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 th
e 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."
"Well, you may know more law quirks. I have had something else to do," said the rough warrior. "No one can deny you a smooth tongue; and some say you do not keep to what you promise-which is not kingly."
"Yes, I promise satisfaction to one party before I have heard the other, and then am forced to take something back. It would be easy to do like you-promise evil to all. I never hear any complaint of your not keeping this promise to them."
"Ay, and while I made a princely voyage, you sat at home like
my father's daughter."
"There you take up the cudgel," said Eystein, merrily; "but I know how to answer. If I did sit at home, like my father's daughter, you cannot deny that, like a sister, I furnished you forth."
Sigurd continued: "I was in many a battle in the Saracens' land, and always came off conqueror; I won many precious goods, the like of which were never seen here before; and I was always the most highly esteemed where brave men met: while yours is but a home-bred renown. I went to Palestine, I came to Apulia; but I did not see you there, brother. I gave Roger the Great the title of King. I won seven battles; but you were in none of them. I was at our Lord's grave; but I did not see you there, brother. I went to Jordan, where our Lord was baptized. I swam across the river; but I did not see you there. A willow grew on the bank, and I twisted the boughs into a knot, which is waiting there for you; for I said that you should untie it, and fulfil the vow that is bound up in it."
Cameos from English History, from Rollo to Edward II Page 17
