Chapter XXVII: Appendix (4)

I. I have mentioned in the text, as a curious illustration of English feeling, the story which made William’s mother a descendant of the royal house of England. It will be found at length, with some curious details, in the Winchester Annals of Thomas Rudborne, Anglia Sacra, i. 247. Rudborne professes to get the story from a book called “Chronica Danorum in Angliâ regnantium.” As a piece of chronology and genealogy, the tale is strange enough. The tanner is called Richard, which looks rather as if he were a Frenchman, and he bears the surname of “Saburpyr,” the meaning of which is far from clear. His wife is distinctly said to be a daughter of Eadmund and Ealdgyth. Now Eadmund married Ealdgyth in 1015 (see vol. i. p. 412), and he died before the end of 1016. There is therefore hardly room for the birth of a daughter besides the apparently twin (see vol. i. p. 455) Æthelings, Eadmund and Eadward. Such a daughter must have eloped with the tanner at about the same time of life as Hermês when he stole the cows, and, as the mother of the mother of William, who was born at the latest in 1028, she must have been a grandmother at the age of twelve. William must also, besides being a distant cousin of Eadward, have been also a distant nephew, a fact nowhere else alluded to. In this tale William’s mother is called _Helen_, perhaps through some similarity of letters with _Herleva_.

The trade of Herleva’s father seems to be agreed on at all hands. He was a burgess of Falaise and a tanner. So the Chronicle of Saint Maxentius (Labbe, ii. 202); “Robertus Willelmum genuit ex eâ quæ fuit filia pelletarii burgensis.” In the narrative of William of Jumièges, the bastardy of the Conqueror and the calling of his maternal grandfather dawn upon the reader by degrees. He first, when describing Robert’s nomination of William as his successor, simply calls him “Willelmum filium suum, quem unicum apud Falesiam genuerat” (vi. 12). When he speaks of the indignation of the Norman nobles at William’s accession, he is driven to mention his bastardy; “Willelmus enim, ex concubinâ Roberti Ducis, nomine Herlevâ, _Fulberti cubicularii Ducis filiâ_, natus, nobilibus _indigenis_, et maximè ex Richardorum prosapiâ natis, despectui erat utpote nothus” (vii. 3). The later dignity of the grandfather is here put forward as a sort of forlorn hope; but when it is necessary to explain the point of the insults offered to William at Alençon, the unsavoury trade of Fulbert at last unavoidably peeps out; “Parentes matris ejus pelliciarii exstiterant” (vii. 18).

It is possible that the word “indigenis” in the second of the extracts just made may be taken to confirm the story according to which Fulbert was not only of a low occupation, but of foreign birth. Besides the English legend, which may possibly contain this small grain of truth, there is a tale in the Chronicle of Alberic “Trium Fontium” (a. 1035, Leibnitz, Accessiones, ii. 66), which is told with great glee by Sir Francis Palgrave (iii. 144). According to this version, Herbert, as he is called, was not a native of Falaise, but came with his wife Doda or Duixa from some place, either Chaumont or Huy (Hoium), in the Bishoprick of Lüttich. This tale however does not represent the tanner’s daughter as the original object of the fancy of Robert. The Count sees the daughter of his provost or bailiff (præpositus) at Falaise dancing, and asks for her; but the lover is made the subject of a trick, and the daughter of the tanner takes the place of the daughter of the bailiff. Here is food for the Comparative Mythologists, as this tale is the same as the tale of Richard and Gunnor, and as one of the legends of our own Eadgar. See vol. i. p. 279.

II. The date of William’s birth has been discussed by M. Deville in the _Memoires de la Société des Antiquaires de Normandie_, 1837, vol. xi. p. 179, and, after him, by M. Florent Richomme, in a pamphlet published at Falaise under the title of _La Naissance de Guillaume-le-Conquérant à Falaise_. There is no doubt that William was born in 1027 or 1028; M. Deville endeavours to fix the exact date to June or July, 1027. William was seemingly between seven and eight when Robert set out on his pilgrimage. “Habebat tunc,” says William of Malmesbury (iii. 229), “filium septennem.” So Wace (14360);

“N’aveit encor que sol set anz,
Petit esteit, n’ert mie granz,
Quant li Dus Robert se croisa
Et en Jerusalem alla.”

The date of Robert’s departure seems to be fixed to January, 1035, by a charter quoted by M. Deville from the Departmental Archives at Rouen. It is granted by Robert on the Ides of January, “quo et Hierusalem petiturus ibi licentiam eundi à Deo et sanctis ejus petii.” But it is argued that William was full eight years old when the news of his father’s death reached Normandy, and when he was accordingly invested with the Duchy. William of Jumièges (vii. 44) calls him “fere sexagenarius, anno ducatûs in Normanniâ LII,” at his death in September, 1087. This puts his birth in 1027, and his accession in 1035. Orderic (459 D) says that, at his accession, “tunc octo annorum erat,” and again (656 C) William is made to call himself at that time, “tenellus puer, utpote octo annorum.” It is therefore inferred that William attained the full age of eight years at some time after his father’s departure, but before his death, or at least before his death was known in Normandy. For this purpose six months or thereabouts is allowed, and it is thus ruled that William was eight years old in June or July, 1035, and was therefore born in June or July, 1027.

