  materials  research  in  various  directions  has  enabled  hi?n  to 
make  some  additions. 


SECTION    II. 

POETRY  AND  BELLES  LETTRES. 

Allingham.— LAURENCE  BLOOMFIELD  IN  IRELAND; 
or,  the  New  Landlord.  By  William  Allingham.  New  and 
Cheaper  Issue,  with  a  Preface.     Fcap.  8vo.  cloth,  4s.  6d. 

In  the  new  Preface,  the  state  of  Ireland,  with  special  reference  to  the 
Church  measure,  is  discussed. 

1 '  //  is  vital  with  the  national  character.  .  .  .  It  has  something  of  Popes 
point  and  Goldsmith' 's  simplicity,  touched  to  a  more  modern  issue." — 
Athenaeum. 

Arnold  (Matthew). — POEMS.  By  Matthew  Arnold. 
Two  vols.  Extra  fcap.  8vo.  cloth.  12s.  Also  sold  separately  at  6s. 
each. 

Volume  I.  contains  Narrative  and  Elegiac  Poems ;  Volume  II.  Dra- 
matic and  lyric  Poems.  The  two  volumes  comprehend  the  First  and 
Second  Series  of  the  Poems,  and  the  New  Poems. 

NEW  POEMS.     Extra  fcap.  8vo.     6j.  6d. 

In  this  volume  will  be  found  "Empedocles  on  Etna  ; "  "  Thyrsis  "  (written 
in  commemoration  of  the  late  Professor  Clough)  ;  "  Epilogue  to  Lessings 
Laocoon ;"  " Heine's  Grave;''''  "  Obermann  once  more."  All  these 
poems  are  also  inchided  in  the  Edition  {two  vols. )  above-mentioned. 

ESSAYS  IN  CRITICISM.  New  Edition,  with  Additions.  Extra 
fcap.  8vo.  6s. 
Contents  : — Preface  ;  The  Function  of  Criticism  at  the  present  time ; 
The  Lilerary  Influence  of  Academies;  Maurice  de  Guerin  ;  Eugenie 
de  Guerin  ;  Heinrich  Heine  ;  Pagan  and  Mediaval  Feligicus  Sentiment ; 
Joubcrt ;  Spinoza  and  the  Bible  ;  Marcus  Aurelius.  \ 


POETRY  &-  BELLES  LETTRES. 


Arnold  (Matthew)  (continued)— 

ASPROMONTE,    AND    OTHER    POEMS.       Fcap.    8vo.    cloth 
extra.     4^.  6d. 
Contents  : — Poems  for  Italy  ;  Dramatic  Lyrics  ;  Miscellaneous. 

"Uncommon  lyrical  tower  and  deep  poetic  feeling.'" — Literary 
Churchman. 

Barnes  (Rev.  W.).— POEMS  OF  RURAL  LIFE  IN  COM- 
MON   ENGLISH.       By   the   Rev.    W.    Barnes,    Author    of 
"  Poems  of  Rural  Life  in  the  Dorset  Dialect."     Fcap.  8vo.     6s. 
"  In  a  high  degree  pleasant  and  novel.      7  he  book  is  by  no  means  one 
which  the  loveis  of  descriptive  poetry  can  afford  to  lose.'"1 — Athenaeum. 

Bell.— ROMANCES     AND     MINOR     TOEMS.      By    Henry 
Glassford  Bell.     Fcap.  8vo.     6j\ 
"  Full  of  life  and genius. ," — Court  Circular. 

Be sant.— studies  in  early  French  poetry.  By 

Walter  Besant,  M.A.     Crown.  8vo.     &s.  6d. 

A  sort  of  impression  rests  on  most  minds  that  French  literature  begins 
with  the  (lsiecle  de  Louis  Quatorze  /"  any  previous  literature  being  for 
the  most  part  unknvwn  or  ignored.  Few  know  anything  of  the  enormous 
literary  activity  that  began  in  the  thirteenth  century,  %vas  carried  on  by 
Rulebeuf  Marie  de  France,  Gaston  de  Foix,  Thibault  de  Champagne, 
and  Lorris  ;  was  fostered  by  Charles  of  Orleans,  by  Margaret  of  Valois, 
by  Francis  the  First ;  that  gave  a  crowd  of  versifiers  to  France,  enriched, 
strengthened,  developed,  and  fixed  the  French  language,  and  prepared  the 
way  for  Comeille  and  for  Racine.  The  present  work  aims  to  afford 
information  and  direction  touching  the  early  efforts  of  France  in  poetical 
literature. 

"  In  one  moderately  sized  volume  he  has  contrived  to  introduce  us  to  the 
very  best,  if  not  to  all  of  the  early  French  poets." — Athenaeum. 

Bradshaw.— AN  ATTEMPT  TO  ASCERTAIN  THE  STATE 
OF  CHAUCER'S  WORKS,  AS  THEY  WERE  LEFT  AT 
HIS  DEATH.  With  some  Notes  of  their  Subsequent  History. 
By  Henry  Bradshaw,  of  King's  College,  and  the  University 
Library,  Cambridge.  In  the  Press. 


GENERAL  CATALOGUE. 


Brimley.— ESSAYS  BY  THE  LATE  GEORGE  BRIMLEY, 
M.A.  Edited  by  the  Rev.  W.  G.  Clark,  M.A.  With  Portrait. 
Cheaper  Edition.      Fcap.  8vo.     jj,  6d. 

Essays  on  literary  topics,  such  as  Tennyson*  s  "Poems"  Carlytis 
"Life  of  Stirling,'' "  "Bleak  House"  &>c,  reprinted  from  Fraser,  the 
Spectator,  and  like  periodicals. 

Broome.— THE  STRANGER  OF  SERIPHOS.  A  Dramatic 
Poem.     By  Frederick  Napier  Broome.     Fcap.  8vo.     5>. 

Founded  on  the  Greek  legend  of  Danae  and  Perseus. 

"  Grace  and  beauty  of  expression  are  Mr.  Broome's  characteristics  ; 
and  these  qualities  are  displayed  in  many  passages." — Athen/EUM. 

Church  (A.  J.).-— HOR.E  TENNYSONIANiE,  Sive  Eclogue 
e  Tennysono  Latine  redditae.  Cura  A.  J.  Church,  A.M. 
Extra  fcap.     8vo.     6s. 

Latin  versions  of  Selections  from  Tennyson.  Among  the  authors  are 
the  Editor,  the  late  Professor  Conington,  Professor  Seeley,  Dr.  Hessey, 
Mr.  Kebbel,  and  other  gentlemen. 

