ding
to custom, at the ceremony; the duty devolved upon the archbishop of
York, Aldred, who had but lately anointed Edgar Atheling. At the
appointed hour, William arrived at Westminster Abbey, the latest work and
the burial-place of Edward the Confessor. The Conqueror marched between
two hedges of Norman soldiers, behind whom stood a crowd of people, cold
and sad, though full of curiosity. A numerous cavalry guarded the
approaches to the church and the quarters adjoining. Two hundred and
sixty counts, barons, and knights of Normandy went in with the duke.
Geoffrey, bishop of Coutanees, demanded in French, of the Normans, if
they would that their duke should take the title of King of the English.
The archbishop of York demanded of the English, in the Saxon tongue, if
they would have for king the duke of Normandy. Noisy acclamations arose
in the church and resounded outside. The soldiery, posted in the
neighborhood, took the confused roar for a symptom of something wrong,
and in their suspicious rage set fire to the neighboring houses. The
flames spread rapidly. The people who were rejoicing in the church
caught the alarm, and a multitude of men and women of every rank flung
themselves out of the edifice. Alone and trembling, the bishops with
some clerics and monks remained before the altar and accomplished the
work of anointment upon the king's head, "himself trembling," says the
chronicle. Nearly all the rest who were present ran to the fire, some to
extinguish it, others to steal and pillage in the midst of the
consternation. William terminated the ceremony by taking the usual oath
of Saxon kings at their coronation, adding thereto, as of his own motion,
a promise to treat the English people according to their own laws and as
well as they had ever been treated by the best of their own kings. Then
he went forth from the church King of England.

We will pursue no farther the life of William the Conqueror: for
henceforth it belongs to the history of England, not of France. We have
entered, so far as he was concerned, into pretty long details, because we
were bound to get a fair understanding of the event and of the man; not
only because of their lustre at the time, but especially because of the
serious and long-felt consequences entailed upon France, England, and, we
may say, Europe. We do not care just now to trace out those consequences
in all their bearings; but we would like to mark out with precision the