I am not fully convinced by these arguments. The expression of William of Jumièges, “ferè sexagenarius,” would seem to imply that William was not fully sixty in September, 1087, and, if he succeeded in July, 1035, he would then be in the fifty-third and not in the fifty-second year of his reign. Orderic indeed (459 D) says that he reigned fifty-three years, but, succeeding in 1035 and dying in 1087, he certainly did not reign fifty-three years full. And Orderic’s chronology is very confused on the matter; in the passage (656 C) where William calls himself eight years old at his accession, he calls himself sixty-four years old at his death (“mala quæ feci per LX quatuor annos”). This would put his birth in 1023, quite contradicting Orderic’s other statement. Moreover the Chronicle of Saint Michael’s Mount (Labbe, i. 348) calls him “septennis” at the time of his accession. It seems to me therefore that it is not safe to attempt to fix the date of William’s birth so minutely as M. Deville does, but that it certainly happened in 1027 or 1028, and more probably in 1027.

M. Deville connects the birth of William with that siege of Falaise which made Robert submit to his brother Richard (see vol. i. p. 517). This, and the death of Richard, he places in August, 1027. But William of Jumièges (vi. 2) distinctly says that Richard died in 1028, after a reign of two years (see vol. i. p. 517). Orderic (459 D), by making Richard reign a year and a half, might agree with M. Deville. Most of the Chronicles however make Richard die in 1026, the year of his accession. See the Chronicles of Fécamp (Labbe, i. 326), of Rouen (i. 366; cf. Duchèsne, 1017 B), of Saint Michael’s Mount (i. 348). The authority of William of Jumièges is no doubt much the highest, but his chronology is inconsistent with M. Deville’s view.

M. Deville has however done good service in bringing prominently forward the fact, which is commonly forgotten, that Robert, at the time of his first amour with Herleva, was not yet Duke of the Normans, but only Count of the Hiesmois, in which character Falaise was his capital. He has also well pointed out his extreme youth. Robert was the second son of Richard and Judith. The marriage contract of Judith, dated in 1008, is given in Martène and Durand’s Thesaurus Novus, i. 123. Robert could therefore hardly have been born before 1010; he could have been only eighteen at the most at the time of the birth of William, and only twenty-five at the time of his pilgrimage and death. His brother Richard, the father of the monk Nicholas, must have been equally precocious. Edward the Third too was only eighteen years older than the Black Prince; but at any rate he was married.

III. That William was born at Falaise all accounts agree; but there is not the faintest authority for placing his birth in the present donjon. M. Deville says that the tradition is a very modern one. A room is shown as that where William “fut engendré et nâquit,” and a sufficiently absurd inscription commemorates the supposed fact. But we have seen (see above, p. 176) that the existing keep is, in all probability, of a later date than William’s birth; and, if it did exist in Robert’s time, and if William were born in the castle at all, it is far more likely that Herleva would be lodged at such a time in some other part of the building, and not in the keep. The keep was not the common dwelling-place of the lord of a castle, but only his occasional place of defence. See Mr. G. T. Clark, Old London, pp. 14, 39, 43.

But there is another statement which, if it be trustworthy, as it seems to be, puts it beyond all doubt that William was not born in the castle at all, but elsewhere in the town of Falaise. The local historian of Falaise, M. Langevin (Recherches Historiques sur Falaise, 1814. p. 134), says, on the authority of “les anciens manuscrits extraits du chartier” of Trinity Church, Falaise, that William was born in 1027, in that parish, in a house belonging to him—that is, seemingly to his mother or her father—in the old market-place, and that he was baptized in Trinity Church. See Richomme, p. 12, who follows Langevin. One would like to have the exact extracts from the manuscripts, and to know something of their date; but in any case they are better authority than a romantic modern story, which seems not even to be a genuine tradition.

IV. Most writers state, or rather assume, that William was the only child of Robert and Herleva. The lioness was bound to bring forth only a single cub. But Mr. Stapleton, who pried into every corner in Norman matters, has, in a paper in the Archæologia (xxvi. 349 et seqq.), brought some strong arguments to show that William had a sister by the whole blood, Adelaide or Adeliza, wife of Enguerrand, Count of Ponthieu. This Adelaide was the mother of two daughters, one bearing her own name, who married Odo of Champagne, the other Judith, the too famous wife of our Earl Waltheof. The elder Countess Adelaide has been commonly taken to be only a half-sister of William, a daughter of Herleva by her husband Herlwin. She appears to have been so considered by the continuator of William of Jumièges (viii. 37), who calls the mother of Judith “soror uterina Willelmi Regis Anglorum senioris,” words which he would hardly use of a daughter of Robert. Still Mr. Stapleton’s case is very strong. It rests mainly on a charter, which Mr. Stapleton prints, granted to the College (afterwards Monastery) of Saint Martin of Auche (Alcis) near Aumale. Adelaide is there distinctly called the wife of Enguerrand and sister of William, and her daughters, Adelaide and Judith, are spoken of. After the death of her husband, she enriched the church of Saint Martin, and, while still young (“quum esset adhuc in juvenili ætate”), she had it hallowed by Archbishop Maurilius. Now Count Enguerrand died in 1053, and Maurilius was Archbishop of Rouen from 1055 to 1069. Mr. Stapleton thinks that these dates better suit a daughter of Robert and Herleva, who must have been born between 1028 and 1035, than a daughter of Herlwin and Herleva, who could not have been born before 1036. There are also two statements which, though erroneous as they stand, point to the parentage argued for by Mr. Stapleton as their groundwork. Thus Orderic (522 C) makes Odo of Champagne marry a sister of William and daughter of Duke Robert. The two Adelaides, mother and daughter, are here confounded, but the fact that Duke Robert had a daughter is preserved. So Robert de Monte, under the year 1026 (Pertz, vi. 478), preserves the name of Aeliz or Adelaide, daughter of Duke Robert, though he makes her the child of another mistress and not of Herleva. This is doubtless an attempt to reconcile the existence of Adelaide with the belief that William was an only child.

