General Notes

Roger had married in the year 1048, Mabel, daughter and heiress of William de Talvas, Count of Belˆsme and Alen‡on, whose large estates he succeeded to in 1070, on the death of William's brother, Ives of Belˆsme, Bishop of S‚es. The monkish chroniclers of the times give to Mabel a not very enviable character; in their estimation, "she was a wicked, unnatural, and cruel woman;2 "haughty, worldly-minded, crafty, and a babbler."3 But Ordericus does not pass her without some commendation, for he adds, "she always loved Theodoric, the man of God, and failed not to obey him in certain things."4 Her cruelties at last brought upon her a violent death. Among those whom either her ambition or her hatred had led her to despoil of their rights, was Hugh, Seigneur de la Roche Ig‚, whom she had deprived of his castle. On the night of December 2, 1082, Hugh entered her chamber at the Chƒteau de Bures, on the Dive, near Troarn, and killed her with his sword. Her mutilated body was buried three days after at the convent of Troarn; while her murderer and his brothers disappeared from Normandy, and were unsuccessfully pursued by her sons, who thus vainly endeavored to take vengeance for their mother's death on the assassin.5

1 Blaev's edition, Amsterdam, 1646. See also Burke's General Armory; and Antiq. and Topog.
of Sussex, ii. 7.

Her enmity to the Monks of St. Evroult in particular, had earned for her the harsh character she is displayed in on the pages of the history
written within the walls of that monastery.  The following is her epitaph, written by her friends of Troarn, taken from Forester's translation
of Ordericus Vitalis:
                    "Sprung from the noble and the brave,
                      Here Mabel finds a narrow grave;
                    But above all woman's glory,
                      Fills a page in famous story.
                    Commanding, eloquent, and wise,
                      And prompt to daring enterprise;
                    Though slight her form, her soul was great,
                      And, proudly swelling in her state,
                    Rich dress, and pomp, and retinue,
                      Lent it their grace and honours due.
                    The border's guard, the country's shield,
                      But love and fear her might revealed,
                    Till Hugh, revengeful, gained her bower,
                      In dark December's midnight hour.
                    Then saw the Dive's o'erflowing stream
                      The ruthless murderer's poignard gleam.
                    Now, friends, some moments kindly spare,
                      For her soul's rest to breathe a prayer."