treasure he had squandered, of
the opportunities he had lost, of the youth he had thrown away, of the
talents he had neglected. Sometimes, on fine autumn mornings, he would
sit and think of the old hunting parties in the free Forest, where he had
been the foremost and the gayest. Sometimes, in the still nights, he
would wake, and mourn for the many nights that had stolen past him at the
gaming-table; sometimes, would seem to hear, upon the melancholy wind,
the old songs of the minstrels; sometimes, would dream, in his blindness,
of the light and glitter of the Norman Court. Many and many a time, he
groped back, in his fancy, to Jerusalem, where he had fought so well; or,
at the head of his brave companions, bowed his feathered helmet to the
shouts of welcome greeting him in Italy, and seemed again to walk among
the sunny vineyards, or on the shore of the blue sea, with his lovely
wife. And then, thinking of her grave, and of his fatherless boy, he
would stretch out his solitary arms and weep.

At length, one day, there lay in prison, dead, with cruel and disfiguring
scars upon his eyelids, bandaged from his jailer's sight, but on which
the eternal Heavens looked down, a worn old man of eighty. He had once
been Robert of Normandy. Pity him!

{Duke Robert of Normandy: p52.jpg}

At the time when Robert of Normandy was taken prisoner by his brother,
Robert's little son was only five years old. This child was taken, too,
and carried before the King, sobbing and crying; for, young as he was, he
knew he had good reason to be afraid of his Royal uncle. The King was
not much accustomed to pity those who were in his power, but his cold
heart seemed for the moment to soften towards the boy. He was observed
to make a great effort, as if to prevent himself from being cruel, and
ordered the child to be taken away; whereupon a certain Baron, who had
married a daughter of Duke Robert's (by name, Helie of Saint Saen), took
charge of him, tenderly. The King's gentleness did not last long. Before
two years were over, he sent messengers to this lord's Castle to seize
the child and bring him away. The Baron was not there at the time, but
his servants were faithful, and carried the boy off in his sleep and hid
him. When the Baron came home, and was told what the King had done, he
took the child abroad, and, leading him by the hand, went from King to
King and from Court to Court, relating how the child had a claim to the
thron