William remained in Normandy nine months; he wished to bring Matilda with him, that she might be crowned Queen of England; but news of the ill-conduct of his justiciars, Fitz-Osbern and Odo, reached him, and hastened his return, for he found that their outrageous tyranny and injustice had driven the people to revolt. The west of England and Kent had already thrown off the yoke, and in the north, assistance from Denmark was supplicated and promised. William proceeded into the west and subdued Exeter; and at Pentecost he caused Matilda to be crowned with much splendor at Westminster. Ere the close of the year, Henry, his youngest son, was born-the son who, either from his superior abilities, or from the greater care bestowed on his education, for Lanfrane was his instructor, gained the title of Beauclerc. We may remark here that the stern Conqueror was an excellent husband and father. From his wife he received the affection which was justly his due; but his sons, almost from their boyhood, were doomed to become the source of his keenest sorrow. kind; as Sir Francis Palgrave remarks so graphically: "Each tall square dungeon tower, with its fresh walls, harshly and coldly glittering in the sun, standing upon the ground of the habitations which had been demolished, and the gardens and homesteads which had been wasted, to give a site to the fortress in the midst of the people, bespoke the stern determination of the sovereign. They were trophies of the conquest in the strictest sense of the term; warning, threatening the native race." But though overawed, England was not at the end of three years won. It was said that a plot was laid for a general massacre of the Normans; most probably this was but a pretence to justify the severer measures, which from henceforward William seemed determined to adopt, for doubtless the stern Conqueror, whose will had always been law to his followers, must have chafed with rage to find a people, whom he likely enough considered as thoroughly subdued at Hastings, openly defying his power three years after the crown had been placed on his head as their king. Imprisonments, spoliations, executions followed, and William again, though in the depth of winter, set forth for the north, where the Atheling had been proclaimed king, and where a large Danish force was shortly expected to land. The contest was carried on with changeful success, but on reaching Durham the Norman army was seized with a panic, caused by the thick darkness that overspread their path, which was attributed to St. Cuthbert's anger, and William was compelled to return to Winchester. Ere long the Danes landed in Suffolk; they proceeded to York, welcomed right heartily by the whole country, and ere long, excepting the tall dungeon-keep upon which William Mallet still unfurled the Norman banner, the ilized Goths, and the spoils of England with whole of Northumbria was again lost to much the same wonder as those from Rome or the Norman king." William delayed Byzantium. To the great beauty of the English his measures; he was in Mercia suppressduring the whole of the middle ages, we have ing another insurrection on the borders abundant testimony, both of the illuminated of the Welsh marches, but after a battle manuscript and the monumental effigy, beside the remarks of the trouvères, who repeatedly in which he defeated the insurgents, he characterize them as "most fair." The graceful set forth again for the north. At Pontebearing, too, of the female figure has often struck fract he continued long; it was said the us, in turning over Saxon manuscripts. The waters were out and the army could not drawing is rude enough, the proportions often extravagant, but the pose, and especially the pass over; but William was engaged in turn of the head, have a grace that is almost negotiations with the treacherous Danes, and ere long they departed, laden with The reduction of Exeter established tranquillity in Wessex; but the north rose in open revolt, under the brothers Edwin and Morcar, who had now quitted the court, and Waltheof, that powerful earl, had joined them. William advanced against them with his accustomed success, and Edwin and Morcar yielded a compulsory submission. Onward he proceeded to Nottingham, causing there a strong castle to be built, as he had done at Warwick, and from thence to York, where an even stronger citadel arose within the city walls. These manifestations of quiet strength seem to have had their intended effect upon a people whose defences were of the simplest classical, 66 66 English gold, leaving their too credulous Still the Fens held out, for hither Edwin allies to the vengeance of a Conqueror who never knew pity. It was then that William, always a stern ruler and a pitiless warrior," determined to waste the whole country between York and Durham, a course entirely unprecedented, a crime of which "the heathen themselves, Dane, or Goth, or Vandal, had never committed." "On every side the horizon was filled with smoke and smouldering flame, the growing crops were burned upon the field, the stores in the garner, the cattle houghed and killed to feed the crow. All that had been given for the support and sustenance of life was wasted and spoiled. All the habitations were razed, all the edifices that could give shelter to the people were levelled with the ground; wandering and dispersed, the miserable inhabitants endeavored to support life even by devouring the filthy vermin and the decaying carcass. Direful pestilence of