William then, the son of William, was born in Normandy many years before his father came to England; and being educated with extreme care by his parents, as he had naturally an ambitious mind, he at length reached the summit of dignity. He would no doubt have been a prince incomparable in our time, had not his father’s greatness eclipsed him; and had not the fates cut short his years too early for his maturer age to correct errors, contracted by the licentiousness of power, and the impetuosity of youth. When childhood was passed, he spent the period of youth in military occupations; in riding, throwing the dart, contending with his elders in obedience, with those of his own age in action: and he esteemed it injurious to his reputation, if he was not the foremost to take arms in military commotions; unless he was the first to challenge the adversary, or when challenged, to overcome him. To his father he was ever dutiful; always exerting himself in his sight in battle, ever at his side in peace. His hopes gradually expanding, he already aspired after the succession, especially on the rejection of his elder brother, while the tender age of the younger gave him no uneasiness. Thus, adopted as his successor by his father during his last illness, he set out to take possession of the kingdom ere the king had breathed his last: where being gladly received by the people, and obtaining the keys of the treasury, he by these means subjected all England to his will. Archbishop Lanfranc, the grand mover of every thing, had educated him, and made him a knight,342 and now he favoured his pretensions to the throne; by his authority and assistance William was crowned on the day of the saints Cosmas and Damian,343 and passed the remainder of the winter quietly and with general favour.

At the expiration of this period, in the beginning of spring, his first contention was with his uncle, Odo, bishop of Bayeux. For when Odo, on his release from confinement, as I have related, had firmly established his nephew, Robert, in the duchy of Normandy, he came to England, and received from the king the earldom of Kent. But when he saw every thing in the kingdom managed, not at his own pleasure, as formerly, for the administration of public affairs was now committed to William, bishop of Durham, he was moved with envy, and having revolted from the king, he tainted many others by insinuating, that the kingdom belonged to Robert, who was of gentler disposition, and whose youthful follies had been corrected by many adversities; that William, delicately brought up, and overbearing from that ferocity of mind which was manifest in his countenance, would dare every thing, in defiance of right and equity: that it must soon come to pass, that they would lose the honours they had already obtained with so much difficulty: that nothing was gained by the father’s death, if those whom he had cast into prison, were to be killed by the son. To this effect he used, at first, secretly to mutter, together with Roger Montgomery, Gosfrith, bishop of Coutances, with his nephew Robert earl of Northumberland, and others; afterwards they were more open in their clamours, repeating and disseminating them by letters and by emissaries. Moreover, even William, bishop of Durham, the confidential minister of the king, had joined in their treachery. This was matter of great concern to William, it is said; because, together with the breach of friendship, he was disappointed of the resources of the distant provinces. Odo now carried off booty of every kind to Rochester, plundering the king’s revenues in Kent, and especially the lands of the archbishop; breathing eternal hatred against him, because, he said, it was by his advice, that his brother had cast him into chains. Nor was this assertion false: for when William the elder formerly complained to Lanfranc, that he was deserted by his brother: “Seize, and cast him into chains,” said he. “What!” replied the king, “he is a clergyman!” Then the archbishop with playful archness, as Persius says, “balancing the objection with nice antithesis,”344 rejoined, “you will not seize the bishop of Bayeux, but confine the earl of Kent.”

Bishop Gosfrith with his nephew, depopulating Bath, and Berkeley, and part of the county of Wilts, treasured up their spoils at Bristol. Roger Montgomery sending out his army with the Welsh from Shrewsbury, plundered Worcestershire. They had now hostilely approached Worcester, when the king’s soldiers who guarded it, relying on the blessing of bishop Wulstan, to whom the custody of the castle was committed, though few in number, dispersed this multitude; and after wounding and killing many, took some of them prisoners. Moreover, Roger Bigod at Norwich, and Hugo de Grentmeisnil at Leicester, each with their party, were plundering in their respective neighbourhoods. In vain, however, did the whole power of revolt rage against a man, who was deficient neither in prudence nor in good fortune. For seeing almost all the Normans leagued in one furious conspiracy, he sent alluring letters, summoning to him such brave and honest English as yet remained; and complaining to them on the subject of his wrongs, he bound them to his party, by promising them wholesome laws, a diminution of tribute, and free leave to hunt.345 With equal cunning he circumvented Roger Montgomery, when riding with him, with dissembled perfidy; for taking him aside, he loaded him with odium, saying, that he would willingly retire from the government, if it seemed meet to him and to the rest whom his father had left as his guardians; that he could not understand, why they were so outrageous; if they wanted money, they might have what they pleased; if an increase of their estates, they might have that also; in short, they might have whatever they chose; only let them be careful that the judgment of his father was not called in question: for, if they thought it ought to be disregarded in the instance of himself, it might be a bad example for them: for the same person made him king, who had made them earls. Excited by these words and promises, the earl, who, next to Odo, had been the chief leader of the faction, was the first to desert. Proceeding, therefore, immediately against the rebels, he laid siege to the castles of his uncle at Tunbridge and at Pevensey, and seizing him in the latter compelled him to swear, as he dictated, that he would depart England, and deliver up Rochester. To fulfil this promise he sent him forward with a party he could rely on, intending to follow at his leisure. At that time almost all the young nobility of England and Normandy were at Rochester: three sons of earl Roger, Eustace the younger of Boulogne, and many others not deserving notice. The royal party, accompanying the bishop, were few and unarmed, for who could fear treachery where he was present? and going round the walls, they called the townsmen to open the gates; for so the bishop in person, and the absent king commanded. Observing from the wall, however, that the countenance of the bishop ill agreed with the language of the speakers, they suddenly sallied out, took horse in an instant, and carried off, together with the bishop, the whole party, captive. The report of this transaction quickly reached the king. Fierce from the injury, and smothering his indignation, he calls together his faithful English subjects, and orders them to summon all their countrymen to the siege, unless any wished to be branded with the name of “Nidering,”346 which implies “abandoned.” The English who thought nothing more disgraceful than to be stigmatised by such an appellation, flocked in troops to the king, and rendered his army invincible. Nor could the townsmen longer delay submission; experiencing, that a party, however noble, or however numerous, could avail nothing against the king of England. Odo, now taken a second time, abjured England for ever: the bishop of Durham of his own accord retired beyond sea, the king allowing him to escape uninjured out of regard to his former friendship: the rest were all admitted to fealty. During the interval of this siege, some of the king’s fleet destroyed a party which the earl of Normandy had sent to assist the traitors, partly by slaughter, and partly by shipwreck; the remainder, intent on escaping, endeavoured to make sail; but being soon after disappointed by its falling calm, they became matter for laughter to our people, but their own destruction; for, that they might not be taken alive, they leaped from their vessels into the sea.

