much larger sum, 2,000l. or 1,000l. at least. So a message was sent later to Anselm that his offer was rejected. Anselm sought an audience with the king, and entreated him to take the contribution, which, although his first, would not be his last. A free gift, however small, was far more valuable than a much larger one forcibly exacted. The king felt that this remark was intended as a reproof of his extortionate methods of raising money, and he angrily replied, ‘Keep your scolding and your money to yourself. I have enough of my own. Begone.’ Anselm departed, thankful, after all, that the gift had been refused, for no man could now insinuate that his gift was a preconcerted price for the archbishopric. He was urged to offer double the sum, but steadfastly refused, and bestowed his despised present on the poor. So the midwinter gemot broke up; Anselm went to his manor at Harrow, where he consecrated a church built by Lanfranc. His right was disputed by Maurice, bishop of London, in whose diocese the manor lay. The question was referred to the aged Wulfstan, bishop of Worcester (Epist. iii. 19), who decided in favour of Anselm, declaring that the primates had always exercised free spiritual rights in all their manors wherever they might be (Eadm. Hist. Nov. 372–5). On 2 Feb. 1094, the forces destined for the invasion of Normandy were collected at Hastings. Anselm and other bishops were summoned thither to invoke a blessing on the expedition. The passage of the army was delayed for more than a month by contrary winds. During this interval, on 11 Feb., Anselm, assisted by seven bishops, consecrated the church of the great abbey which the late king, in fulfilment of his vow, had reared upon the ground where his victory over Harold had been won. In one religious act, at least, the two unequal yokefellows, the fierce bull and the gentle sheep, William, the sinner, and Anselm, the saint, took part together as they stood before the altar of ‘St. Martin of the place of battle.’
On 12 Feb. Anselm consecrated Robert Bloet bishop of Lincoln in the chapel of the castle at Hastings, and on the first day of Lent he presided at the ceremony of sprinkling ashes, and preached a sermon, in which he took the opportunity of rebuking the young courtiers for their mincing gait, their effeminate dress and habits, and especially that of wearing their hair long. He refused to give the ashes of penitence or administer absolution to those who would not abandon these customs. He had good reason for attacking them, since they were the outward signs of gross and detestable vice, vice which Anselm says in one of his letters (iii. 62) had grown so common that many practised it without any consciousness of sin. The king himself was addicted to it; nevertheless Anselm tried to get his help in repressing it. In one of the daily interviews which he seems to have had with William at Hastings, he frankly told him that if he would hope for a blessing upon his expedition to Normandy or any other enterprise, he must aid in re-establishing Christianity, which had wellnigh perished out of the land. He therefore asked leave to hold a national synod of bishops, which was a time-honoured remedy in England and Normandy for ecclesiastical and moral evils. William replied that he would call a council at his own pleasure, not Anselm's; ‘and pray,’ said he, with a sneer, ‘what will you talk about in your council?’ ‘The sin of Sodom,’ answered Anselm, ‘to say nothing of other detestable vices which have become rampant. Only let the king and the primate unite their authority, and this new and monstrous growth of evil may be rooted out.’ But the heart of the Red King was hardened, and he only asked, ‘And what good will come of this matter for you?’ ‘For me, perhaps, nothing,’ replied Anselm, ‘but something, I hope, for God and for thyself.’ ‘Enough!’ rejoined the king; ‘speak no more on this subject.’ Anselm obeyed, but turned to another evil, the injury done to religion by the prolonged vacancies in the abbeys. This touched the king in two of his tenderest points, his greed of money and his royal rights. ‘What,’ he burst forth, ‘are the abbeys to you? Are they not mine? Shall you do as you like with your manors, and shall I not deal as I choose with my abbeys?’ ‘The abbeys,’ returned Anselm, ‘are yours to protect as their advocate, not to waste and destroy. They belong to God, and their revenues are intended for the support of His ministers, not of your wars.’ ‘Your words are highly offensive to me,’ said the king; ‘your predecessor would never have dared to speak thus to my father. I will do nothing for you.’ So Anselm, seeing that his words were cast to the winds, rose up and went his way. But he was deeply vexed at this loss of the royal favour, because he felt that without it he could not accomplish the reforms on which his heart was set. He sent the bishops to the king to beg that he would take him into his friendship, or, at least, say why he refused it. The bishops returned, saying that the king did not accuse Anselm of anything,
