WITH William the First may be said to commence the history of England; for before that period it was a country totally unconnected with the rest of civilised Europe, having few records, and perhaps very little on which to base them.
This celebrated conqueror was born on the 14th of October, 1024, being the illegitimate son of Robert, sixth Duke of Normandy, and of Arlette, the daughter of a tanner at Falaise, who was subsequently married to the Lord of Cantersrille. In the age of which we are writing, this latter union did not disturb her relations to the ducal family; the two sons of this second marriage arose to distinction in the reign of the conqueror, and her daughter Mariel became Countess of Albemarle, while poets and minstrels paid their court to William, by recording the way in which his mother had been wooed and won by the ambassadors of Robert.
The brilliant qualities displayed by William while yet a child, obtained for him the favour of the duke, who determined to adopt him for his heir, to the exclusion of his own brothers, of Alan, Duke of Brittany, and of his cousin, the Count of Burgundy.
This bold idea was as boldly carried out; the different claimants were called together by Robert previous to his setting out on a pilgrimage for the Holy Land, and before they had time to debate the question, he suddenly broke in upon their fears of being left without a head, saying: "Not so, by my faith; not so; I will leave you a master in my place. I have a little bastard here; he is little indeed, but he will grow with God's grace; nay, I have great hopes that he will prove a gallant man; therefore I do pray you all to receive him from my hands, for from this time forth I give him seizing of the Duchy of Normandy, as my known and acknowledged heir; and I constitute Alan, Duke of Brittany, Governor and Seneschal of Normandy until I shall return, or that William, my son, shall become of manly age. Nevertheless, my lord, Henry, King of France, shall have the charge and guardianship of the child."
The various rivals for the dukedom being thus taken by surprise, were obliged to yield, and for greater security the young heir was removed to the French court, and placed under the protection of his sovereign lord. This event took place when William was only nine years of age, and his father then set out upon his pilgrimage. Of his residence at the French court, or of his early education, we have nothing but a few vague traditions, all of which however agree in representing the young duke as being distinguished above all his companions by his bodily no less than by his mental accomplishments.
In the year 1035 tidings came to Paris of the death of Duke Robert, which, as might be expected, were the signal for revolt among the legitimate competitors for the Norman dukedom, and to render the crisis yet more perilous, a fatal accident terminated the life of Alan, at the very moment that he was hastening to suppress it. The companions of the late duke returning from Palestine now demanded of the French king that he should restore William to his people and his capital, and this be and being complied with, the future conqueror found himself in a school of all others the best calculated to prepare him for a career of victory. It would be tedious, and not very instructive, to follow him from battle to battle with his rebellious barons; although but fifteen years of age, he seems to have been so uniformly victorious as to have excited the jealousy and envy of the French king; but even be was bailed by the superior talents, or the superior fortunes, of his youthful antagonist. The fame and popularity of William increased every day, and indeed, he seems to have earned this high reputation as much by his political as his military skill. In defiance of a treacherous lord suzerain, as well as of rebellious vassals, he overcame all obstacles, and finally assumed the ducal crown. Still he was not allowed any long repose. Fresh rebellions arose, for the most part supported directly or indirectly by the French king, and a hundred times we see him on the brink of ruin, yet in the very crisis escaping by some unexpected stroke of policy, or by some piece of good fortune almost akin to the marvellous.
It was in the year 1051 that he visited England for the first time, on the invitation of his near relative, Edward the Confessor, the last of the Saxon and Danish kings, who had every reason to be attached both to him and his family. If ever Edward, in the default of any immediate heirs of his own, intended to make over the crown of England to William, it was now probably that such a scheme was agitated. The manners of the duke were peculiarly calculated to win his favour, while Earl Godwin, the only person who could put forth an equal claim, was personally distasteful to him. But before these schemes could ripen into maturity, the duke was recalled to Normandy, by fresh rebellions amongst his vassals, and, as a matter of course, with him, to fresh victories. Thus his authority on the continent became more consolidated than ever, and the cope-stone seems have been put upon it by his marriage with Matilda of Flanders, daughter of Baldwin V., Earl of Brittany, and descended on the maternal side in a direct line from Alfred the Great. For seven years he had been an unfavoured wooer, while another obstacle was opposed to him in the bulls of the Papal See, for the Lady Matilda being his first cousin, they prohibited such an union. But William, who never suffered himself to be conquered by stone walls, was not to be bathed by the ecclesiastical law, or a lady's coldness ; he overcame both, and thus established another claim to the English throne in virtue of his wife's descent from the Great Alfred.