The next year, as the sense of injuries ever grows keener from reconsideration, the king began carefully to examine, how he might revenge his griefs, and repay his brother for this insult. In consequence, by his practices, he bribed the garrison, and obtained possession of the castle of St. Vallery, the adjoining port, and the town which is called Albemarle. The earl had not the courage to resist, but, by means of ambassadors, acquainted his lord, the king of France, with the violence of his brother, and begged his assistance. The French king, inactive, and surfeited with daily gluttony, came hiccupping, through repletion, to the war: but, as he was making great professions, the money of the king of England met him by the way; with which his resolution being borne down, he unbuckled his armour, and went back to his gormandizing. In this manner, Normandy, for a long time, groaned under intestine war, sometimes one party, sometimes the other being victorious: the nobility, men of fickle temper, and faithful to neither brother, exciting their mutual fury. A few, better advised, attentive to their own advantage, for they had possessions in both countries, were mediators of a peace: the basis of which was, that the king should get possession of Maine for the earl; and the earl should cede to the king those castles which he already held, and the monastery of Feschamp. The treaty was ratified and confirmed by the oath of the nobles on both sides.

Not long after the king went abroad to execute these conditions. Each leader made great efforts to invade Maine; but when they had completed their preparations, and were just ready to proceed, an obstacle arose, through the spirit of Henry, the younger brother, loudly remonstrating against their covetousness, which had shared their paternal possessions between themselves, and blushed not at having left him almost destitute. In consequence he took possession of Mount St. Michael, and harassed, with constant sallies, the besieging forces of his brothers. During this siege, a noble specimen of disposition was exhibited, both by the king and by the earl: of compassion in the one, and of magnanimity in the other. I shall subjoin these instances, for the information of my readers.

The king, going out of his tent, and observing the enemy at a distance, proudly prancing, rushed unattended against a large party; spurred on by the impetuosity of his courage, and at the same time confident that none would dare resist him. Presently his horse, which he had that day purchased for fifteen marks of silver, being killed under him, he was thrown down, and for a long time dragged by his foot; the strength of his mail, however, prevented his being hurt. The soldier who had unhorsed him, was at this instant drawing his sword to strike him, when, terrified at the extremity of his danger, he cried out, “Hold, rascal, I am the king of England.” The whole troop trembled at the well-known voice of the prostrate monarch, and immediately raised him respectfully from the ground, and brought him another horse. Leaping into the saddle without waiting assistance, and darting a keen look on the by-standers: “Who unhorsed me?” said he. While the rest were silent through fear, the bold perpetrator of the deed readily defended himself, saying, “’Twas I, who took you, not for a king, but for a soldier.” The king, soothed, and regaining the serenity of his countenance, exclaimed, “By the crucifix347 at Lucca,” for such was his oath, “henceforth thou shalt be mine, and, placed on my roll, shalt receive the recompence of this gallant service.” Nobly done, magnanimous king! what encomium shall I pass on this speech! Equal to Alexander the Great in glory; who, through admiration of his courage, preserved, unhurt, a Persian soldier, who had attempted to strike him from behind, but was frustrated in his design by the treachery of his sword.

But now to relate the compassion of the earl. When the blockade had so far proceeded that the besieged were in want of water, Henry sent messengers to Robert, to expostulate with him on the thirst he endured, and to represent, that it was impious to deprive him of water, the common right of mankind: let him try his courage another way if he chose; and not employ the violence of the elements, but the valour of a soldier. On which, wrought upon by the natural tenderness of his disposition, he ordered his party to be more remiss in their duty where they kept guard, that his thirsty brother might not be deprived of water. This circumstance, when related to the king, who was always inclined to warmth of temper, made him say to the earl, “You well know how to carry on war indeed, who allow your enemies plenty of water: and pray, how shall we subdue them, if we indulge them in food and drink?” But he smiling, uttered this kind and truly laudable expression, “Oh, shame! should I suffer my brother to die with thirst? and where shall we find another, if we lose him?” On this the king, deriding the mild temper of the man, put an end to the war without accomplishing his design; and as the commotions of the Scots and Welsh required his presence, he retired with both his brothers to his kingdom.

