CHAPTER XXV.
BRETAGNE.
The days that followed seemed like an evil dream to the countess and her ladies.
Several of the Breton knights who were amongst the garrison had manors in the neighbourhood; these were, of course, under confiscation; still, for the forty days allowed them to get away from England, they retained the lordship of their estates, and were able to offer hospitality to Emma.
On their way to a temporary retreat thus provided for them, the newly-dubbed knight, Sir Leofric Ealdredsson, reined in the somewhat sorry jade he had managed to procure, to the side of his kinswoman Eadgyth, as on a happier occasion Sir Aimand de Sourdeval had reined in a nobler steed.
'Alack, coosine! the Norman fell-monger is safe in his seat now. Our last, chance is over and done. We have nought left but to submit with the best grace we can muster,' he said sadly.
Eadgyth turned to him with an unfathomable regret in her limpid eyes. 'Yes, it is too true; the Normans have conquered.'
'But not us, coosine! We shall never be conquered in spirit, you and I! We are Angles to the backbone, and always shall be. In the fat Fenland we may yet live a life of our own, doing homage to no man, and defying fate. Share my island home amongst the meres, Eadgyth. I have strength to protect thee.'
Then Eadgyth shook her head sadly, her voice was scarcely audible as she answered,—
'I am not so staunch as you think me, kinsman. I fear I am conquered, body and soul. Day by day it hath been borne in upon me more strongly that the Normans have won because they deserved to win.'
Leofric opened his blue eyes at this announcement, and rounded his mouth for an oath, but recollected himself and checked it, and tugged his yellow beard instead.
'I say it advisedly, Leofric Ealdredsson: we English have lost because we were selfish and lazy; sunk in enjoyment; turbulent, and unwilling to submit to discipline. Hast thou not thyself told me how the Normans spent the night before Senlac in prayer and vigil, while the English feasted and drank it away?'
'Ah, Eadgyth, well for thee thou art a woman!' answered Leofric, grinding his teeth, his cheeks flushed with anger. Then he burst out laughing in his light-hearted, merry way, though there was a taint of bitterness in his mirth.
'By Asgaard and Odin! I believe thou art bewitched by that pale, shaven-faced Norman prudhomme, as they call it—Aimand de Sourdeval. My unclerkly tongue and downright ways doubtless bear ill the contrast with such a "parfait knight"!' He brought down his strong hand on his thigh with a force that made all his bracelets jingle. 'Say frankly now, kinswoman, thou thinkest him the better man of us twain?'
He dreaded the answer, though he braved it. But Eadgyth, looking steadily in his face, replied,—
'I should not speak sooth, Leofric Ealdredsson, if I denied it. I do think him the better man. Thou thyself hast said he was thine equal in the mêlée; and, certes, he is more gentle in hall.'
Leofric turned away and hung his head, only for a moment. Then he faced Eadgyth with a bright smile, the indomitable spirit of the man meeting the heart-wound as it would have met one of the flesh.
'But I am here, and he is absent,' he said; 'a live dog, they say, is better than a dead lion. And he is of the conquerors, and I of the conquered, so all thy generosity should be thrown into my side of the balance. Beside,' he added seriously, 'the blood of thy countrymen is on his blade, whilst I am of thy people.'
Eadgyth shuddered, and clutched the pommel of her saddle; the quick tears started from her eyes, and rolled one after another down her cheeks.
Leofric leaned over and laid his broad palm upon her little trembling hand.
'Go not away from thy country in the train of the foreign woman, Eadgyth,—though God forbid that I should say aught against her, for she is brave and beautiful,—but come thou over into the Fenlands, and share my risks, and comfort my poor old father, and tame me. Rough as I am, I would always be gentle to thee, Eadgyth.'
'Wouldst thou wed me with another man's image in my heart, Leofric?' asked Eadgyth, with a trembling voice.
'I would drive out that image by my own,' avowed Leofric.
'That thou wilt never do, coosine!' said Eadgyth firmly. 'No, do not dream it. I can never be his, neither can I wed any other. Nor can I leave my lady now in her sore distress and sorrow. No, Leofric, I cannot go with thee; ask me no more, it is but pain to both.'
