Volume 1 — CHAPTER XI. THE LAST YEARS OF ARCHBISHOP THEOBALD. 1156–1161.

All Henry’s endeavours for the material and political revival of his kingdom had been regulated thus far by one simple, definite principle:—the restoration of the state of things which had existed under his grandfather. In his own eyes and in those of his subjects the duty which lay before him at his accession, and which he had faithfully and successfully fulfilled, was to take up the work of government and administration not at the point where he found it, but at the point where it had been left by Henry I. and Roger of Salisbury: to pull down and sweep away all the innovations and irregularities with which their work had been overlaid during the last nineteen years, and bring the old foundations to light once more, that they might receive a legitimate superstructure planned upon their own lines and built upon their own principles. In law, in finance, in general administration, there was one universal standard of reference:—“the time of my grandfather King Henry.”

But there was one side of the national revival, and that the most important of all, to which this standard could not apply. The religious and intellectual movement which had begun under Henry I., far from coming to a standstill at his death, had gone on gathering energy and strength during the years of anarchy till it had become the one truly living power in the land, the power which in the end placed Henry II. on his throne. It looked to find in him a friend, a fellow-worker, a protector perhaps; but it had no need to go back to a stage which it had long since overpassed and make a new departure thence under the guidance of a king who was almost its own creation. At the very moment of Henry’s accession, the hopes of the English Church were raised to their highest pitch by the elevation of an Englishman to the Papal chair. Nicolas Breakspear was the only man of English birth who ever attained that lofty seat; and the adventures which brought him thither, so far as they can be made out from two somewhat contradictory accounts, form a romantic chapter in the clerical history of the time. Nicolas was the son of a poor English clerk[1538] at Langley, a little township belonging to the abbey of S. Alban’s.[1539] The father retired into the abbey,[1540] leaving his boy, according to one version of the story, too poor to go to school and too young and ignorant to earn his bread; he therefore came every day to get a dole at the abbey-gate, till his father grew ashamed and bade him come no more; whereupon the lad, “blushing either to dig or to beg in his own country,” made his way across the sea.[1541] Another version asserts that Nicolas, being “a youth of graceful appearance, but somewhat lacking in clerkly acquirements,” sued to the abbot of S. Alban’s for admission as a monk; the abbot examined him, found him insufficiently instructed, and dismissed him with a gentle admonition: “Wait awhile, my son, and go to school that you may become better fitted for the cloister.”[1542] Whether stung by the abbot’s hint or by his father’s reproofs, young Nicolas found his way to Paris and into its schools, where he worked so hard that he out-did all his fellow-students.[1543] But the life there wearied him as it had wearied Thomas Becket; he rambled on across Gaul into Provence, and there found hospitality in the Austin priory of S. Rufus. His graceful figure, pleasant face, sensible talk and obliging temper so charmed the brotherhood that they grew eager to keep him in their midst,[1544] and on their persuasion he joined the order.[1545] It seems that he was even made superior of the house, but the canons afterwards regretted having set a stranger to rule over them, and after persecuting him in various ways appealed to the Pope to get rid of him. The Pope—Eugene III.—at first refused to hear them; but on second consideration he decided to give them over to their own evil devices and offer their rejected superior a more agreeable post in his own court.[1546] Nicolas, who had already twice visited Rome, proceeded thither a third time and was made cardinal[1547] and bishop of Albano.[1548] Shortly afterwards he was appointed legate to Norway and Denmark, an office which he filled with prudence and energy during some years.[1549] Returning to Rome about 1150, he apparently acted as secretary to Eugene III. until the latter’s death in July 1153.[1550] The next Pope, Anastasius III., reigned only sixteen months, and dying on December 2, 1154, was succeeded by the bishop of Albano, who took the name of Adrian IV.[1551]

The English Church naturally hailed with delight the accession of a pontiff who was at once one of her own sons and a disciple of Eugene, whom the leaders of the intellectual and spiritual revival in England had come to regard almost as their patron saint.[1552] Adrian indeed shared all their highest and most cherished aspirations far more deeply and intimately than Eugene himself could have done. It was in the cloisters of Canterbury that these aspirations were gradually taking definite shape under the guidance of Archbishop Theobald. There, beneath the shadow of the cathedral begun by Lanfranc and completed by S. Anselm, their worthy successor had been throughout the last ten or twelve years of the anarchy watching over a little sanctuary where all that was noblest, highest, most full of hope and promise in the dawning intellectual life of the day found a peaceful shelter and a congenial home. The Curia Theobaldi, the household of Archbishop Theobald, was a sort of little school of the prophets, a seminary into which the vigilant primate drew the choicest spirits among the rising generation, to be trained up under his own eyes in his own modes of thought and views of life, till they were fitted to become first the sharers and then the continuators of his work for the English Church and the English nation. Through his scholars had come the revival of legal and ecclesiastical learning in England; through them had come the renewal of intercourse and sympathy with the sister-Churches of the west; through them had been conducted the negotiations with Rome which had led to the restoration of order and peace; and in them, as Theobald hoped, the Church, having saved the state, would find her most fitting instruments for the work of reform and revival which still remained to be done within her own borders. One by one, as the occasion presented itself, he began to send them forth to take independent positions in the Church or in the world. Of the chosen three whom he specially trusted, the first who thus left his side was John of Canterbury, who in 1153 succeeded Hugh of Puiset as treasurer of York. Next year Theobald was able to place another of his disciples in the northern metropolis in a far more important capacity: he succeeded in obtaining the royal assent to the appointment of Roger of Pont-l’Evêque as archbishop of York, in succession to S. William, who had been restored by Pope Anastasius after Henry Murdac’s death, but died six weeks after his restoration.[1553]

Roger’s history before his entrance into the primate’s household is so completely lost that even the rendering of his surname is a matter of some doubt; it may have been derived from the English town of Bishopsbridge, and if so Roger was now going back as primate to his own native shire; it seems however more probable that he came from Pont-l’Evêque in Normandy.[1554] He was evidently some years older than Theobald’s other favourites, John of Canterbury and Thomas of London; for we find him and Gilbert Foliot quarrelling, apologizing, lecturing and forgiving each other with an outspoken freedom and familiarity possible only between two men of equal standing who have been friends from their youth.[1555] With Thomas Becket, on the other hand, Roger was never upon really friendly terms; jealous, no doubt, of the younger man who seemed likely to supersede him in the primate’s confidence, Roger lost no opportunity of teasing the “hatchet-clerk” (as he called Thomas, from the nickname of the man who had first introduced him to Theobald), and made his life so wretched that he was twice driven to quit the archbishop’s house and take refuge with Theobald’s brother, Walter, archdeacon of Canterbury, till the latter smoothed the way for his return.[1556] On Walter’s elevation to the see of Rochester in 1148 his archdeaconry was given to Roger;[1557] he also held some other preferments, all of which he was at one time in great danger of losing—most likely on account of his share in the famous “swimming-voyage” to Reims; but his friend Gilbert Foliot secured him the protection of the Pope;[1558] and the restoration of the archbishop would naturally involve that of the archdeacon. After six years’ tenure of his office at Canterbury Roger was called to go up higher. Theobald had more than one reason for desiring his archdeacon’s elevation. He wished it for Roger’s own sake; he wished it still more for the sake of his younger favourite, whom he longed to establish in a position of dignity and importance, yet close to his own side; above all, he wished it for the sake of the Church;[1559] for he naturally hoped that in leaving one of his own foremost disciples seated on the metropolitan chair of York, he would be leaving at least one prelate of the highest rank firmly pledged to those schemes of ecclesiastical policy and organization which he himself had most at heart. His confidence in Roger was over-great. After all the disputes about the canonical relations between Canterbury and York which had wasted the energies of Lanfranc and embittered the last days of S. Anselm, Theobald missed his opportunity of securing at last a full acknowledgement of Canterbury’s superior rights, and was rash enough to consecrate Roger without requiring from him a profession of obedience.[1560] The large-hearted primate evidently never dreamed that any question of obedience could arise between himself and one of his spiritual sons, or that Roger’s loyalty to him could fail to be extended to his successor. He never discovered his mistake; it was Roger’s old rival, and with him the English Church, who ultimately had to bear its unhappy consequences.

Immediately after Roger’s consecration Thomas was raised by his primate to deacon’s orders and made archdeacon of Canterbury.[1561] A few months later the accession of Henry II. opened the way for his advancement in another direction. His appointment to the chancellorship involved a great self-sacrifice on the part of Theobald; for the chancellor’s duties—at least as conceived by Thomas, and as Theobald had intended him to conceive them—took him not only quite away from those of his archdeaconry and from his primate’s side, but very often out of the country altogether; so that Theobald in giving him up to the king had condemned himself to pass his declining years apart from the object of his warmest earthly affections. But the Curia Theobaldi was by no means deserted; though it had lost its most brilliant star, there was no lack of lesser lights to brighten the primate’s home-circle; there was one whose soft mild radiance, less dazzling than the glory of Thomas, was a far truer and steadier reflex of Theobald’s own calm and gentle spirit. Yet John of Salisbury had entered the archbishop’s household within a comparatively recent period. His father’s name seems to have been Reinfred;[1562] his family connexions were all in or around the city whence his surname was derived;[1563] but there is some indication that John himself may have been born in London.[1564] In the year after the death of Henry I. he went to study in Paris, and there received his first lessons in dialectics from the greatest scholar of the day—sitting at the feet of Peter Abelard, and eagerly drinking in, to the utmost capacity of his young mind, every word that fell from the master’s lips. Abelard departed all too soon, and John pursued his studies for about two years under his successors Alberic and Robert, of whom the latter, although commonly called “Robert of Melun” from having taught with distinction in that place, was an Englishman by birth, and will come before us again in later days as Gilbert Foliot’s successor in the bishopric of Hereford. It must have been precisely during those two years that Thomas of London also was in Paris for the first time, striving for his mother’s sake to overcome his dislike of books; and it was possibly there that the two young Englishmen, who must have been of nearly the same age, began to form an acquaintance which afterwards ripened into a lifelong friendship. And it can only have been about the same time, and in that same wonderful meeting-place where so many of the happiest and most fruitful associations of the time had their beginnings, that John of Salisbury first met with Nicolas of Langley.

