anxious to obtain possession of the dukedom, in addition to the English crown. On the other hand, nothing could be more agreeable to the Anglo-Saxon population than the separation of the two realms. If England were separated from Normandy, the independence of the kingdom, under any dynasty, would be re-established. Wulfstan, therefore, as a patriot, acting throughout his career not from passion, but from principle, cordially co-operated with Lanfranc; and Lanfranc, in love to the country of his adoption, manfully maintained the Anglo-Saxon cause. A proclamation was issued, appealing to the feelings of the AngloSaxon population; and from the forests and fens, from the morasses and the woods, as well as from the towns, there came forth an army which enabled Rufus to intimidate his barons; until, having carried his point, he was enabled to unite with them in the renewed oppression of his benefactors. The wonderful power which Lanfranc possessed in the management of men is evinced in the fact that, so long as he lived, William Rufus was, to a certain extent, kept under control. But the life of Lanfranc was now drawing to a close, and in his death the realm and Church suffered a loss which was irreparable. In the month of May, 1089, Lanfranc retired to his new A. D. monastery at Canterbury. He exercised there the office of 1089 abbot, which was always more congenial to his feelings than that of the episcopate. He was still a man of letters, and was not only devout but scrupulous in his devotions. He was enjoying his retirement, when he experienced a slight attack of fever. This, at his advanced age, was not to be neglected. The infirmarer prescribed a remedy, and directed it to be taken immediately. But the Archbishop had determined to receive the Holy Communion, and delayed taking the draught lest it should break his fast. The delay, as the physician stated, was fatal; and on the 24th of May he expired. His former adversary, Thomas, archbishop of York, attended the funeral, which was honoured by the presence of many of the suffragans of Canterbury. Lanfranc was buried in Trinity chapel, at the east end of the cathedral, on the south side of the altar. When the chapel K was replaced by the present edifice, his body was removed, and buried at the altar of St. Martin; but no trace of it remains, nor is there any monument extant, erected to the memory of this consistent assertor of the liberties of the Church of England.1 THE DEATH OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR. A.D. 1087. (From "The History of Normandy," by SIR F. PAlgrave.) A. D. AMONGST the other troubles and causes of trouble attached, 1087 like so many curses, to the inheritance of Rollo, was the un settled claim to the territory afterwards called the Norman The fatal opportunity now arose, which gave an excuse and incitement to action. Without any assigned reason, though most probably instigated by Robert, the burgesses of Mantes declared a petty war against William, and crossing the Eure, with a disorderly body of marauders, they plundered the neighbourhood of Evreux, particularly the domains of William de Breteuil and Roger de Ivry. They made much spoil and took many prisoners, and returned driving flocks and herds before them, and conducting the bound captives, from whom so good a profit was to be made, glorying equally in the gain, and in the affront thus offered to the pride of Normandy. 1 Abridged from chap. ii. vol. ii. William was roused to great anger: he was offended by the insult of this foray, and, connecting Philip with the transaction, he demanded the cession of Mantes, Pont-Isare, and Chaumont, in addition to the whole of the Beaucassin territory thus unjustly withheld. Philip refused, raising many cavils unfairly, and, instigated by the undutiful Robert, evading rather than denying the claims. Coarse jests passed between the sovereigns, by which they were mutually embittered; and William, now no longer to be restrained, prepared to assert his rights by the sword. It is rare that the chroniclers become descriptive; in this instance, adopting the style of the Trouveurs, and most probably echoing some popular ballad of the day, they tell us how the harvest was ripening, the grapes swelling on the stem, the fruits reddening on the bough, when William entered the fertile land. As he advanced, the corn was trodden down, the vineyards rooted up, the country havocked, the gifts of Providence wastefully destroyed. An imprudent sally of the inhabitants of Mantes, with the intention of saving their crops, enabled William to enter their town, which was fired by the soldiery. Churches and dwellings alike sunk in the flames, many of the inhabitants perished, even the recluses were burnt in their cells. William, aged and unwieldy in body, yet impetuous and active in mind, cheered the desolation and galloped about and about through the burning ruins. His steed stumbled amidst the glowing embers: like the third sovereign who bore the name of William, the royal rider received a fatal injury from his fall. A lingering inflammation