Immediately he led an expedition, first against the Welsh, and then against the Scots, in which he performed nothing worthy of his greatness; but lost many of his soldiers, and had his sumpter-horses intercepted. And, not only at that time, but frequently, in Wales, was fortune unfavourable to him; which may seem strange to any one, when the chance of war was generally on his side in other places. But it appears to me that the unevenness of the country, and the badness of the weather, as it assisted their rebellion, was also an impediment to his valour. But king Henry, who now reigns, a man of excellent talents, discovered a mode of counteracting their designs: which was, by stationing in their country the Flemings, to be a barrier to them, and constantly keep them within bounds. At that time, by the industry of earl Robert, who had long since gained the good graces of the Scot, the basis of a peace was laid between Malcolm and William. But various grounds of difference still existing on both sides, and justice wavering through their mutual animosity, Malcolm came of his own accord to Gloucester, a hearty solicitor for peace, so that it were on equitable conditions. He obtained, however, nothing more than permission to return uninjured to his kingdom: for the king disdained to take a man by subtlety, whom he might have conquered by arms. But the next winter he was dispatched by the party of Robert, earl of Northumberland, rather through stratagem than force. When his wife, Margaret, a woman distinguished for almsgiving and for chastity, heard of his death, disgusted with the continuance of life, she earnestly entreated of God to die. They were both remarkable for piety, but the queen more especially. For during her whole life, wherever she might be, she had twenty-four poor persons whom she supplied with meat and clothing. In Lent, waiting for the singing of the priests, she used to watch all night in the church, herself assisting at triple matins, of the Trinity, of the Cross, of St. Mary, and afterwards repeating the Psalter; with tears bedewing her garments, and agitating her breast. Departing from the church, she used to feed the poor; first three, then nine, then twenty-four, at last three hundred: herself standing by with the king, and pouring water on their hands. Edgar his son, when expelled by his uncle, was restored by William; assuredly with a noble compassion, and worthy of so great a personage, who, forgetting the injuries of the father, replaced the son, when suppliant, on his throne.

Greatness of soul was pre-eminent in the king, which, in process of time, he obscured by excessive severity; vices, indeed, in place of virtues, so insensibly crept into his bosom, that he could not distinguish them. The world doubted, for a long time, whither he would incline; what tendency his disposition would take. At first, as long as archbishop Lanfranc survived, he abstained from every crime; so that it might be hoped, he would be the very mirror of kings. After his death, for a time, he showed himself so variable, that the balance hung even betwixt vices and virtues. At last, however, in his latter years, the desire after good grew cold, and the crop of evil increased to ripeness: his liberality became prodigality; his magnanimity pride; his austerity cruelty. I may be allowed, with permission of the royal majesty, not to conceal the truth; for he feared God but little, man not at all. If any one shall say this is undiscerning, he will not be wrong; because wise men should observe this rule, “God ought to be feared at all times; man, according to circumstances.” He was, when abroad, and in public assemblies, of supercilious look, darting his threatening eye on the by-stander; and with assumed severity and ferocious voice, assailing such as conversed with him. From apprehension of poverty, and of the treachery of others, as may be conjectured, he was too much given to lucre, and to cruelty. At home and at table, with his intimate companions, he gave loose to levity and to mirth. He was a most facetious railer at any thing he had himself done amiss, in order that he might thus do away obloquy, and make it matter of jest. But I shall dilate somewhat on that liberality, in which he deceived himself; and afterwards on his other propensities, that I may manifest what great vices sprang up in him under the semblance of virtues.

For, in fact, there are two kinds of givers: the one is denominated prodigal, the other liberal. The prodigal are such as lavish their money on those things, of which they will leave either a transient, or perhaps no memory in this world; neither will they gain mercy by them from God. The liberal, are those who redeem the captive from the plunderer, assist the poor, or discharge the debts of their friends. We must give, therefore, but with discrimination and moderation; for many persons have exhausted their patrimony by giving inconsiderately. “For what can be more silly, than to take pains to be no longer able to do that which you do with pleasure?”348 Some, therefore, when they have nothing to give turn to rapine, and get more hatred from those from whom they take, than good will from those to whom they give. We lament that thus it happened to this king; for, when in the very beginning of his reign, through fear of tumults, he had assembled soldiers, and denied them nothing, promising still greater remuneration hereafter; the consequence was, that as he had soon exhausted his father’s treasures, and had then but moderate revenues, his substance failed, though the spirit of giving remained, which, by habit, had almost become nature. He was a man who knew not how to take off from the price of any thing, or to judge of the value of goods; but the trader might sell him his commodity at whatever rate, or the soldier demand any pay he pleased. He was anxious that the cost of his clothes should be extravagant, and angry if they were purchased at a low price. One morning, indeed, while putting on his new boots, he asked his chamberlain what they cost; and when he replied, “Three shillings,” indignantly and in a rage he cried out, “You son of a whore, how long has the king worn boots of so paltry a price? go, and bring me a pair worth a mark of silver.” He went, and bringing him a much cheaper pair, told him, falsely, that they cost as much as he had ordered: “Aye,” said the king, “these are suitable to royal majesty.” Thus his chamberlain used to charge him what he pleased for his clothes; acquiring by these means many things for his own advantage.

