Chapter XXIX: Appendix: NOTE A. Vol. i. p. 11 (9)

It must be remembered that William of Malmesbury puts this story altogether out of place. It is put yet further out of its place by Wace (15106), who makes the capture of Helias follow the siege of Mayet (see p. 289). His version brings in some new details. Helias, having been taken prisoner, makes (15120) a boastful speech to his keepers, swearing by the patron saint of his city that, if he had not fallen by chance into an ambuscade, he would soon have driven the King of England out of all his lands beyond the sea (15120);

“Mais or vos dirai une rien:
Par monseignor Saint-Julien,
Se jo ne fusse si tost pris,
Mult éust poi en cest païs.
El rei eusse fait tant guerre,
Ke dechà la mer d’Engleterre
Plein pié de terre n’en éust,
Ne tur ne chastel ki suen feust;
Maiz altrement est avenu,
Il a cunquis è jo perdu.”

When this is told to the King, he causes Helias to be brought before him; he gives him a horse, and bids him mount and ride whither he will; only he had better take care that he is not caught again, as he will not be let out of prison a second time;

“Dunc le fist li reis amener,
E des buies le fist oster,
Son palefrei fist demander
E mult richement enseler;
El conte dit: Dans quens, muntez
Alez kel part ke vos volez,
Fetes al mielx ke vos porrez,
Maiz altre feiz mielx vos gardez;
Kar se jo vos prene altre feiz,
Jamez de ma prison n’iestreiz.
Ne voil mie ke vos kuideiz
Ke de guerre sorpris seiz,
Mais vos n’ireiz jà nule part,
Ke jo près dos ne vos gart.”
(vv. 15134-15147.)

In this version the horse is something new, though not at all out of place, as Helias could not well get away without a horse, and he could not have had any horse at his command at the moment. We may note also that William is here made, whether seriously or in mockery, to give Helias the title of Count, “Dans quens.” But the story has very much come down from the level of either of the other versions. The boastful speech to the keepers is not at all in the style of Helias, and it is a poor substitute either for the dignified offer and defiance in Orderic or for the lively dialogue in William of Malmesbury. This last we should gladly have had in Wace’s version, as there would have been some faint chance of recovering a scrap or two more of the original French to match the “Dans quens,” which has a genuine ring on the one hand, as the “magister” and the “nebulo” of William of Malmesbury have on the other.

* * * * *

Geoffrey Gaimar too (Chroniques Anglo-Normandes, i. 37) has a version in which Helias, when a prisoner, makes a boastful speech to the effect that, if it had not been by an ambush, he would never have been taken;

“Li quiens des Mans ert en prison,
Aüner voleit grant rançon;
Mès ceo diseit que, s’il séust
Qe l’om issi prendre le deust,
Tut autrement se contenist,
Li rois les Mans jà ne préist.”

He is brought before the King, to whom he says that he is much beloved in his land, and that, if he were only able to assemble his men, no king could subdue him in it. William lets him go to see what he can do, and gives up to him Le Mans and all the castles of the country;

“Quant fut conté devant le roi,
Si le fist mener devant soi;
Par bel amur li ad demandé
S’il estoit issi vaunté
Cil respondit: ‘Sire, jo’l dis,
Mult sui amé en cest païs.
Il n’ad souz ciel si fort roi,
Si par force venist sus moi,
Qu’il ne perdist, si jeo le seusse,
Pur quei ma gent assemblé eusse.’
Li rois, quant l’ot, si prent à rire:
Par bel amur et nient par ire,
Li comanda q’il s’en alast,
Préist les Mans, s’il guerreiast.
Et cil fui lez, si s’en ala.
Touz ses chastels renduz li a
Li rois par bone volonté,
Rendit les Mans la forte cité.”

Helias calls on his barons to help him in war with the King; but they decline, and advise him to give up the city and all the castles, and to become the King’s man. He does so; otherwise the poet says that the King would have thrown aside his friendship, and that he would have taken the castles and put all concerned to a vile death;

“Et cil manda pur ses barons,
Moveir voloit les contençons,
Mès si baron li ont loé
Qu’il rende au roi la cité
Et les chasteus de son païs,
Son hom lige seit tuz dis.
Li quens Elyes issi fist,
Onc ses homes n’en contredist.
Et s’il issi ne l’éust fet
Mult fust entre els en amur plet;
Li rois par force les préist
Et de vile mort les occeist.”

I need hardly stop to show how utterly unhistorical all this is. But the “bel amur,” the challenge, the release of the Count and the surrender of the city and the castles, the general looking on war as a kind of game, are all highly characteristic of the chivalrous King. The last words indeed give us the other side of chivalry; but I confess that they seem to me to be unfair to William Rufus, however well they might suit Robert of Bellême. Geoffrey Gaimar lived to see times when the doings of Robert of Bellême, exceptional in his own day, had become the general rule.

NOTE PP. Vol. ii. p. 284.

THE VOYAGE OF WILLIAM RUFUS TO TOUQUES.

This story is told by a great many writers; but, as in the story of the interview of William Rufus and Helias, our two main versions are those of Orderic (775 A) and of William of Malmesbury (iv. 320). And, as in the case of that story, with which William of Malmesbury couples it, he tells it simply as an illustrative anecdote, while with Orderic it is part of his regular narrative. And again William throws one of the speeches into the form of a familiar classical quotation, and the curious apology quoted in the last note is made to apply to this story as well as to the other. At the same time there is no actual contradiction between the two versions. The messenger――Amalchis according to Orderic――reaches England and finds the King in the New Forest. He thus (775 A) describes the delivery of the message; “Ille mari transfretato Clarendonam venit, regi cum familiaribus suis in Novam Forestam equitanti obviavit, et alacriter inquirenti rumores, respondit, Cœnomannis per proditionem surrepta est. Verum dominus meus Balaonem custodit, et regalis familia omnes munitiones sibi assignatas sollerter observavit, auxiliumque regalis potentiæ vehementer desiderat, in hostile robur quod eos undique includit et impugnat.” William of Malmesbury (iv. 320) does not mention the place; “Venationi in quadam silva intentum nuntius detinuit ex transmarinis partibus, obsessam esse civitatem Cinomannis, quam nuper fratre profecto suæ potestati adjecerat.” This is a somewhat inadequate summary of the Cenomannian war.