course ensued. The same devastations were extended far beyond the Humber, and during nine years subsequent the whole tract between York and Durham continued idle and untilled." It is not surprising that, with this authentic tale of unexampled cruelty, our forefathers should have given a ready credence to the apocryphal story of the New Forest; but we are surprised to find Sir Francis Palgrave alluding to it as an historical fact, for not only is the tale unknown to every contemporary chronicler, but the very character of the land proves that it never could have been cultivated. From the earliest times the barren soil was incapable of producing a single ear of corn; how, then, could flourishing villages have been there? William kept his Christmas at York in grim and gloomy state, and he solemnly wore his crown as King of Northumbria. It was then he made donations to his followers of the greater part of Yorkshire-mostly the possessions of Edwin and Morcar-and then again set forth to suppress the formidable revolt in the Fens. But he was to meet with sterner opposition than he had yet encountered. Meanwhile worn out by their toilsome marches his foreign troops refused to proceed. By threats and promises William, however, succeeded in persuading them, while his iron strength enabled him to set an example by being foremost to climb the rock, or to try the marsh, sometimes even walking if his horse failed. and Morcar had retreated; but the great leader of this rising was Hereward the Outlaw, nephew of the Abbot of Peterborough, that true-hearted Englishman whose name was a cherished household word in many an upland homestead until the fame of the Saxon outlaw became dim in the wider renown of the brave and gentle outlaw of merry Sherwood. A pleasant and stirring tale is that "Geste of Hereward," an almost contemporary narrative, and we have little doubt on the whole authentic. It is like a gleam of sunshine in the midst of darkness and tempest to turn from the chronicles so filled with the records of William's cruel tyranny to the story of the gallant band in the Isle of Ely-how from their marshgirdled fastness they defied force after force arrayed against them-how for long months they kept the fierce Conqueror at bay, nor even when those hapless brothers fell-Morcar, cruelly betrayed into his victor's power, and Edwin so foully assassinated-did Hereward yield. He still flung defiance to the armed host that had lingered on the borders of those treacherous marshes, and when at length the gallant band yielded, not to superior valor, but to starvation, he alone never did homage to the Conqueror. The great Saxon nobles were now all slain or imprisoned, except Waltheof, who having married William's niece was restored to favor, and to his former rank as Earl of Northumbria; but although eight years had now past since Hastings, William was still in danger of losing the kingdom he had won at such a fearful cost of bloodshed and crime. He had depopulated and wasted wide tracts of land, and now his very followers, on whom he had bestowed so much, clamored at the injustice of repaying their services with sterile fields; he had imposed heavy taxes on the land, and the Norman landholder felt this as a heavy grievance— even a wrong. So they leagued together against him, and at the bridal feast of Guader, Earl of East Anglia, met to gether to mature their plans. With deep cunning hither they invited Waltheof, and hither he unwittingly came. It seems doubtful whether he took part in their counsels, but he was present when treason was planned. He, however repented of his connivance, and took counsel of Lanfranc, who urged him to seek the king. Waltheof passed over to Normandy, but William received him sternly, and proffered no forgive ness, for his perfidious wife had already accused him of active participation. Meanwhile the Norman insurgents advanced into the west, and also toward London; but such was the hatred the Saxons bore towards them, that they heartily coöperated with the king's troops. Guader the chief, completely defeated, escaped to Denmark, the others fled or were captured, and when William wore his crown at the following Christmas, it was as judge in his High Court of Justice pronouncing their sentences. Savage were the punishments inflicted by the king upon the meaner criminals; but as imprisonment had been the severest doom pronounced on the leaders who had not found safety in flight, a milder sentence was anticipated for the Saxon earl, who had certainly taken no part in the actual treason. But the rapacious nobles hungered for his broad lands; perhaps they found a savage pleasure in the thought of the last of the Saxon thanes dying on a scaffold. The council, however, could not agree, and he was therefore committed a prisoner to the Castle of Winchester. But although the prison doors might open to a Norman, against the Saxon they were closed for more than a twelvemonth, and Waltheof passed his time in devotion, not improbably expecting his fate. And then arose reports that a rescue was intended a convenient plea for those who for so many months had hungered for his broad lands; so, "Very early in the chill gray of the dawning morn, was Waltheof brought forth upon the rising ground beside Winchester, where the church of St. Giles afterward stood. He knelt before the block, and began to repeat the Lord's prayer, but before he could complete the petition ne nos inducas in tentationem,' the sword of the headsman swung, and when