XL Robert Curthose
The conquest of England having been accomplished, and the Saxons completely reduced to submission, the Conqueror, instead of enjoying his triumph, became sad and uneasy. Doubts as to the fidelity of his barons, and dismal forebodings as to the fate of his sons, haunted him day and night; and he even went so far, in his intense anxiety, as to consult some “wise men,” who were supposed to have the gift of divination, as to the future of his line. Had any magician really had the power of revealing to him the fortune of his descendants in an enchanted mirror, as conjurers in another age revealed to Catherine de Medici the fortunes of her posterity, his worst apprehensions would have been confirmed. As it was, the conduct of his son Robert filled his heart with sadness and his mind with gloom.
Robert was the eldest son of William and Matilda. He drew his first breath about the year 1053; and his appearance was hailed with delight by his parents. Both William and Matilda appear to have indulged young Robert in such a way as utterly to spoil him; and when he passed from childhood to boyhood he acquired most dangerous notions of his importance.
When William sailed to conquer England, Robert had reached his thirteenth year. Ere that period he had been formally recognised by the Norman barons as heir of the duchy, and affianced to the heiress of the Counts of Maine; and when William sailed in the Moira, Robert was associated with Matilda in the administration of affairs. Flattered, complimented, and allowed to exercise enormous influence in Normandy during the absence of his sire, Robert early assumed the airs of an independent sovereign, and began to treat the parental authority with undisguised contempt.
Notwithstanding the influence which unfortunate training produced on the heir-apparent of Normandy, Robert, as he grew up to manhood, displayed qualities which recommended him to the hearts of the Norman chivalry. Brave and eloquent, intrepid and generous, he was just the person to secure the affection of a martial and high-spirited race of nobles. In war his prowess reminded men of the heroes of romance. But his appearance was in no respect heroic. He was under the ordinary height, fat to excess, and large in the bones. Rollo would have been astonished at the aspect of his heir; and William was so impressed with the shortness of Robert’s legs, that the father, in ridicule, called the son “Curthose.”
While Curthose was emerging from his teens, the death of the heiress of Maine and the annexation of that province to Normandy resulted in a quarrel between William and his heir. Eager to have a dominion of his own, Curthose claimed Maine as husband of the heiress; and the inhabitants, eager to have a lord of their own, supported Curthose’s claim heart and soul. William, however, treated the idea with cold contempt; and while Curthose was brooding over this as a serious injury, circumstances occurred to fire his indignation.
It was the year 1077, and the Conqueror, Queen Matilda, and their sons happened to be on a visit to Laigle. One day, about noon, Curthose, with his friends around him, was standing in the courtyard of the house in which he lodged, expatiating with his wonted eloquence on his wrongs, and his brothers, William Rufus and Henry Beauclerc, who had been in the habit of taking part against Curthose in the domestic feud, coming thither, ascended to the upper rooms, where, making a great noise, they began to play at dice, after the manner of the soldiers of that age. Suddenly Rufus and Beauclerc conceived the idea of varying their amusement, and, without calculating the consequences, they threw a quantity of water on Curthose and those with whom he was in earnest and animated conversation.
This insult stung Curthose to the quick. Giving way to irritation, he swore that no man on earth should so treat him with impunity; and, drawing his sword, with a gesture of menace he sprang to the doorway, and rushed upstairs to inflict chastisement. Fortunately, his friends interfered in time to prevent bloodshed. But high words passed, defiances were exchanged, and the scene was so tumultuous that the Conqueror’s presence became necessary to prevent the disputants from coming to blows.
At length order was restored. It was even supposed that the quarrel was at an end. But, all the time, the blood of Curthose was boiling in his veins, and his high spirit was swelling with anger and grief. Next night he left Laigle with a choice band of friends, and proceeded to Rouen. With some vague notion, he attempted to surprise the citadel. The enterprise, however, failed, and many of his adherents were arrested. Curthose, however, escaped, passed the frontier of Normandy, took refuge in La Perche, and found shelter in the castle of Sorel.
The conduct of his heir naturally excited the Conqueror’s wrath. Curthose, however, had a powerful advocate in his mother, Matilda, and a reconciliation took place. But this domestic peace was not of long duration. The adherents of Curthose, generally gay and thoughtless young men, exercised all their art to stimulate his ambition; and he yielded somewhat too readily to their suggestions.
“Noble son of a king,” said they, “thy father’s people must take good care of his treasure, since thou hast not a penny to bestow on thy followers. Why endurest thou to remain so poor when thy father is so rich?”
“But what can I do?” asked Curthose.
“Ask him for a portion of his England,” they answered; “or, at least, for the duchy of Normandy, which he promised thee before all his barons.”
Curthose did as he was advised. Excited and discontented, he went to William, and demanded to be put in possession of either part of the kingdom of England or the duchy of Normandy. William, instead of complying, exhorted Curthose, in a paternal tone, to amend his life, and to behave in a manner more worthy of the position he was destined to occupy.
“Return to your duty as a son,” said the Conqueror, “and then make choice of better counsellors than you now have. Make choice of wise and grave persons of mature age to guide you—such a man, for instance, as Archbishop Lanfranc.”
“Sir King!” replied Curthose, so sharply that William started, “I came here to claim my right, and not to listen to sermons. I heard enough of them, and wearisome enough they were, when I was at my grammar. Answer me, therefore, distinctly, so that I may know what I have to do; for I am firmly resolved not to live on the bread of others, and not to receive the wages of any man.”
“Know, then,” exclaimed William, angrily, “that I will not divest myself of Normandy, to which I was born, nor share England, which I have acquired with so much labour.”
“Well,” said Curthose, “I will go and serve strangers, and perhaps obtain from them what is refused me in my own country.”
Without further ceremony, Curthose summoned his adherents, mounted his horse, and, with a soul glowing with pride and a spirit swelling with indignation, rode out from Rouen and away towards Flanders. Passing from country to country, from castle to castle, and from court to court, Curthose travelled over Europe, publishing his grievances and demanding aid. Nor was his story, told in eloquent language, without influence on the magnates whom he visited. Counts, dukes, and princes testified their sympathy, and drew their purses. Their liberality, however, had no beneficial influence on the wanderer’s circumstances. In fact, Curthose was one of those men who can give the most sapient advice as to the affairs of their friends, while their own affairs are going to ruin as rapidly as their enemies could wish. All that he received to support his cause slipped through his fingers. Mountebanks, parasites, and women of equivocal reputation perpetually preyed upon him. All that Curthose obtained from barons and princes to buy arms and equip men passed into the hands of those who ministered to his amusement or contributed to his pleasure. Hard pressed for money, inconvenienced by poverty and all its concomitant evils, compelled to beg afresh, but, probably, with less success than on the first occasion, he found himself under the necessity of going to the usurers, and borrowing gold at exorbitant interest. Such were the steps by which Curthose entered upon that fatal path which finally, notwithstanding his great fame as a prince and soldier, and as a champion of the Cross, conducted him to disaster and defeat, and to a long and dismal captivity in the dungeons of Cardiff.