Now comes the King’s answer, in which I have ventured in the text to bring in both the speeches which are attributed to Rufus on first hearing the news of the loss of Le Mans. In Orderic the story stands thus;

“His auditis, rex dixit, ‘Eamus trans mare, nostros
adjuvare. Eodem momento inconsultis omnibus equum habenis
regiravit, ipsumque calcaribus urgens ad pontum festinavit,
et in quandam vetustam navim quam forte invenit, sine regio
apparatu velut plebeius intravit et remigare protinus
imperavit. Sic nimirum nec congruentem flatum nec socios nec
alia quæ regiam dignitatem decebant exspectavit; sed omnis
metus expers fortunæ et pelago sese commisit, et sequenti
luce ad portum Tolchæ, Deo duce, salvus applicuit.’”

He then goes on with the graphic details of the landing at Touques and the ride to Bonneville, which find no place in William of Malmesbury. William’s version is as follows;

“Statim ergo ut expeditus erat retorsit equum, iter ad mare
convertens. Admonentibus ducibus exercitum advocandum,
paratos componendos, ‘Videbo,’ ait, ‘quis me sequetur;
putatis me non habiturum homines? si cognovi juventutem
meam, etiam naufragio ad me venisse volet.’ Hoc igitur modo
pene solus ad mare pervenit. Erat tunc nubilus aer et ventus
contrarius; flatus violentia terga maris verrebat. Illum
statim transfretare volentem nautæ exorant ut pacem pelagi
et ventorum clementiam operiatur. ‘Atqui,’ inquit rex,
‘numquam audivi regem naufragio interiisse.’ Quin potius
solvite retinacula navium, videbitis elementa jam conspirata
in meum obsequium. Ponto transito, obsessores, ejus audita
fama, dissiliunt.”

Then follows the interview with Helias, quite out of place.

Here we have several separate details in each version; but they quite fit into one another. Of Rufus’ two speeches before he rides off, each seems to need the support of the other. The speech to the sailors lurks as it were in the words of Orderic, “remigare protinus imperavit,” and his other words, “fortunæ et pelago sese commisit,” suggest the same general idea which comes out in them. They suggest the well-known story of Cæsar which William of Malmesbury seems to have in his head, which is told by Florus (iv. ii. 37), Appian (Bell. Civ. ii. 57), and Plutarch (Cæsar, 38). The Latin writer says only “Quid times? Caesarem vehis?” while the two Greek writers bring in the word τύχη [tychê] (Ἴθι, γενναῖε, τόλμα καὶ δέδιθι μηδέν. Καίσαρα φέρεις καὶ τὴν Καίσαρος τύχην συμπλέουσαν). ([Ithi, gennaie, tolma kai dedithi mêden. Kaisara phereis kai tên Kaisaros tychên sympleousan]). Our writers are not likely to have read either of the Greek books, and there is enough about “Fortuna” in the passage of Lucan (v. 577-593) which William of Malmesbury at least must have had in his eye, and where the few words of Appian and the fewer of Florus grow into a speech of many lines. The odd thing however is that the actual words do not seem to come from anything in Lucan, but to be in a manner made up out of two passages of Claudian. We get the sentiment in one (De III Cons. Hon. 96);

“O nimium dilecte Deo, cui fundit ab antris
Æolus armatas hiemes, cui militat æther,
Et conjurati veniunt ad classica venti.”

But the actual words come nearer to the other (De IV Cons. Hon. 284);

“Nonne vides, operum quo se pulcherrimus ille
Mundus amore ligat, nec vi connexa per ævum
Conspirant elementa sibi?”

Just as in the other story, we may suppose that Rufus said something which, in the course of improving into Latin, suggested the words of the two Latin poets. The saying that he had never heard of a king being drowned surely has the genuine stamp of the Red King about it. And it is to be remembered that there is a passage which evidently refers to the same story in a grave contemporary, who takes his quotations, not from heathen poets but from the New Testament. Eadmer (54) attributes to William Rufus, as a general privilege, something like what in our own day we have been used to call “Queen’s weather;”

“Ventus insuper et ipsum mare videbantur ei obtemperare.
Verum dico, non mentior, quia quum de Anglia in Normanniam
transire vel inde cursum prout ipsum voluntas sua ferebat,
redire volebat, mox, illo adveniente, et mari
appropinquante, omnis tempestas, quæ nonnunquam immane
sæviebat, sedabatur, et transeunti mira tranquillitate
famulabatur.”

It is worth notice that the same idea is found, besides Lucan and Claudian, in a third Latin writer, who is much less likely to have been known to either Orderic or William of Malmesbury. This is in the Panegyric addressed by Eumenius to the elder Constantius (Pan. Vet. v. 14). He is describing the voyage of Constantius to Britain to put down Allectus, when, as in the cases of Cæsar and William Rufus, the weather was bad;

“Quis enim se, quamlibet iniquo mari, non auderet credere,
te navigante? Omnium, ut dicitur, accepto nuntio
navigationis tuæ, una vox et hortatio fuit; ‘Quid dubitamus?
quid moramur? Ipse jam solvit, jam provehitur, jam fortasse
pervenit. Experiamur omnia, per quoscumque fluctus eamus.
Quid est, quod timere possimus? Cæsarem sequimur.’”

Eumenius of course had the story of the earlier Cæsar in his mind.

In all these versions the saying of William Rufus seems to be quoted as an instance of his pride and irreverence. Matthew Paris alone (Hist. Angl. i. 166) gives his speech an unexpectedly pious turn. To the shipman, who addresses him as “hominum audacissime” and asks “numquid tu ventis et mari poteris imperare?” he answers, “Non frequenter [no longer “never” but “hardly ever”] auditum est, reges Christianos Deum invocantes fluctibus fuisse submersos. Aliqui de oppressis et obsessis apud Cenomannem orant pro me, quos Deus, etsi non me, clementer exaudiet.” Matthew also makes the news be brought to the King, not when he is hunting, but when he is at a feast.