Successes of this kind again awakened the jealous enmity of the French king, who once more took up arms against him, and this time under the pretence of restoring to the Earl of Anjou the territories of which William had unjustly deprived him. Some severe battles were the consequence, the campaign ending as usual in the increase of the conqueror's territories and reputation, and the death of the French king, which happened a short time afterwards, tended yet farther to secure him in the peaceful possession of what he had thus acquired. It is now that we see William under the most favourable aspect. Having reduced the overgrown power of the nobles, he extended the charters of the towns, ameliorated the laws, made the great prelates responsible to the state, cleared his land of mercenaries, and restrained the dangerous license of the gleemen, who too often played the part of spies in the employ of foreign powers. While he was thus acting for himself in Normandy, affairs were equally progressing in his favour in England without any interference of his own. His most dangerous competitor for the throne was Harold, not less ambitious, and hardly less talented than himself. This heroic soldier had quarrelled with his brother Tostig, who in consequence was inciting the Danes to a fresh invasion of England, and when King Edward expired, January 5th, 1066, Harold found the throne which he had seized was in peril from all sides, although, as subsequent events proved, he had with him the hearts of the whole Anglo-Saxon race.
William was hunting in the forest of Rouvray, near Rouen, when tidings were first brought to him of Harold's having possessed himself of the English throne. Without loss of time he demanded of Harold that he should yield up the throne, in virtue of some real or pretended treaty, and having received the reply, which he could hardly have not expected, he convened his council, and found in them, as well as amongst the Normans generally, every disposition to concur with all his wishes. Some difficulty indeed was experienced in regard to the obtaining of the necessary funds, for the Normans loved their wealth even more than they were influenced by the prospect of conquest; but even this obstacle was got over, although he could obtain no help from his nominal suzerain, the young king of France. In Flanders he was more successful. The duke, his father-in-law, after considerable haggling, as one who was willing to make the most of his bargain, at length agreed to assist him with a handsome supply both of men and ships. The Pope moreover, upon his application, allowed his claim, and denounced Harold as an usurper, in conformity with that general creed of the Roman See, which admits the claims of all who acknowledge its authority, and denounces those who refuse its intervention.
After a long delay, the consequence of unfavourable winds, William at length set sail, and landed in the Bay of Pevensey on the Sussex coasts, September the 28th, 1066.
For some time there was no one to oppose him, for Harold had gone to repel the invasion of Tostig and the Danes, and was gaining the fatal victory of Stamford-bridge, which cost him many of his best and bravest. William had thus ample time to prepare for the encounter; and to induce his followers to fight with the greater desperation he scuttled his ships in deep water and left them no chance of safety but in victory. Harold was now advancing to the attack. He bad been strongly advised by his brother, Gurth, not to stake his crown upon a single battle, but to harass and wear out his adversary by a protracted warfare. It was wisely observed that William would soon have no resources but what he drew from the country by plunder, and that the ravages indispensable to his support would alienate yet more the minds of the people already sufficiently disinclined to the Normans. Harold, however, refused to listen to these sagacious counsels. He advanced and took up a position, which he fortified with entrenchments, about seven miles from the Norman camp, a precaution that was not more than necessary considering the vast inequality, if not in numbers , at least in the military fitness of the opposing bodies.