the citizens were coming forth to their daily labors, the train of priests and beadsmen returning, told them the fate of the last Saxon earl." William, in this cruel murder of Waltheof, seems to have filled up the measure of his crimes against the Saxon race. But, crushed down as they were, he was compelled to yield to their voice, and allow the body-insultingly buried at the foot of the scaffold-to be reverently conveyed to Croyland, with procession and chant, and there placed beneath a stately tomb in the chapterhouse. And thither crowds repaired, with blessings on his memory, and curses upon the ruthless king; and far and wide among the Anglo-Danish population over whom he had ruled, was that rude lament sung, a fragment only of which remains to us: "William came o'er the sea; "Earl Waltheof he slew A strange retributive justice seemed to track the king, even from the day he decreed Earl Waltheof's death. Never again during the remainder of his reign did he enjoy peace; never did he prosper. The Danes again entered the Humber, plundered York, and sailed away with the spoil. Brittany took up arms against Normandy, and when William advanced against the duke, he was repulsed, leaving stores and treasures behind him. But worse, his eldest son, Robert, a youth already distinguished by most profligate habits, and a most unnatural hatred towards his brothers, now claimed the duchy of Normandy, and ere long sought to take up arms against his own father, aided by many of the discontented nobles. But Robert had not wealth at command to maintain his followers, so he quitted Normandy, wandering from court to court, abusing his father, and seeking to excite public opinion against him, for nearly three years, all the time depending on the surreptitious supplies his doating mother could send him. At length he received from the French king the castle of Gerberoi, and from thence he menaced Normandy. William laid siege to the castle; he actually fought in person among the besiegers, and he engaged in single conflict with a knight who wounded him. His cry of anguish stayed his foeman's hand, for it was father and son engaged in deadly com bat! Defeated, humbled, chafing with grief and anger, the Conqueror of Has tings "retreated from the single donjon tower of Gerberoi." A reconciliation was now attempted, in which the Pope took part; peace was concluded, but William was compelled again to confirm the reversion of Normandy to the son who had borne arms against him. He gave the required promise, but he sealed it with a fatal curse, "and the father's ban was fulfilled in the child's destruction." No peace in his family, no peace in England, was there for the Conqueror. Waltheof's northern possessions became a curse to whoever held them. All the territory of St. Cuthbert was in arms, and robbery and murder even of the bishop followed. The Scottish king advanced as far as the Tyne, and rich spoils rewarded his successful raid, while Denmark stood meditating a new invasion. Weighed down with sorrow, William returned to England with the only companion who really loved him, Matilda, but who was now fast sinking into the grave. Meanwhile the mysterious conduct of his half-brother, Odonow almost the only one remaining of his early counsellors awakened his anxiety. Whether Odo had ever thought of really seizing the kingdom is very uncertain, but that he contemplated attaining the papacy seems likely. Perhaps William equally feared either. He caused him to be seized when crossing over with troops to Normandy, and placed on his trial. Odo claimed the privileges of the church, but William rejected the appeal. "I judge not the bishop," said he," but my accountant and minister" Odo was consigned to harsh captivity in the castle of Rouen; but, released from anxiety on his account, a sorer trouble was about to befall the stern Conqueror. Ere the close of the year, the only true friend, the only one whom he dared to trust, his faithful wife, Matilda, died; and as he stood by her closing tomb in the church of the Holy Trinity at Caen, he must have felt that, hated by those around him, and abhorred by the Saxon race, he was indeed alone in the world. William survived Matilda almost four years; but these years brought no softening influences. Rebellion had been crushed in England, but it had been followed by grievous taxation. Here it had been sullenly submitted to, but in Maine it produced revolt, and again he took up arms. Four years did the pride and flower of Norman chivalry besiege the strong castle of St. Susanne, only to see their bravest killed or shamefully repulsed from its walls. "The bravery which had gained a kingdom was foiled by one dungeon tower," and William was compelled to close the warfare by restoring the chief rebel to his former station and favor. The Conqueror's last sojourn in England was marked by two very important acts. The first, the compilation of Domesdaybook, Sir Francis Palgrave thinks was probably undertaken at the suggestion of Lanfranc. "The calligraphy betrays an Italian hand, and we also first find in Domesday those abbreviations, afterwards so common in our legal documents, but which in fact are derived from the Tyronian notes of the Romans." A noble relic of an age called barbarous is this Domesday, the oldest survey of a kingdom now existing in the world. It is scarcely surprising that it was viewed with indignation, for so grievously heavy had been the taxation, that each man's name and land, noted down so formally