The Norman writers, it must be remembered, know nothing, or choose to say nothing, of the marriage of Robert with Cnut’s sister Estrith. See vol. i. p. 521. They look upon Herleva as Robert’s only consort, lawful or unlawful. So William of Malmesbury, iii. 229; “Unicè dilexit et aliquamdiù justæ uxoris loco habuit.” But no writer asserts any actual marriage, except the Tours Chronicler in Bouquet, x. 284. He marries Herleva to Robert soon after William’s birth (“Dux Robertus, nato dicto Guillelmo, in isto eodem anno matrem pueri, quam defloraverat, duxit in uxorem”). He also transfers the story of Herleva from Falaise to Rouen. Possibly also some notion of a marriage may have floated across the brain of our own Knighton, when he said (2339) that William was called “Bastardus,” “quod ante celebrationem matrimonii natus est.”

The story of the Tours Chronicler cannot be true, as such a marriage would have legitimated William, and he then could not have been known as William the Bastard. But Herleva might seem from William of Malmesbury’s words to have been looked on as something more than an ordinary concubine. It is strange that he should be the only writer who makes Herleva marry Herlwin during Robert’s lifetime. His words (iii. 277) are, “Matrem, quantùm vixit, insigni indulgentiâ dignatus est, quæ, _ante patris obitum_, cuidam Herlewino de Comitisvillâ, mediocrium opum viro, nupserat.” But William of Jumièges (vii. 3) distinctly puts the marriage after Robert’s death; “Postquam Hierosolymitanus Dux obiit, Herluinus quidam probus miles Herlevam uxorem duxit, ex quâ duos filios, Odonem et Robertum, qui postmodùm præclaræ sublimitatis fuerunt, procreavit.” According to Orderic (660 B), Herleva was the second wife of Herlwin, whose son Ralph by a former marriage was also promoted by William. The honours shown by William to his mother seem to have struck writers at a distance. Besides William of Malmesbury just quoted, the Tours Chronicle in the French Duchèsne (iii. 361) says, “Matrem dum vixit honorificè habuit,” and the Limousin writer William Godell (Bouquet, xi. 235) says, “Guillelmus Rex matrem suam, quamvis esset inferiori genere orta, multùm honoravit.” He goes on to mention the promotion of her sons.

Of the sons of Herleva, Odo and Robert, I need not speak here; but I may mention that she had also a daughter by Herlwin, named Muriel, who has naturally been confounded with William’s other sister Adelaide. Wace says (Roman de Rou, 11145),

“Ki à fame avait Muriel,
Seror li Dus de par sa mere
E Herluin aveit à pere.”

See Taylor’s note, p. 102.

One would have thought that the story of Robert and Herleva was one which could never have been forgotten. Yet later writers did not scruple to provide the Conqueror with new and strange mothers. Thomas Wikes, _the_ royalist chronicler of the thirteenth century (Gale, ii. 22), gives William the following wonderful pedigree. He was “natus ex nobilissimâ muliere Matilde, quæ fuit filia strenuissimi militis Richardi dicti _Sanz-peur_, filii Willielmus [_sic_, at least in the printed text] _Lungespeye_, filii Rolandi, qui fuit primus Dux Normannorum.” And in an unpublished manuscript of the famous Sir John Fortescue of the fifteenth century (for a knowledge of which I have to thank the Right Hon. Chichester Fortescue), William is said to be Eadward’s “consanguineus germanus ex Gunhildâ amitâ suâ, sorore patris sui.” The confusion is delightful, but it preserves the fact that the kindred between William and Eadward had something to do with an aunt of one or other of them.

NOTE O. p. 254.
THE BATTLE OF VAL-ÈS-DUNES.

Since my account of the battle was written, I have received a small work by the Abbé Le Cointe, _Curé_ of Cintheaux, called “Conspiration des Barons Normands contre Guillaume-le-Bâtard, Duc de Normandie, et Bataille du Val-des-dunes, 1047” (Caen, 1868). M. Le Cointe has examined the ground very carefully, both before and since my visit of last year, and the result of his researches is a most minute topographical account, full, accurate, and rich in local interest. I am glad to say that I do not find anything which calls upon me to alter my own shorter description. Since I was there, the foundations of the Chapel of Saint Lawrence have been brought to light, and many skeletons have been found there and in other parts of the field.