The fame of his generosity, therefore, pervaded all the West, and reached even to the East. Military men came to him out of every province on this side of the mountains, whom he rewarded most profusely. In consequence, when he had no longer aught to bestow, poor and exhausted, he turned his thoughts to rapine. The rapacity of his disposition was seconded by Ralph, the inciter of his covetousness; a clergyman of the lowest origin, but raised to eminence by his wit and subtilty. If at any time a royal edict issued, that England should pay a certain tribute, it was doubled by this plunderer of the rich, this exterminator of the poor, this confiscator of other men’s inheritance. He was an invincible pleader, as unrestrained in his words as in his actions; and equally furious against the meek or the turbulent. Wherefore some people used to laugh,349 and say, that he was the only man who knew how to employ his talents in this way, and cared for no one’s hatred, so that he could please his master. At this person’s suggestion, the sacred honours of the church, as the pastors died, were exposed to sale: for whenever the death of any bishop or abbat was announced, directly one of the king’s clerks was admitted, who made an inventory of every thing, and carried all future rents into the royal exchequer. In the meantime some person was sought out fit to supply the place of the deceased; not from proof of morals, but of money; and, at last, if I may so say, the empty honour was conferred, and even that purchased, at a great price. These things appeared the more disgraceful, because, in his father’s time, after the decease of a bishop or abbat, all rents were reserved entire, to be given up to the succeeding pastor; and persons truly meritorious, on account of their religion, were elected. But in the lapse of a very few years, every thing was changed. There was no man rich except the money-changer; no clerk, unless he was a lawyer; no priest, unless (to use a word which is hardly Latin350) he was a farmer. Men of the meanest condition, or guilty of whatever crime, were listened to, if they could suggest any thing likely to be advantageous to the king: the halter was loosened from the robber’s neck, if he could promise any emolument to the sovereign. All military discipline being relaxed, the courtiers preyed upon the property of the country people, and consumed their substance, taking the very meat from the mouths of these wretched creatures.351 Then was there flowing hair and extravagant dress; and then was invented the fashion of shoes352 with curved points; then the model for young men was to rival women in delicacy of person, to mince their gait, to walk with loose gesture, and half naked. Enervated and effeminate, they unwillingly remained what nature had made them; the assailers of others’ chastity, prodigal of their own. Troops of pathics, and droves of harlots, followed the court; so that it was said, with justice, by a wise man, that England would be fortunate if Henry could reign;353 led to such an opinion, because he abhorred obscenity from his youth.

Here, were it necessary, I could add, that archbishop Anselm attempted to correct these abuses; but failing of the co-operation of his suffragans, he voluntarily quitted the kingdom, yielding to the depravity of the times. Anselm, than whom none ever was more tenacious of right; none in the present time so thoroughly learned; none so completely spiritual; the father of his country, the mirror of the world: he, when just about to set sail, after waiting in port for a wind, was rifled, as though he had been a public robber; all his bags and packages being brought out and ransacked. Of this man’s injuries I could speak farther, had the sun witnessed any thing more unjust than this single transaction, or were it not necessary to omit a relation, which has been anticipated by the eloquence of the very reverend Edmer.354

Hence may be perceived how fierce a flame of evil burst forth from what the king conceived to be liberality. In repressing which as he did not manifest so much diligence as negligence, he incurred a degree of infamy, not only great, but scarcely to be wiped out. I think undeservedly, however; because he never could have exposed himself to such disgrace, had he only recollected the dignity of his station. I pass over, therefore, these matters slightly, and hasten in my composition, because I blush to relate the crimes of so great a king; rather giving my attention to refute and extenuate them.

The Jews in his reign gave proofs of their insolence towards God. At one time, at Rouen, they endeavoured to prevail, by means of presents, on some converted Jews, to return to Judaism;355 at another, at London, entering into controversy with our bishops; because the king, in jest, as I suppose, had said, that if they mastered the Christians in open argument, he would become one of their sect. The question therefore was agitated with much apprehension on the part of the bishops and clergy, fearful, through pious anxiety, for the Christian faith. From this contest, however, the Jews reaped nothing but confusion: though they used repeatedly to boast that they were vanquished, not by argument, but by power.

In later times, that is, about the ninth year of his reign, Robert, earl of Normandy, at the admonition of pope Urban, as will be related hereafter, took the resolution of going to Jerusalem, and pawned Normandy to his brother, for the sum of ten thousand marks. In consequence, an edict for an intolerable tax was circulated throughout England. On this the bishops and abbats, in great numbers, went to court, to complain of the injury; observing that they could not raise so great an impost, unless they drove away their wretched husbandmen altogether. To this the courtiers, with angry countenance, as usual, replied, “Have you not shrines adorned with gold and silver, full of dead men’s bones?” deigning the petitioners no other answer. In consequence, perceiving the drift of the reply, they took off the gold from the shrines of their saints; robbed their crucifixes; melted their chalices; not for the service of the poor, but of the king’s exchequer. For almost every thing, which the holy parsimony of their ancestors had saved, was consumed by the rapacity of these freebooters.