Thomas went home to the plodding life of a city merchant’s clerk; Nicolas set out on the long course of wandering which was to bring him at last to the Papal chair; John, having as he says “steeped himself to the finger-tips in dialectics, and moreover learned to think his knowledge greater than it really was,” applied himself for the next three years to the schools of the grammarians William of Conches and Richard l’Evêque, with whom he went over again the whole course of his previous studies, penetrated somewhat deeper into those of the quadrivium which he had begun under the direction of a German named Hardwin, and improved some slight notions of rhetoric which he had acquired at the lectures of a certain Master Theodoric. His relatives were quite unable to maintain him all this while; like all poor students of the day, he earned his living and his college-fees by teaching others, and as he pleasantly says “What I learned was the better fixed in my mind, because I constantly had to bring it out for my pupils.” One of these pupils was William of Soissons, to whom he taught the elements of logic, “and who afterwards contrived, as his followers say, a method of breaking down the old strongholds of logic, producing unexpected consequences, and overthrowing the opinions of the ancients.” John however declined to believe in a “system of impossibilities,” for which he at any rate was clearly not responsible; for he had soon transferred his pupil to the care of one Master Adam, an English teacher deeply versed in Aristotelian lore. It seems just possible that this Master Adam, who was at this time helping John in his studies not as a teacher but as a friend,[1565] was the same who many years before had stood in a somewhat similar relation to Gilbert Foliot.[1566] He may, however, perhaps be more probably identified with Adam “du Petit-Pont”—so called from the place where he lectured in Paris—who in 1176 became bishop of S. Asaph’s.[1567] After a while John found that with all his efforts he could hardly earn enough to live upon in Paris; so by the advice of his friends he determined to set up a school elsewhere.[1568] While sitting at the feet of the “Peripatetic” doctors on the Mont-Ste.-Geneviève he had become acquainted with a young native of Champagne, Peter by name, who was studying in the school of S. Martin-des-Champs.[1569] The two friends, it seems, settled together at Provins in Peter’s native land, and there, under the protection of the good Count Theobald,[1570] laboured and prospered for three years.[1571] Long afterwards, from his anxious post at the side of the dying Archbishop Theobald, John’s thoughts strayed tenderly back to the days which he and his young comrade, with hearts as light as their purses, had spent among the roses of Champagne: “I am the same that ever I was,” he wrote to Peter, now abbot of Celle, “only I possess more than you and I had between us at Provins.”[1572] He returned to Paris, revisited his old haunts on the Mont-Ste.-Geneviève, and was amused to find his old school-companions just where and as he had left them. “They did not seem to have advanced an inch towards disposing of the old questions, nor to have added one new proposition.” He, in his three years of healthy meditation in the country, had discovered that their dialectics, however useful as a help to other studies, were in themselves but a fruitless and lifeless system; he therefore now gave himself up to the study of theology under a certain Master Gilbert, Robert “Pullus”—in whom one is tempted to recognize the Robert Pulein who had planted the seed of the first English University by his divinity-lectures at Oxford in 1133—and lastly, Simon of Poissy.

John’s whole career in the schools, after occupying about twelve years,[1573] apparently came to an end shortly before the council of Reims. His old friend Peter had already retired into the peace of the cloister, and about this time became abbot of Celle, near Troyes. There John, who was utterly without means of living, found a shelter and a home, nominally, it seems, in the capacity of Peter’s “clerk” or secretary, but in reality as the recipient of a generous hospitality which sought for no return save the enjoyment of his presence and his friendship.[1574] Such a light as John’s, however, could not long remain thus hidden under a bushel. So felt Peter himself;[1575] and at that moment a better place for it was easily found. At the council of Reims, or during his exile after it, the archbishop of Canterbury probably met the abbot of Celle and his English “clerk”;[1576] he certainly must have met the abbot of Clairvaux; and S. Bernard, with his unerring instinct, had already discovered John’s merits. He named him to Theobald in terms of commendation; and it was he who furnished the letter of introduction,[1577] as it was Peter who furnished the means,[1578] wherewith John at last made his way to the archbishop’s court,[1579] of which he soon became one of the busiest and most valued members. So busy was he—so “distracted with diverse and adverse occupations,” as he himself said—that he complained of being scarce able to steal an hour for the literary and philosophical pursuits which he so dearly loved. Ten times in the next thirteen years[1580] did he cross the Alps, twice did he visit Apulia, on business with the Roman court for his superiors or his friends; besides travelling all over England and Gaul on a variety of errands, and fulfilling a crowd of home-duties which left him scarcely time to look after his own private affairs, much less to indulge in study.[1581] The greater part of the communications between Theobald and Eugene III. must have passed through his hands, either as messenger or as amanuensis; but his name never figures in their diplomatic history; his place therein was a subordinate one. It was not in his nature to take the foremost rank. Not that he was unfit for it:—with his gracious, genial temper; his calm clear judgement, generally sound because always disinterested; his delicate wit, his easy, elegant scholarship, and his wide practical experience of the world—John of Salisbury might have adorned far higher positions in either Church or state than any which he ever actually occupied. But his own position was a thing of which he seems never to have thought, save as a means of serving others. His apology for his unwilling neglect of literature—“I am a man under authority”[1582]—might have been the motto of his life. He left it to others to lead; if they led in the way of righteousness, they might be sure of one faithful adherent who would serve and follow them through good report and evil report, who would try to clear the path before them at any risk to himself; who would criticize their conduct and tell them of their errors with fearless simplicity, while striving to avert the consequence of those errors and to cover their retreat; who in poverty and exile, incurred for another’s sake, would make light of his own sufferings and be constantly endeavouring to relieve those of his fellow-sufferers, and who would always find or make a silver lining to the darkest cloud. This was what John did for the possible acquaintance of his early student-days whom he had now rejoined in the household of Archbishop Theobald. To the end of his life he was more than satisfied to count the friendship of Thomas Becket as his chief title of honour, and to let whatever share of lustre might have been his own go to brighten the aureole of his friend. It brightened it far more than he knew. When detractors and panegyrists have both done their worst, there remains this simple proof of the real worth of Thomas—that he inspired such devotion as this in a man such as John of Salisbury, and that he knew how to appreciate it as it deserved.

It was however John’s friendship with Nicolas of Langley which in these years of his residence in the primate’s household made him so valuable to Theobald as a medium of communication with Rome. We can hardly doubt that this acquaintance, too, had begun in Paris; now, as the English cardinal-secretary and the envoy of the English primate discussed in the Roman court the prospects of their common mother-country and mother-Church, their acquaintance ripened into a friendship which no change of outward circumstances could alter or disturb. Nicolas cared more for John than for his own nearest relatives; he declared in public and in private that he loved him above all men living; he delighted in unburthening his soul to him. When he became Pope there was no change; a visit from John was still Adrian’s greatest pleasure; he rejoiced in welcoming him to his table, and despite John’s modest remonstrances insisted that they should be served from the same dish and flagon.[1583] King and primate were both alike quick to perceive and use such an opportunity of strengthening the alliance between England and Rome; while Adrian on his part was all the more ready to give a cordial response to overtures made to him from the land of his birth, when they came through the lips of his dearest friend. As a matter of course, it was John who very soon after the accession of Henry II. was sent to obtain a Papal authorization for the king’s projected conquest of Ireland.[1584] Naturally, too, it was John who now became Theobald’s private secretary and confidential medium of communication with Pope Adrian. A considerable part of the correspondence which goes under John’s name really consists of the archbishop’s letters, John himself being merely the amanuensis. This part of his work, however, was a relaxation which he only enjoyed at intervals; he was still constantly on active duty of some kind or other not only at the court of the primate but also at that of the king; and sorely did he long to escape from its weary trifling, to find rest for his soul in the pursuit of that “divine philosophy” which had been the delight of his youth.[1585] But obedience, not inclination, had brought him to court, and obedience kept him there. Thomas knew his worth and would not let him go; at last, to pacify his uneasiness, he bade him relieve his mind by pouring it out in a book. John protested he had scarce time to call his soul his own, much less his intellect or his hands.[1586] He was, however, set free by the removal of the court over sea for the expedition against Toulouse; and while Thomas was riding in coat of mail at the head of his troops against Count Raymond and King Louis, John was writing his Polycraticus in the quiet cloisters of Canterbury.[1587]

This book of Polycraticus on the Triflings of Courtiers and the Foot-prints of Philosophers[1588] is a strange medley of moral and political speculations, personal experiences, and reflections upon men and things, old and new. Its greatest charm lies in the revelation of the writer’s pure, sweet, child-like character, shining unconsciously through the veil of his scholastic pedantries and rambling metaphysics; its historical value consists in the light which it throws on the social condition of England with respect to a crowd of matters which the chroniclers leave wholly in the dark. “Part of it,” says the author in his dedication, “deals with the trifles of the court; laying most stress on those which have chiefly called it forth. Part treats of the foot-prints of the philosophers, leaving, however, the wise to decide for themselves in each case what is to be shunned and what to be followed.”[1589] We need not weary ourselves with John’s meditations upon Aristotle and Plato and their scholastic commentators; they all come round to one simple conclusion—that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and the love of Him the end of all true philosophy.[1590] It is in the light of this truth that he looks at the practical questions of the day, and reviews those “trifles of the court” which are really the crying abuses of the government, the ecclesiastical administration, and society at large. In the forefront of all he does not hesitate, although dedicating his book to the chancellor whose passion for hunting almost equalled that of the king himself, to set the inordinate love of the chase and the cruelties of the forest-law.[1591] The tardiness of the royal justice and the corruption of the judges—“justitiæ errantes, justices errant are they rightly called who go erring from the path of equity in pursuit of greed and gain”[1592]—was also, after seven years of Henry’s government, still a ground of serious complaint. So, too, was the decay of valour among the young knighthood of the day—a consequence of the general relaxation of discipline, first during the years of anarchy, and then in the reaction produced by the unbroken peace which England had enjoyed since Henry’s accession. Chivalry was already falling back from its lofty ideal; military exercises were neglected for the pleasures and luxury of the court; the making of a knight, in theory a matter almost as solemn as the making of a priest, was sinking into a mere commonplace formality;[1593] and the consequences were beginning to be felt on the Welsh border.[1594] John was moved to contrast the present insecurity of the marches with their splendid defence in Harold’s time,[1595] and to lament that William the Conqueror, in his desire to make his little insular world share the glories of the greater world beyond the sea, had allowed the naturally rich and self-sufficing island to be flooded with luxuries of which it had no need, and thus fostered rather than checked the indolent disposition which had helped to bring its people under his sway.[1596]

“Si verus Deus est hominum sapientia vera, Tunc amor est veri philosophia Dei.”

The ills of the state had each its counterpart in the Church; the extortions and perversions of justice committed by the secular judges were paralleled by those of the ecclesiastical officials, deans and archdeacons;[1597] and at the bottom of the mischief lay the old root of all evil. Simony was indeed no longer public; spiritual offices were no longer openly bought with hard cash; but they were bought with court-interest instead;[1598] the Church’s most sacred offices were filled by men who came straight from the worldly life of the court to a charge for which they were utterly unfit;[1599] although, in deference to public opinion, they were obliged to go through an elaborate shew of reluctance, and Scripture and hagiology were ransacked for examples of converted sinners, which were always found sufficient to meet any objections against a candidate for consecration and to justify any appointment, however outrageous.[1600] All the sins of the worldly churchmen, however, scarcely move John’s pure soul to such an outburst of scathing sarcasm as he pours upon the “false brethren” who sought their advancement in a more subtle way, by a shew of counterfeit piety:—the ultra-monastic, ultra-ascetic school, with their overdone zeal and humility, and their reliance on those pernicious exemptions from diocesan jurisdiction which the religious orders vied with each other in procuring from Rome, and which were destroying all discipline and subverting all rightful authority.[1601]

Over against the picture of the world and the Church as they actually were, the disciple of Archbishop Theobald sets his ideal of both as they should be—as the primate and his children aimed at making them. For John’s model commonwealth, built up in a somewhat disjointed fashion on a foundation partly of Holy Writ and partly of classic antiquity, is not, like the great Utopia of the sixteenth century, the product of one single, exceptionally constituted mind; it is a reflection of the plans and hopes of those among whom John lived and worked, and thus it helps us to see something of the line of thought which had guided their action in the past and which moulded their schemes for the future. Like all medieval theorists, they began at the uppermost end of the social and political scale; they started from a definite view of the rights and duties of the king, as the head on which all the lower members of the body politic depended. The divine right of kings, the divine ordination of the powers that be, were fundamental doctrines which they understood in a far wider and loftier sense than the king-worshippers of the seventeenth century:—which they employed not to support but to combat the perverted theory that “the sovereign’s will has the force of law,” already creeping in through the influence of the imperial jurisprudence;[1602]—and which were no less incompatible with the principle of invariable hereditary succession. “Lands and houses and suchlike things must needs descend to the next in blood; but the government of a people is to be given only to him whom God has chosen thereto, even to him who has God’s Spirit within him and God’s law ever before his eyes.... Not that for the mere love of change it is lawful to forsake the blood of princes, to whom by the privilege of the divine promises and by the natural claims of birth the succession of their children is justly due, if only they walk according to right. Neither, if they turn aside from the right way, are they to be immediately cast off, but patiently admonished till it become evident that they are obstinate in their wickedness”[1603]—then, and then only, shall the axe be laid to the root of the corrupt tree, and it shall cumber the ground no more.[1604]