Clough  (Arthur  Hugh).— the  POEMS  AND  PROSE 
REMAINS  OF  ARTHUR  HUGH  CLOUGH.  With  a 
Selection  from  his  Letters  and  a  Memoir.  Edited  by  his  Wife. 
With  Portrait.  Two  vols,  crown  8vo.  2\s.  Or  Poems  sepa- 
rately, as  below. 

The  late  Professor  Clough  is  well  known  as  a  graceful,  tender  poet, 
and  as  the  scholarly  translator  of  Plutarch.  The  letters  possess  high 
interest,  not  biographical  only,  but  literary — discussing,  as  they  do,  the 
most  i?nporta7it  questions  of  the  time,  always  in  a  genial  spirit.  The 
"Remains''''  include  papers  on  "  Retrenchment  at  Oxford ,*"  on  Professor 
F.  W.  Newmaifs  book  "  The  Soul  f  on  Wordszvorth  ;  on  the  Formation 
of  Classical  English  ;  on  some  Modern  Poems  (Matthew  Arnold  and  the 
late  Alexander  Smith),  &=c.  <3°<r. 

THE  POEMS  OF  ARTHUR  HUGH  CLOUGH,  sometime  Fellow 
of  Oriel  College,  Oxford.  With  a  Memoir  by  F.  T.  Palgrave. 
Second  Edition.     Fcap.  8vo.     6s. 


POETRY  &*  BELLES  LE  TERES.  25 


"From  the  higher  mind  of  cultivated,  all-questioning,  but  still  conser- 
vative England,  in  this  our  puzzled  generation,  we  do  not  know  of  any 
utterance  in  literature  so  characteristic  as  the  poems  of  Arthur  Hugh 
dough." — Fraser's  Magazine. 

Dante. — DANTE'S  COMEDY,  THE  HELL.  Translated  by 
W.  M.  Rossetti.     Fcap.  8vo.  cloth.     $s. 

"  The  aim  of  this  translation  of  Dante  may  be  summed  up  in  one  word 
— Literality.  .  .  .  To  follow  Dante  sentence  for  sentence,  line  for  line, 
word  for  word — neither  more  nor  less — has  been  my  strenuous  endeavour. " 
— Author's  Preface. 

De    Vere. — THE  INFANT  BRIDAL,   and  other   Poems.      By 
Aubrey  De  Vere.     Fcap.  8vo.     js.  6d. 
"Mr.  De  Vere  has  taken  his  place  among  the  poets  of  the  day.     Pure 
and  tender  feeling,  and  that  polished  restraint  of  style   which   is  called 
classical,  are  the  charms  of  the  volume." — Spectator. 

Doyle  (Sir  F.  H.). — Works  by  Sir  Francis  Hastings  Doyle, 
Professor  of  Poetry  in  the  University  of  Oxford  : — 

THE  RETURN  OF  THE  GUARDS,  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 
Fcap.  8vo.  7j. 
"  Good  wine  needs  no  bush,  nor  good  verse  a  preface ;  and  Sir  Prancis 
Doyle's  verses  run  bright  and  clear,  and  smack  oj  a  classic  vintage.  .  .  . 
His  chief  characteristic,  as  it  is  his  greatest  charm,  is  the  simple  manliness 
which  gives  force  to  all  he  writes.  It  is  a  characteristic  in  these  days  rare 
enough. " — Examiner. 

LECTURES  ON  POETRY,  delivered  before  the  University  of 
Oxford  in  1868.     Crown  8vo.    y.  6d. 

Three  Lectures  : — (1)  Inaugural ;  (2)  Provincial  Poetry;  (3)  Dr 
Newman's  "Dream  of  Gerontius." 

"Pull  of  thoughtful  discrimination  and  fine  insight:  the  lecture  on 
1  Provincial  Poetry'  seems  to  us  singularly  true,  eloquent,  and  instructive." 
— Spectator. 

Evans.  —  BROTHER  FABIAN'S  MANUSCRIPT,  AND 
OTHER  POEMS.  By  Sebastian  Evans.  Fcap.  8vo.  cloth. 
6s. 


26  GENERAL  CATALOGUE. 


"  In  this  volume  we  have  full  assurance  that  he  has  '  the  vision  and  the 
faculty  divine.''  .  .  .   Clever  and  full  of  kindly  humour" — Globe. 

Furnivall.— LE  MORTE  D'ARTHUR.  Edited  from  the  Harleian 
M.S.  2252,  in  the  British  Museum.  By  F.  J.  Furnivall,  M.A. 
With  Essay  by  the  late  Herbert  Coleridge.    Fcap.  8vo.    Js.  6d. 

Looking  to  the  interest  shown  by  so  many  thousands  in  Mr.  Tennyson's 
Arthurian  poems,  the  editor  and  publishers  have  thought  that  the  old 
version  would possess  considerable  interest.  It  is  a  reprint  of  the  celebrated 
Harleian  copy  ;  and  is  accompanied  by  index  and  glossary. 

Gamett.— IDYLLS  AND  EPIGRAMS.  Chiefly  from  the  Greek 
Anthology.     By  Richard  Garnett.     Fcap.  8vo.     2s.  6d. 

"A  charming  little  book.  For  English  readers,  Mr.  Garnett 's  transla- 
tions will  open  a  new  world  of  thought" — Westminster  Review. 


GUESSES   AT  TRUTH.      By  Two  Brothers.     With  Vignette, 
Title,  and  Frontispiece.    New  Edition,  with  Memoir.    Fcap.  8vo.  6s. 

"  The  following  year  zaas  memorable  for  the  commencement  of  the 
'  Guesses  at  Truth. '  He  and  his  Oxford  brother,  living  as  they  did  in 
constant  and  free  interchange  of  thought  on  questions  of  philosophy  and 
literature  and  art ;  delighting,  each  of  them,  in  the  epigrammatic  terseness 
which  is  the  charm  of  the  '  Pensees''  of  Pascal,  and  the  '  Carac  teres''  of  La 
Bruyere — ctgreed  to  utter  themselves  in  this  form,  and  the  book  appeared, 
anonymously,  in  tzuo  volumes,  in  1827." — Memoir. 


Hamerton. — A   PAINTER'S    CAMP.      By  Philip  Gilbert 
Hamerton.     Second  Edition,  revised.     Extra  fcap.  8vo.    6s. 