The Anglo-Saxons had neither horse nor bowmen, two arms in which their enemies were so pre-eminent, but had to rely. upon their solid masses of infantry with no better weapons than the sword and battle-axe. It has been said that when Harold went out to reconnoitre the camp of his opponents, he was so much struck by their admirable state of preparation as to evince a sudden desire to avoid the approaching contest and propose retiring upon London; but his brother replied, "it is too late now, retreat would be a flight, and carry consternation through your ranks." Neither did he receive much consolation from the report of his spies, whom William had not even thought it worth while to punish when detected, but having supplied them with refreshments and ordered them to be shown through the camp, he dismissed them to relate what they had seen to their master.
Many efforts at negotiation were made by William, though probably insincere enough. He even offered to leave Harold in possession of Northumberland, the whole country bounded by the Humber, and the greater part of Yorkshire, but Gurth nipped in the bud all ideas of concession, if they ever were entertained, observing with his usual sagacity that "if Harold ceded the crown, William would soon deprive him of what he now so prodigally offered. Once admitted into the country, the Normans would first seize upon their estates; next on their wives and daughters; and thirdly take the goods and chattels out of their houses." The event but too well justified these sad predictions.
The day of battle at length dawned upon the two parties, of whom it is hard to say, which in strict justice had the least claim to the throne. Harold had arrayed his army in two divisions; to the first was committed the defence of the entrenched position, while the second consisting chiefly of the militia and London bands, formed the rearward and reserve. William divided his force into three bodies, the last of which consisting wholly of Normans and comprising the cavalry, was commanded by himself in person. A portion of this division formed the re serve, yet more immediately under his orders. The first onset of the Normans is described by the chroniclers as having been terrific; but it was as sternly met; undaunted by the flights of arrows that thinned their ranks in a frightful manner, the Saxons gave not an inch of ground, and when after wards charged by the Norman horsemen they received them on the points of their long spears and hurled them back again. Then came the real shock of battle; the infantry advanced, and it was a furious hand to hand fight with the pole and battle axe and the sword, in which the advantage evidently lay with the Saxons. After an hour's conflict of this kind, the front ranks could be scarcely kept unbroken. The second line now advanced, and to aid their charge William ordered that the arrows should be shot in the air so as to fall amongst the enemy, carrying death and destruction amongst the rearmost ranks, while they most thought themselves in safety. But every mode of attack was defeated by the natural courage and superior bodily strength of those assailed, and the day was fast turning against the invaders, when William had recourse to one of his most usual as well as effective stratagems. He ordered his troops to make a general charge, but to retreat again in the very height of the conflict. The Saxons fell into the snare; carried away by their impetuous valour, they broke their ranks in their eagerness to pursue the flying enemy, who turned upon them and made a frightful butchery of the disordered masses.
It was in vain that they adopted the favourite modern tactics of forming into square; the axe of the Saxon availed nothing against the Norman spear, and the Norman shaft; Harold, his brothers, and nearly all the knights and nobles had fallen; and yet it could hardly be called a victory on the part of the invaders, though it had all the consequences of one, for the native army was exterminated, not vanquished, and the conquerors themselves were so reduced that had the people possessed sufficient energy to have risen at the moment against them there would have been little chance of a single man amongst them escaping back to Normandy. As it was, the nation lay prostrate and paralysed at the feet of the conqueror, and he was not the man to lose any thing that the opportunity offered to him; as sagacious in the cabinet as he was bold in the field, he gave the people no time to recover from their consternation, but mingling caution with speed he resolved to secure his communications with France and Normandy before advancing any farther. With this view he marched upon Dover, which was surrendered to him on the first summons, and having left a strong garrison in the castle he set out for London, not by the direct way, but chiefly along the coast, through Sussex and Hampshire, as well as through Surrey, Berkshire, Oxford, Buckingham, and Hertford, his route being marked by the ravages of his soldiers. No where does any attempt seem to have been made to arrest his progress till he came near London, when a slight effort was made in favour of Edgar the Etheling, the real heir to the throne. It may seem strange that he should have experienced so little resistance; the battle of Hastings showed that there was yet a vigour in the nation fully capable of repelling invasion had it been properly directed; but with Harold had expired the only man who could combine and control the popular energies; Edwin and Morcar the military commanders of Mercia and Northumberland, nearly two-thirds of England, instead of supporting Harold's son, were grasping at the crown for themselves; and when defeated in this project they sullenly retreated to their respective provinces in the vain idea that the conqueror would not venture to disturb them. Eventually they reaped, as was most fit, the natural con sequence of their selfish and short-sighted policy.