* * * * *

The story is found, in one shape or another, in all the riming chronicles. Wace (14908), who tells the whole story of Helias’ entry into Le Mans with great spirit, but utterly out of place, gives a vivid picture of the coming of the messenger;

“En Engleterre esteit li reis,
Mult out Normanz, mult out Engleis;
Brachez aveit fet demander,
En boiz voloit aler berser.
Eis vus par là un sergeant
Ki d’ultre mer veneit errant;
Li reis l’a mult tost entercié;
El Mans garder l’aveit leissié,
Crié li a è dist de luing;
Ke font el Mans, out il busuing?
Sire, dist-il, li Mans est pris,
Li quens Helies s’est enz mis,
La cité a Helies prise,
E la tor ad entor assise;
Normanz ki dedenz sa defendent.”

The passage in its general effect, and to some extent in its actual words, recalls the better known description (10983; cf. N. C. vol. iii. p. 258) of the news of Eadward’s death and Harold’s election being brought to William the Great. It is perhaps to make the two scenes more completely tally that Rufus, who, in Orderic and William of Malmesbury, is already engaged in hunting, is in this version merely going out to hunt. Of his father it was said;

“Mult aveit od li chevaliers
E dameisels et esquiers.”

But the son,

“Mult out _Normanz_, mult out _Engleis_.”

This reminds us of the other passage (see above, p. 533) where “Normans” and “English” are made to help the fallen Rufus before Saint Michael’s Mount. And the question again presents itself; What did Wace exactly mean by Normans and English? We must remember his position. Wace was a writer locally Norman, the chronicler of the Norman Conquest, writing when, in England itself, the distinction of races had nearly died out. His way of thinking and speaking, as that of one accustomed to past times, would most likely be different both from that of the time of which he is writing and from that which would be familiar to either Normans or English――whether _genere_ or _natione_――in his own time. In Rufus’ day “Normanz et Engleiz” would have meant “Normanni et Angli _genere_,;” but it is not likely that many “Angli _genere_” would be in the immediate company of the King. In Wace’s own day, “Normanz et Engleiz” already meant “Normanni et Angli _natione_;” only there would hardly have been any occasion for using the phrase. Wace very likely used the phrase in a slightly different sense in the two passages. Before the Mount, in describing a warlike exploit, he most likely meant simply Norman and English _natione_. In the present passage his mind perhaps floated between the two meanings.

The King hears the news brought by the sergeant; he gives up his purpose of hunting that day, and swears his usual oath by the face of Lucca that those who have done him this damage shall pay for it;

“Li reis mua tot son corage
Dès ke il oï li message.
Li vo de Luche en a juré
Ke mult sera chier comperé.
Cest serement aveit en us,
Ne faiseit nul serement plus.”

He bids the messenger to cross the sea as fast as he can, to go to Le Mans and to tell his forces there that by God’s help he will be there to help them in eight days;

“D’ore en wit jors el Mans serai,
Dunc se Dex plaist les secorrai.”

He then――being in England, it must be remembered――asks the nearest way to Le Mans. On the direct line which is shown him, there is a well-built house. He says that he will not for a hundred marks of silver turn a hundred feet out of the way. So he has the house pulled down, and rides over the site to Southampton――not alone, in this version, but with a following;

“Une maiziere li mostrerent,
Ço distrent ke il Mans ert là,
E ço dist ke par la ira;
Por cenz mars d’argent, ço diseit,
Del Mans cenz piez n’esluingnereit
De là, ù il ses piez teneit,
Quant li besuing del Mans oeit,
Dunc fist abatre la maiziere,
Ki mult esteit bone et entiere;
La maiziere fu abatue
E fete fu si grant l’issue
Ke li Reis Ros è li vassal
I passerent tuit à cheval.”

Absurd as this story is, and utterly irreconcileable with the earlier versions, there is still a ring of William Rufus about it. And we may safely accept Southampton as the haven from which he set out. But the zeal for taking the straightest road which was so strong on him by land seems to have passed away by sea, as he goes not to Touques but to Barfleur, certainly not the nearest point for getting from Southampton to Le Mans. The story of the voyage is told in much the same way as in William of Malmesbury, the speech to the sailors standing thus;

“Unkes, dist-il, n’oï parler
De Rei ki fu néié en mer;
Fetes vos nés el parfont traire,
Essaïez ke porreiz faire.”

Geoffrey Gaimar (Chroniques Anglo-Normandes, i. 32) makes the messenger bring a letter, which the King seemingly gives to Randolf Flambard to read;

“‘Tenez cest bref, sire reis.’
Li reis le prist, tost le fruissat,
Ranulf Flambard le bref baillat.”

He sends the messenger back with a letter; he rides to Southampton, orders a force to be got together to follow him, and himself crosses with a company of twelve hundred rich knights. Otherwise the tale is essentially the same. But it is worth noticing that Geoffrey, when he gets among sea-faring folk, uses two English words (the steersman we have already met with in his English garb in Domesday; see N. C. vol. v. p. 763);

“Et il od mesnée privée,
Vint à la mier, si l’ad passée,
Encontre vent la mier passa.
Le _stieresman_ li demanda
S’il voleit contre vent aler
Et périller enz en la mier.
Li rois respont; ‘N’estœt parler,
Onques ne veistes roi néer,
Ne jéo n’ierc jà le primer.
Fetes vos _eschipes_ nager.’
Tant ont nagé et governé
Q’en Barbefloe e sont arivé.
Il out de privée meisnée
Mil-et-ii cenz à cele fiée.
Tuit erent riches chevaliers;
Sacez, li rois les out mult chers.”

Benoît (v. 40379) gives no details peculiar to himself; but he is worth comparing with the others as a piece of language;

“Si fu de passer corajos,
Volunteris e desiros:
Mais mult furent li vent contraire
E la mers pesme e deputaire.”

But the central speech about a king being drowned is in much the same words as in the other riming versions;

“E li reis corajos e proz
Responeit e diseit a toz
C’unques n’aveit oï parler
De ré qui fust neiez en mer,
N’il ne sera jà li premiers.”