Then Leofric saw she was in earnest, and desisted. Affecting to see some dangerous object that required investigation, he struck spurs into his hacquenée, and dashed off into the brushwood that bordered the road; and when he joined the cavalcade again, he took care not to choose the neighbourhood of his cousin's palfrey.
About a fortnight later, the countess and her ladies, amongst whom was the faithful Eadgyth, went on board a long-bodied, high-prowed galley at Lovelly's Staithe. It was propelled by twenty-five oars on each side, and flaunted gaudy embroidered sails to the wind, the mainmast being surrounded by a gallery round which a sentinel could walk. The garrison of Blauncheflour embarked on board a small flotilla of similar vessels.
We may imagine how they suffered as they made tedious progress down the rough east coast, passing Dunwich and Ipswich, and the low-lying estuaries of Maldon and the Thames; and farther south, Sandwich and the high white cliffs of Dover, famous then, although no Shakespeare had sung them. How they raised their weary heads and strained their sad eyes to look at the castles which William the Norman had built at Hastings and Lewes and Arundel; and how Eadgyth wept to see them, because they reminded her of slain Harold Godwinsson, and were proof of the downfall of her nation. Emma was sorrowful too, because they witnessed to the valour and success of the greatest captain of the age, whom her father, stout William Fitzosbern, had loved and honoured, and against whom she was in rebellion.
They slipped as quickly as might be past the rough Norman coast, keeping as far out to sea as possible, lest Norman vessels should come down on them and harry them, and bear off the precious charge they guarded, to be kept in durance vile till ransom was extorted, which was far from improbable, notwithstanding the forty days' safe-conduct given them by William's officers.
Standing out so far to sea, they got a rough tossing on Atlantic rollers, and many a baptism of Atlantic spray. With what joy they hailed the first glimpse of the Breton rocks! How glad they were when they made the Ille, and floated under the staithes of Dinan!
Then all was question and curiosity, one side as eager to hear as the other. The countess and her meinie asking news of Ralph de Guader and Montfort; the Brittany folks as anxious to learn how she had fared, and how escaped.
The countess learned with joy that Ralph was at Montfort, scarce forty miles away, preparing with might and main an expedition for the relief of Blauncheflour. 'Had she not seen the warships in the harbour?' they asked.
We may guess how quickly messengers were sent off to Montfort, and how Ralph mounted in hot haste as soon as they told him that his countess had come, with all her gallant garrison, and how he galloped to meet them as fast as his steed could gallop. No doubt he sighed that he had not Oliver under him then.
Emma and her following got what horses they could, and started for Montfort.
The August sun shone hotly from the blue continental sky, and the apples were turning yellow and red in the orchards along the road. As noon came on, the travellers, having ridden some fifteen miles on very sorry beasts, were fain to rest them at a wayside hostel.
The countess and her ladies ascended the ladder that served for a staircase to the upper chamber, and, while food was preparing below, lay down upon the rushes to rest their weary limbs.
The countess occupied a low pallet bed that stood in a corner of the room, and so utterly weary and broken down was she, that she could not even rejoice at thought of seeing her husband speedily. She soon fell into a heavy slumber, broken by dreams of the dreadful past more terrible even than the reality.
She heard again the din of the warrewolves and mangonels, and the crash of the stones flung by them as they struck the walls, the clash of swords and clangor of armour; and the terror and woe of it overcame her. She awoke with a scream. Throwing out her arms wildly, her hands came in contact with a man's mailed gauntlets, and she sprang up, crying, 'Blauncheflour is taken! To the rescue! to the rescue!'
'Dost thou not know me, my wife, mine own?' answered Ralph's voice, broken with sobs. 'Would to God I had never left thee!'
Emma burst into hysterical laughter, and threw herself upon her husband's breast, sobbing for joy. 'I was dreaming, Ralph! Would all bad dreams might end as happily.'
Then they sat down side by side upon the bed, and looked in each other's faces. They were alone, for Emma's ladies had delicately withdrawn when the earl entered, knowing that they would rather be in private.
'How pale thou art and thin, my sweet,' said Ralph, reproaching himself more and more bitterly that he had left her to struggle alone.
'I fear my poor face has lost its fairness, Ralph,' with an anxiety of tone that was all of love and naught of vanity.