Just so, too, were their proceedings against their vassals; first taking their money, then their land: neither the poor man’s poverty, nor the rich man’s abundance, protecting him. He so restricted the right of hunting, which he had formerly allowed, that it became a capital offence to take a stag. This extreme severity, which was tempered by no affability, was the cause of many conspiracies, among the nobility, against his safety: one of whom, Robert de Mowbray earl of Northumberland, in consequence of very high words between him and the king, retired to his province, with the intention of making powerful efforts against his lord; but William pursuing him, he was taken, and doomed to perpetual captivity. Another, William de Hou, being accused of treachery towards the king, challenged his accuser to single combat; but being unable to justify himself in the duel, he was deprived of his sight, and of his manhood. The same accusation involved many innocent and honourable men; among whom was William de Aldrey, a man of handsome person, who had stood godfather356 with the king. Being sentenced to be hanged, he made his confession to Osmund bishop of Salisbury, and was scourged at every church of the town. Parting his garments to the poor, he went naked to the gallows, often making the blood gush from his delicate flesh by falling on his knees upon the stones. He satisfied the minds of the bishop, and of the people who followed him to the place of punishment, by exclaiming, “God help my soul, and deliver it from evil, as I am free from the charge, of which I am accused: the sentence, indeed, passed upon me will not be revoked, but I wish all men to be certified of my innocence.” The bishop then, commending his soul to heaven, and sprinkling him with holy water, departed. At his execution, he manifested an admirable degree of courage; neither uttering a groan before, nor even a sigh, at the moment of his death.

But still there are some proofs of noble magnanimity in the king, the knowledge of which, I will not deny posterity. As he was once engaged in hunting in a certain forest, a foreign messenger acquainted him that the city of Mans, which he had lately added to his dominions on the departure of his brother, was besieged. Unprepared as he was, he turned his horse instantly, and shaped his journey to the sea. When his nobles reminded him, that it would be necessary to call out his troops, and put them in array; “I shall see,” said he, “who will follow me: do you think I shall not have people enough? If I know the temper of the young men of my kingdom, they will even brave shipwreck to come to me.” In this manner he arrived, almost unattended, at the sea-coast. The sky at that time was overcast, the wind contrary, and a tempest swept the surface of the deep. When he determined to embark directly, the mariners besought him, to wait till the storm should subside, and the wind be favourable. “Why,” said William, “I have never heard of a king perishing by shipwreck: no, weigh anchor immediately, and you shall see the elements conspire to obey me.” When the report of his having crossed the sea reached the besiegers, they hastily retreated. One Helias, the author of the commotion, was taken; to whom, when brought before him, the king said jocularly, “I have you, master.” But he, whose haughty spirit, even in such threatening danger, knew not how to be prudent, or to speak submissively, replied, “You have taken me by chance; if I could escape, I know what I would do.” At this William, almost beside himself with rage, and seizing Helias, exclaimed, “You scoundrel! and what would you do? Begone, depart, fly: I give you leave to do whatever you can; and by the crucifix at Lucca, if you should conquer me, I will ask no return for this favour.” Nor did he falsify his word, but immediately suffered him to escape; rather admiring than following the fugitive. Who could believe this of an unlettered man? And perhaps there may be some person, who, from reading Lucan, may falsely suppose, that William borrowed these examples from Julius Cæsar;357 but he had neither inclination, nor leisure to attend to learning; it was rather the innate warmth of his temper, and his conscious valour which prompted him to such expressions. And indeed, if our religion would allow it, as the soul of Euphorbus was formerly said to have passed into Pythagoras of Samos, so might it equally be asserted, that the soul of Julius Cæsar had migrated into king William.

He began and completed one very noble edifice, the palace358 in London; sparing no expense to manifest the greatness of his liberality. His disposition therefore the reader will be able to discover from the circumstances we have enumerated.

Should any one be desirous, however, to know the make of his person, he is to understand, that he was well set; his complexion florid, his hair yellow; of open countenance; different-coloured eyes, varying with certain glittering specks; of astonishing strength, though not very tall, and his belly rather projecting; of no eloquence, but remarkable for a hesitation of speech, especially when angry. Many sudden and sorrowful accidents happened in his time, which I shall arrange singly, according to the years of his reign; chiefly vouching for their truth on the credit of the Chronicles.

In the second year of his reign, on the third before the ides of August, a great earthquake terrified all England with a horrid spectacle; for all the buildings were lifted up, and then again settled as before. A scarcity of every kind of produce followed; the corn ripened so slowly, that the harvest was scarcely housed before the feast of St. Andrew.

In his fourth year was a tempest of lightning, and a whirlwind: finally, on the ides of October, at Winchcombe, a stroke of lightning beat against the side of the tower with such force, that, shattering the wall where it joined to the roof, it opened a place wide enough to admit a man; entering there, it struck a very large beam, and scattered fragments of it over the whole church; moreover it cast down the head of the crucifix, with the right leg, and the image of St. Mary. A stench so noisome followed, as to be insufferable to human nostrils. At length, the monks, with auspicious boldness, entering, defeated the contrivances of the devil, by the sprinkling of holy water. But what could this mean? such a thing was unknown to every previous age. A tempest of contending winds, from the south-east, on the sixteenth before the kalends of November, destroyed more than six hundred houses in London. Churches were heaped on houses, and walls on partitions. The tempest proceeding yet farther, carried off altogether the roof of the church of St. Mary le Bow, and killed two men. Rafters and beams were whirled through the air, an object of surprise to such as contemplated them from a distance; of alarm, to those who stood nigh, lest they should be crushed by them. For four rafters, six and twenty feet long, were driven with such violence into the ground, that scarcely four feet of them were visible. It was curious to see how they had perforated the solidity of the public street, maintaining there the same position which they had occupied in the roof from the hand of the workman, until, on account of their inconvenience to passengers, they were cut off level with the ground, as they could not be otherwise removed.