Unsupported by these powerful chiefs, the effort to place the Atheling upon the throne speedily came to nothing, and Stigand, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the foremost in advocating his cause, was fain to join those, who tendered the vacant crown to William. At first the Norman refused it under sundry vague pretences, having in reality no mind to accept even a sceptre on the conditions imposed upon the Anglo-Saxon monarchs; he wished to rule with the absolute sway of a conqueror, and not with the modified rights of an elected monarch. At last, however, be was prevailed upon to accept the throne, though he deferred the coronation until his consort should arrive to bear her part in that ceremony. In the meantime he employed himself in plans for the construction of those fortresses which were afterward so abundantly built to overawe and control the people. For a time, however, he cloaked his tyrannical schemes under the guise of a kind and generous spirit, anxious only for the welfare of his new people. He even bestowed places of high trust upon the natives, inviting them to share with him in the pleasures of the field and table, and doing all that the most refined hypocrisy could suggest to conciliate their affections. But had he been as sincere as he most assuredly was false, it may be doubted whether he could have carried his benevolent intentions into effect. It is the curse of wrong that it can only be maintained and rendered safe by wrong, and thus William found himself compelled to plunder the people he had conquered, in order to find the means of gratifying those who had helped him to his ill-got power. He was like the exorcist, who having raised the devil for his own behoof, must propitiate him and requite his services with the blood of the innocent.
But perhaps the worst of the evils inflicted by William upon the land he had conquered, was the introduction of the feudal system to its full extent, in' place of the more popular government of the Anglo-Saxons. It led,—and could only lead—to the alternate tyranny of the king or the nobles, according as each obtained the upper hand, while the general mass of the community were little better than serfs and slaves, nor was it till the growth of commerce had raised up a middle class that the English constitution gradually reverted, in some degree at least, to the principles of the great Alfred and his immediate successors. It has indeed been asserted, that the feudal system existed in England long before the time of William; to a certain extent this may be true, but the feudal system, as a whole, was utterly incompatible with the popular rights and privileges in the Saxon times, and accordingly we find the latter, all vanished under the iron sway of William. To him also the people were indebted for the imposition of the Papal tax called Peter-pence, a tax which had been steadily refused by the best of the Anglo-Saxon monarchs, and it is not a little curious to observe how the influence of Rome and the spread of the feudal system went hand in hand together.
Having reduced the kingdom to a state of subjection that held out a reasonable expectation of quiet, William returned to Normandy to enjoy among his countrymen the honours belonging to his conquest. It has been said, that he left England in the hope that the oppressions and tyranny of his barons might drive the people into the rebellion, and thus give him a fair pretence for farther exactions on his own part, and for rivetting the 'yoke of conquest yet more tightly about their necks. Such a design would be perfectly consonant with what we 'know of William's character, and whether it was or was not the motive, the result was the same as if it had been intended. The feudal lords drove the people into open rebellion by their tyranny, and William hastily returned to England, with fair promises on his lips, but with hatred at his heart, and a full determination to crush the Anglo-Saxon population. As some excuse for his intentions, the spirit of resistance yet lingered in the northern and western extremities of the kingdom. It was not long, however, before rebellion, if such resistance can be so called, was again quelled, so far at least as regarded the west, and Matilda now coming to England, she was crowned at Whitsuntide.