Book  I.  In  England ;  Book  II.  In  Scotland;  Book  III.  In  France. 
This  is  the  story  of  an  Artist's  encampments  and  adventures.  The 
headings  of  a  fezu  chapters  may  serve  to  convey  a  notion  of  the  character 
of  the  book :  A  Walk  on  the  Lancashire  Moors ;  the  Author  his  own 
Housekeeper  and  Cook  ;  Tents  and  Boats  for  the  Highlands  ;  The  Author 
encamps  on  an  uninhabited  Island ;  A  Lake  Voyage  ;  A  Gipsy  Journey 
to  Glen  Coe ;  Co7iceming  Moonlight  and  Old  Castles ;  A  little  French 
City  ;  A  Farm  in  the  Autunois,  &c.  &c. 


POETRY  &  BELLES  LETTRES.  27 


11  His  pages  sparkle  with  happy  turns  of  expression,  not  a  few  well-told 
anecdotes,  and  many  observations  which  are  the  fruit  of  attentive  study  and 
wise  reflection  on  the  complicated  phenomena  of  human  life,  as  well  as  oj 
unconscious  nature.''7 — Westminster  Review. 


ETCHING  AND  ETCHERS.  A  Treatise  Critical  and  Practical. 
By  P.  G.  Hamerton.  With  Original  Plates  by  Rembrandt, 
Callot,  Dujardin,  Paul  Potter,  &c.  Royal  8vo.  Half 
morocco.     31^.  6d. 

"  It  is  a  work  of  which  author,  printer,  and  publisher  may  alike  feel 
proud.  It  is  a  work,  too,  of  which  none  but  a  genuine  artist  could  by  pos- 
sibility have  been  the  author" — Saturday  Review. 


Herschel.— THE  ILIAD  OF  HOMER.  Translated  into  English 
Hexameters.     By  Sir  John  Herschel,  Bart.     8vo.     i8j. 

A  version  of  the  Iliad  in  English  Hexameters.  The  question  of  Homeric 
translation  is  fully  discussed  in  the  Preface. 

"  //  is  admirable,   not  only  for  many  intrinsic  merits,  but  as  a  grea 
man 's  tribute  to  Genius.'" — Illustrated  London  News. 

HIATUS  :  the  Void  in  Modern  Education.  Its  Cause  and  Antidote. 
By  Outis.     8vo.     Ss.  6d. 

The  main  object  of  this  Essay  is  to  point  out  how  the  emotional  element 
which  ^underlies  the  Fine  Arts  is  disregarded  and  undeveloped  at  this  time 
so  far  as  [despite  a  pretence  at  filling  it  up)  to  constitute  an  Educational 
Hiatus. 

HYMNI  ECCLESLE.     See  "Theological  Section." 

Kennedy.  —  LEGENDARY  FICTIONS  OF  THE  IRISH 
CELTS.  Collected  and  Narrated  by  Patrick  Kennedy.  Crown 
8vo.     With  Two  Illustrations.     Js.  6d. 

"A  very  admirable  popular  selection  of  the  Irish  fairy  stories  and  legends, 
in  which  those  who  are  faviiliar  with  Mr.  Croker's,  and  other  selections 
of  the  same  kind,  will  find  much  that  is  fresh,  and  full  of  the  peculiar 
vivacity  and  humour,  and  sometimes  even  of  the  ideal  beauty,  of  the  true 
Celtic  Legend." — Spectator. 


28  GENERAL   CATALOGUE. 


Kingsley  (Canon). — See  also  "Historic  Section,"  ''Works 
of  Fiction,"  and  "Philosophy;"  also  "Juvenile  Books," 
and"  Theology." 

THE  SAINTS'  TRAGEDY  :  or,  The  True  Story  of  Elizabeth  of 
Hungary.  By  the  Rev.  Charles  Kingsley.  With  a  Preface  by 
the  Rev.  F.  D.  Maurice.     Third  Edition.     Fcap.  8vo.     $s, 

ANDROMEDA,  AND  OTHER  POEMS.  Third  Edition.  Fcap. 
8vo.     $s. 

PHAETHON;  or,  Loose  Thoughts  for  Loose  Thinkers.  Third 
Edition.     Crown  8vo.     2s. 

Kingsley  (Henry). — See  "Works  of  Fiction." 

Lowell   (Professor). — AMONG   MY    BOOKS.     Six    Essays. 
By  James  Russell  Lowell,  M.A.,  Professor  of  Belles  Lettres 
in  Harvard  College.       Crown  8vo.     Js.  6d. 
Six  Essays :   Dry  den  ;    Witchcraft;    Shakespeare    Once  More ;   Nezu 
England     Two     Centuries    ago;     Lessing ;    Ronssean   and   the    Senti- 
mentalists. 

UNDER  THE  WILLOWS,  AND  OTHER  POEMS.     By  James 
Russell  Lowell.     Fcap.  8vo.     6s. 
"  Under  the  Willows  is  one  of  the  most  admirable  bits  of  idyllic  work, 
short  as  it  is,  or  perhaps  because  it  is  short,  that  have  been  done  in  our  gene- 
ration" — Saturday  Review. 

Masson  (Professor). — ESSAYS,  BIOGRAPHICAL  AND 
CRITICAL.     Chiefly  on  the  British  Poets.     By  David  Masson, 
LL.D.;    Professor  of  Rhetoric  in  the   University  of  Edinburgh. 
8vo.      \2s.  6d. 
' '  Distinguished  by  a  remarkable  pozver  of  analysis,  a  clear  statement 
of  the  actual  facts  on    which  speculation  is  based,   and  an  appropriate- 
beauty  of  Language.      These  essays  should  be  popular  with  serious  men. " — 
Athen^um. 

BRITISH  NOVELISTS  AND  THEIR  STYLES.     Being  a  Critical 
Sketch  of  the  Plistory  of  British  Prose  Fiction.    Crown  8vo.    Js.  6d. 
"  Valuable  for  its  lucid  analysis  of  fundamental  principles,  its  breadth 
of  view,  and  sustained  animation  of  style. " — Spectator. 


POETRY  &*  BELLES  LETTRES.  29 


Masson  (Professor)  {continued)— 

MRS.  JERNINGHAM'S  JOURNAL.  Second  Edition.  Extra  fcap. 
8vo.  2s-  6d-  A  Poem  of  the  boudoir  or  domestic  class,  purporting 
to  be  the  journal  of  a  newly-married  lady. 

"  One  quality  in  the  piece,  stifificient  of  itself-  to  claim  a  moment's  atten- 
tion, is  that  it  is  unique— original,  indeed,  is  not  too  strong  a  word — in 
the  manner  of  its  conception  and  execution." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 


Mistral  (F.).— MIRELLE:  a  Pastoral  Epic  of  Provence.  Trans- 
lated by  H.  Crichton.     Extra  fcap.  8vo.     6s. 