'Thou art ten times fairer to me than ever before, my heroine!' answered De Guader fondly. 'But let me make excuse e'er I question thee. This is how I came not to thine aid. I went, as thou knowest, to Denmark, and sought Sweyn Ulfsson, and begged him bear out his promises and assist me with men, telling him that he might yet hoist William from the English throne. And Sweyn swore by the head of Sleipnir, Odin's horse, which thou knowest is a mighty oath amongst these Danish heathens, that he would support me. But then my wounds, being half healed, broke out afresh; and my head being still sore through Odo's blow, I fell into a fever, and lost my mind for six weeks. Meanwhile Sweyn had made no move, and when I came to myself I was still weak and powerless. As soon as I got strength enough, I came over here to collect my vassals, and call to me whoever would put his hands between mine and be my man; and I sent off messengers to comfort thee'—
'Whom William's men caught, and hanged on a gallows as high as the donjon keep,' interposed Emma.
Ralph gnashed his teeth.
'Ah! was it so? My faithful Grillonne, was this the reward of thy long service? I have brought evil on all who loved me! I had all in readiness, and should have started in a day, but, the blessed saints be praised! thou art here in safety, and there is no need. None can tell how I have suffered thinking of thee.'
'Thy cheeks are hollow enough, in truth; thou canst not crow over me,' said Emma, with a flash of her old gaiety. And then she told him the long story of the siege of Blauncheflour.
Ralph listened as one spellbound, and when she had ended her tale he slipped on his knee at her feet.
'Let me do thee homage,' he said, with a proud, fond glance in her eyes. 'What am I that thou shouldst have so suffered for my sake? It humbles me unspeakably.'
Ever after it seemed to Emma that the poor garret of that wayside inn was the noblest, fairest, and most beautiful apartment into which she had ever set foot. [8]
CHAPTER XXVI
CONCLUSION.
Whoever will, may find no small part of the ensuing chapter in the pages of grave historians; but in no sober leaf of history will they find recorded how it fared with Eadgyth of Norwich and Sir Aimand de Sourdeval.
Ralph and Emma, like an orthodox hero and heroine, lived happily together to the end of their days; though they had to fight a good many more battles. De Guader had made himself a mighty enemy in William the Conqueror, King of England and Duke of Normandy; one who, in his latter capacity, had no mind to have Ralph rampant on the borders of his dukedom. So he invaded Brittany, and strove to run De Guader to earth in his own country; he invested Dol, but had to raise the siege somewhat ignominiously, owing to the help rendered to the besieged by Alan Fergant, son of the reigning Count Howel of Brittany, and Philip of France, who was always delighted to supply aid against William.
Sweyn Ulfsson, King of Denmark, carried out his promises to Ralph, and sent his son Cnut with Hakon Jarl to invade England; and they appeared on the east coast with a fleet of two hundred ships, and actually put into the Humber, though rather too late to serve the purposes of the ambitious earl.
William, whether really frightened, or moved by the lust of power which was rapidly gaining upon him, and which clouded his later years with hate and misery, made the descent of the Danes a pretext for the worst crime of his reign—the judicial murder of Waltheof;—for it must be noted that, with this exception, his conduct to the English princes was generous and mild.
When the son of Siward had carried to William the news of the plot in which he had taken part, the Conqueror had received him graciously, and had pardoned him freely for his own share of the mischief. But he kept him at his side, although he did not call him a prisoner; and, soon after landing in England, arrested him on a charge of complicity with the Danes, who had been his old comrades. William had that excuse for thinking him dangerous.
Then came Judith's opportunity. She hated the husband she had been forced to marry for State purposes, and stood forth as his accuser, pouring her poison into the ears of her royal uncle. Unfortunately William listened, and cast the son of Siward into prison at Winchester, where he languished for months, while a mock trial was going on, which many hungry Normans, who wanted his estates, were determined should end to their liking. Ivo Taillebois, who had been one of Hereward's most venomous foes, and whose lands adjoined those of Waltheof, was amongst the most clamorous for his destruction; and the Primate Lanfranc his best advocate and almost sole friend, recognising perhaps that it was by his persuasion that Waltheof had been induced to place himself in the power of the Conqueror.