This writer does not mention Southampton, Touques, Barfleur, or any particular port.

* * * * *

The doctrine that kings were never drowned might seem to be contradicted by the popular interpretation of the fate of the Pharaoh of Exodus. But the text certainly does not imply that the Pharaoh himself was drowned. On the other hand, there is somewhere the story of an Irish king who, setting out with his fleet, was met by Noah’s flood――conceived seemingly as something like the bore in the Severn――and was drowned.

It is worth while comparing this story of William Rufus with the behaviour of our next king of the same name in a case somewhat like this, when he too was sailing from England to the land of his birth. When William the Third was in danger in an open boat off the isle of Goree, we read (Macaulay, Hist. Eng. iv. 2);

“The hardiest mariners showed signs of uneasiness. But
William, through the whole night, was as composed as if he
had been in the drawing-room at Kensington. ‘For shame,’ he
said to one of the dismayed sailors: ‘are you afraid to die
in my company?’”

The difference between the two speeches is characteristic. But the parallel of Cæsar was seized on in both cases. Among the pageants when William entered the Hague (iv. 5), when the events of his own life were represented, this scene was shown;

“There, too, was a boat amidst the ice and the breakers; and
above it was most appropriately inscribed, in the majestic
language of Rome, the saying of the great Roman, ‘What dost
thou fear? Thou hast Cæsar on board.’”

NOTE QQ. Vol. ii. p. 289.

THE SIEGE OF MAYET.

I visited Mayet with Mr. Fowler and Mr. Parker in July, 1879, when we examined many other of the castles and sites of castles in that neighbourhood. But we could not pitch on the actual site of the siege of Mayet with the same confidence with which we fixed most of the sites of our present story. The evidence is by no means so clear as it is in the case of most of the Cenomannian towns and fortresses. There are in truth too many sites to choose from.

The small town of Mayet is not rich in antiquities. Its ancient church has been, first desecrated, and then swept away. Nor is the town itself immediately commanded by any fortress, like those of Fresnay, Beaumont, and Ballon. But two spots lie to the east of the town which cannot fail to have had some share in our history. A large house of the _Renaissance_, with portions of an earlier castle worked into it, stands at the foot of a low hill at some distance from the town, and with a good deal of swampy ground lying between them. This boasts itself to be the site of the fortress where the second Cenomannian expedition of William the Red came to so strange and lame an ending. But there are no traces of eleventh-century work remaining, and the site itself is most unlike the site of an eleventh-century fortress. The hill immediately above the house, far lower than Ballon or any of its fellows, does make some feeble approach to the favourite peninsular shape, and fancy at least has traced, amid the havoc made by the plough, some faint signs of ditches and made ground. On the high ground on the other side of the swamp, less completely cut off from the town, rises a mound, of whose artificial construction and military purpose there can be no doubt, and where ancient objects of various kinds are said to have been found. But this mound seems far too small to have been the site of such a stronghold as the castle of Mayet appears in our story. Could we believe it to have been thrown up during William’s siege, as a besieging mound, like those of which we have so often heard, its interest as regards our story would be almost as great as if it were the site of the head castle itself. But it seems too far off for any purpose save that of keeping the garrison in check; if the besieged castle stood on the opposite hill or at its foot, the stress of the siege must have taken place at some point much nearer to its site. The siege of Mayet is so singular a story, and so important in the history of this war, that it is disappointing not to be able to fix its topography with any confidence. But it is unluckily true that he who traces out the siege of Mayet cannot do so with the same full assurance that he is treading the true historic ground which he feels at Ballon and Fresnay.

* * * * *

In the details of the siege I have strictly followed Orderic, save that I have ventured to bring in the very characteristic story of Robert of Bellême which is told by Wace. But it cannot well have had the effect which Wace (15074) attributes to it, that of causing the army to disperse, and so making the King raise the siege;

“Partant sunt del siège méu
A peine fussent retenu.
Li siège par treis dis failli,
Li reis si tint mal bailli
Del siège k’il ne pout tenir,
E de l’ost k’il vit despartir.
Ne pout cels de l’ost arester
Ne il n’oserent retorner;
Par veies fuient è par chans,
Dunc est li reis venu el Mans.”

The order of events in Wace is really wonderful. After Robert has gone to the East, William Rufus reigns in peace, seemingly over Maine as well as Normandy. Helias seizes Le Mans; the news is brought to William; he sails to Barfleur; he recovers Le Mans (having on his road the singular adventure described in 14998 of Pluquet’s text, 9899 of Andresen’s); he besieges Mayet; he returns to Le Mans; he ravages the land; Helias is taken prisoner; he is brought before the King and released, and then William goes back to England to be shot by Walter Tirel.

NOTE RR. Vol. ii. p. 297.

WILLIAM RUFUS AND THE TOWERS OF LE MANS CATHEDRAL.

Was the bidding of William Rufus actually carried out in this matter? Did Bishop Hildebert pull down the towers or not? Unluckily Orderic tells us nothing about the story, and the language of the Biographer seems to me to be purposely obscure.

Hildebert himself mentions the matter in a passage which I quoted in the text (p. 298), in which he complains of the horrors of a voyage to England. He says (Duchèsne, iv. 248);

“Longum est enarrare quam constanti tyrannide rex Anglicus
in nos sævierit, qui, temperantia regis abjecta, decreverit
non prius pontifici parendum quam pontificem compelleret in
sacrilegium. Quia etenim turres ecclesiæ nostræ dejicere
nolumus,” &c.

One can make no certain inference from this, except that Hildebert was not disposed to pull down the towers when he wrote the letter, seemingly in England. The Biographer is fuller. I have quoted (see p. 298) the passages which describe the commands and offers of Rufus; we then read;

“Verumtamen Hildebertus magnis undique coartabatur
angustiis, quia sibi et de regis offensione periculum, et de
turris destructione sibi et ecclesiæ suæ imminere grande
prævidebat opprobrium: propter quod a rege dilationem
petebat, donec super his consilium accepisset. Qua vix
impetrata, cernens sibi nequaquam esse utile in illis
regionibus diutius immorari, breviter ad suam reversus est
ecclesiam…. Interea præsul de præcepto regis vehementer
anxius, de urbis incendio, de domorum et omnium rerum suarum
destructione, de civium expulsione; primo tamen de
clericorum, quos violentia regis ab urbe eliminaverat,
dispersione, mæstissimus, Dei omnipotentis clementiam
jugiter precabatur, ut ab ecclesia et populo sibi commisso
iram indignationis suæ dignaretur avertere.”

