Cameos from English History, from Rollo to Edward II

C >> Charlotte Mary Yonge >> Cameos from English History, from Rollo to Edward II

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Lothaire was very anxious to know who the champion was; but all the
miller could tell him was, that it had been a man of short stature, and
slight, active figure, a capital horseman, whom he was sure he should
know again anywhere. In due time the nobles collected with their troops,
and Geoffrey among them. When they were in full assembly, Lothaire
introduced the miller, bidding him say whether the knight-errant was
present. The man fixed his eyes on the Count of Anjou, who wore a
cassock of coarse gray wool over his armor. "Yes," he said, "'tis he--_a
la grise gonnelle_."

It is also said that Geoffrey took his name from his frequent
pilgrimages to Rome, in which he wore the gray "palmer's amice." He was
a favorable specimen of the Angevin character, the knight-errant element
predominating over its other points, and rendering him honorable and
devout, and not more turbulent than could be helped by a feudal chief of
the tenth century. He died near Saumur, while besieging the castle of a
refractory vassal, in the year 987.

His son Foulques was surnamed Nerra, an old form of Le Noir, or The
Black. The name was derived from his complexion; but he merited it by
his disposition, for he was the most wicked of all the counts of Anjou.
He was very able, and, though little in stature, and lame, usually made
his wars turn out much to his advantage. In personal prowess he by no
means equalled his father; indeed, there was a Danish warrior, who
guarded the town of Saumur for the Count de Blois, that he dreaded
so much as always to gallop at full speed through the neighborhood,
whenever he was obliged to pass that way. However, he was not backward
to risk his person on occasion, and in a battle with the Count de Blois
at Amboise was severely wounded, his standard taken, and his troops
forced to retreat, when his vassal, the alert Herbert _Eveille chiens_,
of Mans, came up with fresh troops, fell on the men of Blois as they
were bathing and resting after the battle, cried the Angevin war-cry,"
Rallie! rallie!" [Footnote: "Go at then again!" evidently the origin of
"to rally."] and taking them by surprise, turned the fortune of the day.
This victory extended Foulques' domain to the bank of the Loire, and
enabled him to lay siege to Saumur. The citizens were too few to defend
both gates, and, by the advice of the monks of St. Florent, resolved to
commit the defence of one to the relics of St. Doucelin, which had the
reputation of working miracles. The reliquary was placed full before the
eastern gate, in the hope that either the Augevins would be afraid to
break through, or that some evil consequence might ensue on their
attempting it, and the Saumurois went to protect their western gate.
However, Foulques Nerra seldom let scruples interfere, and marched in
without regard to the saint. He was very cruel to his prisoners, and
with his own hand thrust out the eye of one who reproached him with his
unworthy treatment. He built new walls round Saumur, for which he was
obliged to destroy some buildings belonging to the monastery of St.
Florent, and as he set fire to them with his own hand, he called out to
the saint to beg his pardon, swearing to build him a much finer house.

It was the practice of Foulques Nerra to commit frightful crimes, and
then to expect to atone for them by vehemence in penance and devotion.
He was recklessly barbarous in his wars, and a cruel tyrant to his
people, filling his castle with miserable prisoners. He married a lady
named Hildegarde, a pious and gentle dame, whose influence had some
effect in calming his fierce passions and lessening his cruelty; but
their son Geoffrey Martel was as wild and violent as himself, though
with more generosity. A quarrel broke out, Geoffrey rebelled, was
conquered, and his father obliged him to come and ask pardon, crawling
on all fours, with a saddle on his back.

"So, sir, you're tamed!" said the count, putting his foot on his neck.

"True! but by no one but my father," the proud youth made answer. And
Foulques was so pleased, that he took him into favor again.

Foulques Nerra was a great founder of churches and convents, and made no
less than four pilgrimages to the Holy Land, in the third of which he
travelled part of the way with another ancestor of our kings, Robert the
Magnificent of Normandy. In the last, his penance exceeded all that had
yet been seen at Jerusalem. He stripped himself to his waist, and went
barefoot to the Holy Sepulchre, followed by two servants, whom he
obliged to beat him with rods, while at each step he exclaimed, "O Lord,
have pity on the wretched, perjured traitor Foulques!"

Such violent penances are repugnant to all our ideas, and if these rude
warriors believed that by them their crimes could be atoned, they were
grievously mistaken: but at the same time it must be remembered that
they were intended as tokens of repentance; and that, as we have seen in
the humiliation of the rebellious son of the count himself, it was the
fashion to punish the body, because the mind was too little cultivated
to be alone addressed.