Such was the moral which the wisest and most thoughtful minds in England drew from the lessons of the anarchy. On a like principle, it was in the growth of a more definite and earnest sense of individual duty and responsibility, as opposed to the selfish lawlessness which had so long prevailed, that they trusted for the regeneration of society. They sought to teach the knights to live up to the full meaning of their vows and the true objects of their institution—the protection of the Church, the suppression of treason, the vindication of the rights of the poor, the pacification of the country;[1605] so that the consecration of their swords upon the altar at their investiture should be no empty form, but, according to its original intention, a true symbol of the whole character of their lives and, if need be, of their deaths.[1606] And then side by side with the true knight would stand the true priest:—both alike soldiers of the Cross, fighting in the same cause though with different weapons—figured, according to John’s beautiful application of a text which medieval reformers never wearied of expounding, by the “two swords” which the Master had declared “enough” for His servants, all the lawless undisciplined activity of self-seekers and false brethren being merely the “swords and staves” of the hostile multitude.[1607] Into a detailed examination of the rights or the duties of the various classes of the people no one in those days thought it necessary to enter; their well-being and well-doing were regarded as dependent upon those of their superiors, and the whole question of the relation between rulers and ruled—“head and feet,” according to the simile which John borrows from Plutarch—was solved by the comprehensive formula, “Every one members one of another.”[1608] To watch over and direct the carrying-out of this principle was the special work of the clergy; and the clerical reformers were jealous for the rights of their order because, as understood by them, they represented and covered the rights of the whole nation; the claims which they put forth in the Church’s name were a protest in behalf of true civil and religious liberty against tyranny on the one hand and license on the other.[1609] “For there is nothing more glorious than freedom, save virtue; if indeed freedom may rightly be severed from virtue—for all who know anything aright know that true freedom has no other source.”[1610]

How far these lofty views had made their way into the high places of the Church it was as yet scarcely possible to judge. The tone of the English episcopate had certainly undergone a marked change for the better during the last six years of Stephen’s reign. Theobald’s hopes must, however, have been chiefly in the rising generation. Of the existing bishops there was only one really capable of either helping or hindering the work which the primate had at heart; for Henry of Winchester, although his royal blood, his stately personality and his long and memorable career necessarily made him to his life’s end an important figure in both Church and state, had ceased to take an active part in the affairs of either, and for several years lived altogether away from England, in his boyhood’s home at Cluny.[1611] A far more weighty element in the calculations of the reforming party was the character and policy of the bishop of Hereford, Gilbert Foliot. From the circumstances in which we find Gilbert’s relatives in England,[1612] it seems probable that he belonged to one of the poorer Norman families of knightly rank who came over either in the train of the great nobles of the conquest or in the more peaceful immigration under Henry I. His youth is lost in obscurity; of his education we know nothing, save by its fruits. Highly gifted as he unquestionably was by nature, even his inborn genius could hardly have enabled him to acquire his refined and varied scholarship, his unrivalled mastery of legal, political and ecclesiastical lore, his profound and extensive knowledge of men and things, anywhere but in some one or other of the universities of the day. It is curious that although Gilbert’s extant correspondence is one of the most voluminous of the time—extending over nearly half a century, and addressed to persons of the most diverse ranks, parties, professions and nationalities—it contains not one allusion to the studies or the companions of his youth, not one of those half playful, half tender reminiscences of student-triumphs, student-troubles and student-friendships, which were so fresh in the hearts and in the letters of many distinguished contemporaries. Only from an appeal made to him, when bishop of London, in behalf of his old benefactor’s orphan and penniless children, do we learn that he had once been the favourite pupil, the ward, almost the adoptive son, of a certain Master Adam.[1613] It is tempting, but perhaps hardly safe, to conjecture that this Master Adam was the learned Englishman of that name who in like manner befriended another young fellow-countryman, John of Salisbury, when he too was studying in Paris.[1614] This, however, was not till Gilbert Foliot’s student-days had long been past. Wherever his youth may have been spent, wherever his reputation may have been acquired, the one was quite over and the other was fully established before 1139, when he had been already for some years a monk of Cluny, had attained the rank of prior in the mother-house, and had thence been promoted to become the head of the dependent priory of Abbeville.[1615]

In 1139 the abbot of S. Peter’s at Gloucester died; Miles the constable, the lord of Gloucester castle and sheriff of the county, and the greatest man of the district after Earl Robert himself, secured the vacant office for Gilbert Foliot,[1616] who was a family connexion of his own.[1617] The abbey of S. Peter at Gloucester, founded as a nunnery in the seventh century, changed into a college of secular priests after the Danish wars, and finally settled as a house of Benedictine monks in the reign of Cnut, had risen to wealth and fame under its first Norman abbot, Serlo, some of whose work still survives in the nave of his church, now serving as the cathedral church of Gloucester. Gloucester itself, the capital of Earl Robert’s territories, was still, like Hereford and Shrewsbury, a border-city whose inhabitants had to be constantly on their guard against the thievery and treachery of the Welsh, who, though often highly useful to their English earl as auxiliary forces in war, were anything but loyal subjects or trustworthy neighbours. The position of abbot of S. Peter’s therefore was at all times one of some difficulty and anxiety; and Gilbert entered upon it at a specially difficult and anxious time. Stephen’s assent to his appointment can hardly have been prompted by favour to Miles, who had openly defied the king a year ago; he may have been influenced by fear of giving fresh offence to such a formidable deserter, or he may simply have been, as we are told, moved by the report of Gilbert’s great merits.[1618] The new abbot proved quite worthy of his reputation. His bitterest enemies always admitted that he was a pattern of monastic discipline and personal asceticism; and his admirable judgement, moderation and prudence soon made him a personage of very high authority in the counsels of the English Church. Holding such an important office in the city which was the head-quarters of the Empress’s party throughout the greater part of the civil war, he of course had his full share of the troubles of the anarchy, whereof Welsh inroads counted among the least. There is no doubt that in bringing him to England Miles had, whether intentionally or not, brought over one who sympathized strongly with the Angevin cause; but Gilbert’s sympathies led him into no political partizanship. During his nine years’ residence at Gloucester he consistently occupied the position which seems to have been his ideal through life: that of a churchman pure and simple, attached to no mere party in either Church or state, but ready to work with each and all for the broad aims of ecclesiastical order and national tranquillity. That these aims came at last to be identified with the success of the Angevin party was a result of circumstances over which Gilbert had no control. He was honoured, consulted and trusted by the most diverse characters among the bishops. Mere abbot of a remote monastery as he was, Nigel of Ely was glad to be recommended by him to Pope Celestine, Jocelyn of Salisbury to Lucius, and Alexander of Lincoln to Eugene III.[1619] He was treated almost as an equal not only by his own diocesan Bishop Simon of Worcester, by his neighbour Robert of Hereford, and by Jocelyn of Salisbury, but even by the archbishop of Canterbury and the legate Henry of Winchester; and he writes in the tone of a patron and adviser to Bishop Uhtred of Landaff and to the heads of the religious houses on the Welsh border.[1620] He seems indeed to have been the usual medium of communication between the Church in the western shires and its primate at far-off Canterbury, who evidently found him a trustworthy and useful agent in managing the very troublesome Church affairs of the Welsh marches during the civil war.

When at last the storm subsided and a turn of the tide came with the spring of 1148, Theobald openly shewed his confidence in the abbot of Gloucester by commanding his attendance on that journey to Reims which the king had forbidden, and which was therefore looked upon as the grand proclamation of ecclesiastical independence, as well as of devotion to the house of Anjou. Gilbert, with characteristic caution, excused himself on the plea that the troubles of his house urgently required his presence at home;[1621] but he ended by going nevertheless,[1622] and when his friend Bishop Robert of Hereford—one of the three prelates whom Stephen had permitted to attend the council of Reims—died during its session, the Pope and the primate rewarded Gilbert with the succession to the vacant see.[1623] For his perjury in doing homage to Stephen for its temporalities after swearing to hold them only of Henry Fitz-Empress he may be supposed to have quieted his conscience with the plea that there was no other means of securing them for Henry’s benefit;—a plea which Henry, after some delay,[1624] found it wise to accept. The heads of the Angevin party knew indeed that Gilbert regarded all homage to Stephen as simply null and void; he had just written it plainly to Brian Fitz-Count, when criticizing Brian’s apology for the Empress, in a letter[1625] which, we may be very sure, must have been handed about and studied among her friends as a much more valuable document than the pamphlet which had called it forth.

The career of the new bishop of Hereford was but the natural continuation of that of the abbot of Gloucester. His more exalted office enabled him to be more than ever Theobald’s right hand in the direction of the western dioceses. In their secular policy he and Theobald were wholly at one; whether they really were equally so in their ideas of Church reform is a question which was never put to the test; but the tone of Gilbert’s mind, so far as it can be made out from his letters and from his course in after-years, does not seem to have altogether harmonized with that which prevailed in the primate’s household; and the one member of that household with whom Gilbert was on really intimate terms was precisely the one who, as afterwards appeared, had imbibed least of its spirit—Roger of Pont-l’Evêque. Gilbert’s character is not an easy one to read. Its inner depths are scarcely reflected in his letters, which are almost all occupied with mere business or formal religious exhortation; we never get from him such a pleasant little stream of unpremeditated, discursive talk as John of Salisbury or Peter of Blois delighted to pour out of the abundance of their hearts into the ears of some old comrade, or such a flood of uncontrolled passion as revealed the whole soul of Thomas Becket. Gilbert’s letters are carefully-balanced, highly-finished compositions; almost every one of them reads as if it had received as much polishing, in proportion to its length and importance, as the review of Earl Brian’s book, which, the abbot owns, occupied what should have been his hours of prayer during two days.[1626] A strong vein of sarcasm, very clever as well as very severe, is the only token of personal feeling which at times forces its way strangely, almost startlingly, through the veil of extreme self-depreciation with which Gilbert strove to cover it. The self-depreciation is even more disagreeable than the sarcasm; yet it seems hardly fair to accuse Gilbert of conscious hypocrisy. There was a bitter, sneering disposition ingrained in his innermost being, and he knew it. His elaborate expressions of more than monastic humility and meekness may have been the outcome of a struggle to smother what he probably regarded as his besetting sin; and if he not only failed to smother it, but drifted into a much more subtle and dangerous temptation, still it is possible that he himself never perceived the fact, and was less a deceiver than a victim of self-deception. During his episcopate at Hereford, at any rate, no shadow of suspicion fell upon him from any quarter; primate and Pope esteemed, trusted and consulted him as one of the wisest as well as most zealous doctors of the English Church; and when the young king came to his throne he did not fail to shew a duly respectful appreciation of Gilbert’s character and services.