In his fifth year, a similar thunder-storm at Salisbury entirely destroyed the roof of the church-tower, and much injured the wall, only five days after Osmund, the bishop of famed memory, had consecrated it.

In his sixth year there was such a deluge from rain, and such incessant showers as none had ever remembered. Afterwards, on the approach of winter, the rivers were so frozen, that they bore horsemen and waggons; and soon after, when the frost broke, the bridges were destroyed by the drifting of the ice.

In his seventh year, on account of the heavy tribute which the king, while in Normandy, had levied, agriculture failed; of which failure the immediate consequence was a famine. This also gaining ground a mortality ensued, so general, that the dying wanted attendance, and the dead, burial. At that time, too, the Welsh, fiercely raging against the Normans, and depopulating the county of Chester and part of Shropshire, obtained Anglesey by force of arms.

In his tenth year, on the kalends of October, a comet appeared for fifteen days, turning its larger train to the east, and the smaller to the south-east. Other stars also appeared, darting, as it were, at each other. This was the year in which Anselm, that light of England, voluntarily escaping from the darkness of error, went to Rome.

In his eleventh year, Magnus, king of Norway, with Harold, son of Harold, formerly king of England, subdued the Orkney, Mevanian, and other circumjacent isles; and was now obstinately bent against England from Anglesey. But Hugh, earl of Chester, and Hugh, earl of Shrewsbury, opposed him; and ere he could gain the continent, forced him to retire. Here fell Hugh of Shrewsbury, being struck from a distance with a fatal arrow.

In his twelfth year an excessive tide flowed up the Thames, and overwhelmed many villages, with their inhabitants.

In his thirteenth year, which was the last of his life, there were many adverse events; but the most dreadful circumstance was that the devil visibly appeared to men in woods and secret places, and spoke to them as they passed by. Moreover in the county of Berks, at the village of Finchampstead, a fountain so plentifully flowed with blood for fifteen whole days, that it discoloured a neighbouring pool. The king heard of it and laughed; neither did he care for his own dreams, nor for what others saw concerning him.

They relate many visions and predictions of his death, three of which, sanctioned by the testimony of credible authors, I shall communicate to my readers. Edmer, the historian of our times, noted for his veracity, says that Anselm, the noble exile, with whom all religion was also banished, came to Marcigny that he might communicate his sufferings to Hugo, abbat of Clugny. There, when the conversation turned upon king William, the abbat aforesaid observed, “Last night that king was brought before God; and by a deliberate judgment, incurred the sorrowful sentence of damnation.” How he came to know this he neither explained at the time, nor did any of his hearers ask: nevertheless, out of respect to his piety, not a doubt of the truth of his words remained on the minds of any present. Hugh led such a life, and had such a character, that all regarded his discourse and venerated his advice, as though an oracle from heaven had spoken. And soon after, the king being slain as we shall relate, there came a messenger to entreat the archbishop to resume his see.