He then goes on to tell how wonderfully God saved them all by the sudden death of Rufus and the final coming of Helias. But he does not directly say whether the towers were pulled down or not. His way of telling the story might suggest the thought that the towers were pulled down, but that he did not like to say so.

To my mind the appearances of the building look the same way. We have seen that the towers of Howel were clearly at the ends of the transepts. Of the single tower now standing at the end of the south transept, the lower part is of the twelfth century; most likely the work of William of Passavant (see above, p. 636). The ruined building at the end of the other transept has columns and capitals of a much earlier character, agreeing with the work of Howel. A base of the same early kind as the single pair of piers spoken of in the nave (see above, p. 638) may be the work of Howel; it may be either a relic of Arnold’s foundations or a scrap of something much earlier. It has been objected that this ruined building does not seem to have been a tower. And I must allow that it must have been a tower of a somewhat unusual kind. But the appearances are quite consistent with the notion of a transept with aisles, and with its main body ending in an _engaged_ tower.

If these ruins are not the remains of one of Howel’s towers, his towers must have stood nearer to the body of the church than the existing southern tower stands, and the ruins to the north-west must belong to the episcopal palace or some other building. If this be so, something of the interest of the place is lost, but the argument seems almost stronger. It would have been nothing wonderful if the later rebuilding of the transepts had swept away all trace of the work of the eleventh and twelfth century, so that the fabric should in no way show whether any Romanesque towers were ever pulled down or ever built. But it is not so. We see that a late Romanesque tower was built to replace one of the towers of Howel, while the other, according to this view, has vanished without trace or successor. This would seem to point even more strongly than the other view to the belief that two towers were built, that both were pulled down, that afterwards one was rebuilt and the other not.

* * * * *

It is the business of the topographer of Le Mans rather than of the historian of William Rufus to settle what the remains at the end of the north transept are, if they are not the remains of Howel’s tower. But it may be noticed that Howel was a considerable builder or restorer in the adjoining palace (Vet. An. 298), and that the palace itself had a tower hard by the church. William of Passavant (Vet. An. 373) made certain arrangements about the three chapels of the palace――Saint David’s itself has only two――one of which is described as “tertia altior, quæ in turri sita ecclesiam cathedralem vicinius speculabatur.” In any case this group of buildings and ruins at the north-east corner of Saint Julian’s is one of the most striking to be found anywhere. There are these puzzling fragments of the days of the counts and bishops of our story; there is the mighty eastern limb of the present church, begun when Maine had passed away from all fellowship with Normandy and England, when Le Mans was the city of a Countess, widow of Richard, vassal of Philip. There is the northern transept, begun when Maine and Normandy were wholly swallowed up by France, finished at the very moment when Maine had again an English lord (Recherches, p. 122). And earlier than all, there is the Roman wall which the vast choir has overleaped, but which still remains outside the church. And, as if to bring together the earliest and the latest times, one of its bastions is strangely mixed up with work of an almost English character, which seems plainly to proclaim itself as belonging to the reign of Henry, Sixth of England and Second of France. Truly, setting aside exceptional spots like Rome and Athens, like Spalato and Trier and Ravenna, no city of Christendom is fuller of lessons, alike in art and in history, than the city of Helias, the birth-place of Henry Fitz-Empress.

NOTE SS. Vol. ii. p. 320.

THE DEATH OF WILLIAM RUFUS.

I have briefly compared the chief versions of the death of William Rufus, and the writers from whom they come, in Appendix U. in the fifth volume of the Norman Conquest. I will now go somewhat more fully into the matter.

I still hold, as I held then, that no absolute certainty can be come to as to the actor, intentional or otherwise, in the King’s death. Our only sure statement is to be found in the vague and dark words of the Chronicle, which look most like an intentional murder, but which do not absolutely imply it. If Rufus was murdered, it is hopeless to seek for any record of his murderer. We may guess for ever, and that is all. At any rate there can be no ground for fastening a charge of murder on Walter Tirel; for, if we except the dark hint in Geoffrey Gaimar (see p. 325), all those who make him the doer of the deed make it a deed done by accident. And the consent in favour of the belief that Rufus died by an accidental shot of Walter Tirel is very general and very weighty. It is the account of all our highest authorities, except the very highest of all. And even with the version of the Chronicle it does not stand in any literal contradiction. We have to set against it Walter’s own weighty denial (see below, p. 674), and the fact that there were other versions which named other persons. We have also to set against it the circumstance that, if Rufus did die by any conspiracy, never mind on whose part, it was obviously convenient to encourage belief in such a story as the received one. (See p. 326.) If there were anywhere English or Norman murderers, nothing could better serve their purpose, or the purpose of any who encouraged or sheltered them, than to attribute the deed to one who was French rather than either English or Norman, and to describe it as accidental on his part. And if, as one can hardly doubt, Walter Tirel was known to have been in the King’s near company on the day of his death, he was an obvious person to pick out for the character of the accidental slayer.