The king’s own attitude towards the religious revival was as yet not very clearly defined. Henry was not without religious impulse; but it had taken a special direction which indeed might naturally be expected in a grandson of Fulk of Jerusalem:—a restless desire to go upon crusade. He had no sooner mounted his throne than he began to urge upon the English Pope, newly crowned like himself, the importance of giving special attention to the necessities of the Holy Land.[1627] Four years later he proposed to join Louis of France in a crusade against the Moors in Spain. Louis wrote to the Pope announcing this project and begging for his advice and support; Adrian in reply assured the two kings of his sympathy and goodwill, but though praising their zeal he expressed some doubt of its discretion, advised them to ascertain whether the Spaniards desired their help before thrusting it upon them unasked, and reminded Louis in plain terms of the disastrous issue of his former rash crusade.[1628] The warning was needless, for it was hardly written before the intending brothers-in-arms were preparing to fight against each other; and before the war of Toulouse was over the English Pope was dead.[1629]

His death was a heavy blow to the Church of his native land; and it was followed by a schism which threatened disastrous consequences to all western Christendom. Two Popes were elected—Roland of Siena, cardinal of S. Mark and treasurer of the Holy See, and Octavian, cardinal of S. Cecilia, a Roman of noble birth. This latter, who assumed the name of Victor IV., was favoured by the Emperor, Frederic Barbarossa. After a violent struggle he was expelled from Rome and fled to the protection of his imperial patron, who thereupon summoned a general council to meet at Pavia early in the next year and decide between the rival pontiffs.[1630] Only the bishops of Frederic’s own dominions obeyed the summons, and only one of the claimants; for Alexander III. (as Roland was called by his adherents) disdained to submit to a trial whose issue he believed to have been predetermined against him. He was accordingly condemned as a rebel and schismatic, and Victor was acknowledged as the lawful successor of S. Peter.[1631] This decision, however, bound only the bishops of the Imperial dominions; and its general acceptance throughout the rest of Christendom, doubtful from the first, became impossible when Alexander and his partizans published their account of the mode by which it had been arrived at. Victor—so their story went—had actually placed his pontifical ring in the Emperor’s hands and received it back from him as the symbol of investiture.[1632] The Church at large could have no hesitation in deciding that a man who thus climbed into the sheepfold by surrendering, voluntarily and deliberately, the whole principle of spiritual independence whose triumph Gregory and Anselm had devoted their lives to secure, was no true shepherd but a thief and robber. Frederic however lost no time in endeavouring to obtain for him the adhesion of France and England; and in the last-named quarter he had great hopes of success. Henry had for several years past shewn a disposition to knit up again the old political ties which connected England with Germany; friendly embassies had been exchanged between the two countries;[1633] now that he had begun to quarrel with France, too, he was likely to be more inclined towards an imperial alliance. Moreover it might naturally be expected that Frederic’s bold and apparently successful attempt to revive the claims of his predecessor Henry IV. on the subject of ecclesiastical investitures would meet with sympathy from the grandson and representative of Henry I. Indeed, the official report of the council of Pavia declares that Henry had actually, by letters and envoys, given his assent to its proceedings.[1634] But nothing of the kind was known in Henry’s own dominions;[1635] and it seems that the Emperor was forestalled by a Norman bishop.

Arnulf of Lisieux came of a family which had for more than half a century been constantly mixed up in the diplomatic concerns of Normandy and Anjou. Arnulf himself had begun his career about 1130 by writing a treatise in defence of an orthodox Pope against an usurper;[1636] he had been chosen to succeed his uncle Bishop John of Lisieux[1637] shortly before Geoffrey Plantagenet’s final conquest of Normandy, and had bought at a heavy price his peace with the new ruler;[1638] and for the next forty years there was hardly a diplomatic transaction of any kind, ecclesiastical or secular, in England or in Gaul, in which he was not at some moment and in some way or other concerned. He had little official influence; he had indeed a certain amount of territorial importance in Normandy, for Lisieux was the capital of a little county of which the temporal as well as the spiritual government was vested in the bishop; but a Norman bishop, merely as such, had none of the political weight of an English prelate; and Arnulf never held any secular office. He was not exactly a busybody; he was a consummate diplomatist, of wide experience and far-reaching intelligence, with whose services no party could afford to dispense; and his extraordinary caution and sagacity enabled him to act as counsellor and guide of all parties at once without sacrificing his own reputation as a sound Churchman and a loyal subject. In his youth he had come in contact with most of the rising scholars and statesmen of the day in the schools of Paris; and as he was an indefatigable and accomplished letter-writer, he kept up through life a busy correspondence with men of all ranks and all schools of thought on both sides of the sea.[1639] During the quarrel between Louis VII. and Geoffrey Plantagenet concerning the affair of Montreuil-Bellay, Arnulf was intrusted by Suger with a chief part in the negotiations for the restoration of peace;[1640] the final settlement in 1151, whereby the investiture of Normandy was secured to Henry, was chiefly owing to his diplomacy;[1641] he accompanied Henry to England and was present at his crowning;[1642] and on all questions of continental policy he continued to be Henry’s chief adviser till he was superseded by Thomas Becket.

To Arnulf there was nothing new or startling in a schism at Rome; his experiences of thirty years before enabled him to penetrate the present case at once, and as then with his pen, so now with his tongue, he proved the readiest and most powerful advocate of the orthodox pontiff. Fortunately, Henry was in Normandy; before any one else had time to gain his ear and bias his mind, before he himself had time to think of forming an independent judgement on the subject, Arnulf hurried to his side,[1643] and set forth the claims of Alexander with such convincing eloquence that the king at once promised to acknowledge him as Pope. He refrained however from issuing an immediate order for Alexander’s acceptance throughout his dominions, partly in deference to the Emperor,[1644] and partly to make sure of the intentions of the king of France. Louis, like Henry, had sent a representative to the council of Pavia, but he had taken care not to commit himself to any decision upon its proceedings.[1645] He was not naturally inclined to favour the Emperor’s views. The question of the investitures had never been as important in France as in Germany or in England, and had been settled by a kind of tacit concordat which the Most Christian King had no mind to forfeit his title by disturbing; France was always the staunchest upholder of the independence of the Apostolic see;[1646] and neither king nor clergy desired to change their attitude. They met in council at Beauvais some time in the summer of 1160; a similar gathering of the Norman bishops, in Henry’s presence, took place in July at Neufmarché; both assemblies resulted in the acknowledgement of Alexander.[1647] The formal assent of the Churches of England and Aquitaine had still to be obtained before either king would fully proclaim his decision.[1648] Archbishop Theobald’s anxious request for information and instructions concerning the schism[1649] was answered by an exhaustive and eloquent statement of the case from the pen of the indefatigable bishop of Lisieux;[1650] and in accordance with his directions the English bishops in council assembled unanimously declared their acceptance of Alexander III. as the lawful successor of S. Peter.[1651]

Alexander’s legates were already in Normandy;[1652] unluckily, however, the use which Henry made of their presence led as we have seen to a fresh rupture between him and Louis; and by this the Emperor and the anti-pope immediately sought to profit. Tempting as their overtures were to Henry, it does not appear that he ever seriously entertained them; but the leaders of the English Church, having now learned the circumstances of the case and grasped the full importance of the triumph insured to the reforming party by his acceptance of Alexander, were naturally alarmed lest he should be induced to change his mind. Their anxiety was increased by the enfeebled state of their own ranks. The struggles of Bishop Richard of London to clear off the debts incurred in raising a fine required by Stephen at his election seemed to have only aggravated the confusion of his affairs, which his friends the bishops of Hereford and Lincoln were engaged in a desperate effort to disentangle,[1653] while Richard himself, to complete his misfortunes, was stricken helpless by paralysis.[1654] Henry of Winchester had returned to his diocese, after nearly four years’ absence, in 1159;[1655] but by the spring of 1161 he again left the Church of England to her fate and went back to his beloved Cluny.[1656] The bishoprics of Chester (or Lichfield), Exeter and Worcester were vacant;[1657] and, worst of all, Archbishop Theobald was dying.

The primate’s letters during the last few months of his life shew him calmly awaiting his call to rest, yet anxiously longing to be assured of the future of those whom he was leaving behind, and to set in order a few things that were wanting before he could depart altogether in peace. Very touching are the expressions of his longing to “see the face of the Lord’s anointed once again”—to welcome the king back to his country and his home, safely removed from political temptations to break away from the unity of the Church.[1658] And there was another for whose return Theobald yearned more deeply still: his own long absent archdeacon—“the first of my counsellors, nay, my only one,” as he calls him, pleading earnestly with the king to let him come home.[1659] For a moment, indeed, Theobald was on the point of being left almost alone. Some rather obscure mischief-making in high places had caused John of Salisbury to be visited with the king’s severe displeasure; treated as a suspected criminal in England, forbidden to go and clear himself in Normandy, John found his position so unbearable that he contemplated taking refuge in France under the protection of his old friend Abbot Peter of Celle.[1660] He seems, however, to have ended by remaining in England under Theobald’s protection; before the winter of 1160, at any rate, he was again at Canterbury, watching over and tending the primate’s gradual decline;—almost overwhelmed with “the care of all the churches,” which Theobald had transferred to him;[1661]—characteristically finding relief from his anxieties in correspondence with old friends, and in the composition of another little philosophical treatise, called Metalogicus, whose chief interest lies in the sketch which it contains of its author’s early life.[1662] John’s disinterested affection and devoted services were fully appreciated by Theobald;[1663] but they could not make up for the absence of Thomas. Not only did the old man long to see his early favourite once more; not only were there grave matters of diocesan administration dependent on the archdeacon’s office and urgently requiring his personal co-operation:[1664]—it was on far weightier things than these that the archbishop desired to hold counsel with Thomas. In the hands of Thomas, as chief adviser and minister of the king, rested in no small degree the future of the English Church; Theobald’s darling wish was that it should rest in his hands as primate of all England.[1665]

“Ille Theobaldus qui Christi præsidet aulæ, Quam fidei matrem Cantia nostra colit, Hunc successurum sibi sperat et orat, ut idem Præsulis officium muniat atque locum.”

Entheticus, vv. 1293–1296 (Giles, vol. v. p. 280.)