Early one morning, while the good folks of Winchester were asleep in their beds, the Normans led the Saxon chief without the walls of the town. Waltheof walked to the place of execution clothed in his earl's apparel, which he distributed among some priests, or gave to some poor people who had followed him, and whom the Normans permitted to approach on account of their small numbers and entirely peaceful appearance. Having reached a hill at a short distance from the walls, the soldiers halted, and the Saxon, prostrating himself, prayed aloud for a few moments; but the Normans, fearing that too long a delay would cause a rumour of the intended execution to be spread in the town, and that the citizens would rise to save their fellow-countryman, exclaimed with impatience to Waltheof, 'Arise, that we may fulfil our orders.' He asked, as a last favour, that they would wait only until he had once more repeated, for them and for himself, the Lord's Prayer. They allowed him to do so; and Waltheof, rising from the ground, but remaining on his knees, began aloud, 'Our Father who art in Heaven;' but at the verse, 'and lead us not into temptation,' the executioner, seeing perhaps that daylight was beginning to appear, would wait no longer, but, suddenly drawing his large sword, struck off the Saxon's head at one blow. The body was thrown into a hole, dug between two roads, and hastily covered with earth. [9] But the monks of Crowland, to whom he had made rich gifts in his lifetime, and who had been staunch throughout to the English cause, got the body up again a fortnight later, and averred that it was still unchanged and the blood fresh (sixteen years later they pronounced that it was still as fresh, and that the head had grown on to the body again!); and they bore it away to 'Holland,' to St. Guthlac's in the Fens, and erected a tomb in the abbey, with William's permission, whereat great miracles took place. When his traitress wife Judith, the 'foreign woman,' as the chroniclers style her, went to cover this monument to her husband with a rich pall of silk, which she had prepared for it, the martyred hero refused her hypocritical gift, and the offering was snatched away and thrown to a distance by an invisible hand.
So the Saxon monks made a holy martyr of the wavering Waltheof, whose fate, and the fate of England with it, might have been very different if he had possessed as much moral as physical courage.
The Norman ecclesiastics accused the Saxons as idolaters, and found the occasion good for deposing and dishonouring Abbot Wulfketel, and putting Norman Toustain in his stead; which only made the English more keen to honour their dead hero, and they rushed in crowds to his tomb.
Judith thought herself very lucky to have all the money and lands that had belonged to Waltheof, and to be free of him, and made up her mind to have a second husband according to her own taste. But she wished him alive again when William made a present of her, possessions and all, to one Simon de Senlis, a brave, but lame and deformed knight.
She refused to carry out the bargain, so William consoled De Senlis with her daughter instead, together with all the lands and money; and the Saxon chroniclers gloat over Judith's subsequent poverty and sorrows. But we, looking back, now the years have rolled away, may pity her, and see that the crime lay with those who treated a woman as a chattel, and 'gave' her away to this man and that, without consulting her welfare or her happiness, rather than with the woman so treated.
And Emma's brother, the son of William's staunchest vassal, how fared he?
When the Conqueror passed the Straits after his attempt to reduce De Guader at Dol, he called a great council of Norman barons to pass judgment on the authors of the recent conspiracy. Ralph de Guader they dispossessed of all his English property as absent and contumacious; and Roger of Hereford, being a prisoner, was brought before them, and condemned to lose all his lands, and to pass the rest of his days in prison.
But William seems still to have had a soft place in his heart for the son of his old friend, and sent him one Easter, according to the custom of the Norman court, a complete suit of precious stuffs, a silk tunic and mantle, and a close coat trimmed with foreign furs.
But Roger was full of pride and bitterness, and he took the rich present and threw it on the fire.
When William heard how his gift had been received, he flew into a mighty rage.
'The man is too proud who does such scorn to me,' he cried. 'He shall never come out of my prison in my days, par le splendeur Dex!'
Nor did he; neither in the days of William Rufus. He died in prison. But, in the reign of Henry I., his two sons won back a portion of their father's possessions.
The lesser accomplices of the three great earls fared even worse.
At the council before mentioned, 'Man foredoomed all the Bretons that were at the bride-ale at Norowic, some were blinded, some were driven from the land, and some were put to shame. So were the king's traitors brought low,' say the chronicles.
Truly a disastrous bridal!
Yet the bride and bridegroom, who risked so much for each other and involved so many in ruin, were the most fortunate of those who attended it.