"  This  is  a  capital  translation  of  the  elegant  and  richly-coloured  pastoral 
epic  poem  of  M.   Mistral  which,   in   1 859,   he  dedicated  in   enthusiastic 

terms    to    Lamartine. It    would    be    hard   to    overpraise    the 

sweetness  and  pleasing  freshness  of  this  charming  epic.v — ATHENAEUM. 

Myers  (Ernest). — THE  PURITANS.  By  Ernest  Myers. 
Extra  fcap.  8vo.  cloth,     is.  6d. 

' '  It  is  not  too  much  to  call  it  a  really  grand  poem,  stately  and  dignified, 
and  showing  not  only  a  high  poetic  mind,  but  also  great  power  over  poetic 
expression. ," — LITERARY  CHURCHMAN.  „      . 

Myers  (F.  W.  H.). — Poems.  By  F.  W.  H.  Myers.  Extra 
fcap.  8vo.  4j.  6d.  Containing  "ST.  PAUL,"  "St.  JOHN,"  and 
other  Poems. 


Nettleship.  —  ESSAYS       ON       ROBERT       BROWNING'S 
POETRY.     By  John  T.  Nettleship.    Extra  fcap.  8vo.    6s.  6d. 

Noel. — BEATRICE,    AND    OTHER    POEMS.       By   the    Hon. 
Roden  Noel.     Fcap.  8vo.     6s. 

"Beatrice  is  in  many  respects  a  ?ioble  poem;  it  displays  a  splendour 
of  landscape  painting,  a  strong  definite  precision  of  highly-coloured  descrip- 
tion, which  has  not  often  been  surpassed." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 


30  GENERAL  CATALOGUE. 

Norton. — THE  LADY  OF  LA  GARAYE.  By  the  Hon.  Mrs. 
Norton.  With  Vignette  and  Frontispiece.  Sixth  Edition. 
Fcap.  8vo.     4-r.  6d. 

"  There  is  no  lack  of  vigour,  no  faltering  of  power,  plenty  of  passion, 
much  bright  description,  much  musical  verse.  .  .  .  Full  of  thoughts  ■well- 
expressed,  and  may  be  classed  among  her  best  works." — TIMES. 

Orwell.— THE  BISHOP'S  WALK  AND  THE  BISHOP'S 
TIMES.  Poems  on  the  days  of  Archbishop  Leighton  and  the 
Scottish  Covenant.     By  Orwell.     Fcap.  8vo.     5*. 

"  Pure  taste  and  faultless  precision  of language,  the  fruits  of  deep  thought, 
insight  into  human  nature,  and  lively  sympathy, ," — Nonconformist. 

Palgrave  (Francis  T.). — ESSAYS  ON  ART.    By  Francis 
Turner    Palgrave,    M.A.,    late    Fellow    of    Exeter    College, 
Oxford.     Extra  fcap.  8vo.     6s. 
Mulready — Dyce — Holman  Hunt — Herbert — Poetry,  Prose,  and  Sen- 
sationalism in  Art — Sculpture  in  England — The  Albert  Cross,  &c. 

SHAKESPEARE'S  SONNETS  AND  SONGS.  Edited  by  F.  T. 
Palgrave.    Gem  Edition.    With  Vignette  Title  by  Jeens.    y.dd. 

"For  minute  elegance  no  volume  could  possibly  excel  the  'Gem 
Edition.' " — Scotsman. 


Patmore. — Works  by  Coventry  Patmore  : — 
THE  ANGEL  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

Book  I.  The  Betrothal ;  Book  II.  The  Espousals ;  Book  III. 
Faithful  for  Ever.  With  Tamerton  Church  Tower.  Two  vols.  Fcap. 
Zvo.      I2S. 

***  A  New  and  Cheap  Edition  in  one  vol.  i2>mo.,  beautifully  printed 
on  toned  paper,  price  is.  6d. 

THE  VICTORIES  OF  LOVE.     Fcap.  8vo.     4s.  6d. 

The  intrinsic  merit  of  his  poem  will  secure  it  a  permanent  place  in 
literature.  .  .  .  Mr.  Patmore  has  fully  earned  a  place  in  the  catalogue 
of  poets  by  the  finished  idealisation  of  domestic  life." — Saturday 
Review. 


POETRY  &*  BELLES  LETTRES,  31 

Pember  (E.  H.). — the    tragedy    of    LESBOS.      A 

Dramatic  Poem.     By  E.  H  Pember.     Fcap.  8vo.     4$-.  6d. 
Founded  upon  the  story  of  Sappho. 

Rossetti. — Works  by  Christina  Rossetti  : — 

GOBLIN  MARKET,  AND  OTHER  POEMS.     With  two  Designs 
by  D.  G.  Rossetti.     Second  Edition.     Fcap.  8vo.     5^. 

"She  handles  her  little  marvel  with  that  rare  poetic  discrimination  which 
neither  exhausts  it  of  its  simple  wonders  by  pushing  symbolism  too  far,  nor 
keeps  those  wonders  in  the  merely  fabulous  and  capricious  stage.  In  fact 
she  has  produced  a  true  children's  poem,  which  is  far  more  delightful  to 
the  mature  than  to  children,  though  it  would  be  delightful  to  all.''''— 
Spectator. 

THE   PRINCE'S  PROGRESS,    AND  OTHER    POEMS.      With 
two  Designs  by  D.  G.  Rossetti.     Fcap.  8vo.     6s. 

**  Miss  Rossetti'' 's poems  are  of  the  kind  which  recalls  Shelley's  definition 
of  Poetry  as  the  record  of  the  best  and  happiest  moments  of  the  best  and 
happiest  minds.  .  .  .  They  are  like  the  piping  of  a  bird  on  the  spray  in 
the  sunshine,  or  the  quaint  singing  with  which  a  child  amuses  itself  when 
it  forgets  that  anybody  is  listening.^ — Saturday  Review. 

Rossetti  (W.  M.).— DANTE'S   HELL.     See  "Dante." 

FINE   ART,    chiefly   Contemporary.      By  William  M.  Rossetti. 
Crown  8vo.     ior.  6d. 

This  volume  consists  of  Criticism  on  Contemporary  Art,  reprinted  from 
Fraser,  The  Saturday  Review,  The  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  and  other  pub- 
hcations. 

Roby.— STORY  OF  A  HOUSEHOLD,  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 
By  Mary  K.  Roby.     Fcap.  8vo.     5s. 