I can therefore do nothing but leave the doubtful story to the judgement of the reader. To that end I have given a summary of the chief versions in the text. The account of the early part of the day, as given by William of Malmesbury (iv. 333), which I have followed in p. 327, fits in perfectly well with the account in Orderic (782 A), which begins only after dinner. Nor is there any difference, except in details of no importance, between the accounts of the King’s actual death as given by William and by Orderic (see p. 333). In both the King dies by a chance shot of Walter’s, but William makes the King and Walter shoot at two different stags, while in Orderic’s version they both shoot at the same stag. It is from William of Malmesbury that we get the graphic detail of the King sheltering his eyes from the sun’s rays. His whole account stands thus;

“Jam Phœbo in oceanum proclivi, rex cervo ante se
transeunti, extento nervo et emissa sagitta, non adeo sævum
vulnus inflixit; diutile adhuc fugitantem vivacitate
oculorum prosecutus, opposita contra violentiam solarium
radiorum manu. Tunc Walterius pulcrum facinus animo
parturiens, ut, rege alias interim intento, ipse alterum
cervum qui forte propter transibat prosterneret, inscius et
impotens regium pectus (Deus bone!) lethali arundine
trajecit. Saucius ille nullum verbum emisit; sed ligno
sagittæ quantum extra corpus extabat effracto, moxque supra
vulnus cadens, mortem acceleravit. Accurrit Walterius; sed,
quia nec sensum nec vocem hausit, perniciter cornipedem
insiliens, beneficio calcarium probe evasit.”

Orderic is shorter;

“Cum rex et Gualterius de Pice cum paucis sodalibus in
nemore constituti essent, et armati prædam avide
expectarent, subiter inter eos currente fera, rex de statu
suo recessit, et Gualterius sagittam emisit. Quæ super
dorsum feræ setam radens rapide volavit, atque regem e
regione stantem lethaliter vulneravit. Qui mox ad terram
cecidit, et sine mora, proh dolor! expiravit.”

Florence really adds nothing to the account in the Chronicle, except so far that he adds the name of Walter Tirel. He brings in the event with some chronological pomp, but he cuts the actual death of the King short. He is in a moralizing fit, and takes up his parable at much greater length than is usual with him;

“Deinde iv. non. Augusti, feria v., indictione viii., rex
Anglorum Willelmus junior, dum in Nova Foresta, quæ lingua
Anglorum Ytene nuncupatur, venatu esset occupatus, a quodam
Franco, Waltero cognomento Tirello, sagitta incaute directa
percussus, vitam finivit, et Wintoniam delatus, in veteri
monasterio, in ecclesia S. Petri est tumulatus. Nec mirum,
ut populi rumor affirmat, hanc proculdubio magnam Dei
virtutem esse et vindictam.”

He then goes on with a great deal of matter, much of which I have referred to in various places. He speaks of the making of the New Forest, of the death of young Richard, the natural phænomena of the reign, the recent appearances of the devil, and the iniquities of Randolf Flambard. It is here that he notices (see p. 335) that a church had once stood on the spot where the King died. Henry of Huntingdon too brings in the event with some stateliness, as the last act of a great drama. But he gives no special details, beyond bringing in, like Orderic, Florence, and William, the name of Walter Tirel;

“Millesimo centesimo anno, rex Willelmus xiii. regni sui
anno, vitam crudelem misero fine terminavit. Namque cum
gloriose et patrio honore curiam tenuisset ad Natale apud
Glouecestre, ad Pascha apud Wincestre, ad Pentecosten apud
Londoniam, ivit venatum in Novo foresto in crastino kalendas
Augusti, ubi Walterus Tyrel cum sagitta cervo intendens,
regem percussit inscius. Rex corde ictus corruit, nec verbum
edidit.”

He then goes on to describe at length the evils of the reign, partly in his own words, partly in those of the Chronicle, and records what followed in a kind of breathless haste, keeping the Chronicle before him, but giving things a turn of his own;

“Sepultus est in crastino perditionis suæ apud Wincestre, et
Henricus ibidem in regem electus, dedit episcopatum
Wincestriæ Willelmo Giffard, pergensque Londoniam sacratus
est ibi a Mauricio Londoniensi episcopo, melioratione legum
et consuetudinum optabili repromissa.”

The object of piling facts on one another in this fashion is to bring the record of Henry’s promised reforms as near as may be to the picture of the evil doings of Rufus.

By the time that Wace wrote, there were several stories to be chosen from. The King gives arrows to his companions, and specially to Walter Tirel. They go out to hunt in the morning, contrary to the accounts both of Orderic and of William of Malmesbury (15164 Pluquet, 10069 Andresen);

“A un matin qu’il fu leuez,
Ses compaignons a demandez,
A toz a saetes donees,
Que li esteient presentees.
Gaulter Tirel, un cheualier
Qui en la cort esteit mult chier,
Une saete del rei prist
Donc il l’ocist si com l’en dist.”

He distinctly says that he does not know who shot the arrow, but that it was commonly said to be Walter Tirel, with some of the variations in detail which we have already seen, as for instance whether the arrow glanced from a tree or not;

“Ne sai qui traist ne qui laissa,
Ne qui feri, ne qui bersa,
Mais co dist l’en, ne sai sel fist,
Que Tirel traist, le rei ocist.
Plusors dient qu’il trebucha,
En sa cote s’empeecha,
E sa saete trestorna
E al chaeir el rei cola.
Alquanz dient que Tirel uolt
Ferir un cerf qui trespassout.
Entre lui e le rei coreit:
Cil traist qui entese aueit;
Mais la saete glaceia,
La fleche a un arbre freia,
E la saete trauersa,
Le rei feri, mort le rua.
E Gauter Tirel fost corut
La ou li reis chai e iut.”

The other French rimers are this time, though certainly less trustworthy than Wace, of more importance in one way, as showing that there was in some quarters, as there well might be in Normandy, a more charitable feeling towards the Red King than we find in the English writers. I have given in the text the substance of the accounts of Geoffrey Gaimar and Benoît de Sainte-More. The version of Geoffrey Gaimar (Chroniques Anglo-Normandes, i. 54) I do not remember to have ever seen referred to, except in M. Michel’s note to Benoît. It is so curious in its details that it is worth giving at length. It is absolutely impossible to believe it in the teeth of opposite statements of so much higher authority, yet it is strange if all its graphic touches are a mere play of fancy;