With regard to more strictly historical matters, M. Le Cointe, following in the main the same authorities as I do, gives essentially the same account. But he also makes use of a manuscript Chronicle of Normandy, which however seems not to be earlier than the fifteenth century, and whose mistakes he often stops to point out. Late writings of this kind are of course valuable only when there is reason to believe either that their authors had access to earlier written authorities now lost, or else that they embody trustworthy local traditions. The Chronicle in question contains two statements which, if true, are highly important, and the truth of which it would be most desirable to test. One is that the rebels were strengthened by a party of Angevins and Cenomannians, commanded by Enguerrand, nephew of Count Geoffrey Martel (Le Cointe, pp. 19, 35). The other is that the men of Caen—faithful among the faithless—took the side of the Duke (p. 18). It is quite possible that the influence of the local chieftains would be smaller in so considerable a city than it was at Coutances and Bayeux.

I would call particular attention to M. Le Cointe’s excellent remarks on the position of the rebel forces, in p. 25.

NOTE P. p. 274.
THE COUNTS OF ANJOU AND OF CHARTRES.

With Geoffrey Grisegonelle, and still more with Fulk Nerra, we begin to get on firmer historical ground than we can find in the days of the earlier Counts. Fulk occupies an important place in the history of Rudolf Glaber, having two whole chapters (ii. 3, 4) pretty well to himself. And the exploits of Geoffrey derive more or less of corroborative testimony from several independent sources. The panegyrist of the family (Gest. Cons. 246) tells us that Geoffrey took an active part in resisting Otto’s invasion of France in 978 (see vol. i. p. 265). We learn from a distinct and contemporary authority that Geoffrey had before that taken a part in that wild raid against Aachen (see vol. i. p. 264) by which Lothar had provoked the German inroad. “Lotarius ... Lotharingiam calumniatus est. Cujus expeditionibus Gosfridus Comes Andegavorum, pater _Fulconis ultimi_, interfuit, _nostræque ætatis multi viri_” (Chron. S. Maxentii, Labbe, ii. 203). The words “Fulconis ultimi” could hardly have been used during the life of Fulk Nerra; it looks therefore as if the Chronicler wrote, in extreme old age, after Fulk’s death in 1040. These entries about Geoffrey’s attendance on Lothar fit in curiously with a Breton account (Chron. Brioc., Morice, p. 32), how Geoffrey seized on Guerech, the Breton Bishop and Count, on his return from the King’s Court, and forced him—setting a precedent for two more famous acts of his grandson—to surrender Nantes.

Rudolf Glaber is very full on the war between Geoffrey and Conan, and the battle of Conquereux (Concretus in Rudolf, Conquerentium in the Angevin, Concruz in the Breton, Chronicles) in the County of Nantes. The Bretons mention two battles on the same spot, one in 982, the other in 992 (v Kal Julii), when Conan was killed (Chron. Bret. ap. Morice, i. et seqq.); the Angevin writer (Labbe, i. 275) speaks of the latter only. In the battle recorded by Rudolf, Conan seems not to be killed, but only “truncatus dexterâ” (ii. 3). Conan, according to Rudolf, had taken the title of King, like several of his predecessors. This assumption may not have been unconnected with the great revolution of 987. Rudolf’s account of the Bretons (ii. 3) is amusing. Their land, “finitimum ac perinde vilissimum, Cornu Galliæ nuncupatur.” This vile country “habitatur diutiùs à gente Brittonum, quorum solæ divitiæ primitùs fuere _libertas fisci publici_ et lactis copia, qui omni prorsùs urbanitate vacui, suntque illis mores inculti ac levis ira et stulta garrulitas.” Rudolf indeed is just now so full on Angevin matters that the local panegyrist is often content to copy him.

As for the Counts of Chartres, I was in vol. i. pp. 508, 509, misled by a passage of William of Jumièges (v. 10) into confounding the first and the second Odo. Odo the First died in 995, and was succeeded by his son Theobald, who was followed in 1004 by Odo the Second. It was this second Odo who waged the war about Tillières. In D’Achery, iii. 386, there is a charter of Richard the Good, restoring to the Church of Chartres lands which had been alienated from it, doubtless in the war of Tillières.

Rudolf Glaber (iii. 2) calls the younger Odo, “secundus Odo, filius scilicet prioris Odonis, qui quantò potentior, tantò fraudulentior ceteris.” He goes on to say, “Fuit etiam juge litigium et bella frequentia inter ipsum Odonem et Fulconem Andegavorum Comitem, quoniam uterque tumidus superbiâ, idcirco et pacis refuga.” The Angevin Chronicles, on the other hand, charge King Robert with leaving Fulk to fight their common battles all by himself. This first war, especially the battle of Pontlevois, will be found narrated in most of the Chronicles of the time. See Gest. Cons. 253. Chronn. Andeg. (Labbe, i. 275, 286, 287) 1016, 1025, 1026, 1027. Chron. S. Maxent. (Labbe, ii. 206) 1016, 1026. Chron. S. Florentii, ap. Morice, 122. The most striking piece of detail, the intervention of Aldebert of Perigeux in 990, comes from Ademar (iii. 34, ap. Pertz, iv. 131); “Urbem quoque Turonis obsidione affectam in deditionem accepit et Fulchoni Comiti Andegavensi donavit. Sed ille ingenio doloso civium amisit post paullulum, et iterum Odo Campanensis eam recuperavit.” Odo is prematurely called “Campanensis,” as he did not become Count of Champagne till 1019.