It was not, perhaps, in the nature of William to remain long quiet, and probably it was no unwelcome news that called him away from these peaceful festivities to put down rebellion in the north. In requital for many services rendered to him by Edwin, he had promised that earl the hand of his daughter, but no sooner did he feel himself secure upon the throne, than he refused to fulfil his engagements, and hence arose this new revolt that spread from the heart of Mercia to the confines of Scotland. York, too, rose in the cause of independence, but only to open its gates at the conqueror's approach, and a delusive calm was re-established in a brief time, and without any violent effort. It did not however last long. To pass over many lesser attempts to shake off the Norman yoke, the Sons of Harold returned from Ireland with a fleet of sixty-four sail, and, having landed at Plymouth, were defeated and driven back to their ships, only to be succeeded by a yet more formidable attack from Denmark. Two whole years had Sweno employed in preparing for this adventure, and the power of the armament was commensurate with the ex tent of the preparations. Two hundred and forty sail, under the command of his son, Canute, with adventurers drawn from every shore of the Baltic, made their appearance off the English coast, and, having been successively repulsed at Dover, Sandwich, lpswich, and Norwich, finally dropped anchor in the Humber, where they were gladly received by the insurgent population and their leaders. ' Hence they marched to York, and totally defeated the Normans, who had set fire to the city in order to clear the ground in the vicinity of their castles, the confusion arising from this act of cruelty having allowed their 'enemy to surprise 'them. Three thousand Normans, it is said, were slain, a few only being spared for the sake of ransom.
The king, who had been for a long time aware of Sweno's intentions, and had sought auxiliaries from every people between the Rhine and the Tagus, marched into the north without delay upon the receipt of this intelligence. But it formed no part of the invaders' plan to hazard a general engagement; they separated at his approach, and the storm, which had threatened so much mischief, passed over his head innocuously. It was supposed at the time that the Danish chiefs had been bribed by him, and certainly they returned to their own country without having effected any thing in behalf of their allies, who, being thus abandoned to their fate, were not long in feeling the full vengeance of their indignant master. With a cruelty that it is to be hoped has not many parallels in the history of mankind, he dispersed his followers over the country, with injunctions that they should spare neither man nor beast, but should involve houses, corn, and implements of husbandry, as well as all that had the breath of life, in one common destruction. Such an order was not likely to find any mitigation in the hands of a people like the Normans. A hundred thousand natives were inhumanly slaughtered, and or nine years not a patch of cultivated ground could be seen between York and Durham.
No sooner had this Norman plague passed away from the land, by the return of the king to London and the disbandment of his forces, than a new scourge visited the afflicted people, in the shape of the Scots. So long as the Anglo-Saxons were in arms against William, the Scottish king, Malcolm, considered them as friends, but no sooner had they submitted to a power which they wanted the means to resist, than he treated them as an enemy. Crossing the Tyne, the Scotch burnt the churches and villages, massacred the infants and the aged, all, in short, who were likely to encumber their march, and carried off the rest, both men and women, into hopeless slavery.
William was now undisputed master of England, and having plundered the natives till they had nothing left to excite his cupidity, he proceeded to reform the church by ejecting the Saxon prelates, and installing his Normans in their offices. It is possible that this might have been a national benefit from the superior learning and stricter discipline of the latter, but the measure is not the less questionable; however we may disguise it to ourselves, it is after all neither more nor less than the Robin Hood plan of expediency, robbing the rich for the benefit of the poor.
For a long time there was peace all over the land, the peace that belongs to desolation. The royal eagle, glutted with carnage, had folded its wings and laid itself down to uneasy rest. But this happy state of things could not last for ever. To drop all metaphor, it was the natural consequence of the crimes of William, that he should become gloomy and suspicious, and we cannot wonder at finding him now jealous of the influence of Edwin and Morcar with the people. They had served him well and faithfully, it is true, but the attachment of their countrymen was an offence full of danger, and unmindful of the past, William attempted to secure their persons. Edwin would have escaped to Scotland, but he was betrayed by three of his vassals; he fell with seventy of his faithful adherents, fighting desperately to the last, and the traitors presented his head to the king, who re warded their treachery, as it well deserved, by a doom of perpetual banishment.