Though Ralph lost his English estates, he had broad lands in his mother's country, and lived with his hard-won consort in his castles of Guader and Montfort. A son and a daughter were born to them. The son succeeded to his father's Breton possessions, and the daughter, whom one chronicler names Amicia, another Itta, married Earl Robert of Leicester, and became a great English lady.
A little over twenty years had Emma and Ralph lived together, the stream of their true love having found peaceful channel after the rapids and whirlpools that followed on the first joining of their courses twain in one. Grey hairs had begun to muster in Ralph's dark locks, though his sturdy figure was as strong and active as ever and his hawk eyes as keen; motherhood had softened the high-spirited Emma, and had brought soft dimples into her cheeks and a lovelight to her brow. Happy in her home, she did not give much heed to the signs of the times, or note the strong new spirit that was stirring in the air.
But one day De Guader came into her bower in full harness, wearing helm and hauberk, with his great two-handed sword by his side.
He came up to her, and stood before her, and looked in her face, and took her soft mother's hand between his two big palms.
'See'st thou?' he asked, and he guided her eyes with his own towards his arm, whereon was bound the cross of the Crusaders.
'Ah, Ralph!' she cried,'not thou!'
De Guader dons the Cross.
'Sweet,' he said gently, 'When I lay on the field of my greatest fight, in sore distress and despair, with the choughs and ravens waiting to feed on mine eyes, and the thought of thee as of one I should never see again till the sounding of the last trump, I vowed that if life were spared me, I would one day make pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre. Now the time has come, my lady. Life has given me more than I had dared to hope for, but it is passing; we are no longer young, you and I, old wife! Let me join the men who have responded to Pope Urban's call. Robert Curthose is moving. I will put my hands between his and be his man, and march under his banner to join Godfrey de Bouillon.'
'Whom all men honour!' said Emma under her breath.
'Wilt thou give me thy blessing and thy leave, my lady?'
'Thou art sudden! Let me be alone and think,' said Emma; and she left him for a space. When she came back to him, her face was very pale, but she met his eyes with a steady smile, and, in turn, guided them to her arm, on which was bound the cross of the Crusaders. 'Wilt thou give me thy blessing and thy leave, my knight?' she asked.
Then Ralph caught her in his arms and kissed her, as if the fatal bride-ale had been but the day before.
So it came to pass that Ralph de Guader, with many of his vassals, joined the standard of the Duke of Normandy, and took his lady with him. With them went also Eadgyth of Norwich, faithful in all things, and unmarried still, having met no champion who could compass that in which her kinsman Leofric Ealdredsson had failed; her fair face still winsome, with its frame of soft yellow hair, and her blue eyes pathetic and serious.
In August 1096, De Guader led his knights to swell the great army of Crusaders then assembling on the banks of the Moselle, with Godfrey de Bouillon at its head, that 'very parfit gentil knight' and mirror of chivalry, whom all historians agree to praise, not only for spotless morals and untarnished honour and the high ideal he upheld before the face of the world, but for the 'consummate skill and patient perseverance, self-possession and presence of mind,' by which alone such a host of turbulent and independent chiefs as that which he commanded could have been led to victory.
As De Guader and his lady rode into the great camp beside the blue Moselle, a knight came forward to conduct them to the quarters which had been assigned to them. He had a worn ascetic face, seamed with scars and lighted by the large sombre eyes of a dreamer of day-dreams, his spare figure witnessing to a life of hard service and activity.
He met De Guader's lady with a sweet smile of reverence and recognition; but when he saw her companion, Eadgyth of Norwich, a flush passed over his bronzed cheeks and up into his forehead as far as it could be seen under his helm.
'Sir Aimand de Sourdeval!' cried Emma, with a quick movement of delight. 'Welcome the sight of thy brave, true face amidst this host of God.' Then she called back her husband, that he might pardon and be pardoned for what had happened in the old, sad days, and Ralph did so with the free, candid generosity of the times, which were saturated with the spirit we strive to keep alive in our public schools to this day—free fight and no malice borne.
Sir Aimand was one of Messire Godfrey's most trusted knights, whom the commander held in close attendance on his person; heart and soul in the Holy War, full of joy that so great a thing was going forward.
'You leave not wife or child by a lone hearthstone, Sir Knight?' asked Emma, feeling sure that the answer would be 'Nay.'