Later writers dilate upon the startling contrast between Becket’s character and policy as chancellor and as archbishop. That contrast vanishes when we look at the chancellor through the eyes of the two men who knew him best; and we find that the real contrast lies between their view of him and that of the outside world which only saw the surface of his life and could not fathom its inner depths. Those who beheld him foremost in every military exercise and every courtly pastime, far outdoing the king himself in lavish splendour and fastidious refinement, devoting every faculty of mind and body to the service and the pleasure of his royal friend:—those who saw all this, and could only judge by what they saw, might well have thought that for such a man to become the champion of the Church was a dream to be realized only by miracle or by imposture. But Archbishop Theobald and John of Salisbury had known his inmost soul, better perhaps than he knew it himself, before ever he went to court; and they knew that however startling his conduct there might look, he was merely fulfilling in his own way the mission on which he had been sent thither:—making himself all things to all men, if thereby he might by any means influence the court and the king for good.[1666] Even his suggestion of the scutage for the war of Toulouse did not seriously shake their faith in him; they blamed him, but they believed that he had erred in weakness, not in wilfulness.[1667] In the middle of the war John dedicated the Polycraticus to him as the one man about the court to whom its follies and its faults could be criticized without fear, because he had no part in them.[1668] Thomas himself does not seem to have contemplated the possibility of removal from his present sphere. It was not in his nature at any time to look far ahead; and Henry seemed to find his attendance more indispensable than ever, declaring in answer to Theobald’s intreaties and remonstrances that he could not possibly spare him till peace was thoroughly restored.[1669]

Thomas was in a strait. His first duty was to his dying spiritual father; but he could not go against the king’s will without running such a risk as Theobald would have been the first to disapprove. Thomas himself therefore at last suggested that the archbishop should try to move the king by summoning his truant archdeacon to return home at once on pain of deprivation.[1670] Theobald, unable to reconcile the contradictory letters of king and chancellor with the general reports of their wonderful unanimity, steered a middle course between severity and gentleness, from fear of bringing down the royal displeasure upon his favourite, whom he yet half suspected of being in collusion with the king. His secretary, John, had no such doubts; but he too was urgent that by some means or other Thomas should come over before the primate’s death.[1671] If he did go, it can only have been for a flying visit; and there is no sign that he went at all. One thing he did obtain for Theobald’s satisfaction: the appointment of Bartholomew archdeacon of Exeter to the bishopric of that diocese.[1672] In April Richard Peche, on whom the see of Chester had been conferred, was consecrated at Canterbury by Walter of Rochester, the archbishop being carried into the chapel to sanction by his presence the rite in which he was too feeble to assist.[1673] By the hand of the faithful secretary John he transmitted to King Henry his last solemn benediction and farewell, and commended to the royal care the future of his church and the choice of his successor.[1674] A few days later, on April 18, 1161, the good primate passed away.[1675]

ERRATA

Page050, line 08 from foot, insert “and” before “bore.”

” 158, ” 05, for “in” read “by.”

” 268, ” 18, dele “the following.”

” 274, ” 14 from foot, for “two” read “three.”

” 282, ” 14, insert “and” before “made.”

” 417, lines 3 and 4 from foot, for “husband ... heiress” read “head.”

” 438, note 5, line 8, for “David” read “Henry of Scotland.”

END OF VOL. I.

Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh

INDEX

Aaron of Lincoln, ii. 487

Abelard, i. 480

Abingdon, its customs in 1185, ii. 475–477;

its fair, 481, 482.

See Faricius

Achard, lord of Châlus, ii. 382, 383

Aclea, battle of, i. 102

Acre taken by the crusaders, ii. 319

Adaland, archbishop of Tours, i. 131, 132

Adalbert, count of Périgord, i. 145

Adam, Master, i. 482, 492, 493

Adam de Bruce, ii. 145

Adam de Port, ii. 162

Adela, first wife of Geoffrey Greygown, i. 121, 135

Adela, countess of Chalon-sur-Saône, second wife of Geoffrey Greygown, i. 121, 134, 135, 199

Adela of France, daughter of Louis VII. and Eleanor, i. 445

Adela, daughter of Louis VII. and Constance, born, i. 468;

betrothed to Richard, ii. 62;

offered to John, 314;

marries the count of Ponthieu, 374

Adela of Blois, daughter of Theobald IV., third wife of Louis VII., i. 468

Adela, daughter of William the Conqueror, wife of Stephen-Henry of Blois, i. 272;

her children, 273

Adela of Vendôme, daughter of Fulk Nerra and Elizabeth, i. 172

Adela, see Hermengard

Adelaide or Blanche, mother of Queen Constance, i. 191, 192

Adelard of Bath, i. 94, 95

Adeliza of Louvain, second wife of Henry I., i. 94;

married to William of Aubigny, 298;

receives the Empress Matilda, i. 309

Ademar, count of Angoulême, ii. 316, 381, 398, 399

Ademar, viscount of Limoges, ii. 220, 230, 381, 382

Adrian IV., Pope, i. 476;

his relations with the English Church and the Curia Theobaldi, 477;

friendship with John of Salisbury, 485;

bull for conquest of Ireland, 431; ii. 95, 96, 182;

relations with Henry II., i. 497;

dies, 498.

See Nicolas

Ælendis of Amboise, wife of Ingelger, i. 105, 131

Aerschot, see Arnold

Agnes of Burgundy, her marriages, i. 174, 197–199;

kinship with Geoffrey Martel, 136, 175, 199;

divorced, 212

Agnes of Merania, ii. 395, 401

Agnes of Poitou, daughter of William IV., marries Emperor Henry III., i. 176

“Aids” from towns, i. 25, 29;

the Sheriff’s, ii. 15;

pour fille marier, 125, 126;

for the king’s ransom, 325

Aileach, kings of, see Donell, Murtogh

Alan Barbetorte, count of Nantes and duke of Britanny, i. 115

Alan III., duke of Britanny, helps Herbert Wakedog against Avesgaud and Fulk, i. 159, note 4{343};

marriage, 205;

death, 206, 211

Alan Fergant, duke of Britanny, his marriages, i. 328, note 4{930}

Alan, count of Nantes, i. 146

Alan of Richmond, i. 318, 319, 321

Albano, see Henry

Alberic, bishop of Ostia, legate, i. 299, 300

Alberic, count of Gâtinais, see Geoffrey

Albinus or Aubin, S., bishop of Angers, i. 98

Alcuin, i. 181

Aldgate, priory of Holy Trinity at, i. 66

Alençon, i. 208, 209;

treaty of, 217;

surrendered to Henry I., 233;

restored to William Talvas, 236;

won by Fulk V., ib.

See Robert, William

Alexander II., Pope, i. 220

Alexander III., Pope, i. 498;

acknowledged in France and England, 502;

grants the pall to Thomas, ii. 6;

meets Henry and Louis at Chouzy, 13;

holds a council at Tours, 14;

relation to the Becket quarrel, 29, 50–52;

condemns Constitutions of Clarendon, 42;

returns to Rome, 55;

appoints Thomas legate, 67;

sends commissioners to mediate between Henry and Thomas, 69, 70;

authorizes Roger of York to crown young Henry, 71;

forbids him, 72;

interdicts the Angevin dominions and excommunicates the murderers of S. Thomas, 79;

sends envoys to Henry, 80

Alexander, bishop of Lincoln, i. 83, 94, 303, 304

Alfhun, master of S. Bartholomew’s hospital, i. 67

Alfonso II., king of Aragon, ii. 133;

helps Richard in Aquitaine, 230, 231

Alfonso VIII., king of Castille, marries Eleanor, daughter of Henry II., ii. 60;

submits his quarrel with Navarre to Henry’s arbitration, 190

Alfonso Jordan, count of Toulouse, i. 455, 456, 458

Alfred of Beverley, ii. 445, 446

Alice of Maurienne betrothed to John Lackland, ii. 132–134;

dies, 184

Almeric of Montfort, i. 232, 236, 237, 238, 241

Almeric, viscount of Thouars, ii. 395, 427, 428

Alnwick, ii. 161

Amboise, i. 105, 106;

house of the Angevin counts at, 151;

Odo’s last attack on, 163.

See Lisoy, Sulpice

Ambrières, i. 209, 211

Anagni, see John

Andegavi, i. 97

Andely, Isle of, ii. 376, 377;

besieged by Philip, 411, 412;

John’s attempt to relieve it, 413–415;

taken, 416

Andely, Nouvel or Petit, ii. 377;

taken by Philip, 416;

fate of its townsfolk, 417, 418

Andes, i. 97, 130

Andrew of London, i. 363

Angareth, wife of William de Barri, ii. 453

Angers (Juliomagus), i. 98;

its position as a border-fortress, 101;

seized by northmen, 103;

relieved by Charles the Bald, ib., 104;

its aspect in tenth century, 108;

palace of the counts, 109, 132–134, 165;

of the bishops, 133;

fires at, ib., 152;

R. Diceto’s description of, 134;

Henry I. of France at, 213;

betrayed to Fulk Rechin, 220;

Urban II. at, 225;

burghers of, revolt against Fulk V., 234;

Fulk Nerra’s buildings at, 165;

abbeys of S. Aubin and S. Sergius at, 98;

our Lady of Charity (Ronceray), 165;

S. Nicolas, ib., 172, 214, 225, 228;

Henry II.’s buildings at, ii. 197, 199, 200;

Henry and his sons at, 224;

given up to Arthur, 389;

seized by his friends, 407;

retaken by John, 428;

bishops, see Albinus, Dodo, Rainald, Raino, Ulger

Angevin March, the, i. 101;

its extent, 130

Angevins, see Anjou

Angoulême, disputed succession, ii. 220.

See Ademar, Isabel, Matilda, Vulgrin, William

Anjou, its geographical position and character, i. 97;

political position, 106, 107;

its character as a marchland, 107;

its golden age, 113;

sources of its history, 126, 127;

county of, “bipartite,” 128, 129, 130;

its extent, 97, 130;

dependence on the duchy of France, 130;

condition at Fulk Rechin’s death, 229;

placed under interdict, 242;

revolts of the barons, 266–267, 343;

rebels in (1173), ii. 136;

condition under Henry II., 194–196;

John acknowledged in, 388;

accepts Arthur, 389;

submits to Philip, 425;

counts of, their origin, i. 105;

character, 108;

palace at Angers, 109, 132–134, 165;

burial-place, 117, note 3{263};

claims upon Nantes, 116, 117;

upon Maine, i. 124, 140–142;

the demon-countess, 143;

house at Amboise, 151;

rivalry with Blois, 145, 150, 188, 271, 279;

extinction of the male line, 214;

decline after Martel’s death, 215, 218;

relations with France, 164; ii. 357;

growth of their power, 187, 188;

career in Palestine, 239;

their work for England, 490, 492.

See Elias, Fulk, Geoffrey, Guy, Henry, Hermengard, Ingelger, Lambert, Matilda, Odo, Robert, Sibyl, William

Annonain, Pont de l’, ii. 200, 201

Anselm, S., archbishop of Canterbury, i. 8, 9;

his struggle with Henry I., 15–18;

consecrates Malchus to Waterford, ii. 89;

dies, i. 63;

proposal to canonize him, ii. 14

Aquitaine, its relations with France, i. 123, 145, 383, 456, 457; ii. 202;

extent and history, i. 454;

granted to Richard, ii. 62;

rebels in (1173), 136;

country and people, 201, 203–205;

its importance for England, 201;

relations with Henry II., 203, 205;

risings in, 58, 109, 220;

submits, 230;

proposal to give it to John, 233;

restored to Richard, 247.

See Eleanor, Odo, Richard, William

Aquitania, i. 99, 454

Aragon, see Alfonso, Ramirez, Petronilla

Arcelles, see Saher

Archambald, brother of Sulpice of Amboise, i. 194

Architecture, English, in twelfth century, i. 55

Aremburg of Maine, betrothed to Geoffrey Martel II., i. 226;

marries Fulk V., 232;

dies, 245

Argentan, i. 373; ii. 79, 80

Aristotle, study of, in the middle ages, ii. 466, 467

Arles, see Bertha, Burgundy, Provence, William

Armagh, synod at, ii. 105.

