were masters of very extensive territories, they saw the greater part of their possessions slip from under their control to form genuine little semi-independent principalities, such, for example, as the counties of Châlon-sur-Saône and Mâcon, or else ecclesiastical lordships such as the Abbey of Molesme which, before fifty years from its foundation (1075), came to possess immense domains all over the north of Burgundy as well as in southern Champagne.
There is thus no reason for surprise that the Dukes of Burgundy in the eleventh century should play rather a petty part. Robert I (1032-1076) seems, unlike a duke, to have been the type of an unscrupulous petty tyrant such as at this period the lords of the smaller castles too often were. His life was spent in pillaging the lands of his vassals, and especially those of the Church. He carried off the crops of the Bishop of Autun, seized upon the tithes of the churches of his diocese, and swooped down upon the cellars of the canons of St Stephen of Dijon. His reputation as a robber was so well established throughout his country that about 1055 Hardouin, Bishop of Langres, dares not adventure himself in the neighbourhood of Dijon to dedicate the Church of Sennecey, fearing, says a charter, "to be exposed to the violence of the Duke." He hesitates at no crime to satisfy his appetites and his desire for vengeance; breaks into the abbey of St-Germain at Auxerre by armed force, has his young brother-in-law, Joceran, assassinated, and with his own hand kills his father-in-law, Dalmatius, lord of Semur.
His grandson and successor, Hugh I (1076-1079), was far from imitating the example set him, but he was quite as incapable as Robert of establishing any real control over Burgundy, and after having taken part in a distant expedition into Spain to succour Sancho I of Aragon he suddenly carried his contempt for the world so far as to exchange a soldier's restless life for cloistered peace, becoming a monk at the age of twenty-three.
Odo Borel, Hugh's brother (1079-1102), returned to the family tradition and became a highway robber. We have on this subject a curious anecdote, related by an eye-witness, Eadmer, chaplain to Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury. As Anselm was passing through Burgundy in 1097 on his way to Rome, the duke was informed of his approach and of the chance it afforded of booty worth taking. Allured by the account, Odo, mounting his horse immediately, took Anselm and his escort by surprise. "Where is the Archbishop?" he cried in a threatening tone. Yet at the last moment, confronted by the calm and venerable demeanour of the prelate, some remnant of shame held him back, and instead of falling on him he stood confounded, not knowing what to say. "My lord Duke," said Anselm to him, "suffer me to embrace thee." In his confusion the duke could only reply "willingly, for I am delighted at thy coming and ready to serve thee." It is possible that the good Eadmer has manipulated the incident somewhat,
