Becket was no sooner ordained priest and consecrated as archbishop than he changed his habits.  He became as austere as Lanfranc.  He laid aside his former ostentation.  He clothed himself in sackcloth; he mortified his body with fasts and laceration; he associated only with the pious and the learned; he frequented the cloisters and places of meditation; he received into his palace the needy and the miserable; he washed the feet of thirteen beggars every day; he conformed to the standard of piety in his age; he called forth the admiration of his attendants by his devotion to clerical duties.  “He was,” says James Stephen, “a second Moses entering the tabernacle at the accepted time for the contemplation of his God, and going out from it in order to perform some work of piety to his neighbor.  He was like one of God’s angels on the ladder, whose top reached the heavens, now descending to lighten the wants of men, now ascending to behold the divine majesty and the splendor of the Heavenly One.  His prime councillor was reason, which ruled his passions as a mistress guides her servants.  Under her guidance he was conducted to virtue, which, wrapped up in itself, and embracing everything within itself, never looks forward for anything additional.”

This is the testimony of his biographer, and has not been explained away or denied, although it is probably true that Becket did not purge the corruptions of the Church, or punish the disorders and vices of the clergy, as Hildebrand did.  But I only speak of his private character.  I admit that he was no reformer.  He was simply the high-churchman aiming to secure the ascendency of the spiritual power.  Becket is not immortal for his reforms, or his theological attainments, but for his intrepidity, his courage, his devotion to his cause,—­a hero, and not a man of progress; a man who fought a fight.  It should be the aim of an historian to show for what he was distinguished; to describe his warfare, not to abuse him because he was not a philosopher and reformer.  He lived in the twelfth century.

One of the first things which opened the eyes of the King was the resignation of the Chancellor.  The King doubtless made him primate of the English hierarchy in order that he might combine both offices.  But they were incompatible, unless Becket was willing to be the unscrupulous tool of the King in everything.  Of course Henry could not long remain the friend of the man who he thought had duped him.  Before a year had passed, his friendship was turned to secret but bitter enmity.  Nor was it long before an event occurred,—­a small matter,—­which brought the King and the Prelate into open collision.