See Malachi

Arms, Assize of, ii. 177, 178

Arnold, count of Aerschot, i. 362

Arnulf, bishop of Lisieux, i. 500;

persuades Henry II. to acknowledge Pope Alexander, 501;

advises Henry to appeal against Thomas, ii. 65;

rebels, 140

Arques, i. 342; ii. 405, 406, 425

Arthur, King, i. 33;

Henry II.’s correspondence with, ii. 57 note 2{226}, 447;

invention and translation of, 447, 448;

romances of, 448, 449

Arthur, son of Geoffrey and Constance of Britanny, born, ii. 245;

recognized by Richard as his heir, 295;

in custody of Philip, 370;

joins Richard, 374;

acknowledged in Anjou, Touraine and Maine, 389;

does homage to Philip, 390;

quarrels with Philip and goes to John, 394;

flies, 395;

does homage to John, 397;

knighted, 404;

meets the Lusignans at Tours, 405;

besieges Mirebeau, 406;

captured, ib.;

imprisoned, 407;

death, 408, 429, 430;

its consequences, 409

Arundel, i. 10, 309.

See William

Assize of Arms, ii. 177, 178;

of Clarendon, 122, 123;

of the Forest, 177;

Great, 122;

Henry Fitz-Aylwine’s, 485;

of Measures, 348;

of Mort d’ancester, 172;

of Northampton, 172, 173;

later developements, 338–340

Aubigny, see William

Aubrey de Vere, i. 305

Augustinians, see Canons

Aulerci Cenomanni, i. 201, 202

Aumale, see William

Austin canons, see Canons

Austria, see Leopold

Autun, see Lambert

Auvergne, its feudal relations, ii. 202, 203;

attacked by Philip, 252;

Richard gives up his claims upon, 361

Auxerre, Thomas Becket studies at, i. 379

Avesgaud, bishop of Le Mans, i. 159 note 4{343}, 204, 205

Avice of Gloucester betrothed to John Lackland, ii. 184;

married, 282;

divorced, 398

Avranches, ii. 81

Axholm, ii. 152, 155

Azay, conference at, ii. 263

Baggamore, i. 291

“Baille-hache,” i. 353, 354

Bailleul, see Bernard, Jocelyn

Baldwin II., king of Jerusalem, i. 246

Baldwin III., king of Jerusalem, ii. 239

Baldwin IV., king of Jerusalem, ii. 239, 247

Baldwin, archbishop of Canterbury, takes the cross, ii. 248;

preaches the crusade in Wales, 249;

opposes John’s marriage, 282;

dies, 296, 297;

his proposed college, 437

Baldwin, count of Flanders, i. 235

Baldwin of Clare, i. 318, 320

Baldwin of Redvers, i. 284

Balliol, see Bernard, Jocelyn

Ballon, ii. 394

Bamborough, i. 288

Bar, i. 167

Barcelona, county of, i. 462.

See Raymond-Berengar

Barnwell priory, ii. 463

Barri, see Gerald, William

Bartholomew, bishop of Exeter, i. 506

Bath, i. 35, 296.

See Adelard

Bayeux, i. 11, 307.

See Ralf

Baynard’s Castle, i. 44

Beauchamp, see Miles

Beaugency, council at, i. 392

Beaulieu abbey (Hants), ii. 400

Beaulieu abbey (Touraine), i. 154, 155, 168

Beaumont, see Hermengard

Beauvais, council at, i. 502

Becket, see Gilbert, Rohesia, Thomas

Bedford, i. 320

Bela III., king of Hungary, marries Margaret of France, ii. 235

Bellême, house of, i. 204.

See Robert

Benedictines contrasted with the Cistercians, i. 73

“Bene-work,” i. 57

Berengaria of Navarre, wife of Richard I., ii. 295, 296

Bermondsey, council at, i. 427

Bernard, S., abbot of Clairvaux, i. 70, 72;

his influence, 359;

relations with Rome, 360, 361;

with S. Malachi, ii. 94;

plans for England, i. 364;

pleads for Gerald of Montreuil, 388;

recommends John of Salisbury to Abp. Theobald, 483;

death, 400

Bernard de Balliol, ii. 145, 161

Berry, its feudal relations, ii. 202;

war in, 245, 251, 252

Bertha of Arles, widow of Odo I. of Blois, marries King Robert, i. 149;

separated, ib.

Bertha, daughter of Odo of Blois, wife of Alan of Britanny, i. 205;

of Hugh II. of Maine, 206

Bertha, daughter of Conan III. of Britanny, i. 449

Bertrada of Montfort, marries Fulk Rechin, i. 223, 224;

elopes with King Philip, 224;

suspected of contriving her stepson’s death, 228;

her policy, 232

Bertrand de Born, ii. 204, 205;

stirs up revolt in Aquitaine, 209, 220, 366;

his sirvente for Toulouse, 211, 212;

sets the young king against Richard, 222;

submits, 231;

enters a monastery, 371

Bertrand, count of Toulouse and Tripoli, i. 455

Beverley, i. 30, 37, 38.

See Alfred

Béziers, see Raymond

Bigod, see Hugh

Biota of Maine, i. 217, 218, 254

Bishops, English, their political position, i. 20;

appeal against Thomas, ii. 67.

See Church

Blanche of Castille, daughter of Alfonso and Eleanor, ii. 395, 397

Blanche, see Adelaide

Blanchelande, i. 223, 257

Bloet, see Robert

Blois, counts of, their rivalry with Anjou, i. 145, 150, 188;

their character, 150.

See Adela, Bertha, Henry, Odo, Stephen, Theobald, William

Blondel, ii. 324

Bodmin, gild at, ii. 469

“Bogis,” Peter, ii. 421, 422

Bohun, see Humfrey

Bologna, university of, ii. 460;

S. Thomas at, i. 379

Bonmoulins, conference at, ii. 254, 255

Bonneville, i. 307;

council at, ii. 157

“Boon-work,” i. 57

Bordeaux, see William

Born, see Bertrand

Bosham, see Herbert

Boulogne, see Matilda, Matthew, Mary, William

Bourbon, see Hermengard

Bourges, its feudal relations, ii. 202

Bourgthéroulde, battle of, i. 241

Brabantines, ii. 223

Breakspear, see Nicolas

Breffny, ii. 97

Brenneville, battle of, i. 237

Brian Boroimhe, king of Munster, ii. 85

Brian Fitz-Count, i. 243, 328, 396;

his “book,” 369

Bridgenorth, sieges of, i. 10, 429, 430

Brissarthe, i. 103

Bristol, i. 33, 34, 295, 296;

its slave-trade, 35, ii. 87;

Stephen’s attempt on, i. 296, 297;

ill-doings of its garrison, 297;

Dermot of Leinster at, ii. 98, 99;

Henry II.’s charters to, 118

Britanny, i. 99;

its extent under Herispoë, 102 note 1{236}, 130;

civil wars in, 115;

Geoffrey Martel’s dealings with, 211, 212;

claimed by Eudo of Porhoët and Conan of Richmond, 449;

granted by Henry II. to Conan, 451;

Henry’s designs on, 452, 453;

conquered by Henry, ii. 57, 58;

rebels in (1173), 137;

barons of, appeal to Philip against John, 408.

See Alan, Arthur, Conan, Constance, Eleanor, Geoffrey, Herispoë, Hoel, Juhel, Nomenoë, Odo, Solomon

Broc, see Ralf

Bruce, see Adam, Robert

Brulon, see Geoffrey

Burchard, count of Vendôme, i. 149, 189

Burgundy, kingdom of, granted to Richard I., ii. 331.

See Hugh, Robert, Rudolf.

Cadoc, ii. 416, 421, 425

Cadwallader, brother of Owen of North Wales, i. 435

Caen, surrendered to Henry I., i. 11;

to Geoffrey Plantagenet, 307;

to Philip, ii. 424;

hospital, i. 471; ii. 198;

palace, ii. 196, 197.

See Robert

Cæsarodunum, see Tours

Cahors, i. 464, 466

Calixtus II., Pope, i. 237

Cambridge, ii. 462, 463

Camville, see Gerard

Candé, i. 228

Canons, Austin or Augustinian, their origin, i. 64, 65;

character, 43, 66, 357;

in England, 66–69.

See Aldgate, Barnwell, Carlisle, Chiche, Kirkham, Nostell, Oseney, Oxford, Smithfield

Canons, White, i. 357

Canon law, its effects in England, ii. 18

Canterbury, canons of Laon visit, i. 30;

plot to kill Henry Fitz-Empress at, 403;

Thomas elected at, ii. 3;

privilege of the archbishop to crown the king, 62;

S. Thomas slain at, 79;

Henry II.’s penance at, 159;

Louis VII. at, 216;

Philip of Flanders at, 235;

Richard at, 328;

John crowned at, 400.

See Anselm, Baldwin, Geoffrey, Hubert, John, Ralf, Richard, Roger, Theobald, Thomas, Walter, William

Capua, see Peter

Caputii, ii. 223, 224

Carcassonne, see Raymond Trencavel

Carham, i. 286, 287, 292.

See Wark

Carlisle, i. 36, 37;

S. Godric at, 76;

council at, 300;

Henry Fitz-Empress knighted at, 377;

meeting of Henry and Malcolm IV. at, 462;

besieged by William the Lion, ii. 153, 154;

meeting of William and Henry at, 237;

earldom of, granted to Henry of Scotland, i. 282;

claimed by Ralf of Chester, 314;

see of, 37, 69

Carrick, ii. 109, 111

Carthusians, ii. 435, 436 note 1{2171}

Carucage of 1194, ii. 328, 329, 342;

the Great, 352–354

Carucate, ii. 352

Cashel, metropolis of Munster, ii. 94;

council at, 115

Castille, see Alfonso, Blanche, Constance, Eleanor

Castle Cary, i. 295, 298

Celestine II., Pope, i. 355, 356

Celestine III., Pope, ii. 303, 304, 312, 351

Celle, see Peter

Cenomanni (Aulerci), i. 201, 202

Cenomannia, see Maine

Châlus, ii. 382, 385

Champagne, see Henry, Odo, Stephen, Theobald

Chancellor, the, his office, i. 22, 419.

See Geoffrey, Matthew, Nigel, Ralf, Robert, Roger, Waldric, William

Charles the Bald, Emperor, i. 99, 102, 103, 105

Charles the Fat, king of West-Frankland and Emperor, i. 104

Charles the Simple, king of West-Frankland, i. 104

Charter of Henry I., i. 8;

Henry II., 427;

Stephen, 279, 284

Chartres, see Blois

Château-Gaillard, ii. 375–380;

siege, 416–423;

John’s buildings at, 413, 421, 422

Châteaudun, i. 156.

See Landry

Châteaulandon, see Gâtinais

Château-du-Loir, i. 390.

See Gervase

Châteauneuf-sur-Sarthe, i. 267

Châteauneuf, see Tours

Châteauroux, ii. 211, 213, 245, 251

Châtillon, conference at, ii. 253

Chaumont-sur-Loire, i. 272 note 1{662}, 471

Chef-Boutonne, battle of, i. 215, 252, 253

Cherbourg, siege of, i. 340

Chester, i. 36;

its slave-trade, ib., ii. 87;

meeting of Henry II. and Malcolm IV. at, i. 438;

privileges granted to its burghers at Dublin, ii. 484;

earldom of, its peculiar character, i. 313, 314.