Morcar, more fortunate than his brother, escaped to Hereward, a celebrated Saxon chief, who from his strong-hold in the Isle of Ely,. had for a length of time carried on with great success, a sort of partizan warfare against all the might of the Normans. Hitherto William had neglected this adversary; but now that he was joined by Morcar and many of the exiles from Scotland, he could no longer in prudence delay to notice him. Having stationed his fleet in the Wash, that so he might blockade every outlet from the fens to the ocean, he distributed his forces by land in such a way as to render escape well nigh impossible. But safe in a retreat that seemed to be inapproachable, the enemy for a long time set him at defiance. A body of water, which in the narrowest part was more than two miles in breadth, surrounded and defended the fortress of the Saxons, which could only be got at by throwing bridges over the channels of the rivers, and by constructing a solid road across the marshes. This work .so difficult to be accomplished, but so certain in its results if it could be effected, the king commenced without delay, while Hereward prepared himself with equal courage and conduct to obstruct it, dispersing the workmen by attacks so incessant and so multiplied, that the Normans could not account for them but by supposing he was helped by Satan. In compliance with his own superstition, or to humour the belief of his 'followers, William sought to counteract this enemy by calling to his aid a sorceress, whom he placed in a wooden turret at the head of his works, in order that she might more conveniently adapt her spells to each emergency. But the arch-fiend was too powerful for his adversary, and enabled his protege Hereward to burn the enchantress and her guards, with the turret in which they had taken refuge.
Undaunted by the fate of this unlucky ally, William still persisted in his attempts to reach the island-fortress. At length it was apparent that he would soon accomplish his object in spite of the gallant resistance of the Saxons, and these, finding that they could no longer hope to defend themselves, voluntarily submitted to his mercy. Hereward alone retained his courage. He fled across the marshes into the woods, but it was only to renew his hostilities, and the king, either from prudence, or from a better feeling, sought to conciliate so gallant a foe, and having received from him the oath of allegiance, allowed him to enjoy the patrimony of his ancestors in quiet. To those who had surrendered, he was by no means so indulgent. Morcar, the Bishop of Durham, and many others, were imprisoned for life; some were put to death; not a few lost an eye, a hand, or foot; and the rest were put to ransom, thus enabling the king to" gratify at the same time his two predominant passions of avarice and cruelty.
He had now leisure to chastise Malcolm. While his fleet crept along the coast, he marched his army: through the Lothians, and reached Abernethy on the Tay, when the Scottish king, as abject in the presence of a powerful enemy as he had been ruthless in his previous attacks upon the undefended natives, threw himself on the mercy of the invader. He was treated much better than he deserved. William allowed him to retain his government on becoming a vassal to the English crown, in which character he did homage, and gave hostages for his fidelity.
The subjugation of England was by this last act complete. Even Edgar the Etheling, after a vain attempt to escape to France with all his treasures, submitted to William, and was poorly content to live upon his bounty. The country presented the singular spectacle of a native population with a foreign monarch, foreign nobles, and a foreign hierarchy, a state of things which could only infer the most absolute tyranny on the one hand, and the most abject misery on 'the other. The Normans in a very little time became possessed of all the lands in the kingdom, and the Anglo-Saxon families of rank and wealth, were either swept off or merged into the body of the people.
Freed from all danger of civil insurrection, the king could now attend to the consolidation of his power, and the curbing of those, who, as they had assisted him in this great conquest, were fully disposed to have an equal share in its benefits. Following in the footsteps of the Great Alfred, he ordered an exact survey of every hide of land in the kingdom, as an effectual means of checking the rapacity of his feudal retainers, when it was directed against the royal rights. The result of this enquiry was the compilation of two volumes, which were 'deposited in the ex chequer, and which have come down to us under the title of the Domesday or Book of Judgement.
In the art of taxing his people, William exhibited a fertility of invention that has not been surpassed by the best of modern financiers. Under the name of relief and aids, he levied heavy contributions upon his military tenants; the female wards he sold in marriage to the highest bidder, unless they rather chose to purchase a freedom of choice by the payment of yet higher fees; escheats and forfeitures were also a considerable source of revenue, while the fines paid by litigants for permission to decide their quarrels in the king's courts, and the mulcts imposed at the arbitrary will of the judges, formed a yet greater source of emolument to the royal coffers; but as if all this were not enough to satiate his cupidity, he levied tolls at bridges, fairs, and markets, exacted certain customs on the export and import of goods, received fees, rents, and tallages, from the inhabitants of the burghs and ports, and lastly, re-established the dane-gelt, which had been abolished by Edward the Confessor.