Odo’s last war (see p. 277) is described, among French writers, by Rudolf Glaber, iii. 9; in Gest. Cons. 254; and Chron. S. Petri Senonensis (D’Achery, ii. 475), where the date is given as 1046. It is described also by all the German writers, whom the matter more immediately concerned. See the authorities collected by Struvius, Hist. Germ. i. 342, to which may be added the very brief notices of Lambert under the years 1033 and 1037. The Kingdom of Burgundy, which came to an end in 1032 by the death of King Rudolf (see vol. i. p. 479), was claimed by Odo as well as by the Emperor Conrad, both being sisters’ sons to Rudolf. Odo obtained some advantages in Burgundy, and he is said to have received an offer of the Crown of Italy. He then contemplated a restoration of the Lotharingian Kingdom and a coronation at Aachen. In Germany he was clearly looked upon as the representative of French aggression. While one manuscript of Hermann calls him “Princeps Gallicæ Campaniæ,” another calls him “_Princeps Carlingorum_” (see Pertz, v. 121, and the old edition of Pistorius, p. 137). On this very remarkable expression, see vol. i. p. 172.

But still more remarkable is the sort of echo of these distant events which reached Ireland. In the Annals of Ulster, a. 1038 (O’Conor, Rer. Hib. Scriptt. iv. 324), we read of “Prœlium inter Cuana _Regem ferorum Saxonum_ et Othonem Regem Francorum, in quo cæsi sunt millia plurima.” So in Tigernach, under the same year (O’Conor, i. 287), “Prœlium inter Cuanum Regem Saxonum et Otam Regem Francorum, in quo occisi sunt mille cum Otâ.” “Cuana” reminds us of “Cona” in our own Chronicles (1056), where however Henry is meant. It is also to be noticed that Conrad the Frank is called King of the Saxons. Not only is the Imperial dignity forgotten, but the memory of the great Saxon dynasty seems to extend itself over all succeeding Kings and Emperors. Then Odo, a French Count, striving after the Kingdom of Burgundy, or in truth after any Kingdom that he could get, is magnified into a King of the French. Lastly, “feri” seems to be a standing epithet for all Saxons, whether continental or insular. The Ulster Annals (O’Conor, iv. 326) in the very next year record the death of “Haraldus Rex Saxonum ferorum,” that is, Harold the son of Cnut.

NOTE Q. p. 276.
THE IMPRISONMENT OF WILLIAM OF AQUITAINE.

This imprisonment of William of Aquitaine is described at greater or less length by a whole crowd of writers. See the Gesta Consulum (257, 258), where the war is very fully narrated; the Angevin Chronicles under 1033; Chron. S. Mich. ap. Labbe, i. 350. Will. Pict. 86. Will. Malms. iii. 231. Chron. S. Maxent. 1032, 1035. According to the Gesta the war began out of the quarrel about Saintonge, and it is probably with reference to that County that both William of Poitiers and William of Malmesbury speak of the Duke of Aquitaine as the “lord” (dominus) of Geoffrey. The Chronicle of Saint Maxentius also speaks of the battle “juxta monasterium Sancti Jovini ad Montem Cærium” (Labbe, ii. 207). It is of course dwelt on at much greater length in the Gesta.

The cession of Bourdeaux, asserted by William of Malmesbury, seems hardly credible. The author of the Gesta, generally not indisposed to underrate the successes of the Angevin house, speaks only of the cession of the disputed territory of Saintonge. William of Poitiers (86) says only “argenti et auri pondus gravissimum, atque _prædia ditissima_ extorsit.” And the Chronicles of Saint Maxentius (a. 1036) speak of no territorial cession at all, but only of a ransom; “Isembertus Episcopus Pictavis fecit synodum, ubi _magnam pacem_ [doubtless the Truce of God] firmavit. Qui, cum Eustachiâ uxore Guillelmi Comitis, aliquantulùm exspoliavit monasteria auro et argento, unde redimerent eum.” He then mentions the deaths of William and Eustachia. It was perhaps the flourish of William of Poitiers (86) about Poitiers, Bourdeaux, and other cities obeying Geoffrey (“Andegavi, Turoni, Pictones, Burdegala, multæ regiones, civitates plurimæ”) which suggested a formal cession of Bourdeaux to the mind of William of Malmesbury.

There can be no doubt that Eustachia was the real wife of William the Fat, the prisoner of Geoffrey, and that Agnes, whom Geoffrey married, was only his father’s widow. William of Poitiers says distinctly that, after the death of William, Geoffrey “novercam præcipuè nobilitatis [she was daughter of Otto-William, Count of Burgundy] toro suo sociavit” (p. 86). He is followed by William of Malmesbury (iii. 231), who says, “Martellus, ne quid deesset impudentiæ, novercam defuncti matrimonio sibi copulavit.” So the Chronicle of Saint Maxentius, which places the death of William in 1036, places the marriage in 1037. This last Chronicle is the only one which gives us an intelligible reason for Geoffrey’s conduct in contracting this marriage. Agnes could not have been very young, fifteen or sixteen years after her first marriage in 1018 (Art de vérifier les Dates, ii. 354. The date, according to the Chronicle of Saint Maxentius, is 1023, but then the second marriage is put later also); but Geoffrey had a political motive. “Willermo Comite mortuo, Pictavenses in magno angore et anxietate positi de morte principis sui, sicut oves sine pastore relicti, Odonem Comitem, germanum ejus ex patre supradicto, ex Gasconiâ convocaverunt. Per hæc tempora Gaufredus Martellus duxerat uxorem supradictam Agnetem, caussâ Pictavensium, ut haberet sibi subditos adhuc duobus filiis suis, scilicet Petro et Gaufredo parvulis” (Labbe, ii. 207). The two boys were in the end (1044) established by Geoffrey as Counts of Poitiers and Gascony respectively.

Some of the Angevin and Norman Chroniclers seem to have confounded the two Williams, William the Great, the husband of Agnes, and William the Fat, her stepson, who was imprisoned by Geoffrey. They therefore make a strange hash of the story, making Geoffrey marry the wife of the prince whom he imprisoned, and that even during her husband’s lifetime. The Angevin Chronicler in Labbe, i. 276, puts the marriage of Agnes a year before the imprisonment of William (1032 and 1033). “Gaufridus Martellus,” he says, “Agnetem duxit _incesto conjugio_.” It is not clear whether there was any kindred between Geoffrey and Agnes, or whether the Chronicler called the marriage “incestum” because he fancied that Agnes had a husband alive. The Chronicle of Saint Michael’s Mount (Labbe, i. 350) is still more express. The marriage is recorded under 1032, and under 1033 we read that Geoffrey took prisoner William “cujus uxorem Agnetem ante duxerat.” There can be no doubt that both the chronology and the facts are altogether confused, and we are thus led to look with some little suspicion on the other events which the Angevin Chronicler connects both with the imprisonment and with the marriage. Under 1032, after recording the marriage, he adds, “Inde bellum illud exsecrabile quod contra patrem suum per annos ferè septem subsequentes impiè gessit.” On the imprisonment in 1033 he adds, “Quare orta est discordia inter patrem et matrem.” What could these things have to do with one another?

NOTE R. p. 319.
THE RAVAGES ATTRIBUTED TO HAROLD AND GODWINE.

The only writer who puts on anything like a tone of censure with regard either to Harold’s conduct at Porlock or to Godwine’s plundering along the south coast, is William of Malmesbury, and he does not draw the proper distinction between the doings of father and son. His words (ii. 199) are, “Exsulum quisque, de loco suo egressi, Britanicum mare circumvagari, littora piraticis latrociniis infestare, _de cognati populi opibus prædas eximias conjectare_.”

There is however a marked difference of tone in the way in which the story of Harold’s landing at Porlock is told by the different Chroniclers. The Abingdon writer, as I have often noticed, may be looked on as to some extent hostile to Godwine, and the Worcester writer, though on the whole favourable to the Earl, yet constantly follows the Abingdon narrative. The Peterborough version, I need hardly say, is quite independent, and is always strongly for Godwine. According to Abingdon and Worcester (1052), Harold landed and plundered, and then the people of the country came together to withstand him. He landed, they say, and “þær mycel gehergode, and þæt landfolc him ongean gaderodan.” But the Peterborough writer makes the local force to have been already brought together, and speaks of no ravaging till after Harold had found the country hostile. Harold came to Porlock—“and wes þær mycel folc gegaderod ongean. Ac he ne wandode na him metes to tylienne; eode úp, and ofsloh þær mycelne ende þes folces.” That is to say, the partizan of Godwine tells the tale in the way least unfavourable to Harold, while the hostile or indifferent writer tells it in the way most unfavourable. But the pains taken in both directions show that both writers agreed in thinking that the harrying and slaying, unless done in strict self-defence, was discreditable.

The Biographer of Eadward seems to have thought differently. He greatly exaggerates the ravaging, and tells the tale (405) in a tone of distinct triumph; “Ab ipsis Occidentalium Britonum sive Anglorum finibus usque quò Dux consederat, ferro, igne, et abductâ prædâ omne regnum sunt devastati.” It has been ingeniously suggested to me from this passage that the Biographer was a foreigner. His way of looking at this particular matter certainly stands out in distinct contrast to that of all the native writers. The supposition that he was a foreigner would account for many of the characteristics of his work. It would quite explain his evidently minute personal knowledge of many things, combined with his frequent inaccuracy about others. It would account for his invariable tendency to dwell on all personal details about the King, the Lady, and the Earls, and rather to slur over the political affairs of the Kingdom. But, if he was a foreigner, the spirit in which he writes forbids the notion that he was a Frenchman. Probably he was a member of the other importation from Lotharingia.

But it is very singular that, in the account of the plundering of Godwine in Wight and Portland, it is the Peterborough writer who puts matters in the strongest light; “And eodon þær úp, and hergodon swa lange þær þæt þæt folc geald heom swa mycel swa hi heom on legden; and gewendon heom þa westweard, oð þet hi comon to Portlande, and eodon þær úp, _and dydon to hearme swa hwet swa hi dón mihton_.” Abingdon, on the other hand, mentions the plundering only incidentally, when saying that it ceased after the meeting of Godwine and Harold; “And hi na mycelne hearm ne dydon syððan hig togædere comon, buton þæt heo metsunge namon.” And the juxtaposition of the words which follow is remarkable; “Ac speonnon heom eall þæt landfolc to be ðam sǽ riman, and eac up on lande.” The people joined Godwine, notwithstanding his plunderings.

The mention of the plundering in Sheppey (see p. 323) comes also from the Peterborough Chronicle only. These differences show that the several writers, though one often wrote in a different spirit from another, all wrote honestly, and that they did not wilfully either invent or conceal things for party purposes.

In the name of common fairness, as wishing to give to our common hero his due praise and no more, I must protest against the way in which the Porlock story is slurred over by Thierry and Mr. St. John. This part of Harold’s conduct cannot be defended, and it ought not to be concealed. It is enough that he wiped out the stain by his refusal on a later day to ravage one inch of the Kingdom which had been given him to guard.

NOTE S. p. 319.
THE NARRATIVES OF THE RETURN OF GODWINE.

Of the return of Godwine, as of his banishment, we have three original narratives, those of the Abingdon and Worcester Chroniclers, which may be reckoned as one, that of the Peterborough Chronicler, and that of Eadward’s Biographer. Each again show’s its respective character; each has its characteristic tone; each brings some particular facts into greater notice than the others; but there are no really important contradictions among them. The Peterborough writer retains his old character as the stoutest of all adherents of Godwine. The Abingdon Chronicler may be looked on as in some sort an enemy; it is at the end of this year that he breaks out into that complaint about Godwine’s appropriation of ecclesiastical property of which I have spoken elsewhere (see above, pp. 32, 351, 546). But he is not an uncandid enemy; some of the points which tell most strongly in Godwine’s favour come out with great force in his narrative; it is from him that we get the fullest picture of the zeal with which Godwine was received by the maritime shires. He also, as we have seen (see Note R.), though he makes the most of Harold’s ravages, makes the least of those of Godwine. This last feature is not what one would have expected. His dislike to Godwine follows him to his death, but in his late narrative it certainly is not extended to Harold. On the whole we may say that, as a monk, he has a certain personal feeling against Godwine, but that, as an Englishman, he is true to Godwine’s cause.

The Biographer takes his usual line. He is a courtier, comparatively careless of the march of public events, but full of personal incidents which are not to be found elsewhere. His narrative is nowhere richer than in those little indirect and unconscious touches which are often worth more than direct statements. I need hardly say that he is the most careless as to chronology of all three. The Peterborough writer, on the other hand, is the most attentive. I therefore make him my main guide throughout the story, but I draw touches and incidents from both the other sources without hesitation.

Thus, at the very beginning, the Abingdon writer makes the great accession which the men of Kent and Sussex made to Godwine’s force (p. 322) happen immediately on his first coming from Flanders, before he was pursued by the King’s ships. This is hardly possible, and we accordingly find from the Peterborough narrative that it really happened later, after the storm and the return to Flanders, incidents which the Abingdon writer leaves out. But it is from the Abingdon writer that we get that most emphatic expression of the popular attachment to Godwine, how the men of Kent, Surrey (a shire which I should have mentioned more distinctly in p. 322), and the other south-eastern districts, pledged themselves to “live and die” with the Earl. William of Malmesbury, as he so often does, follows Peterborough, though he is not without touches of his own.

Somewhat later in the story (p. 324), we find a good illustration of the peculiar value of the Biographer. The Abingdon and Worcester Chronicles clearly imply that Eadward knew nothing of the second attempt of Godwine till the Earl had reached Sandwich; “Þa Eadwerd cyng þæt geaxode,” &c. The question in the text as to the whereabouts of the King naturally occurs. Florence (1052) made a very obvious inference from his authorities, when he wrote, “Regi Eadwardo, _tunc temporis Lundoniæ demoranti_, illorum adventus nunciatur.” But these words are simply an inference; they do not translate any statement in the Chronicles, and we find from the Biographer, the best authority for the King’s personal movements, that it is a wrong inference; “Audito itaque Rex ejus [Godwini] violento et absque ejus nutu in regnum suum ingressu, quamquam fidem referentibus non accommodaret, tamen cum militari copiâ quâ poterat, _Lundoniam venit_” (Vita Eadw. 405). He therefore was elsewhere when he heard the news. The writer goes on to say, “_Utque acri erat animo et promptissimæ strenuitatis_, ingressum civitatis, quà tendebat, prohibere tentabat.” The words in Italics must apply to Eadward, and the Biographer would hardly venture upon satire. Æthelred himself, as we have seen, had his fits of energy, and Eadward also had his fits, if not of energy, at least of passion.

When we get to the negotiations on the evening of Monday, it is to the Peterborough Chronicler only that we owe our knowledge of the personal agency of Stigand (p. 329). A year before, the Biographer was the only writer who spoke of him. This is just the way in which, in a story of this kind, our several accounts fill up gaps in each other, and strengthen each other’s authority. The conduct attributed to Stigand at one time by one account exactly agrees with the conduct attributed to him at another time by another and quite independent account. The Abingdon Chronicle simply says, “Geræddon þa þæt man sende wise men betweonan, and setton grið on ægðre healfe.” So Florence, “Sapientiores _quique_ [Roger of Wendover, or his copyist, or his editor, turns this into “sapientes _quinque_,” i. 491] ex utrâque parte, inter Regem et Ducem pacem redintegrantes, exercitum ab armis discedere jusserunt.” The Canterbury writer follows Peterborough in mentioning Stigand, but adds, rather unluckily, “þe was þes cinges rædgifa and his handprest.”