See Hugh, Ralf

Chiche, priory of S. Osyth at, i. 68, 80

Chichester, see Hilary

Chinon won by Fulk Nerra, i. 167;

Geoffrey the Bearded imprisoned at, 221;

bequeathed to Geoffrey Plantagenet II., 394, 444;

councils at, ii. 58, 64;

Henry II.’s buildings at, 197, 200;

treasury at, plundered by Richard, 246;

Henry II. at, 263, 267;

given up to John, 388, 395;

taken by Philip, 426

Chouzy, conference at, ii. 13

Christchurch or Twinham, i. 32

Chrodegang of Metz, rule of, i. 65

Chronicle, English, i. 81, 82

Church, English, under Henry I., i. 63;

the Augustinian revival, 64–69;

the Cistercian revival, 69–74;

new sees, 68, 69;

its national character, 80;

political position of the bishops, 20;

condition during the anarchy, 347–360;

relations with Rome, 378;

position at accession of Henry II., 474;

vacant sees (1161), 503;

Henry’s schemes of reform, ii. 17–20;

question of the “two swords,” ib. 22, 23;

quarrel of Henry and Thomas, its effects, 46–50;

course of the revival after Theobald’s death, 432;

condition in Henry II.’s later years, 433–438.

See Clergy

Church, Irish, its early glory, ii. 82, 86;

condition in eleventh and twelfth centuries, 91–93;

settlement at Synod of Kells, 94;

submits to Henry II., 115

Circuits, see Justices

Cirencester, i. 330, 333

Cistercians or White Monks, their origin, i. 69, 70;

in England, 71;

work and influence, 74, 358, 359;

quarrel with John, ii. 396, 399, 400;

fall, 434, 435.

See Cîteaux, Clairvaux, Fountains, Newminster, Pontigny, Rievaux, Tintern, Waverley

Cîteaux, i. 70

Clairvaux (abbey), i. 70; ii. 70, 94

Clairvaux (castle), ii. 222, 224

Clare, see Baldwin, Gilbert, Isabel, Richard, Roger, Walter

Clarendon, council of, ii. 25–28, 44, 45;

Constitutions of, 26, 27;

condemned by the Pope, 42;

Assize of, 46, 122, 123

Cleobury, i. 429

Clergy, their position under Henry I., i. 63, 64;

regular and secular, 64, 65;

attitude in the civil war, 321;

criminal clerks, ii. 19.

See Church

Clerkenwell, council at, ii. 241

Clontarf, battle of, ii. 85

Cogan, see Miles

Coinage, debasement under Stephen, i. 293;

new, in 1149, 402 note 1{1204};

in 1158, 453

Colechurch, see Peter

Cöln, gildhall of its citizens in London, ii. 485.

See Reginald

Colombières, conference at, ii. 265, 266

Commune of Le Mans, i. 222;

Gloucester, ii. 469;

London, 309, 310, 344;

York, 469

Conan the Crooked, count of Rennes and duke of Britanny, i. 121;

his war with Geoffrey Greygown, 122, 137–139;

with Fulk the Black, 146–148

Conan II., duke of Britanny, i. 211, 212, 220

Conan III., duke of Britanny, i. 449

Conan, earl of Richmond, claims Britanny, i. 449;

duke, 451;

dies, ii. 80

Conquereux, first battle of, i. 122, 138;

second, 147, 148

Connaught invaded by Miles Cogan, ii. 184.

See Roderic, Terence

Conrad III., Emperor, i. 361

Conrad, marquis of Montferrat, ii. 320, 321

Consilt, battle of, i. 436

Constables, see Henry, Humfrey

Constance of Arles, wife of Robert I. of France, i. 155;

her parents, 190, 192;

her policy, 160, 164

Constance of Britanny, daughter of Conan IV., betrothed to Geoffrey, son of Henry II., ii. 57;

married, 233;

marries Ralf of Chester, 369;

imprisoned, 370;

joins Arthur in Anjou, 389;

does homage to Philip, 390;

marries Guy of Thouars, 395;

dies, 404, note 4{2050}

Constance of Castille, second wife of Louis VII. of France, i. 446, 468

Constance of France, daughter of Louis VI., betrothed to Stephen’s son Eustace, i. 384;

marries him, 394;

marries Raymond V. of Toulouse, 458

Constance, heiress of Sicily, ii. 319

Constantine, Donation of, ii. 95

Constitutions of Clarendon, ii. 26, 27;

condemned by the Pope, 42

Corbeil, see William

Cork, its origin, ii. 83.

See Dermot

Cornwall, see Reginald, William

Coroners, their origin, ii. 338, 339

Councils, see Argentan, Armagh, Beaugency, Beauvais, Bermondsey, Bonneville, Carlisle, Cashel, Clarendon, Clerkenwell, Chinon, Geddington, Gloucester, Inispatrick, Kells, Lisieux, London, Neufmarché, Northampton, Nottingham, Oxford, Pavia, Pipewell, Poitiers, Rathbreasil, Tours, Wallingford, Westminster, Woodstock, Würzburg, York

Council, the Great, its character, i. 20

Courcy, see John, William

Coutances, see Walter

Coventry, see Hugh

Cowton Moor, i. 289

Cricklade, i. 335

Cross, S., see Winchester

Crowmarsh, i. 336, 396

Crown, pleas of the, ii. 337

Crusade, the second, i. 361–363;

in Spain, proposed by Louis VII. and Henry II., 453, 497;

the third, ii. 318–321

Curia Regis, see King’s Court

Customs, “paternal,” i. 16;

royal, ii. 22, 26, 27;

of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, i. 37

Cyprus, ii. 317, 321

Danegeld, i. 25;

abolished, ii. 16, 44

David I., king of Scots, i. 95;

invades England, 282, 286, 287, 288;

defeated at Cowton Moor, 289–291;

treaties with Stephen, 282, 300;

joins the Empress in London, 323;

escapes from Winchester, 328;

knights Henry Fitz-Empress, 377;

dies, 399

David, prince of North-Wales, marries Henry II.’s sister Emma, ii. 181

David, bishop of S. David’s, ii. 454

David, brother of William of Scotland, ii. 140, 153;

claims on Huntingdon and Northampton, 154

David or Hugh, count of Maine, i. 124, 140

David’s, S., bishops of, see David, Peter

Defensor of Le Mans, i. 202

Denis, S., see Suger

Denmark, see Ingebiorg

Déols, ii. 211

Dermot Mac-Carthy, king of Cork or South Munster, ii. 114

Dermot Mac-Maelnambo, king of Leinster, ii. 87, 88

Dermot Mac-Murrough, king of Leinster, ii. 97;

seeks aid of Henry II., 98;

returns to Ireland, 100;

successes in Ossory etc., 102;

summons Richard of Striguil, 103;

dies, 106

Dervorgil, wife of Tighernan O’Ruark, ii. 97

Devizes, i. 304, 321, 330

Dialogus de Scaccario, i. 26

Diceto, see Ralf

Dinan, see Joceas

Dodo, bishop of Angers, i. 109, 133

Dol, ii. 148

Domfront, i. 6, 208, 209

Donatus, bishop of Dublin, ii. 87

Doncaster, earldom of, granted to Henry of Scotland, i. 282

Donell O’Brien, king of Limerick or North Munster, ii. 102, 103, 109, 111, 114

Donell O’Lochlainn, king of Aileach, ii. 90

Donell Kavanagh, ii. 109, 112

Dorchester, see Remigius

Dover, i. 295, 299;

chief mart of the wool trade, 52;

Geoffrey of York arrested at, ii. 305, 306.

See Simon, William

Drausius, S., ii. 65

Dress, English, in twelfth century, i. 56

Dreux, see Robert

Drogo of Nantes, son of Alan Barbetorte, i. 115, 116

Dublin, its origin, ii. 83;

metropolis of Leinster, 94;

taken by Dermot etc., 105;

attacked by wikings, 106;

blockaded by Roderic O’Conor, 109;

Henry II. at, 114, 115;

colonized by Henry, 118;

privileges of the Chester merchants at, 484.

See Donatus, Godred, Gregory, Laurence, Patrick

Dudley, i. 295, 298

Dulcia of Gévaudan, i. 463

Dunstan, S., lives of, i. 80

Dunster, i. 295

Durham, S. Godric at, i. 77;

cathedral, 80;

treaty made at, 300;

customs of the bishop’s estates in 1183, ii. 478–480.

See Hugh, Ralf, Simeon, William

Eadgyth or Edith, S., i. 33

Eadgyth, see Matilda

Eadmer, i. 80, 88

Eadward the Confessor, king of England, his prophecy, i. 1;

his laws demanded by the citizens of London, 324

Eadwulf, prior of Nostell and confessor to Henry I., i. 68;

bishop of Carlisle, 69

Ealdhelm, S., i. 84, 86, 90;

life by Faricius, 81

Earldoms created by Stephen, i. 293

Edith, see Eadgyth

Edmund’s, S., Henry II. at, i. 430;

massacre of Jews at, ii. 289;

its customs, 473, 474;

merchant-gild, 481;

dispute with Ely, 482, 483

Eleanor of Aquitaine, daughter of William IX., marries Louis VII. of France, i. 383;

divorced, 392;

marries Henry, 393;

claims on Toulouse, 457, 458;

attempt to divorce her from Henry, ii. 61;

turns against him, 129;

imprisoned, 135;

Richard gives up Aquitaine to, 235;

regent for Richard, 273, 282;

arranges his marriage, 295, 296;

negotiates at Rome, 303;

returns to England, 314;

ravages Anjou, and does homage to Philip, 390;

goes to Spain, 396;

retires to Fontevraud, 405;

besieged in Mirebeau, 406;

dies, 426

Eleanor, daughter of Henry II., marries Alfonso of Castille, ii. 60, 189

Eleanor of Britanny, daughter of Geoffrey and Constance, ii. 244, 325, 371

Elias, count of Maine, i. 224, 225;

war with William Rufus, 225, 226;

Le Mans surrendered to, 227;

relations with Henry I., 11, 227, 233;

marriages,255;

death, 233

Elias of Anjou, son of Fulk V., i. 343

Elias of Saint-Saëns, i. 235

Elizabeth of Hainaut, first wife of Philip Augustus, ii. 217, 234, note 7{1115}

Elizabeth of Vendôme, first wife of Fulk Nerra, i. 152

Ely, see of, founded, i. 68;

quarrel with S. Edmund’s, ii. 482, 483.

See Geoffrey, Nigel

Emma, daughter of Geoffrey Plantagenet, ii. 181

Emperors, see Charles, Conrad, Frederic, Henry, Otto

Engelram of Trie, i. 467

England under the Angevins, i. 1–3;

relations with Rome, 15;

with Normandy, 23, 24;

invaded by Robert Curthose, 9;

journey of canons of Laon in, 30–35;

its peace under Henry I., 48;

Flemings settle in, 52;

town life in twelfth century, 54, 55;

rural life, 56–62;

revival under Henry I., 64–95;

religious revival during the anarchy, 356–358;

effects of the second Crusade, 362;

rebels in (1173), ii. 138, 139;

loyal barons in, 144, 145;

rebel castles in the north, 152;

royal strongholds, 153;

condition of rural population under the Angevins, 473–480;

fusion of races, 489;

growth of national feeling, 489.

See Church, Literature, Towns, Trade.