Foulques III. died at Metz, in the course of his return from this
pilgrimage, in the year 1039. His son Geoffrey, called Martel, or the
Hammer, was a great warrior. William the Conqueror was his chief enemy,
and the curious challenge that once passed between them has been
related. Indeed, Henry I. of France, who was in dread of both, promoted
their quarrels by making a grant to William of all that he might be able
to win from Anjou; and the Angevins had given bitter offence to the Duke
of Normandy when he was besieging the town of Hambrieres, by hanging up
hides over the walls, and shouting, "_A la pel! a la pel!_" (The hide!
the hide!) in allusion to his mother being the daughter of a tanner.

Their chief dispute was about the county of Maine--a name of evil omen
to their descendants. The only daughter of Count Herbert _Eveille
chiens_ (Wake-dog) was betrothed to Robert Courtheuse; and though she
died before the marriage took place, William claimed the county for his
son on Herbert's death. Geoffrey, who was the feudal lord of Maine, took
the part of the next heir, and invaded Normandy. On the river Dive,
Geoffrey, with his chief followers, was imprudent enough to cross by a
narrow bridge, leaving the main body of the troops on the other side,
where they were attacked by William. The bridge gave way, and the
Angevin army was destroyed in the sight of its lord.

This disaster broke the spirit of Geoffrey Martel. He was still a
young man, but he was worn out with disappointment. He had been twice
married--the second time to a very learned lady, named Grecia, who is
famous for having bought a book of homilies for two hundred sheep,
twelve measures of cheese, as much barley and millet, besides eight
marks of silver and some marten skins. Neither wife brought him any
children: and at Whitsuntide, 1060, he sent for his two nephews, the
sons of his sister Ermengarde, and divided his lands between them;
giving Touraine and Landon to the eldest, Geoffrey the Bearded, and
Anjou to Foulques, called _Le Rechin_, or The Quarrelsome, then only
seventeen, whom he knighted. He died the next Martinmas, in the robes of
a monk; and thenceforth Foulques proved his right to his surname by his
perpetual wars and disputes with his brother. Geoffrey _le Barbu_ is
famed for nothing but his misfortunes, and for a curious suit which he
had with the monks of St. Florent respecting some woods on the banks of
the Loire, which they declared to have been granted them by Foulques
Nerra. They brought witnesses to support their claim, as they had no
title-deeds; and Geoffrey agreed to have recourse to the judgment of
Heaven, as a proof whether the testimony was true or false. The ordeal
was to be by hot water. A great fire was lighted in the Church of St.
Maurice, at St. Angers, and a cauldron of water placed on it, into which
was plunged an old forester who had borne witness for the convent.
Without appearing to suffer inconvenience from the heat, he repeated
what he had formerly said and Geoffrey was obliged to abide by the
result of the ordeal. The monks proceeded to cut down the woods, and
supplied their place by the vineyards which have ever since been the
pride of the Loire.

The strife respecting lay investiture was the ruin of the bearded
Geoffrey; he claimed the investiture of the Abbot of Marmoutiers as
a temporal baron, and thus caused himself to be excommunicated. His
vassals fell from him and he became an easy prey to his brother
Foulques, who threw him into the castle of Chinon, and kept him prisoner
for thirty years.

Foulques IV., le Rechin, was a scholar, and wrote a Latin history of
Anjou, of which, however, only a fragment is preserved. He was as wicked
as most of the race, fierce, violent, and voluptuous. He was no longer a
young man, and had been twice married and once divorced (one tradition
says that he was the husband of the demon-countess), when, in 1089, he
cast his eyes on the beautiful young Bertrade, daughter of the Count de
Montfort, and promised Duke Robert of Normandy to make over to him the
county of Maine, if he would use his influence with her parents to
obtain her for him.

The Count de Montfort would not give up his daughter to the wicked old
Angevin, till Robert, in his usual weak, good-natured fashion, had
yielded up a number of his own frontier castles as her purchase.
Foulques did indeed put Maine into his hands; but he did not keep it
long, for Helie de la Fleche set up his claim, and maintained it as we
have seen. Nor did Foulques gain much by his bargain; for Bertrade had
no perfection but her beauty, and, in the fourth year of her marriage,
abandoned him and her infant son, and went to the court of Philippe I.
of France, who had lately grown weary of his queen Bertha, the mother of
his four children, and had shut her up in the castle of Montreuil.