The day before the king died, he dreamed that he was let blood by a surgeon; and that the stream, reaching to heaven, clouded the light, and intercepted the day. Calling on St. Mary for protection, he suddenly awoke, commanded a light to be brought, and forbade his attendants to leave him. They then watched with him several hours until daylight. Shortly after, just as the day began to dawn, a certain foreign monk told Robert Fitz Hamon, one of the principal nobility, that he had that night dreamed a strange and fearful dream about the king: “That he had come into a certain church, with menacing and insolent gesture, as was his custom, looking contemptuously on the standers by; then violently seizing the crucifix, he gnawed the arms, and almost tore away the legs: that the image endured this for a long time, but at length struck the king with its foot in such a manner that he fell backwards: from his mouth, as he lay prostrate, issued so copious a flame that the volumes of smoke touched the very stars.” Robert, thinking that this dream ought not to be neglected, as he was intimate with him, immediately related it to the king. William, repeatedly laughing, exclaimed, “He is a monk, and dreams for money like a monk: give him a hundred shillings.” Nevertheless, being greatly moved, he hesitated a long while whether he should go out to hunt, as he had designed: his friends persuading him not to suffer the truth of the dreams to be tried at his personal risk. In consequence, he abstained from the chase before dinner, dispelling the uneasiness of his unregulated mind by serious business. They relate, that, having plentifully regaled that day, he soothed his cares with a more than usual quantity of wine. After dinner he went into the forest, attended by few persons; of whom the most intimate with him was Walter, surnamed Tirel, who had been induced to come from France by the liberality of the king. This man alone had remained with him, while the others, employed in the chase, were dispersed as chance directed. The sun was now declining, when the king, drawing his bow and letting fly an arrow, slightly wounded a stag which passed before him; and, keenly gazing, followed it, still running, a long time with his eyes, holding up his hand to keep off the power of the sun’s rays. At this instant Walter, conceiving a noble exploit, which was while the king’s attention was otherwise occupied to transfix another stag which by chance came near him, unknowingly, and without power to prevent it, Oh, gracious God! pierced his breast with a fatal arrow.359 On receiving the wound, the king uttered not a word; but breaking off the shaft of the weapon where it projected from his body, fell upon the wound, by which he accelerated his death. Walter immediately ran up, but as he found him senseless and speechless, he leaped swiftly upon his horse, and escaped by spurring him to his utmost speed. Indeed there was none to pursue him: some connived at his flight; others pitied him; and all were intent on other matters. Some began to fortify their dwellings; others to plunder; and the rest to look out for a new king. A few countrymen conveyed the body, placed on a cart, to the cathedral at Winchester; the blood dripping from it all the way. Here it was committed to the ground within the tower, attended by many of the nobility, though lamented by few. Next year,360 the tower fell; though I forbear to mention the different opinions on this subject, lest I should seem to assent too readily to unsupported trifles, more especially as the building might have fallen, through imperfect construction, even though he had never been buried there. He died in the year of our Lord’s incarnation 1100, of his reign the thirteenth, on the fourth before the nones of August, aged above forty years. He formed mighty plans, which he would have brought to effect, could he have spun out the tissue of fate, or broken through, and disengaged himself from, the violence of fortune. Such was the energy of his mind, that he was bold enough to promise himself any kingdom whatever. Indeed the day before his death, being asked where he would keep his Christmas, he answered, in Poitou; because the earl of Poitou, wishing anxiously to go to Jerusalem, was said to be about to pawn his territory to him. Thus, not content with his paternal possessions, and allured by expectation of greater glory, he grasped at honours not pertaining to him. He was a man much to be pitied by the clergy, for throwing away a soul which they could not save; to be beloved by stipendiary soldiers, for the multitude of his gifts; but not to be lamented by the people, because he suffered their substance to be plundered. I remember no council being held in his time, wherein the health of the church might be strengthened through the correction of abuses. He hesitated a long time ere he bestowed ecclesiastical honours, either for the sake of emolument, or of weighing desert. So that on the day he died, he held in his own hands three bishoprics, and twelve vacant abbeys. Besides, seeking occasion from the schism between Urban in Rome and Guibert at Ravenna, he forbade the payment of the tribute361 to the holy see: though he was more inclined to favour Guibert; because the ground and instigation of the discord between himself and Anselm was, that this man, so dear to God, had pronounced Urban to be pope, the other an apostate.

In his time began the Cistertian order, which is now both believed and asserted to be the surest road to heaven.362 To speak of this does not seem irrelevant to the work I have undertaken, since it redounds to the glory of England to have produced the distinguished man who was the author and promoter of that rule. To us he belonged, and in our schools passed the earlier part of his life. Wherefore, if we are not envious, we shall embrace his good qualities the more kindly in proportion as we knew them more intimately. And, moreover, I am anxious to extol his praise, “because it is a mark of an ingenuous mind to approve that virtue in others, of which in yourself you regret the absence.” He was named Harding, and born in England of no very illustrious parents. From his early years, he was a monk at Sherborne; but when secular desires had captivated his youth, he grew disgusted with the monastic garb, and went first to Scotland, and afterwards to France. Here, after some years’ exercise in the liberal arts, he became awakened to the love of God. For, when manlier years had put away childish things, he went to Rome with a clerk who partook of his studies; neither the length and difficulty of the journey, nor the scantiness of their means of subsistence by the way, preventing them, both as they went and returned, from singing daily the whole psalter. Indeed the mind of this celebrated man was already meditating the design which soon after, by the grace of God, he attempted to put in execution. For returning into Burgundy, he was shorn at Molesmes, a new and magnificent monastery. Here he readily admitted the first elements of the order, as he had formerly seen them; but when additional matters were proposed for his observance, such as he had neither read in the rule nor seen elsewhere, he began, modestly and as became a monk, to ask the reason of them, saying: “By reason the supreme Creator has made all things; by reason he governs all things; by reason the fabric of the world revolves; by reason even the planets move; by reason the elements are directed; and by reason, and by due regulation, our nature ought to conduct itself. But since, through sloth, she too often departs from reason, many laws were, long ago, enacted for her use; and, latterly, a divine rule has been promulgated by St. Benedict, to bring back the deviations of nature to reason. In this, though some things are contained the design of which I cannot fathom, yet I deem it necessary to yield to authority. And though reason and the authority of the holy writers may seem at variance, yet still they are one and the same. For since God hath created and restored nothing without reason, how can I believe that the holy fathers, no doubt strict followers of God, could command anything but what was reasonable, as if we ought to give credit to their bare authority. See then that you bring reason, or at least authority, for what you devise; although no great credit should be given to what is merely supported by human reason, because it may be combated with arguments equally forcible. Therefore from that rule, which, equally supported by reason and authority, appears as if dictated by the spirit of all just persons, produce precedents, which if you fail to do, in vain shall you profess his rule, whose regulations you disdain to comply with.”