“En la foreste estoit li rois,
En l’espesse, juste un maroi.
Talent li prist d’un cerf berser
Qu’en une herde vist aler,
Dejuste une arbre est descendu,
Il méisme ad son arc tendu.
Partut descendent li baron,
Li autre ensement d’environ.
Wauter Tirel est descenduz;
Trop près de roi, lez un sambuz,
Après un tremble s’adossa.
Si cum la herde trespassa
Et le grant cerf a mes li vint,
Entesa l’arc qu’en sa main tint,
Une seete barbelée
Ad tret par male destinée.
Jà avint si qu’au cerf faillit
De ci qu’au queor le roi férit.
Une seete au queor li vint
Mès ne savom qi l’arc sustint;
Mès ceo distrent li autre archer
Qu’ele eissi del arc Wauter.
Semblant en fut, car tost fuit;
Il eschapa. Li rois chéit,
Par iij. foiz s’est escriez,
Le corps diũ a demandez;
Mès n’i fut qui le li donast,
Loingnz fut del mouster en un wast;
Et nequedent un venéour
Prist des herbes od tut la flour,
Un poi en fist au roi manger,
Issi le quida acomunier.
En Dieu est ço et estre doit:
Il avoit pris pain bénoit
Le dimenge de devant:
Ceo li deit estre bon garant.”

Geoffrey, it should be noticed, has nothing to say about dreams and warnings; the _gab_ between the King and Walter Tirel seems in his version to take their place (see p. 322). But in the other account which deals kindly with Rufus, that of Benoît de Sainte-More (see p. 332), the warning dream, in this case assigned to the King himself, plays an important part. So also does Gundulf, the expounder of the dream. His presence is thus explained (40523);

“Veirs est e chose coneue
C’une haors avoit eue
Od l’evesque de Rovecestre,
Qui chapelains est e deit estre
L’arcevesque de Cantorbire:
E por c’ert vers le rei en ire
Que _Saint Anseaume_ aveit chacié
E fors de la terre essilié.
Cil evesque de Rovecestre
Ert à lui venuz à Wincestre
Por pais requerre e demander,
Mais ne la poeit pas trover;
E li bons hom plein de pitié
Out mult Nostre-Seignor preié
Que de cele grant mesestance
Eust e cure e remembrance.”

We may note that Anselm, not yet canonized, is already called _saint_ in a formal way.

The King is to hunt the next day in the New Forest; in the night he has the dream, which is told with a singular variation. He first sees the dead body of a stag on the altar; then it changes into that of a man (40560);

“Quant il regardout sor l’autel,
Si i veeit, ce li ert vis,
Un mult grant cerf qui ert ocis,
Por eschiver le grant renei
Que il voleit faire de sei,
Alout e si ’n voleit manger;
Kar c’erent tuit si desirer.
La où il i tendeit la main,
Si li ert vis s’ert bien certain,
Que c’ert cors d’ome apertement
Ocis e nafré et sanglent.”

Gundulf, “li evesques, li sainz hom,” then preaches a sermon of some length, which the King listens to with unexpected docility; he promises amendment of life, and receives absolution;

“Simple e od bone volunté
Out li reis en pais esculté,
Bien sont e conut la raison
De cele interpretation,
Assez pramist amendement
Donc de sa vie doucement
Al saint evesque a pardoné
Tote sa male volonté
Quant sa grace out e son congé.
Mult s’en torna joios e lié.”

In this version there is no special mention of Anselm and the synod; the exhortation of Gundulf is quite general. In the account given by Giraldus (De Inst. Prin. p. 174)――who, it must be borne in mind, has two dreams, one dreamed by the King, and another by a premature canon of Dunstable――this is strongly brought out. The bishop, whose name is not given, exhorts the King at much less length than Gundulf does in the rimes of Benoît, and the promise of reformation stands thus;

“Cum episcopus consilium ei daret quatenus, convocatis
illico episcopis regni sui et clero universo, eorundem
consilio se Domino per omnia conciliaret, missisque statim
nuntiis venerabilem sanctumque virum Anselmum Cantuariensem
archiepiscopum, quem ea tempestate, quod libertates ecclesiæ
tueri volebat, exulare compulerat, ab exilio revocaret,
respondens rex se cum regni sui proceribus consilium inde in
brevi habiturum.”

In Benoît’s version the King’s companions now urge him to go out to hunt. The description is very graphic;

“E si vaslet furent hoesé
E en lor chaceors munté,
Les arcs ès mains, gamiz e presz,
E detrès eus lor bons brachez;
Abaient chens e sonent corns,
Monté atendent le rei fors.”

He refuses for a while, and sets forth his troubled mind with some pathos;

“Avoi! fait-il, seignors, avoi!
Uncor sui-je plus maus assez
E plus cent tant que vos ne quidez;
Mais c’est la fin, remis m’en sui,
Que je n’irai mais en bois ui.
Ne voil por rien qu’alé i seie
Ne que jamais la forest veie.”

He goes forth, and, as I have said in the text (p. 332), is shot by the arrow glancing from a tree. Benoît knew through what agency;

“Mais tant li mostre li reis Ros
Que c’il r’a d’aïr entesée
Une sajette barbelée,
E deiables tant l’a conveié[e]
Qu’à un gros raim fiert e glaceie.
Le rei feri delez le quor.”

His speech to his accidental slayer is most pious;

“Va-t’en, fui-tei senz demorer,
Kar mort m’as par ma grant enfance.
Ci a Deus pris de mei venjance:
Or li cri merci e soplei
Qu’il ait oi merci de mei
Par sa sainte chere douçor,
Kar mult sui vers lui peccheor.”

In the earlier of Giraldus’ two stories, one which has much in common with this of Benoît, the arrow strikes the King accidentally, but there is nothing about its glancing from a tree. As he looks on William Rufus as the maker of the New Forest, he describes his going forth to hunt there with some solemnity;

“Protinus contra dissuasionem in prædictam forestam, ubi tot
ecclesias destituerat, totosque fideles qui glebæ ibidem ab
antiquo ascripti fuerant immisericorditer exheredaverat,
venatum ivit. Nec mora, soluta per interemptionem
contentione ubi deliquit, casuali cujusdam suorum ictu
sagittæ letaliter percussus decubuit; miles enim directo in
feram telo, nutu divino cælum pariter et telum regente, non
feram eo sed ferum et absque modo ferocem, transpenetravit.”
(Cf. the extracts in p. 337.)