Philippe found some pretext for declaring that his first marriage and
Bertrade's were both null and void; but not one French bishop could be
found to solemnize the disgraceful union he desired. He was obliged to
look beyond his own dominion, and it is said that it was the brother
of the Conqueror, Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, who consented to pronounce a
blessing over their marriage.

They were not, however, allowed to sin unmolested. Bertrade's husband
made war on them on one side, Bertha's brother on the other. Philippe's
son Louis fled to the protection of the English; and the Pope laid them
under excommunication. For nine years, however, they persisted in their
crime; but at last they made a show of penitence; the King pretended to
renounce Bertrade, and they were absolved.

Bertrade had forsaken her child; but she was very anxious that he
should succeed his father, instead of his elder brother Geoffrey, a
high-spirited youth, whom the peasantry of Anjou regarded as their
friend and protector. She contrived to sow dissension between him and
his father, and at last caused him to be assassinated.

Then she chose to come to Angers to see her son heir of Anjou, and
actually brought the King with her; made Philippe and her husband behave
in the most friendly manner, eat at the same table, sleep on the same
couch; and Foulques was even base enough to sit on a footstool at
the feet of this woman, who could scarcely have been better than the
witch-lady herself.

After the death of Philippe she returned to Anjou, and went into the
Abbey of Fontevraud, where she practised such rigorous penances that her
health sank under them.

Her son, Foulques V., succeeded to the county in 1109, and was a much
better man than could have been expected from the son of such parents.
His wife was Sybil, daughter of Helie de la Fleche, an excellent,
gentle, and pious lady, whom he loved devotedly.

His eldest daughter, the Alix, or noble maid of Anjou, whose name seems
to have been Matilda, was betrothed to William the Etheling, son
of Henry I., in order to detach her father from the cause of the
unfortunate William Clito of Normandy.

Their marriage took place in the autumn of 1120, when the bridegroom was
seventeen and the bride twelve. It was celebrated with great splendor,
and all the Norman barons did homage to young William as their future
Duke. Afterward the English court repaired to Barfleur, there to embark
for their own island; but there was considerable delay in collecting
shipping enough for so numerous a party, and it was not possible to set
sail till the 25th of November. Just as the King was about to embark, a
mariner, named Thomas Fitzstephen, addressed him, with the offering of a
golden mark, saying that his father had had the honor of carrying King
William to the conquest of England, and entreating that his beautiful
new vessel, the Blanche Nef, or White Ship, with fifty good oarsmen,
might transport the present King.

Henry, always courteous, answered that his own arrangements were made,
but that no doubt his son, the Etheling, and his companions, would
gladly make the passage with him. The King then sailed, taking with him
the little bride, but leaving behind no less than eighteen ladies of the
highest rank--among them his niece, Lucy de Blois, Countess of Chester,
and his illegitimate daughter, Marie, Countess de Perche--also another
illegitimate son, named Richard, and all the gayest young nobles, who
were in attendance on the prince. Including the crew, the Blanche Nef
was expected to carry full three hundred persons across the Channel. All
were in high spirits, in that reckless state of mirth which the grave
Scots deem as the absolute presage of a fearful catastrophe, as well as
often its cause; and the young Etheling, with open-hearted, imprudent
good-nature, presented the crew with three casks of wine to drink to his
health and the success of the voyage. Such feasting took place, that all
the rest of the fleet had sailed; but Fitzstephen boasted that he would
overtake and outstrip every ship before they reached England. Some
prudent persons--among them young Stephen de Blois--left the ship; but
no one else had any fears; and though the night came on, there was a
bright moon, and the water was calm. Every sail was set; the rowers
plied their utmost strength, and thus it was with great violence that
the ship ran foul of the rocks called the Ras de Catte. A lamentable cry
reached the ships of the King's fleet; but no one guessed the cause. A
boat was lowered; Fitzstephen handed in the prince and a few rowers, and
bade them make for the shore; but just as they had pushed off, William
heard the agonized calls of his sister, the Countess de Perche, and
commanded the rowers to put back and save her. The masterless, terrified
multitude no sooner saw the boat approach, than they all flung
themselves headlong into it; down it went under them, and the whole
freight perished. The ship itself soon likewise foundered, and there
only remained, clinging to the mast, a young baron, named Godfrey de
l'Aigle, and a butcher of Rouen. Fitzstephen, however, swam up, and
called out to ask if the King's son had got off safe. When he heard
their answer, he cried aloud, "Woe is me!" and sank like a stone. It was
a cold night, and, after some hours, young Godfrey became benumbed, lost
his hold, and likewise sank; but the butcher, in his sheepskin coat,
held on till daylight, when he was picked up by some fishermen, and told
his piteous tale.