Shairp    (Principal).—  KILMAHOE,  a  Highland  Pastoral,  with 
other  Poems.     By  John  Campbell  Shairp.    Fcap.  8vo.    $s. 

"  Kilmahoe  is  a  Highland  Pastoral,  redolent  of  the  warm  soft  air  of 
the  Western  Lochs  and  Moors,  sketched  out  %cith  remarkable  grace  and  pic- 
turesqueness." — Saturday  Review. 


32  GENERAL   CATALOGUE. 


Smith. — Works  by  Alexander  Smith  : — 

A  LIFE  DRAMA,  AND  OTHER  POEMS.     Fcap.  8vo.     2s.  6d. 

CITY   POEMS.     Fcap.  Svo.     $s. 

EDWIN    OF    DEIRA.     Second  Edition.     Fcap.  8vo.     5s. 

"  A  poem  which  is  marked  by  the  strength,  sustained  sweetness,  and 
compact  texture  of  real  life." — North  British  Review. 

Smith. — POEMS.  By  Catherine  Barnard  Smith.  Fcap. 
8vo.  Jf. 

"  Wealthy  in  feeling,  meaning,  finish,  and  grace  ;  not  without  passion, 
which  is  suppressed,  but  the  keener  for  that." — Athenaeum. 

Smith  (Rev.  Walter). — HYMNS  OF  CHRIST  AND  THE 
CHRISTIAN  LIFE.  By  the  Rev.  Walter  C.  Smith,  M.A. 
Fcap.  Svo.     6s. 

"  These  are  among  the  siveetest  sacred  poems  we  have  read  for  a  long 
time.  With  no  profits e  imagery,  expressing  a  range  of  feeling  and 
expression  by  no  means  uncommon,  they  are  t7'ue  and  elevated,  and  their 
pathos  is  profound  and  simple." — Nonconformist. 

Stratford  de    Redcliffe   (Viscount).— SHADOWS   OF 

THE  PAST,  in  Verse.      By  Viscount  Stratford  de  Red- 
cliffe.    Crown  Svo.     ioj.  6d. 

"  The  vigorous  words  ofi  one  who  has  acted  vigorously.  They  combine 
the  fervour  of  politician  and  poet." — Guardian. 

Trench. — Works  by  R.  Chenevix  Trench,  D.D.,  Archbishop 
ot  Dublin.    See  also  Sections  "Philosophy,"  "Theology,"  &c. 

POEMS.     Collected  and  arranged  anew.     Fcap.  8vo.     Js.  6d. 

ELEGIAC   POEMS.     Third  Edition.     Fcap.  Svo.     2s.  6d. 

CALDERON'S  LIFE'S  A  DREAM  :  The  Great  Theatre  of  the 
World.  With  an  Essay  on  his  Life  and  Genius.  Fcap.  Svo. 
4J.  6d. 


POETRY  &  BELLES  LETTRES.  33 

Trench  (Archbishop)  {continued)— 

HOUSEHOLD  BOOK  OF  ENGLISH  POETRY.  Selected  and 
arranged,  with  Notes,  by  R.  C.  Trench,.  D.D.^  Archbishop  of 
Dublin.     Extra  fcap.  8vo.     5-r.  6d. 

This  volume  is  called  a  "  Household  Booh,"  by  this  name  implying  that 
it  is  a  book  for  all — that  there  is  nothing  in  it  to  prevent  it  from  being 
confidently  placid  in  the  hands  of  every  member  of  the  household.  Speci- 
mens of  all  classes  of  poetry  are  given,  including  selections  from  living- 
authors.  The  Editor  has  aimed  to  produce  a  book  "which  the  emigrant, 
finding  room  for  little  not  absolutely  necessary,  might  yet  find  room  for 
in  his  trunk,  and  the  traveller  in  his  knapsack,  and  that  on  some  narrow 
shelves  where  there  are  few  books  this  might  be  one." 

**  The  Archbishop  has  conferred  in  this  delightful  volume  an  important 
gift  on  the  whole  English-speaking  population  of  the  world." — Pall 
Mall  Gazette. 

SACRED  LATIN  POETRY,  Chiefly  Lyrical.  Selected  and  arranged 
for  Use.  Second  Edition,  Corrected  and  Improved.  Fcap.  8vo. 
7s. 

"  The  aim  of  the  present  volume  is  to  offer  to  members  of  our  English 
Church  a  collection  of  the  best  sacred  Latin  poetry,  such  as  they  shall  be 
able  entirely  arid  heartily  to  accept  and  approve — a  collection,  that  is,  in  which 
they  shall  not  be  evermore  liable  to  be  offended,  and  to  have  the  current  oj 
their  sympathies  checked,  by  coming  upon  that  which,  however  beautiful  as 
poetry,  out  of  higher  respects  they  must  reject  and  condemn — in  which,  too, 
they  shall  not  fear  that  snares  are  being  laid  for  them,  to  entangle  them 
unawares  in  admiration  for  ought  which  is  inconsistent  with  their  faith 
and  fealty  to  their  own  spiritual  mother." — Preface. 

Turner. — SONNETS.  By  the  Rev.  Charles  Tennyson 
Turner.  Dedicated  to  his  brother,  the  Poet  Laureate.  Fcap. 
8vo.     4-y.  6d. 

"  The  Sonnets  are  dedicated  to  Mr.  Tennyson  by  his  brother,  and  have, 
independently  of  their  merits,  an  interest  of  association.  They  both  love  to 
write  in  simple  expressive  Saxon;  both  love  to  touch  their  imagery  in 
epithets  rather  than  in  formal  similes ;  both  have  a  delicate  perception 
of  rhythmical  movernent,  and  thus  Mr.  Turner  has  occasional  lines  which, 
for  phrase  and  music,  might  be  ascribed  to  his  brother.  .  .  He  knows  the 


34  GENERAL  CATALOGUE. 


haunts  of  the  wild  rose,  the  shady  nooks  -where  light  quivers  through  the 
leaves,  the  ruralities,  in  short,  of  the  land  of  imagination." — Athenaeum. 

SMALL  TABLEAUX.     Fcap.  8vo.    4s.  6d. 

"  These  brief  poems  have  not  only  a  peculiar  kind  of  interest  for  the 
student  of  English  poetry ,  but  are  intrinsically  delightful,  and  will  reward 
a  careful  and  frequent  perusal.  Full  of  naivete,  piety,  love,  and  knowledge 
of  natural  objects,  and  each  expressing  a  single  and  generally  a  simple 
subject  by  means  of  minute  and  original  pictorial  touches,  these  sonnets 
have  a  place  of  their  own." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

Vittoria  Colonna.— LIFE  AND  POEMS.  By  Mrs.  Henry 
Roscoe.     Crown  8vo.    gs. 