And 'Nay' it was. 'The lady of my choice would not have me, noble dame,' he answered in a low voice, scarcely daring to look at Eadgyth; 'a leal knight loves not twice.'
'But she will have thee now,' said Emma, and, taking Eadgyth's hand, she laid it in his. Nor did Eadgyth withdraw it.
Before the host of the Crusaders had moved from the Moselle, the Norman and the Saxon had vowed to be one.
Did they see the Holy City together with the eyes of the flesh? Did De Guader and his faithful consort see it? History answers not; it tells us only that Ralph and Emma died together somewhere near Jerusalem.
Whatever their faults, whatever their sins, at least they were true to each other, and died fulfilling what the judgment of the time esteemed the holiest of duties.
[9] Thierry, Norman Conquest, p. 113. Almost literal translation of Orderic Vitalis.
APPENDIX.
Note A. The Marriage of Ralph de Guader.
The bridal of Ralph de Guader to Emma Fitzosbern is very fully described by the chroniclers, and I have endeavoured to keep as closely as possible to history. But though I have searched at least half-a-score authorities, ancient and modern, every one of whom states that many abbots and bishops were among the company, in no case is the name of any ecclesiastic recorded. I have therefore taken a liberty with the Abbot of St. Albans, of whom Freeman says: 'All that certain history has to say about Frithric is, that he was Abbot of St. Albans, and that he died or was deposed some time between 1075 and 1077.' These dates would make it not impossible that he attended the bridal, and tradition represents him as a very active worker in the patriotic cause of the Saxon Church, and the untiring opponent of Lanfranc.
Harrod, Castles and Convents, p. 145. Some later archæologists are of opinion that the castle built by William the Conqueror was so injured in the siege that it had to be rebuilt, and the chronicler, Henry de Knyghton, under date 1100, ascribes its erection to William Rufus. All agree that a fine Norman castle was built on the old Saxon earthworks by the Conqueror, though they differ as to whether the existing keep is the one then erected.
It is to be remarked that none of the chroniclers, Norman or English, say anything of this encounter of Odo and Ralph. Nor do they notice Ralph's wound. What they do say is that De Guader was defeated at a place called Fagaduna. Lingard suggests that this name is probably a translation of Beacham, in Norfolk, and the theory is rendered more probable by the fact that Beachamwell St. Mary was anciently divided into two parishes, Beacham and Welle. But eight miles from this is the village of Fouldon, which name, according to Blomefield, is a corruption of its old Saxon cognomen. 'At the Great Survey, this town occurs by the name of Fulgaduna, Fulendon and Phuldon, and takes its name from the plenty of wild fowl which frequented it, it being seated in the midst of fens and morasses. Fugol, in Saxon, signifies wild fowl, and in some antique writings 'tis wrote Fugeldune.' What a slight misunderstanding of a strange name, or slip of the pen, might change this word into Fagaduna!
Note D. De Guader and Waltheof.
The chroniclers called Ralph's embarkation from Norwich a flight; while modern historians accuse the stout earl of not daring to stand the siege in his own person, and of leaving the bride for whom he had risked so much to sustain dangers he feared to face.
Ralph was unfortunate in offending all parties. Chroniclers of Norman sympathies hated him for his rebellion against William; Saxons for fighting against his people at Senlac: neither had any motive to say a good word for him, while they canonized Waltheof as a saint,—Waltheof, who surely earned the name of traitor as richly as ever did Ralph, since he entered in the conspiracy against William, after having voluntarily accepted the hand of the Conqueror's niece in marriage, and binding himself under a solemn form of fealty; then, to shield himself, acted the ever-hateful part of an informer.
Hugh and Roger Bigod, Ralph's successors in the earldom of Norfolk, are spoken of as worthy bearers of the title. Yet Hugh rebelled, first against King Stephen, and afterwards against Henry II.; and Roger wrested a charter from Richard I., in which the inhabitants of Norwich were first recognised as citizens, and afterwards joined the barons against King John, being one of the foremost of those who forced him to sign Magna Charta. It may be said that the treasons of the Bigods were justified by their ends, to obtain liberty for the people; but it must not be forgotten that Ralph de Guader alleged as his motive the intolerable oppression of the Saxons under the régime of William's subordinates.