Next day the news came to England, and every one knew it but the King.
For some days no one could summon up resolution to inform him of this
surpassing calamity; but at last a little boy was sent to fall at his
feet, and, weeping bitterly, to tell him all. The stern heart was wrung:
Henry fell senseless on the ground; and he, whose gayety had once almost
hidden his hard, selfish nature, never smiled again.

The Count of Anjou sent for his daughter and her dowry. The daughter
came, and afterward became a nun at Fontevraud; but no dowry was sent
with her: and Foulques returned to the cause he had deserted, gave her
sister Sybil to William Clito, and held with him till his early death.

On the death of his countess, Foulques vowed to go on a crusade. His
eldest son Geoffrey was but seven years old, and before setting out, he
solemnly placed the boy on the altar of St. Julian at Angers, saying,
"Great Saint, I offer thee my son and my lands; be the protector of
both!"

Foulques maintained a hundred men-at-arms in Palestine for a year, at
his own expense, and signalized himself greatly. Baldwin I., King of
Jerusalem, the brother of Godfrey, had survived his brother eighteen
years, when, in 1118, the crown passed to Baldwin du Bourg, Count of
Essex, who, according to the usual fate of the Defenders of the Holy
Sepulchre, felt his health fast giving way under the influence of toil,
anxiety, and climate. He had been twice a prisoner, and had spent seven
years in captivity among the Infidels; but his kingdom had been bravely
defended by the knights of the Temple and Hospital, aided by Crusaders
from the West. Of these armed pilgrims the Count of Anjou was so much
the most distinguished, that, after his return, a knight was sent to
him by King Baldwin, to propose to give him the hand of Melisende, the
eldest princess of Jerusalem, and with it that crown of care and toil.

The crusading spirit was, however, strong in the house of Anjou, and
so continued for full three hundred years: and though Foulques was
considerably past forty, he accepted the offer, gave up his country to
his son Geoffrey, and set forth in 1127, married Melisende, and, four
years after, became King of Jerusalem. It was an unloving marriage; but
he was much respected and beloved, and his biographer observes that,
though he had red hair, he had not the faults common in men of that
complexion. He was continually in the field at the head of his knights,
and won several victories, one of which gained the town of Caesarea
Philippi. He was killed by a fall from his horse, near Acre, in 1142;
and left two sons by Melisende--Baldwin and Amaury, who afterward both
reigned at Jerusalem.

CAMEO XVI.

VISITORS OF HENRY I.
(1120-1134.)

Henry Beauclerc was really a great King. His abilities were high even
for one of the acute Normans, and he studied at every leisure moment. He
translated Aesop's fables, not from Latin into French--which would not
have been wonderful--but from Greek to English. He seems to have had
a real attachment to the English, feeling that, in their sturdy
independence, he had the best preservative from the "outre cuidance" of
the Normans. Indeed, the English mind viewed Brenville as making up for
Hastings. He wrote a book of maxims, even on etiquette; and though his
heart was almost as hard as those of his brothers, his demeanor was far
more gracious: moreover, he felt remorse, as his brothers never did, nor
his father till his death. After he lost his son he had many a night of
anguish; when all the men of his kingdom seemed to come and reproach
him with their sufferings. But his reign, on the whole, was a
breathing-time, when he carried out his father's policy, restrained the
barons, and raised the condition of the English. He was also greatly
respected in other countries, and had many royal visitors, among the
chief of whom may be reckoned his brother-in-law, David of Scotland, and
Louis _l'eveille_, the prince of France. In the Conqueror's lifetime
Henry and Louis had met at the court of France, where they had
quarrelled at chess, and Henry, in a passion, had struck Louis a violent
blow. His elder brother, Robert, then in exile in Paris, came in at the
moment, and was so alarmed for the consequences, that he dragged Henry
down stairs, called for their horses, and galloped away, never resting
till he had seen the youth safely on the bounds of Normandy, where
Robert himself might not enter. King Philippe's anger is said to have
been one of the causes of the war in which William I. met with his
death.