The  life  of  Vittoria  Colonna,  the  celebrated  Marchesa  di  Pescara,  has 
received  but  cursory  notice  from  any  English  writer,  though  in  every 
history  of  Italy  her  name  is  mentioned  with  great  honour  among  the  poets 
of  the  sixteenth  century.  "In  three  hundred  and  fifty  years,"  says  her 
biographer,  Visconti,  "there  has  been  no  other  Italian  lady  who  can  be 
compared  to  her." 

"  It  is  written  with  good  taste,  with  quick  and  intelligent  sympathy, 
occasionally  with  a  real  freshness  and  charm  of  styled — Pall  Mall 
Gazette. 

Webster. — Works  by  Augusta  Webster  : — 

"If  Mrs.  Webster  only  remains  true  to  herself,  she  will  assuredly 
take  a  higher  rank  as  a  poet  than  any  woman  has  yet  done." — 
Westminster  Review. 

DRAMATIC    STUDIES.     Extra  fcap.  8vo.     $s. 

"A  volume  as  strongly  marked  by  perfect  taste  as  by  poetic  power.'''' — 
Nonconformist. 

PROMETHEUS  BOUND  OF  ^SCHYLUS.  Literally  translated 
into  English  Verse.     Extra  fcap.  8vo.     3*.  6d. 

"  Closeness  and  simplicity  combined  with  literary  skill." — ATHENAEUM. 

"■Mrs.  Webster's  '  Dramatic  Studies'1  and  ''Translation  of  Prome- 
theus '  have  won  for  her  an  honourable  place  among  our  female  poets. 
She  writes  with  remarkable  vigour  and  dramatic  realization,  and  bids  fair 
to  be  the  most  successful  claimant  of  Mrs.  Browning's  mantle." — British 
Quarterly  Review. 

MEDEA  OF  EURIPIDES.  Literally  translated  into  English  Verse. 
Extra  fcap.  8vo.     3-r.  6d. 


POETRY  &*  BELLES  LETTRES.  35 

'*  Mrs.  Webster's  translation  surpasses  our  utmost  expectations.  It  is  a 
photograph  of  the  original  without  any  of  that  harshness  which  so  often 
accompanies  a  photography — Westminster  Review. 

A  WOMAN  SOLD,  AND  OTHER  POEMS.     Crown  Svo.     p.  6d. 
"Mrs.  Webster  has  shown  us  that  she  is  able  to  draw  admirably  from 
the  life;   that  she  can  observe  with  subtlety,  and  render  her  observations 
with  delicacy ;  that  she  can  impersonate  complex  conceptions,  and  venture 
into  which  few  living  writers  can  follow  her.'" — Guardian. 

PORTRAITS.     Fcap.  8vo.     $t.  6d. 

"  There  is  not  one  of  the  'Portraits]  on  which  we  would  not  willingly 
dwell." — Spectator. 

Woodward   (B.  B.,  F.S. A.).— SPECIMENS   OF   THE 
DRAWINGS  OF  TEN  MASTERS,  from  the  Royal  Collection 
at  Windsor  Castle.   With  Descriptive  Text  by  the  late  B.  B.  Wood- 
ward,   B.A.,    F.S. A.,  Librarian  to  the  Queen,  and  Keeper  of 
Prints    and    Drawings.       Illustrated   by    Twenty    Autotypes    by 
Edwards  and  Kidd.     In  4to.  handsomely  bound,  price  2$s. 
This  volume  contains facsimiles  of  the  works  of  Michael  Angelo,  Perugino, 
Raphael,  Julio  Romano,  Leonardo  da   Vinci,  Giorgione,  Paul  Veronese, 
Poussin,  Albert  Durer,  Holbein,  executed  by  the  Autotype  (Carbon)  process, 
which  may  be  accepted  as,  so  far,  perfect  representations  of  the  originals.    In 
most  cases  some  reduction  in  size  was  necessary,  and  then  the  dimensions 
of  the  drawing  itself  have  been  given.     Brief  biographical  memoranda  of 
the  life  of  each  master  are  inserted,  solely  to  prevent  the  need  of  reference 
to  other  works. 

Woolner.— MY  BEAUTIFUL  LADY.   By  Thomas  Woolner. 

With  a  Vignette  by  Arthur  Hughes.     Third  Edition.     Fcap. 

8vo.  p. 
"  It  is  clearly  the  product  of  no  idle  hour,  but  a  highly-conceived  and 
faithfully-executed  task,  self-imposed,  and  prompted  by  that  inward  yearn- 
ing to  utter  great  thoughts,  and  a  wealth  of  passionate  feeling  which  is 
poetic  genius.  No  man  can  read  this  poem  without  being  struck  by  the 
fitness  and  finish  of  the  workmanship,  so  to  speak,  as  well  as  by  the  chas- 
tened and  unpretending  loftiness  of  thought  which  pervades  the  zuhole." — 
Globe. 

WORDS  FROM  THE  POETS.  Selected  by  the  Editor  of  "  Rays  of 
wSunlight."  With  a  Vignette  and  Frontispiece.  i8mo.  Extra 
cloth  gilt.     2s.  6d.     Cheaper  Edition,  i8mo.  limp.,  is. 


GLOBE      EDITIONS. 

Under  the  title  GLOBE  EDITIONS,  the  Publishers  are 
issuing  a  uniform  Series  of  Standard  English  Authors, 
carefully  edited,  clearly  and  elegantly  printed  on  toned 
paper,  strongly  bound,  and  at  a  small  cost.  The  names  of 
the  Editors  whom  they  have  been  fortunate  enough  to 
secure  constitute  an  indisputable  guarantee  as  to  the 
character  of  the  Series.  The  greatest  care  has  been  taken 
to  ensure  accuracy  of  text;  adequate  notes,  elucidating 
historical,  literary,  and  philological  points,  have  been  sup- 
plied ;  and,  to  the  older  Authors,  glossaries  are  appended. 
The  series  is  especially  adapted  to  Students  of  our  national 
Literature  ;  while  the  small  price  places  good  editions  of 
certain  books,  hitherto  popularly  inaccessible,  within  the 
reach  of  all. 

Shakespeare. — the  complete  works  of  william 

SHAKESPEARE.      Edited  by  W.  G.  Clark  and  W.  Aldis 
Wright.     Ninety-first  Thousand.     Globe  8vo.     3-r.  &d. 