Having got thus far, pretty nearly in Benoît’s company, Giraldus goes on to tell his other story which brings in the Prior of Dunstable. But Dunstable, in its own Annals, did not claim an earlier founder than Henry the First. We are therefore left to guess as to the origin of a story which speaks of the priory of Dunstable as already existing in the time of Rufus, and even as enjoying exceptional favour at his hands. The “miles quidam” of the former story here becomes Ralph of Aix, who is brought in after much the same fashion in which Walter Tirel is in those versions of the story which mention him.

* * * * *

These are the chief varieties in the story of the death of Rufus; but the tale is so famous, it has taken such a hold on popular imagination from that day to our own, that it may be well to do as we have done in some earlier cases, and to trace some of the forms which the story took in the hands of writers of later times.

The Hyde writer (302), who always has notions of his own about all matters, has nothing special to tell us about the death of Rufus――“Norman-Anglorum rex Willelmus,” in his odd style――but the story of the dream takes a new shape. A monk in Normandy, in extreme sickness, sees the usual vision of the Lord and the suppliant woman, here called less reverentially “puella vultu sole speciosior,” who complains of the evil doings of Rufus and asks for vengeance (“celerrimam de eo expetiit vindictam, asserens se a canibus ejus et lupis potius quam ministris diu esse laniatam”). He has a further dream about the sins of his own abbot, whom he rebukes, and causes a letter to be sent to the King. The King mocks, but less pithily and characteristically than he does in Orderic (“Quicumque sorti vel somniis crediderit, sicut semper vivet suspiciosus et inquietus, ita semper revertitur”). On this manifestation of unbelief follows the judgement (“Deus Omnipotens telum quod diu vibraverat misericorditer, tandem super regem projecit terribiliter”). He is shot casually in his hunting (“venatum pergens, _venatus est_, et ex improviso sagitta percussus;”――where surely “venatus est” is meant to be passive). He dies without confession or communion; he is buried, and Henry reigns in his stead. Then, as a kind of after-thought, comes in the mention of Walter Tirel;

“Fertur autem quod eodem die venatum pergenti obtulit munus
sagittarum quidam adveniens, quarum unam Waltero Tirello
viro Ponteiensi in munere dedit secumque venire coegit.
Denique silvam ingressi, dum gregem bestiarum accingunt et
invicem trahunt, eadem sagitta, idem Walterus regem vicinus,
ut aiunt, percussit et subito extinxit.”

The author of the “Brevis Relatio” (Giles, 11) cuts the actual death of Rufus very short, and mentions no particular actor, but he connects it in a somewhat singular way with the presence of Henry;

“Contigit vero postea ut Robertus comes Normanniæ
Hierosolymam iret, totamque Normanniam fratri suo Willelmo
regi Anglorum invadiaret, et tunc Henricus fratri suo omnino
se conferret atque cum eo ex toto remaneret. Dum itaque cum
eo esset post aliquantum temporis contigit ut quadam die rex
Willelmus venatum iret, ibique, nescio quo judicio Dei, a
quodam milite sagitta percussus occumberet. Quem statim
frater suus Henricus Wintoniam referri fecit, ibique in
ecclesia Sancti Petri ante majus altare sepulturæ tradidit.”

The introduction of Henry in the former part of the extract is the more remarkable, because the writer has either copied the account given by Robert of Torigny in the Continuation of William of Jumièges (viii. 9), or else he has borrowed from the same source. Robert’s words are;

“Igitur, sicut supra diximus, cum Robertus dux Normannorum
anno ab incarnatione Domini mxcvi, Hierusalem perrexisset,
et ducatum Normanniæ Willelmo fratri suo regi Anglorum
invadiasset: contigit post aliquantum temporis, ut idem rex
quadam die venatum iret in Novam forestam, ubi iv. nonas
Augusti missa sagitta incaute a quodam suo familiari in
corde percussus, mortuus est anno ab incarnatione Domini mc.
regni autem sui xiii…. Occiso itaque Willelmo rege, ut
præmisimus, statim frater suus Henricus corpus ejus
Wintoniam deferri fecit ibique in ecclesia sancti Petri ante
majus altare sepulturæ tradidit.”

The words which I have left out record the death of the elder Richard, the son of the Conqueror, in the New Forest――the younger Richard, the son of Robert, is not mentioned――and the belief that the deaths of the two brothers were the punishment of the destruction of houses and churches done by their father. One phrase is remarkable; “Multas villas et ecclesias _propter eandem forestam amplificandam_ in circuitu ipsius destruxerat.” Here is nothing about Walter Tirel or any one else by name, and this is the more to be noticed, because in his own Chronicle, where he seems to have had before him the account of Henry of Huntingdon, who mentions Walter Tirel, he leaves out the name. Henry’s words are; “Ivit venatum in Novo foresto in crastino kalendas Augusti, ubi Walterus Tyrel cum sagitta cervo intendens, regem percussit inscius. Rex corde ictus corruit, nec verbum edidit.” This in Robert’s version becomes “Willelmus rex Anglorum in Nova Foresta, sibi multum dilecta, cum sagitta incaute cervo intenderetur, in corde percussus interiit, nec verbum edidit.” He then goes on to copy part of Henry of Huntingdon’s description of the doings of Rufus somewhat further on.

Among the monastic chroniclers and annalists, the History of Abingdon (ii. 43) seems to see in the Red King’s death a judgement on him for some dealings connected with the lands of that abbey. A man described as Hugo de Dun had, by the help of the Count of Meulan (“Comitis Mellentis Rotberti senioris ope adjutus”), got into his hands some lands of the abbey at Leckhampsted, as had also the better known Hugh of Buckland, Sheriff of Berkshire (“eo quod et Berchescire vicecomes et publicarum justiciarius compellationum a rege constitutus existeret”). The writer then goes on;

“Quadam itaque die rex Willelmus dum cibatus venatum
exerceret, suorum unus militum, quasi ad cervum sagittam
emittens, regem e contra stantem sibique non caventem eadem
sagitta in corde percussit. Qui mox ad terram corruens
exspiravit.”