Now, however, Louis was a fugitive from the persecution of the wicked
Bertrade, and found shelter and protection in England till his father
became reconciled to him.

Another royal visitor was Sigurd the Crusader, king of part of Norway.
Eystein, Sigurd, and Olaf had been left orphans by the death of their
father, King Magnus, when Eystein, the eldest, was only fifteen.
According to the law of Norway, they all possessed an equal right to the
kingdom; but this led to no disputes, and they lived together on the
most friendly terms. Eystein was peaceably disposed and thoughtful,
though lively; Sigurd, though enterprising and spirited, had a strain of
melancholy which affected him when he was not actively employed: and one
morning, Eystein, observing that his looks were gloomy, drew from him
that he had had a dream. "I thought," he said, "that we brothers were
all sitting on a bench in front of Christ Church in Drontheim, and our
kinsman, Olaf the Saint, came out in royal robes, glancing and splendid,
and his face bright and joyous. He took our brother Olaf by the hand,
saying, 'Come with me, friend,' and led him into the Church. Soon after,
King Olaf the Saint came forth again, but not so bright as before. He
came to thee, brother, and led thee with him into the church. Then I
looked for him to come to me and meet me; but it was not so: and I was
seized with great sorrow, and was altogether without strength; so that I
awoke."

Eystein interpreted the dream to mean that Olaf would die young and
innocent; that the Saint was less radiant in coming for himself, because
of his sins; and that Sigurd would be the longest-lived of the three. It
fell out much as the dream had presaged, for Olaf died in early youth.

Sigurd had the restless spirit of the Sea-kings, and became a Crusader.
He spent the first winter in England, the second in aiding the
Christians of Spain against the Moors: he visited the Normans in Sicily,
and, as the King of the whole Northern race, conferred on Count Roger de
Hauteville the title of King of Sicily, and then proceeded to Jerusalem.

Baldwin I. received him splendidly, and availed himself of his aid to
capture the town of Zidon. He left the Holy Land, taking as his reward
a piece of the wood of the True Cross, and returned through
Constantinople. There Alexius Comnenus gave him a magnificent reception,
which he tried to requite by equal Ostentation, repeating Robert of
Normandy's invention of the golden horse-shoes. He was entertained with
grand games in the Hippodrome, where the ancient Greek statues were much
admired by his followers and their Vaeringer brethren, who took them for
their own ancient Asagods. On his departure, he gave Alexius all his
ships, the figure-heads of which were made ornaments for one of the
churches at Constantinople; and some of the presents which he brought
away are still extant in Norway. In one little remote church there has
lately been found a curious Byzantine picture, representing the rescue
of the True Cross from the Persians by the Emperor Heraclius.

In the meantime, Eystein was leading a wise, beneficent, peaceable, and
pious life in Norway. But their different dispositions are best shown
in a discussion that the old Norwegian chronicle has recorded as taking
place soon after Sigurd's return. The two brothers were, in the ancient
fashion, sojourning in the house of one of their bonders, and keeping
open table, when, one evening the ale was not good, Sigurd fell into one
of his moods of gloomy depression, and the guests sat round silent.

The good-natured Eystein said, "Let us fall on some jest to amuse
people; for surely, brother Sigurd, all people are well pleased when we
converse cheerfully."

"Do you talk as much as you please, but let me be silent," returned
Sigurd.

"Nay," said Eystein. "let us follow the old custom over the ale-table
of making comparisons. I will soon make it appear that, different as we
are, we are both equal, and one has no advantage over the other."

He succeeded in drawing his brother into the game; and Sigurd, who was
the taller and stronger, answered, "Do you remember that I was always
able to break your back, if I had pleased, though you are a year older?"

"Yes," said Eystein; "but you were not so good at games that need
agility."

"Do you remember that I could drag you under water, when we swam
together, as often as I pleased?"

"Yes," returned Eystein; "but I could swim as far as you, and dive as
well; and I could run on snow skates so well that no one could beat me,
and you could no more do it than an ox."

"I think," said Sigurd, "you could hardly draw my bow, even if you took
your foot to help."

"I am not so strong at the bow, but there is less difference in our
shooting near."

"Beside," continued the tall Sigurd, "a chief ought to be taller than
other men, easily seen and distinguished."

"Nay," said Eystein, who was the handsomest man in Norway, "good looks
may be an equal distinction. Besides, I am more knowing in the law, and
my words flow more easily."