Sentiments of this kind, spreading as usual from one to another, justly moved the hearts of such as feared God, “lest haply they should or had run in vain.” The subject, then, being canvassed in frequent chapters, ended by bringing over the abbat himself to the opinion that all superfluous matters should be passed by, and merely the essence of the rule be scrutinized. Two of the fraternity, therefore, of equal faith and learning, were elected, who, by vicarious examination, were to discover the intention of the founder’s rule; and when they had discovered it, to propound it to the rest. The abbat diligently endeavoured to induce the whole convent to give their concurrence, but “as it is difficult to eradicate from men’s minds, what has early taken root, since they reluctantly relinquish the first notions they have imbibed,” almost the whole of them refused to accept the new regulations, because they were attached to the old. Eighteen only, among whom was Harding, otherwise called Stephen, persevering in their holy determination, together with their abbat, left the monastery, declaring that the purity of the institution could not be preserved in a place where riches and gluttony warred against even the heart that was well inclined. They came therefore to Citeaux; a situation formerly covered with woods, but now so conspicuous from the abundant piety of its monks, that it is not undeservedly esteemed conscious of the Divinity himself. Here, by the countenance of the archbishop of Vienne, who is now pope, they entered on a labour worthy to be remembered and venerated to the end of time.

Certainly many of their regulations seem severe, and more particularly these: they wear nothing made with furs or linen, nor even that finely spun linen garment, which we call Staminium;363 neither breeches, unless when sent on a journey, which at their return they wash and restore. They have two tunics with cowls, but no additional garment in winter, though, if they think fit, in summer they may lighten their garb. They sleep clad and girded, and never after matins return to their beds: but they so order the time of matins that it shall be light ere the lauds364 begin; so intent are they on their rule, that they think no jot or tittle of it should be disregarded. Directly after these hymns they sing the prime, after which they go out to work for stated hours. They complete whatever labour or service they have to perform by day without any other light. No one is ever absent from the daily services, or from complines, except the sick. The cellarer and hospitaller, after complines, wait upon the guests, yet observing the strictest silence. The abbat allows himself no indulgence beyond the others,—every where present,—every where attending to his flock; except that he does not eat with the rest, because his table is with the strangers and the poor. Nevertheless, be he where he may, he is equally sparing of food and of speech; for never more than two dishes are served either to him or to his company; lard and meat never but to the sick. From the Ides of September till Easter, through regard for whatever festival, they do not take more than one meal a day, except on Sunday. They never leave the cloister but for the purpose of labour, nor do they ever speak, either there or elsewhere, save only to the abbat or prior. They pay unwearied attention to the canonical365 services, making no addition to them except the vigil for the defunct. They use in their divine service the Ambrosian chants366 and hymns, as far as they were able to learn them at Milan. While they bestow care on the stranger and the sick, they inflict intolerable mortifications on their own bodies, for the health of their souls.

The abbat, at first, both encountered these privations with much alacrity himself, and compelled the rest to do the same. In process of time, however, the man repented;367 he had been delicately brought up, and could not well bear such continued scantiness of diet. The monks, whom he had left at Molesmes, getting scent of this disposition, either by messages or letters, for it is uncertain which, drew him back to the monastery, by his obedience to the pope, for such was their pretext: compelling him to a measure to which he was already extremely well-disposed. For, as if wearied out by the pertinacity of their entreaties, he left the narrow confines of poverty, and resought his former magnificence. All followed him from Citeaux, who had gone thither with him, except eight. These, few in number but great in virtue, appointed Alberic, one of their party, abbat, and Stephen prior. The former not surviving more than eight years was, at the will of heaven, happily called away. Then, doubtless by God’s appointment, Stephen though absent was elected abbat; the original contriver of the whole scheme; the especial and celebrated ornament of our times. Sixteen abbeys which he has already completed, and seven which he has begun, are sufficient testimonies of his abundant merit. Thus, by the resounding trumpet of God, he directs the people around him, both by word and deed, to heaven; acting fully up to his own precepts; affable in speech, pleasant in look, and with a mind always rejoicing in the Lord. Hence, openly, that noble joy of countenance; hence, secretly, that compunction, coming from above; because, despising this state of a sojourner, he constantly desires to be in a place of rest. For these causes he is beloved by all; “For God graciously imparts to the minds of other men a love for that man whom he loves.” Wherefore the inhabitant of that country esteems himself happy if, through his hands, he can transmit his wealth to God. He receives much, indeed, but expending little on his own wants, or those of his flock, he distributes the rest to the poor, or employs it immediately on the building of monasteries; for the purse of Stephen is the public treasury of the indigent. A proof of his abstinence is that you see nothing there, as in other monasteries, flaming with gold, blazing with jewels, or glittering with silver. For as a Gentile says, “Of what use is gold to a saint?” We think it not enough in our holy vases, unless the ponderous metal be eclipsed by precious stones; by the flame of the topaz, the violet of the amethyst, and the green shade of the emerald: unless the sacerdotal robes wanton with gold; and unless the walls glisten with various coloured paintings, and throw the reflexion of the sun’s rays upon the ceiling. These men, however, placing those things which mortals foolishly esteem the first, only in a secondary point of view, give all their diligence to improve their morals, and love pure minds, more than glittering vestments; knowing that the best remuneration for doing well, is to enjoy a clear conscience. Moreover, if at any time the laudable kindness of the abbat either desires, or feigns a desire, to modify aught from the strict letter of the rule, they are ready to oppose such indulgence, saying, that they have no long time to live, nor shall they continue to exist so long as they have already done; that they hope to remain stedfast in their purpose to the end, and to be an example to their successors, who will transgress if they should give way. And, indeed, through human weakness, the perpetual law of which is that nothing attained, even by the greatest labour, can long remain unchanged, it will be so. But to comprise, briefly, all things which are or can be said of them,—the Cistertian monks at the present day are a model for all monks, a mirror for the diligent, a spur to the indolent.