"A  marvel  of  beauty,  cheapness,  and  compactness.  The  whole  works — 
plays,  poems,  and  sonnets — are  contained  in  one  small  volume :  yet  the 
page  is  perfectly  clear  and  readable.  .  .  .  For  the  busy  man,  above  all 
for  the  working  Student,  the  Globe  Edition  is  the  best  of  all  existing 
Shakespeare  books." — Athenaeum. 

Morte  D'Arthur. — SIR  THOMAS  MALORY'S  BOOK  OF 

KING  ARTHUR  AND   OF   HIS   NOBLE   KNIGHTS   OF 

THE  ROUND  TABLE.     The  Edition  of  Caxton,  revised  for 

Modern  Use.     With  an  Introduction  by  Sir  Edward  Strachey 

Bart.      Globe  8vo.     3<c  6d.     New  Edion. 


GLOBE  EDITIONS.  yj 


"It  is  with  the  most  perfect  confidence  that  we  recommend  this  edition  of 
the  old  romance  to  every  class  of  readers" — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

Scott. — THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  SIR  WALTER 
SCOTT.  With  Biographical  Essay  by  F.  T.  Palgrave. 
Globe  8vo.     2s-  6d-     New  Edition. 

"As  a  popular  edition  it  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired.  The  want  of 
such  an  one  has  long  been  felt,  combining  real  excellence  with  cheapness" 
— Spectator. 


Burns.— THE  POETICAL  WORKS  AND  LETTERS  OF 
ROBERT  BURNS.  Edited,  with  Life,  by  Alexander  Smith. 
Globe  8vo.     $s.  6d.     New  Edition. 

"  The  works  of  the  bard  have  never  been  offered  in  such  a  complete  form 
in  a  single  volume" — Glasgow  Daily  Herald. 
"  Admirable  in  all  respects" — Spectator. 

Robinson  Crusoe.— the  ADVENTURES  OF  ROBINSON 

CRUSOE.  By  Defoe.  Edited,  from  the  Original  Edition,  by 
J.  W.  Clark,  M.A.,  Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 
With  Introduction  by  Henry  Kingsley.     Globe  Svo.     y.  6d. 

"  The  Globe  Edition  of  Robinson  Crusoe  is  a  book  to  have  and  to  keep. 
It  is  printed  after  the  original  editions,  with  the  quaint  old  spelling,  and 
is  published  in  admirable  style  as  regards  type,  paper,  and  binding.  A 
well-written  and  genial  biographical  introduction,  by  Mr.  Henry  Kingsley, 
is  likewise  an  attractive  feature  of  this  edition." — MORNING  Star. 

Goldsmith.— GOLDSMITH'S  MISCELLANEOUS  WORKS. 
With  Biographical  Essay  by  Professor  Masson.  Globe  Svo. 
is.  6d. 

This  edition  includes  the  whole  of  Goldsmith's  Miscellaneous  Works — 
the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  Plays,  Poems,  &c.  Of  the  memoir  the  Scotsman 
newspaper  writes:  "Such  an  admirable  compendium  of  the  facts  of 
Goldsmith's  life,  and  so  careful  and  minute  a  delineation  of  the  mixed 
traits  of  his  peculiar  character,  as  to  be  a  very  model  of  a  literary 
biography." 


38  GENERAL  CATALOGUE. 

Pope. — THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  ALEXANDER  POPE. 

Edited,   with  Memoir  and  Notes,  by  Professor  Ward.       Globe 
8vo.     y.  6d. 

"  The  book  is  handsome  and  handy.  .  .  .  The  notes  are  many,  and 
the  matter  of  them  is  rich  in  interest." — ATHENAEUM. 

Spenser.  —  THE  COMPLETE  WORKS  OF  EDMUND 
SPENSER.  Edited  from  the  Original  Editions  and  Manuscripts, 
by  R.  Morris,  Member  of  the  Council  of  the  Philological  Society. 
With  a  Memoir  by  J.  W.  Hales,  M.A.,  late  Fellow  of  Christ's 
College,  Cambridge,  Member  of  the  Council  of  the  Philological 
Society.     Globe  8vo.     3^.  6d. 

"  A  complete  and  cltarly  printed  edition  of  the  whole  works  of  Spenser, 
carefully  collated  with  the  originals,  with  copious  glossary,  worthy — and 
higher  praise  it  needs  not — of  the  beautiful  Globe  Series.  The  work  is 
edited  with  all  the  care  so  noble  a  poet  deserves." — Daily  News. 

Dryden.-  THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  JOHN  DRYDEN. 
Edited,  with  a  Revised  Text,  Memoir,  and  Notes,  by  W.  D. 
Christie.     Globe  8vo.     y.  6d. 

%*  Other  Standard  Works  are  in  the  Press. 

***  The  Volumes  of  this  Series  may  also  be  had  in  a  variety  of  morocco 
and  calf  bindings  at  very  moderate  Prices. 


GOLDEN    TREASURY    SERIES. 

Uniformly  printed  in  i8mo.,  with  Vignette  Titles  by  Sir 
Noel  Paton,  T.  Woolner,  W.  Holman  Hunt,  J.  E. 
Millais,  Arthur  Hughes,  &c.  Engraved  on  Steel  by 
Jeens.  Bound  in  extra  cloth,  4s.  6d.  each  volume.  Also 
kept  in  morocco. 

"  Alessrs.  Macmillan  have,  in  their  Golden  Treasury  Series  especially, 
provided  editions  of  standard  works,  volumes  0/  selected  poetry,  and 
original  compositions,  which  entitle  this  series  to  be  called  classical. 
Nothing  can  be  better  than  the  literary  execution,  nothing  more  elegant 
than  the  material  workmanship" — British  Quarterly  Review. 


THE  GOLDEN  TREASURY  OF  THE  BEST  SONGS  AND 
LYRICAL  POEMS  IN  THE  ENGLISH  LANGUAGE. 

Selected    and    arranged,    with    Notes,    by    Francis    Turner 
Palgrave. 

"  This  delightful  little  volume,  the  Golden  Treasury,  which  contains 
■many  of  the  best  original  lyrical  pieces  and  songs  in  our  language,  grouped 
with  care  and  skill,  so  as  to  illustrate  each  other  like  the  pictures  in  a 
well-arranged gallery. " — Quarterly  Review. 

THE  CHILDREN'S    GARLAND  FROM  THE   BEST  POETS. 
Selected  and  arranged  by  Coventry  Patmore. 