Victor Hugo, writing of the good service done to English liberty by the jealous watch kept by the barons on the crown, and by their determined resistance of all royal encroachments, says: 'Dès 1075 les barons se font sentir au roi. Et à quel roi! A Guillaume le Conquérant!' The date thus given is that of the rebellion of De Guader and Hereford.
Note E. The Siege of Norwich Castle.
All that certain history has to tell of this siege of Norwich Castle, is that De Guader left it in the hands of his countess and knights, the names of the latter not being given; that they were attacked by the king's forces under the leaders named in the text, armed with all the mechanical inventions of the day; that the countess held it for three months, and gave it up on the terms related through lack of provisions; and that she rejoined her husband in Brittany. Why he had not appeared to relieve his castle is not recorded.
These details may be found in Orderic Vitalis, Matthew Paris, Florence of Worcester, the Chronicles of Worcester and Peterborough, and in all modern historians who deal with the period, perhaps the best account being that of Freeman in the fourth volume of his Norman Conquest, a work abounding in interest and spirited description.
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A LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED BY
SEELEY & CO. Limited
46, 47 & 48, ESSEX STREET, STRAND, W.C.
Publishers of THE PORTFOLIO, an Artistic Periodical.
Edited by
P. G. HAMERTON.
A New Series was Commenced in 1890.
Each Number has Three Plates. Published Monthly. Price 2s. 6d.
The Volume, which is Published at the end of the Year, contains 36 Plates and 150 Minor Illustrations. Cloth, 35s.; half morocco, 2l. 2s.
LIFE AND LETTERS OF SAMUEL PALMER, Painter and Etcher. Edited by A. H. Palmer. With One Etching and Eight other Plates on Copper. Cloth, 21s. Large-paper Copies, 42s.
AN ENGLISH VERSION OF THE ECLOGUES OF VIRGIL. By the late Samuel Palmer. With Illustrations by the Author. Fourteen Copper-plates. Price 21s. cloth.
MILTON'S MINOR POEMS. With Twelve Copper-plates, after Samuel Palmer. Price 21s. cloth.
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THE BRITISH SEAS, By W. Clark Russell. With Chapters by P. G. Hamerton, A. J. Church, James Purves, and Charles Cagney. Illustrated with Etchings and Engravings and many Vignettes after J. C. Hook, R.A., Henry Moore, A.R.A., Colin Hunter, A.R.A., Hamilton Macallum, and many other Marine Painters. Cloth, with gilt edges, 21s.
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THE GRAPHIC ARTS: A Treatise on the Varieties of Drawing, Painting, and Engraving. By Philip Gilbert Hamerton. With Fifty-four Illustrations.
'This massive and authoritative treatise on the technical part of almost every branch of art…. It is the masterpiece of Mr. Hamerton…. A beautiful work of lasting value.'—Saturday Review.
THE PRESENT STATE OF THE FINE ARTS IN FRANCE. By P. G. Hamerton. With Etchings and other Illustrations. Cloth, gilt edges, 21s. Large Paper, 42s.
IMAGINATION IN LANDSCAPE PAINTING. By P. G. Hamerton. With Fourteen Copper-plates and many Vignettes. Price 21s. cloth, gilt edges.
THE SAÔNE: a Summer Voyage. By P. G. Hamerton. With 152 Illustrations by J. Pennell and the Author. 4to. price 21s. cloth.
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PICTURESQUE ARCHITECTURE. Twenty Plates by Ernest George, Lalanne, Lhermitte, &c. &c. Imp. 4to. price 21s. cloth.
THE AVON FROM NASEBY TO TEWKESBURY. Twenty-one Etchings by Heywood Sumner. Price 1l. 11s. 6d. Large-paper Copies, with Proofs of the Plates, 5l. 5s.
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THE INNS OF COURT. By W. J. Loftie. With Twelve Engravings and many other Illustrations, chiefly by Herbert Railton. Cloth, 21s.
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SCOTTISH PAINTERS. By Walter Armstrong. With Copper-plates and many Vignettes. Price 21s. cloth.
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SCHOOLS OF MODERN ART IN GERMANY. By J. Beavington Atkinson. With Fifteen Etchings and numerous Woodcuts. Price 1l. 11s. 6d. Large-paper Copies, with Plates on India paper, price 3l. 3s.
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