One is only astonished in reading the history of the period, that his life was not terminated like that of his son, Rufus, a few years after, by the hands of some self-avenger. Although William had thus completely subjugated the Anglo-Saxons to his iron sway, he was not allowed even now, to enjoy his conquest in quiet. Some of his Norman retainers again rebelled, and when they were put down with his usual courage and good fortune, he had to contend with enemies in the bosom ,of his family. His sons quarrelled and waged war with each other no less than with himself, and his consort, Matilda, hitherto so faithful to him in all his fortunes, was detected assisting her favourite son Robert, in his rebellion against his father. So long as she possessed any money to give, she freely supplied him with it, and when this was exhausted, she did not hesitate to sell her jewels for the same purpose. The French king did all in his power to widen the breach, and the conqueror of England had now to contend for the preservation of his duchy. It seemed too, at first, as if fortune were about to abandon her old favourite for one of fewer years, though of much less desert; his army met with a serious reverse, and in one of those personal conflicts, wherein he so much delighted, he was unhorsed and wounded in the sword-arm by his own son. Luckily Robert recognised his father's voice, for he wore his vizor down, and be was thus spared the commission of a great crime; but the king, stung with this double defeat, would not listen to his profound expressions of regret, but, pronouncing a fearful malediction upon the rebel, mounted his horse and rode away. Reflection, however, and the queen's entreaties, at length brought William to a more Christian frame of mind; he had sufficient magnanimity to admire his son's success, and wrote a letter assuring him of his forgiveness; and the latter, who though light and passionate, was not wanting in the better qualities of head and heart, threw himself without reserve at the feet of his father.
No sooner had the king thus re-established peace in Normandy, than he was re-called to England by disturbances in the north, and a fresh invasion of the Scots. Here again his usual good fortune attended him, and the remainder of his reign, though occasionally troubled, may be said to have passed in comparative repose, till the one great event which ended in his death. Historians have told, and the world has been contented to believe, that a silly jest of the French king's was the cause of his last fatal campaign. He had, it seems, grown excessively corpulent as he advanced in years, and in the hope of reducing himself within more reasonable limits, he submitted to a severe course of medicine, when Philip, who seldom missed an opportunity of girding at his formidable rival, observed to his courtiers that the king of England was lying in at Rouen. Such a sarcasm was not likely to be long in reaching the ears of him whom it most concerned, and he who could forgive a son's rebellion could not forgive a very indifferent jest. Falling into a violent rage, he swore, that "at his churching, he would set all France in a blaze," a vow that he faithfully kept the moment that he could sit on horseback. Assembling his troops, he carried fire and sword through the French territory, and took by surprise the city of Mante, which it has been said by some, was set on fire in compliance with his orders. However this may be, it was to him a fatal conflagration. His horse happening to tread upon the burning embers, started, and threw him upon the pommel of the saddle, and thus occasioned a rupture which was followed by fever and inflammation. In this state he was carried back to a house in the suburbs of Rouen, where he lingered for six weeks, in the full possession, however, of his faculties, and conversing with those about him to the last.
To his son Robert, who was absent, he bequeathed Normandy and its dependencies, as being his just and natural inheritance. England he wished should be given to his second son, William, but as he had no other right to it than what he derived from his sword, he would leave it to the decision of God, at the same time advising him to repair to England, and assisting his claims by a letter addressed to Archbishop Lanfranc. The prince hereupon left his dying father to secure a throne; and the third son, Henry, impatient at hearing no mention made of himself, demanded what was to be his portion. "Five thousands pounds of silver was the reply."—" And what use can 1 have for the money," exclaimed the disappointed heir, "if I have not a home to live in ?"—" Be patient," said the king; "and thou shalt inherit the fortunes of both thy brothers." The affectionate prince hastened to the treasury as his brother had done to England.