" //  includes  specimens  of  all  the  great  masters  in  the  art  of  poetry, 
selected  with  the  matured  judgment  of  a  man  concentrated  on  obtaining 
insight  into  the  feelings  and  tastes  of  childhood,  and  desirous  to  awaken  its 
finest  impulses,  to  cultivate  its  keenest  sensibilities •." — Morning  Post. 


4o  GENERAL  CATALOGLE. 


THE  BOOK  OF  PRAISE.  From  the  Best  English  Hymn  Writers. 
Selected  and  arranged  by  Sir  Roundell  Palmer.  A  New  and 
Enlarged  Edition. 

"  All  previous  compilations  of  this  kind  must  undeniably  for  the  present 
give  place  to  the  Book  of  Praise.  .  .  .  The  selection  has  been  made 
throughout  with  sound  judgment  and  critical  taste.  The  pains  involved 
in  this  compilation  must  have  been  immense,  embracing,  as  it  does,  every 
writer  of  note  in  this  special  province  of  English  literature,  and  ranging 
over  the  most  widely  divergent  tracks  of  religious  thought.'''' — Saturday 
Review. 


THE  FAIRY  BOOK  ;  the  Best  Popular  Fairy  Stories.     Selected  and 
rendered  anew  by  the  Author  of  "John  Halifax,  Gentleman." 

"A  delightful  selection,  in  a  delightful  external  form  ;  full  of  the 
physical  splendour  and  vast  ot>ulence  of  proper  fairy  tales.1'' — Spectator. 

THE  BALLAD  BOOK.     A  Selection  of  the  Choicest  British  Ballads. 
Edited  by  William  Allingham. 

'  •  His  taste  as  a  judge  of  old  poetry  will  be  found,  by  all  acquainted  with 
the  various  readings  of  old  English  ballads,  true  enough  to  justify  his 
undertaking  so  critical  a  task.'" — Saturday  Review. 

THE  JEST  BOOK.     The  Choicest  Anecdotes  and  Sayings.     Selected 
and  arranged  by  Mark  Lemon. 

"  The  fullest  and  best  jest  book  that  has  yet  appeared?* — Saturday 
Review. 


BACON'S  ESSAYS  AND  COLOURS   OF   GOOD  AND  EVIL. 
With  Notes  and  Glossarial  Index.     By  W.  Aldis  Wright,  M.A. 

"  The  beautiful  little  edition  of  Bacon'' s  Essays,  noxv  before  us,  does 
credit  to  the  taste  and  scholarship  of  Mr.  Aldis  Wright.  .  .  .  It  puts  the 
reader  in  possession  of  all  the  essential  literary  facts  and  chronology 
necessary  for  reading  the  Essays  in  connexion  with  Bacon7 s  life  and 
times.'" — Spectator. 

"  By  far  the  most  complete  as  well  as  the  most  elegant  edition  we 
possess." — Westminster  Review. 


GOLDEN  TREASURY  SERIES.  41 


THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS  from  this  World  to  that  which  is  to 
come.     By  John  Bunyan. 
"A  beautiful  and  scholarly  repritit." — SPECTATOR. 

THE   SUNDAY    BOOK    OF    POETRY    FOR    THE   YOUNG. 
Selected  and  arranged  by  C.  F.  Alexander. 
*'  A  well-selected  volume  of  Sacred  Poetry" — Spectator. 

A  BOOK  OF  GOLDEN  DEEDS  of  all  Times   and  all   Countries. 
Gathered  and  narrated  anew.     By  the  Author  of  "  The  Heir  of 
Redclyffe." 
"...  To  the  young,  for  whom  it  is  especially  intended,  as  a  most  interesting 
collection  of  thrilling  tales  well  told ;   and  to  their  elders,  as  a  useful  hand- 
book of  reference,  and  a  pleasant  one  to  take  tip  when  their  wish  is  to  while 
away  a  weary  half  hour.     We  have  seen  no  Prettier  gift-book  for  a  long 
time.,' — Athenaeum. 

THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  ROBERT  BURNS.     Edited,  with 
Biographical    Memoir,    Notes,    and    Glossary,    by    Alexander 
Smith.     Two  Vols. 
' '  Beyond  all  question  this  is  the  most  beautiful  edition  of  Burns 

yet  out."— Edinburgh  Daily  Review. 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  ROBINSON  CRUSOE.     Edited  from 
the  Original  Edition  by  J.  W.   Clark,  M.A.,  Fellow  of  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge. 
"  Mutilated  and  modified  editions  of  this  English  classic  are  so  much 

the  rule,  that  a  cheap  and  pretty  copy  of  it,  rigidly  exact  to  the  original, 

will  be  a  prize  to  many  book-buyers." — Examiner. 

THE  REPUBLIC  OF  PLATO.     Translated  into  English,  with 
Notes  by  J.  LI.  Davies;  M.A.  and  D.  J.  Vaughan,  M.A. 
"A  dainty  and  cheap  little  edition." — Examiner. 

THE  SONG  BOOK.  Words  and  Tunes  from  the  best  Poets  and 
Musicians.  Selected  and  arranged  by  John  Hullah,  Professor 
of  Vocal  Music  in  King's  College,  London. 

"A  choice  collection  of  the  sterling  songs  of  England,  Scotland,  and 
Ireland,  with  the  music  of  each  prefixed  to  the  words.  How  much  true 
wholesome  pleasure,  such  a  book  can  diffuse,  and  will  diffuse,  we  trust, 
through  many  thousand  families." — Examiner. 

d 


42  GENERAL  CATALOGUE. 


LA  LYRE  FRANCAISE.     Selected  and  arranged,  with  Notes,  by 
Gustave  Masson,  French  Master  in  Harrow  School. 
A  selection  of  the  best  French  songs  and  lyrical  pieces. 

TOM  BROWN'S  SCHOOL  DAYS.     By  an  Old  Boy. 

"  A  perfect  gem  of  a  book.      The  best  and  most  healthy  book  about  boys 
for  boys  that  ever  was  written.''' — Illustrated  Times. 

A  BOOK  OF  WORTHIES.     Gathered  from  the  Old  Histories  and 
written  anew  by  the  Author  of  "The  Heir  of   Redclyffe." 
With  Vignette. 
'■'■An  admirable  edition  to  an   admirable    seria" — Westminster 
Review. 


LONDON : 

R     CLAY,    SONS,    AND    TAYLOK,    I'RINTKKS, 

BREAD    STREET    HI  IT.. 


^AY  Uc> 


ETL 


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BDO0SMO77S 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY