fallen on him was spread through the land, the enemies of peace rejoiced, deeming that they might now seize on the goods of other men at pleasure, but that those to whom peace was dear looked forward with dread to the death of the man who had so long kept the land in order. Well indeed they might fear, when there was a chance that the rod which had been so long and so mightily wielded by William the Great should pass into the feeble hands of the wayward Robert. Bishops and abbots and other holy men were now gathered round the bed of William to prepare their mighty master for his great change. But one was wanting whose words for rebuke or comfort William specially longed for in that hour, one towards whom, stern as he had been towards others, he had ever been meek and lowly. Of all the prelates of Normandy, the one to whom William's thoughts first turned as the chosen physician of his soul was the holy man who sat in the place of Herlwin. At the bidding of his sovereign Anselm came from Bec to Rouen, but he was himself smitten by sickness, and the confessor and his expectant penitent never met again. But among the assembled prelates were men able to deal with the diseases of William's body as well as with those of his soul. For among them was Gilbert of Lisieux, skilled in the healing art, and his skill and that of his fellow-leeches told them that there was no longer any hope for William on earth. The death-bed of William was a death-bed of all formal devotion, a death-bed of penitence, which we may trust was more than formal. The English chronicler, after weighing the good and evil in him, sends him out of the world with a charitable prayer for his soul's rest; and his repentance, late and fearful as it was, at once marks the distinction between the Conqueror on his bed of death, and his successor cut off without a thought of penitence in the midst of his crimes. He made his will. The mammon of unrighteousness which he had gathered together amid the groans and tears of England he now strove so to dispose of as to pave his way to an everlasting habitation. All his treasures were distributed among the poor and the churches of his dominions. A special sum was set apart for the rebuilding of the churches which had been burned at Mantes, and gifts in money and books and ornaments of every kind were to be distributed among all the churches of England according to their rank. He then spoke of his own life and of the arrangements which he wished to make for his dominions after his death. The Normans, he said, were a brave and unconquered race; but they needed the curb of a strong and a righteous master to keep them in the path of order. Yet the rule over them must by all law pass to Robert. Robert was his eldest born; he had promised him the Norman succession before he won the crown of England, and he had received the homage of the barons of the duchy. Normandy and Maine must therefore pass to Robert, and for them he must be the man of the French king. Yet he well knew how sad would be the fate of the land which had to be ruled by one so proud and foolish, and for whom a career of shame and sorrow was surely doomed. But what was to be done with England? Now at last the heart of William smote him. To England he dared not appoint a successor; he could only leave the disposal of the island realm to the Almighty Ruler of the world. The evil deeds of his past life crowded upon his soul. Now at last his heart confessed that he had won England by no right, by no claim of birth; that he had won the English crown by wrong, and that what he had won by wrong he had no right to give to another. He had won his realm by warfare and bloodshed; he had treated the sons of the English soil with needless harshness; he had cruelly wronged nobles and commons; he had spoiled many men wrongfully of their inheritance; he had slain countless multitudes by hunger or by the sword. The harrying of Northumberland now rose up before his eyes in all its blackness. The dying man now told how cruelly he had burned and plundered the land, what thousands of every age and sex among the noble nation which he had conquered had been done to death at his bidding. The sceptre of the realm which he had won by so many crimes he dared not hand over to any but to God alone. Yet he would not hide his wish that his son William, who had been ever dutiful to him, might reign in England after him. He would send him beyond the sea, and he would pray Lanfranc to place the crown upon his head, if the Primate in his wisdom deemed that such an act could be rightly done. Of the two sons of whom he spoke, Robert was far away, a banished rebel; William was by his bedside. By his bedside also stood his youngest son, the English Etheling, Henry the Clerk. 'And what dost thou give to me, my father?' said the youth. 'Five thousand pounds of silver from my hoard,' was the Conqueror's answer. 'But of what use is a hoard to me,' said Henry, 'if I have no place to dwell in?' 'Be patient, my son, and trust in the Lord, and let thine elders go before thee.' It is perhaps by the light of later events that our chronicler goes on to make William tell his youngest son that the day would come when he would succeed both his brothers in their dominions, and would be richer and mightier than either of them. The king then dictated a letter to Lanfranc, setting forth his wishes with regard to the kingdom. He sealed it and gave it to his son William, and bade him, with his blessing and his last kiss, to cross at once into England. William Rufus straightway set forth for Witsand, and there heard of his father's death. Meanwhile Henry too left his father's bedside to take for himself the money that was left to him, to see that nothing was lacking in its weight, to call together his comrades in whom he could trust, and to take measures for stowing the treasure in a place of safety. And now those who stood around the dying king began to implore his mercy for the captives whom he held in prison. Among them was a long list of the noblest both of England and Normandy. There was Wulfnoth the son of Godwine and Wulf the son of Harold, whose lives had been lives of captivity from their childhood. There were Morkere and Elfgar and Siward Barn, the captives of Ely, Roger the rebel Earl of Hereford, and lastly, William's own brother Odo, once Earl of Kent and still Bishop of Bayeux. He granted the prayer. Let the captives only swear that they would not disturb the peace either of England or Normandy, and all should come forth, save one alone. Odo he would not release. The man whom he had imprisoned for the common weal of his kingdom, the oppressor of the people, the plunderer of the Church, the man of pride and lust and cruelty, should not be set free by him. He spoke as the father of his people, knowing that, if Odo were once more let loose to trouble the world, the ruin of thousands would follow. Yet once more the men who stood around William's bed, first among them Odo's own brother, Robert of Mortain, prayed for the pardon of his brother. They daringly pledged themselves for Odo's reformation, and William gave orders that Odo should be set free, again protesting that the death and ruin of many would follow. The last earthly acts of the Conqueror were now done. He had striven to make his peace with God and man, and to make such provision as he could for the children and the subjects whom he left behind him. And now his last hour was come. On a Thursday morning in September, when the sun had already risen upon the earth, the sound of the great bell of the metropolitan minster struck on the ears of the dying king. He asked why it sounded. He was told that it rang for prime in the church of Our Lady. William lifted his eyes to heaven, he stretched forth his hands, and spake his last words: 'To my Lady Mary, the holy Mother of God, I commend myself, that by her holy prayers she may reconcile me to her dear Son our Lord Jesus Christ.' He prayed, and his soul passed away. William, King of the English and Duke of the Normans, the man whose fame has filled the world in his own and in every following age, had gone the way of all flesh. No kingdom was left him now but his seven feet of ground, and even to that his claim was not to be undisputed. ST. CRISPIN'S DAY. Westmoreland. E. A. FREEMAN. O that we now had here Enter KING HENRY. But one ten thousand of those men in England King Henry. What's he that wishes so? My cousin Westmoreland ?—No, my fair cousin : To do our country loss; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not if men my garments wear; I am the most offending man alive. No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England: |