The king's last hour was now rapidly approaching. It was early in the morning of the ninth of September, that he heard the sound of a bell, and eagerly inquired what it meant. Upon being informed that it tolled the hour of prime in the church of St. Mary, he stretched out his arms, exclaiming, "I commend my soul to my Lady, the mother of God, that by her holy prayers she may reconcile me to her Son, my Lord Jesus Christ." With this he expired in his sixty-third year, and after having reigned rather more than twenty years over England.
The scene that followed presents a sad commentary upon the text of human greatness. The knights, the nobles, the prelates, all abandoned the scene of death to look after their respective interests. The servants and inferior officers that remained, were just as little influenced by any kind or praiseworthy feeling. They plundered the house of plate, money, and jewels,—of every thing in short, that could be thought of the least value, and even stripped the mighty dead, leaving the corpse upon the floor almost in a state of nudity. Until three o'clock in the day it remained unnoticed and abandoned, and then William, Archbishop of Rouen, ordered that it should be carried to Caen, that it might be buried there in the church of St. Stephen. But no one was found willing to undertake the office, 'till at length a country knight, of the name of Herlwien, caused it to be embalmed and conveyed to Caen. Even then the body was not suffered to go in quiet to the grave. The abbot and monks had come forth to meet it with the usual ceremonies, when a fire broke out, which spread rapidly through the town, and in the confusion it was again abandoned. After a time the fire subsided, and the monks re-commenced their interrupted service. A sermon was then preached by the Bishop of Evreux, at the end of which he requested, that if any one had received an injury at the hands of the deceased monarch, he would forgive him out of charity. At this unlucky appeal, a certain Anselm Fitz-Arthur, started up, and with a loud voice exclaimed, "This ground was once the floor of my father's house, which, the man, of whom you speak, when Duke of Normandy, seized by violence, to found thereon this religious edifice. This he did not by ignorance or oversight, or by any necessity of state, but to satisfy his covetous desires. I therefore, challenge this ground as my right; and do here charge you, as you will answer it before the fearful face of Almighty God, that the' body of the spoiler be not covered with the earth of my inheritance." The challenger then produced witnesses to the fact, and their testimony being allowed, the prelates and nobles there present, gave him three pounds for the place of burial, with an undertaking that he should receive compensation for the damage done to him. This promise was afterwards made good by Prince Henry, to the amount of a hundred pounds.
From many accounts, it appears that the stature of William far exceeded that of ordinary men, though by some this has been denied, but all agree in attributing to him an unusual degree of strength. The monks of the day have handed him down to us as a religious prince, because be prayed devoutly, built cathedrals, and endowed monasteries; but his religion did not prevent him from maiming, burning, plundering, or from destroying the habitations of the people for the better enjoy-. meat of his favourite pastime, hunting. Sixty-eight forests, besides parks and chases, in various parts of England, were in sufficient to gratify this passion, and therefore, thirty-six square miles of a rich and populous district were converted into a wilderness, and the inhabitants expelled from house and home, that the royal saint might have a more ample space for his diversion. This ground lay between Winchester and the sea-coast, and still bears the name of the New Forest. Ambition, pride, avarice, and cruelty, were his chief characteristics, while, unfortunately for the age in which he lived, he had talents that made his people feel the full weight of such evil qualities. At the same time it must be owned that this picture has a brighter side, and one that has too often dazzled historians by its brilliance. William was brave, sagacious, at times even magnanimous, and far above the vices of a vulgar voluptuary. If he respected the church, be never submitted to its encroachments, but compelled the priesthood to a severe decency of manners, and steadily opposed the attempted usurpation of the Papal See. His laws gave legal rights to the rustic population and mitigated their bondage, and even his constant determination of suppressing the power of his great barons, tended not a little to the subsequent welfare and freedom of England, though with no such intention on his part. To raise a power that might assist in controlling them, he promoted the emancipation of the servile, and encouraged the burghers of the towns, and by these acts was unconsciously sowing the germs of national independence. His virtues were no doubt pre-eminently his own, and perhaps we shall not do any great wrong to truth, if we attribute much of his acknowledged evil to the circumstances in which he was placed. A conqueror can scarcely be other than a tyrant.