in a book, must have seemed proof that even farther exactions were in prospect. William's last act was that of summoning all his barons, together with all his landholders, to Sarum, on Lammas Day, 1086, and there imposing "the oath of fealty upon all, without distinction of tenure"-a most important act, since, as Hallam remarks, it "broke in upon the feudal compact in its most essential attribute, the exclusive dependence of the vassal on his lord." This was the last public appearance of the stern Conqueror. Normandy now claimed his care. Robert was in open rebellion against his father, and the Duke of Brittany was preparing to throw off his obedience to his father-inlaw, and against these, the foes of his own house, he had to make war. Ruthless to the last, he inflicted a heavy impost on the land, already suffering from storms, and blight, and pestilence, and then crossed over to Normandy, never to return. Still evil fortune pursued the king. He tone of the great cathedral bell. It is the answer to his inquiry. Then were the priesthour of prime,' replied the attendants in hood welcoming with voices of thanksgiving the renewed gift of another day, and sending forth the choral prayer that the hours might flow on in holiness until blessed at their close. But his time of labor and struggle, of sin and repentance, was past. William lifted up his hands in prayer, and expired." was compelled by defeat to make peace brightness on its walls, William was half with his son-in-law, while his own son awakened from his imperfect slumbers by the incited the turbulent burgesses of Man-measured, mellow, reverberating, swelling tes to revolt. A dispute arose, too, with the King of France, and for the last time William braced on his mail. It was glorious autumn weather; "the harvest ripening, the grape swelling, the fruit reddening, when William entered the fertile land." As he advanced, the corn was trodden down, the vineyards rooted up, and the city wantonly set on fire. William, aged and unwieldy in body, yet fierce and active in mind, rejoiced with a horrid joy amid this desolation, as he spurred his steed through the burning ruins; but the steed stumbled and fell, and his rider received his death-blow. He was taken to Rouen, and from thence, for greater quiet, to St. Gervase, but his end, attended by much suffering, drew near. It was then that the cruel Conqueror deplored his birth, his whole career of crime and bloodshed. "No tongue can tell," said he, "the deeds of wickedness I have perpetrated in my weary pilgrimage of toil and care." But his two younger sons are standing beside him, not to soothe his sufferings, but anxious to know who is to be heir. "Let Robert take Normandy, for it has been assured to him; but England ?". "All the wide wasting wretchedness produced by his ambition arose up before him, and he declared he dared not bestow the realm he had thus fearfully won." But Rufus urged his petition, until the dying man directed a writ to be addressed to Lanfranc, commanding him to place Rufus on the throne. Henry was scantly quieted with a gift of five thousand pounds of silver. So they kissed him, and hurried off. But his captives-those kept so many years in hard durance-not without much entreaty did William, although agonized alike with pain and remorse, consent, for implacable was he to the last. At length he gave assent that all, even Odo, should be set free. "This act of grudging, coerced, extorted forgiveness was his last. A night of somewhat diminished suffering ensued, when the troubled and expiring body takes a dull, painful, unrestful rest before its last earthly repose. But as the cheerful, life-giving rays of the rising sun were darting above the horizon, across the sad apartment, and shedding All was now confusion; the men of high degree rushing to horse to secure their possessions, those of lower degree seizing whatever could be taken; while the wretches who hung about the court stripped the body even of its last garment, and left it on the floor. At length the clergy, roused from their consternation, began to offer up the prayers of the church, and a knight of humble fortune, one Herlouin, took charge of the neglected king's obsequies, and, as sole mourner, reverently attended the coffin to Caen. At the gates the clergy came forth; but a fire broke out, and the procession passed through streets filed with stifling smoke, and crowded with affrighted fugitives, to St. Stephen's Abbey, where the grave was dug, and the service begun; but even now the body was not to be lowered peaceably into its last resting-place. a poor man, stood up, denounced the injustice of the king, and demanded payment for his grave. Inquiry was made; the land it was found had been violently wrested from the rightful owner; so the price was paid, the swollen body was lowered bursting into the ground; and "thus was William the Conqueror gathered to his fathers, with loathing, disgust, and horror." How must such a tale have addressed itself to the feelings of a superstitious age? how must the Saxon peasant have dwelt with stern delight on each revolting detail as he looked upon the daisy-strewn mounds in the green churchyard where his fathers slept, for when had even the poorest tiller of the ground so deserted a death-bed, or so dishonored an obsequy, as the victor of Hastings? Ascelin, In what light shall we view the Conquest? It was a stern visitation, replies Sir Francis Palgrave, for "in the same manner as the sins of the European |