ecclesiastics of the kingdom was held at Windsor for the purpose of declaring the Empress Matilda (as she was still called) the legitimate successor of Henry I., and the clergy and Norman barons of both countries swore allegiance to her in the event of the king's death. This appointment of Matilda was made by Henry in consequence of the calamity which occurred just before Christmas, in 1120, when he lost his much-loved son, Prince William--the only male legitimate issue of Henry--through the wreck of La Blanche Nef (the White Ship). On board the vessel were Prince William, his half-brother Richard, and Henry's natural daughter the Countess of Perche, as well as about a hundred and forty young noblemen of the most distinguished families in England and Normandy, all of whom were lost in their passage home, only a few hours after the safe arrival of the king in England. Henry is said to have swooned at the intelligence, and was never afterwards seen to smile. He had returned home anticipating a joyous Christmas festival, a season of glad tidings, but he was closely followed by this sad news of the death of the heir apparent. The incident has called forth one of the most beautiful poems of Mrs. Hemans, from which we quote two verses:--"The bark that held a prince went down,
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048The sweeping waves rolled on;
And what was England's glorious crown
To him that wept a son?
He lived--for life may long be borne, Ere sorrow break its chain:
Why comes not death to those who mourn? He never smiled again!
He sat where festal bowls went round, He heard the minstrel sing;
He saw the tourney's victor crowned, Amidst the kingly ring;
A murmur of the restless deep as blent with every strain,
A voice of winds that would not sleep,-- He never smiled again!"
In 1127 Henry invited the king of the Scots to Windsor to join in the royal celebration of Christmas, but the festivities were marred by an unseemly quarrel between the two primates. Thurstan, Archbishop of York, encroaching upon the privileges of his brother
of Canterbury (William de Corbeuil), insisted upon placing the crown upon the king's head ere he set out for church. This the partisans of Canterbury would not allow, settling the matter by turning Thurstan's chaplain and followers out of doors, and thereby causing such strife between the heads of the Church that they both set off to Rome to lay their grievances before the Pope. And, subsequently, appeals to Rome became frequent, until a satisfactory adjustment of the powers and privileges of the two archbishops was arrived at. The Archbishop of Canterbury was acknowledged Primate of all England and Metropolitan; but, while the privilege of crowning the sovereign was reserved for the Archbishop of Canterbury, that of crowning the Queen Consort was given to the Archbishop of York.
Strange Old Stories of Christmastide.
The progress of literature under the Conqueror and his sons was very great, many devoting themselves almost entirely to049 literary pursuits. Lanfranc and Anselm, the Archbishops of Canterbury, had proved themselves worthy of their exalted station. Their precepts and examples had awakened the clergy and kindled an ardour for learning unknown in any preceding age. Nor did this enthusiasm perish with its authors: it was kept alive by the honours which were lavished on all who could boast of literary acquirements. During the reign of Henry I. Geoffrey of Monmouth published his History of the Britons, and William of Malmesbury assures us that every poet hastened to the court of Henry's Queen Matilda, at Westminster, to read his verses to the Queen and partake of her bounty. William of Malmesbury carefully collected the lighter ballads which embodied the popular traditions of the English kings, and he tells an amusing story which is connected with the festival of Christmas. In early times dancing developed into a sort of passion, men and women continually dancing and singing together, holding one another by the hands, and concluding the dances with kisses. These levities were at first encouraged by the Church, but afterwards, seeing the abuse of them, the priests were compelled
to reprimand and restrain the people. And the story told by William of Malmesbury describes the singular punishment which came upon some young men and women for disturbing a priest who was performing mass on the eve of Christmas. "I, Othbert, a sinner," says the story, "have lived to tell the tale. It was the vigil of the Blessed Virgin, and in a town where was a church of St. Magnus.
And the priest, Rathbertus, had just begun the mass, and I, with my comrades, fifteen young women and seventeen young men, were
dancing outside the church. And we were singing so loud that our songs were distinctly heard inside the building, and interrupted the service of the mass. And the priest came out and told us to desist; and when we did not, he prayed God and St. Magnus that
we might dance as our punishment for a year to come. A youth, whose sister was dancing with us, seized her by the arm to drag her away, but it came off in his hand, and she danced on. For a whole year we continued. No rain fell on us; cold, nor heat, nor hunger, nor thirst, nor fatigue affected us; neither our shoes nor our clothes wore out; but still we went on dancing. We trod the earth down to our knees, next to our middles, and at last were dancing in a pit. At the end of the year release came."
Giraldus Cambrensis, amongst many ridiculous Christmas stories of miracles, visions, and apparitions, tells of one devil who acted a considerable time as a gentleman's butler with great prudence and probity; and of another who was a very diligent and learned clergyman, and a mighty favourite of his archbishop. This last clerical devil was, it seems, an excellent historian, and used to divert the Archbishop with telling him old stories, some of which referred to the incarnation of our Saviour, and were related at the Christmas season. "Before050 the incarnation of our Saviour," said the Archbishop's historian, "the devils had great power over mankind, but after that event their power was much diminished and they were obliged to fly. Some of them threw themselves into the sea; some concealed themselves in hollow trees, or in the clefts of rocks; and I myself plunged into a certain fountain. As soon as he had said this, finding that he had discovered his secret, his face was covered with blushes, he went out of the room, and was no more seen."
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The following cut (taken from MS. Harl., No. 4751, of the end of the twelfth century) represents an elephant, with its castle and armed men, engaged in battle. The bestiaries relate many strange things of the elephant. They say that, though so large and powerful, and so courageous against larger animals, it is afraid of a mouse; that its nature is so cold that it will never seek the company of the female until, wandering in the direction of Paradise, it meets with the plant called the mandrake, and eats of it, and that each female bears but one young one in her life.
Absurd as we consider such stories, they were believed by the Normans, who were no less credulous than the Anglo-Saxons.051 This is evident from the large number of miracles, revelations, visions, and enchantments which are related with great gravity by the old chroniclers.
The Misrule of King Stephen.
Stephen of Blois was crowned at Westminster Abbey during the Christmas festival (December 26, 1135). As a King of Misrule, he was fitly crowned at Christmastide, and it would have been a good thing for the nation if his reign had been of the ephemeral character which was customary to Lords of Misrule. The nineteen years of his reign were years of disorder unparalleled in any period of our history. On the landing of Henry the First's daughter, "the Empress Matilda," who claimed the English crown for her son Henry, a long struggle ensued, and the country was divided between the adherents of the two rivals, the West supporting Matilda, and Lon-don and the East Stephen. For a time the successes in war alternated between the two parties. A defeat at Lincoln left Stephen a prisoner in the hands of his enemies; but after his escape he laid siege to the city of Oxford, where Matilda had assembled her followers. "The Lady" of the English (as Matilda