ensued, which the skill of his attendants could neither allay nor heal. The noise, the disturbance, the tainted atmosphere of Rouen became intolerable to the fevered sufferer, and he was painfully removed to the conventual buildings of St. Gervase, on the adjoining hill. The inward combustion spread so rapidly that no hope of recovery remained, and William knew that there was none. Firmly contemplating the end, and yet dreading its approach, he sent for Rufus and Henry, his sons: and now ensued that conflict, a feeling never entirely absent from the death-bed, but sometimes so painfully visible, when, as personified in the symbolical paintings of old, we behold the good angel and the evil demon contending for the mastery of the departing soul; the clinging to earthly things with a deep consciousness of their worthlessness, self-condemnation and self-deceit, repentance and obduracy-the scales of the balance trembling between heaven and hell. "No tongue can tell," said he, "the deeds of wickedness I have perpetrated in my weary pilgrimage of toil and care." He deplored his birth, born to warfare, polluted by bloodshed from his earliest years, his trials, the base ingratitude he had sustained. He also extolled his own virtues, praised his own conscientious appointments in the Church, expatiated upon his good deeds, his alms, and the monasteries and nunneries which under his reign had been founded by his munificence. But Rufus and Henry are standing by that bedside, and who is to be the Conqueror's heir? How are his dominions to be divided? William must speak of his earthly authority; but every word relating to the object of his pride is uttered in agony. Robert, as firstborn, is to take Normandy; it was granted to him before William met Harold in the field of the valley of blood. "Wretched," declared the King, "will be the country subjected to his rule; but he has received the homage of the barons, and the concession once made cannot be withdrawn. Of England I will appoint no heir; let Him in whose hands are all things provide according to His will." All the wide-wasting wretchedness produced by his ambition rose up before him; it seemed as if the air around him was filled with the wailings of those who had perished at his behest, by the sword, by famine, and by fire. Bitterly lamenting his anger, his harshness, his crimes, he declared that he dared not bestow the realm he thus had won: and yet this reserve was almost a delusion; the natural feeling of a father prevailed, and he declared his hope that Rufus, who from youth upwards, whatever were his other defects of character, had been an obedient son, might succeed him. And what was Henry Beauclerc to inherit? A treasure of five thousand pounds of silver. Henry began to lament this unequal gift. "What will all this treasure profit me," exclaimed he, "if I have neither land, nor house, nor home?" William comforted his youngest son, and that strangely, by intimating his foreboding that Henry, becoming far greater than either brother, would one day possess far greater and ampler power. But the very words which William had spoken now excited his own apprehensions; the intimations he had thus given might, by implying a doubt of his right to confer the succession, instigate rebellion. He turned him round in his weary bed, and directed that a writ should be prepared, addressed to Lanfranc, commanding him to place Rufus on the throne; and the dying man, who had just vowed that he would not take thought concerning the sinful inheritance, affixed his royal signet to the instrument by which, in fact, he bequeathed the unlawful gain, and he forthwith delivered the same to Rufus, kissed him, and blessed him; and Rufus hastened away towards England, lest he should lose the blood-stained crown. Henry, too, departed, to secure his legacy, and to consider how he should best protect himself against the troubles which he might occasion or sustain. Both sons have now left their dying parent. More suspense, more agony. Those who surrounded him had heard of alms and of repentance, of contrition, and of distribution of the wealth no longer his own-some portions to make amends for the wrongs he had committed, some to the poor; the ample residue to his sons. But as yet no real charity; of forgiveness, nothing had been said by William, nothing of remission to the captives in the dungeon, upon whom the doom of perpetual imprisonment had been passed. William assented to the remark, and yet justified himself for his severity. Morcar had been hardly treated, and yet how could he, William, restrain the fear which he had felt of his influence? Roger de Breteuil1 had shown a fell revenge ;-yet let them be freed. Woolnoth, the brother of Harold, a child when he fell into the hands of the Conqueror, who had sternly kept him in bonds since the days of his infancy, and Siward of the north, were to be 1 Sometimes called De Montgomery, the earl of Hereford,-son of William Fitz-Osbern, count de Breteuil. He had been imprisoned ever since his rebellion in conjunction with Waltheof.-C. M. Y. |