See also Eadward, Eleanor, Henry, John, Jane, Matilda, Richard, Stephen, William

“English” and “French,” i. 24

“English” and “Normans,” different meanings of, i. 23, 24

English and Normans, fusion of, i. 24, 48, 49; ii. 489, 490

Englishry, presentment of, abolished, ii. 489

Essex, see Geoffrey, Henry, William

Este, see Hugh

Euclid, Adelard of Bath’s version of, ii. 95

Eudo, count of Porhoët, i. 449

Eugene III., Pope, i. 361;

deposes S. William and consecrates Henry Murdac, 366;

suspends Henry of Winchester and threatens Stephen, 368;

makes Abp. Theobald legate, 380;

forbids the crowning of Eustace, 391;

dies, 400

Eustace, son of Stephen, king of England, does homage to Louis VI. for Normandy, i. 286;

knighted, 377;

goes to York, 380;

his prospects, 382;

goes to France, 383;

betrothed to Constance, 384;

attacks Normandy, 385;

receives homage, 391;

proposal to crown him, ib.;

marriage, 394;

character, 398;

death, 399

Eustace Fitz-John, i. 72, 288

Eva, daughter of Dermot Mac-Murrough, ii. 104

Evreux ceded to Henry I., i. 11, 62;

betrayed to Almeric of Montfort, 236;

fired by Henry I., ib., 237;

granted to Almeric, 238;

taken by Philip Augustus, ii. 389;

ceded to him, 396.

See Simon

Exchequer, court of, i. 21;

organization under Bishop Roger, 25–27;

headquarters, 31;

Black Book of, ii. 125;

the Norman Exchequer, 194, 197

Exeter, i. 32, 284.

See Bartholomew

Eynesford, see William

Falaise besieged by Henry I., i. 11;

attacked by Geoffrey Plantagenet, 307;

submits, 338;

treaties at, ii. 165, 166;

Arthur imprisoned at, 407;

submits to Philip, 424

Faricius, abbot of Abingdon, i. 68 note 1{187}, 81

Farringdon, i. 335

Faye, see Ralf

Ferm of the shire, i. 25;

of towns, 29

Ferrers, see Robert

Ferté-Bernard, La, conference at, ii. 257

Finchale, i. 77, 78

Fitz-Alan, see William

Fitz-Aldhelm, see William

Fitz-Aylwine, see Henry

Fitz-Count, see Brian, Richard

Fitz-David, see Miles

Fitz-Duncan, see William

Fitz-Gerald, see Maurice

Fitz-John, see Eustace, William

Fitz-Osbert, see William

Fitz-Peter, see Geoffrey, Simon

Fitz-Ralf, see William

Fitz-Stephen, see Robert, William

Fitz-Urse, see Reginald

Flambard, see Ralf

Flanders granted to William the Clito, i. 243;

trade with England, 30, 51, 52.

See Baldwin, Matthew, Philip, Theodoric

Flèche, La, i. 222, 223, 256, 257

Flemings, their settlements in England and Wales, i. 52, 53;

in England under Stephen, 285;

plot to kill Henry, 403;

expelled, 427;

land in Suffolk, ii. 155;

at Hartlepool, 162

Fleury, abbey, i. 112

Florence, S., of Saumur, i. 162

Florence of Worcester, i. 82, 88, 89, 90

Foliot, see Gilbert

Folkmoot of London, i. 45

Fontevraud, i. 248;

Henry II. buried at, ii. 270–272;

Richard buried at, ii. 386;

Eleanor at, 385, 405

Forest, assizes of, i. 285; ii. 171, 177, 356

Fornham, battle at, ii. 150

Foss-Dyke, i. 40

Foss-Way, i. 38

Fougères, see Ralf

Fountains abbey, i. 71–73;

burnt, 366

France, duchy of, see French

France, kingdom of, character of its early history, i. 144;

condition under Hugh Capet, 145;

under Louis VI., 230;

relations with Normandy, 24, 111;

with Toulouse, 457, 458;

with Rome, 501, 502;

union with Aquitaine, 383;

its developement, ii. 357–361.

See Adela, Constance, Henry, Hugh, Louis, Margaret, Mary, Odo, Philip, Robert

Frankland, West, northmen in, i. 100.

See Charles, Lothar, Louis, Odo, Robert, Rudolf

Frederic Barbarossa, Emperor, supports antipope Victor IV., i. 498;

relations with Henry II., 499; ii. 55, 60, 238;

banishes Henry the Lion, 238, 257;

takes the cross, 256;

dies, 318

French, dukes of the, extent of their duchy, i. 103, 105;

underfiefs, 105;

claims upon Maine, 124.

See Hugh, Odo, Robert

“French and English,” i. 24

Fréteval, ii. 73, 366

Fritheswith or Frideswide, S., i. 43.

See Oxford

Fulk the Red, first count of Anjou, i. 106;

his neighbours, 109;

political position, 109, 110;

marriage, 110;

death, 113;

chronology of his life, 128, 129, 132

Fulk II. the Good, count of Anjou, i. 113;

his rule, 113, 115;

canon of S. Martin’s, 114;

letter to Louis IV., ib.;

marriages, 116;

claims upon Nantes, ib.;

death, 117;

vision of S. Martin, 118;

prophecy made to, ib.;

its fulfilment, ii. 187, 373

Fulk III., the Black, count of Anjou, his mother, i. 136;

surnames, 143, note 2{294};

character, 144;

significance of his life, 145, 146, 169;

war with Conan of Rennes, 146, 147;

regains Anjou west of Mayenne, 148;

attacks Blois, 149;

rivalry with Odo II., 150;

castle-building, 151;

seizure of the water-ways, 151–152;

first marriage, 152;

first pilgrimage, 153, 192;

founds Beaulieu abbey, 153–155;

marries Hildegard, 154;

second pilgrimage, 156, 192–195;

his oath, 155;

contrives the death of Hugh of Beauvais, ib.;

sacks Châteaudun, 156;

alliance with Maine, ib.;

victory at Pontlevoy, 157, 158;

subdues Hugh of Maine, 159;

imprisons Herbert of Maine, ib.;

invested with Saintes, ib., 173;

fortifies Montboyau, 161;

takes Saumur, 162;

besieges Montbazon, 163;

treaty with Odo, ib.;

his policy and its success, 164;

makes peace between Constance and her son, ib.;

joins King Henry’s expedition against Sens, ib.;

his home, 165;

buildings at Angers, ib.;

third pilgrimage, 166, 195, 196;

rebellion of his son, 166, 195;

wins Chinon, 167;

fourth pilgrimage, 167, 168;

quarrels with his son, 172, 175;

death, 168;

his tomb, ib.;

his work, 169, 188

Fulk IV. Rechin, son of Geoffrey of Gâtinais and Hermengard of Anjou, invested with Saintonge, i. 214;

his character, 219;

intrigues against his brother, ib.;

wins Saumur and Angers, 220;

captures Geoffrey, ib.;

does homage for Touraine, 221;

cedes Gâtinais to France, ib.;

his rule, ib.;

drives Geoffrey of Mayenne from Le Mans, 222;

besieges La Flèche, ib., 223, 257;

receives Robert’s homage for Maine, 223;

his marriages, 224;

excommunicated, ib.;

absolved, 225;

quarrels with his eldest son, 227, 228;

dies, 229;

his reign and its results, ib.;

his Angevin history, 127

Fulk V., count of Anjou, i. 229;

character and policy, 231, 232;

marries Aremburg, 232;

quarrel with Henry I. and alliance with France, 233;

homage to Henry, 234;

revolt of the burghers against, ib.;

joins league against Henry, 235;

wins Alençon, 236;

treaty with Henry, ib.;

goes to Jerusalem, 238;

quarrel with Henry, 240;

offers Maine to Clito, ib.;

imprisons the legate’s envoys, 242;

marries Melisenda and becomes king of Jerusalem, 246–248;

dies, 361

Fulk the Gosling, count of Vendôme, i. 214

Gaimar, see Geoffrey

Galloway, ii. 164, 179, 237

Gandrea, wife of Theobald III. of Blois, i. 255, 256

Gascony, Richard’s campaign in, ii. 214;

revolt in, 316.

See Guy-Geoffrey, Odo

Gatian, S., bishop of Tours, i. 179

Gâtinais, county of, i. 129;

ceded to France, 221;

counts, 249, 250

Gaubert of Mantes, ii. 415

Geddington, council at, ii. 249

Gelduin of Saumur, i. 161, 162

Geoffrey I. Greygown, count of Anjou, i. 118;

his character, 119;

joins invasion of Lorraine, 120;

his marriages, 121, 134–136;

relations with Britanny, 121, 122, 137–139;

with Maine, 124, 140–142;

war with Poitou, 123, 137, 139;

wins Loudun, 123, 124, 139;

founds church of our Lady at Loches, 153;

dies at siege of Marson, 125

Geoffrey II. Martel, son of Fulk the Black, born, i. 154;

nursed at Loches, ib.;

count of Vendôme, 172;

quarrel with Fulk, ib., 175;

marries Agnes, 136, 174, 197, 199;

war with Poitou, 173–175;

wins Saintonge, 174;

rebels, 166, 195, 196;

count of Anjou, 169;

his character, 170–172;

invested with Tours, 178;

besieges it, 184;

victory at Montlouis, 186;

treaty with Theobald, 187;

its significance, 188;

advocate of see of Le Mans, 205;

imprisons Bp. Gervase, 206;

master of Maine, ib.;

excommunicated, ib.;

revolts, 207;

wins Alençon and Domfront, 208;

challenges William and retires, 209;

war with Aquitaine, 210;

besieges Ambrières, 211;

dealings with Nantes, 211, 212;

marries Grecia, 212;

blockaded in Saumur, 213;

joins invasion of Normandy, ib., 214;

loses Vendôme, 214;

dies, ib.;

break-up of his dominions, 215;

dispute over them, 218;

his heirs, 251–252

Geoffrey III. the Bearded, count of Anjou, i. 214;

victory at Chef-Boutonne, 215, 252, 253;

receives Robert’s homage for Maine, 217;

wrongs Marmoutier, 220;

captured by Fulk, ib.;

imprisoned at Chinon, 221;

released and dies, 228

Geoffrey Martel II. of Anjou, son of Fulk Rechin, betrothed to Aremburg of Maine, i. 226;

joins Henry I., 11;

quarrel with Fulk, 227, 228;

slain, 228

Geoffrey V. Plantagenet, son of Fulk V. and Aremburg, knighted by Henry I., i. 244;

marriage, ib., 258–260;

his person and character, 261–265;

quarrels with his wife, 266;

with Henry, 269, 270;

invades Normandy, 281, 306, 307;

revolts against, 266, 267, 306, 343, 384;

summoned to England, 330;

treaty with Theobald, 337;

conquers Normandy, 338–342;

recalls his son, 343;

challenge to Stephen, 369;

cedes Normandy to his son, ib., 377;

his siege of Montreuil, 384, 386;

treatment of Gerald, 387;

cedes the Vexin to Louis, 388;

death, 389, 390;

burial, 390;

will, 444

Geoffrey of Anjou, second son of Geoffrey and Matilda, born, i. 373;

seeks to marry Eleanor, 393;

rebels against Henry, 394, 395, 444, 445;

count of Nantes, 449;

dies, ib.

Geoffrey I., duke of Britanny, i. 137, 148

Geoffrey, fourth son of Henry II. and Eleanor, born, i. 453;

acknowledged heir to Britanny, ii. 58;

duke, 80;

revolts, 135;

knighted, 214;

joins young Henry, 225;

submits, 232;

marries Constance, 233;

dies, 243

Geoffrey, son of Henry II., bishop-elect of Lincoln, ii., 155;

takes Kinardferry etc., ib.;

chancellor, 245;

secures castles of Anjou, 256;

with Henry at Le Mans, 258, 259, 260;

at La Frênaye, 262;

goes to Alençon, ib.;

rejoins Henry, 263;

his devotion to Henry, 268;

appointed archbishop of York, 274, 278, 302;

early life, 301, 302;

character, 304;