The adjournment till the morning of Tuesday appears from the words of Florence, “Mane autem facto, concilium Rex habuit.” These words answer to nothing in the actual narrative of any of the Chroniclers; but they are implied in what the Abingdon writer says afterwards; “Ðæt wæs on þone Monandæg æfter Sc̃a Marian mæsse þæt Godwine mid his scipum to Suðgeweorce becom, and þæs on merigen, on þone Tiwesdæg hi gewurdon sehte, swa hit her beforan stent.” We thus see that, in the flow of narration, especially in the rhetorical language of the Biographer, the events of two days have been run into one. This is especially shown in one expression of the Biographer. He makes one of the reasons which made Eadward finally yield at the Gemót to be because he saw that Godwine’s military force was the stronger (“Ducem, quem utique videbat, sibi satis, si uti vellet, superiorem armis”); this consideration would rather belong to the former day. It is clear that the “mycel Gemót,” as the Peterborough Chronicler triumphantly calls it, was held on Tuesday morning. Its details must be gathered from all sources. Bits of the official decrees peep out both in Abingdon and Peterborough, but it is the Peterborough writer, the stoutest Englishman that ever took pen in hand, who loves emphatically to dwell on the democratic character of this great gathering. It is from his expression “wiðutan Lundene,” combined with the description which the Biographer gives of Godwine and Eadward afterwards going together to the Palace (see p. 337), that we learn that the assembly was held in the open air. The Biographer cares little for the political character of the meeting, but there is no part of his whole narrative in which he is richer in those little personal touches which give him his chief value. His account is most graphic and animated, and the reader will easily see that I have largely drawn upon him.

The flight of Robert, Ulf, and the other Normans (see p. 300) certainly happened before the meeting of the Gemót, therefore doubtless on Monday evening. From the account in the Abingdon Chronicle and in Florence it might seem that it was on Tuesday, after sentence had been pronounced against them in the Gemót. But, in the more careful order of the Peterborough writer, it becomes plain that it happened immediately after the mission of Stigand, that is, on Monday; “Ða geaxode Rotberd arcebiscop and þa Frencisce menn þæt [the agreement made by Stigand] genamon heora hors and gewendon.” Then, after the details of their ride, comes the account of the Gemót. So William of Malmesbury, ii. 199. Before the Gemót, “Ille [Robert], non exspectatâ violentiâ, sponte profugerat, quum sermo pacis componeretur.” And this is confirmed by one of the incidental references in the Biographer. He does not directly describe the flight of Robert and his companions, but he speaks of the King at the Gemót as “destitutus imprimis fugâ Archipræsulis et suorum multorum, verentium adspectum Ducis, qui scilicet auctores fuerant illius concitati turbinis.”

The personal reconciliation between the King and Godwine, distinct from, and following after, the public votes of the Gemót (see p. 337), rests on the direct authority of the Biographer only. The Chroniclers naturally think mainly of the proceedings in the Assembly, and merge the private reconciliation in the public one. The chaplain of the Lady, as naturally, looks at things in an opposite way. It is possible however that, in one passage of his story, the Peterborough writer had the private reconciliation in his mind. Once, and once only, is his way of speaking less popular than that of his Abingdon brother. Where Abingdon says, “And _man sealde_ Godwine clæne his eorldom swa full and swa forð swa he fyrmest ahte,” Peterborough has “and _se cyng forgeaf_ þam eorle and his bearnum his fulne freondscype and fulne eorldom,” &c. This sounds very much as if the Peterborough writer was combining in his mind the public restoration by the Gemót and the personal reconciliation with the King. But in any case we cannot mistake the minute and local description given by the Biographer; “Rex itaque coactus tum misericordiâ et satisfactione Ducis ... devictus quoque precibus supplicantium, _redditis armis suis_, cum Duce in palatium processit, _ibique_, paullatim defervente animi motu sedatus, sapientium consilio usus, _Duci osculum præbuit_,” &c. (p. 406).

One or two points maybe here noticed. In the text (p. 337) I have said that the King and the Earl went “unarmed to the Palace.” But “redditis armis suis” would rather mean that Eadward returned to Godwine the arms which Godwine had laid at his feet (p. 334). The restoration of the official axe was not unlikely to be the outward sign of the restoration of the office itself. Again, it may be asked whether “sapientium consilio usus” means merely “following the advice of wise men,” or whether it is a technical expression, “in accordance with the decree of the Witan.” In a simpler writer I should be inclined to take it in the latter sense; but the Biographer, if he had chosen to talk directly about the Witan at all, would probably have used some more rhetorical phrase. Besides we have already, in the course of the story, read in the Chronicles of “wise men,” where the reference is clearly not to official but to personal wisdom.

There is certainly something very striking in the way in which our account of this great event has to be put together from several independent accounts, and in the amount of precision, even in very minute points, which we are able to reach by carefully comparing one with another. It is hardly necessary to collect together the shapes which the story takes in later writers, but I cannot pass by the way in which the Winchester annalist (p. 25) weaves the return of Godwine into the legend of Emma, which he places in 1043 (see above, p. 570). Eadward recalls Godwine at the prayer of his mother; “Precibus matris suæ revocavit Godwinum Comitem et filios ejus ab exsilio, et conceptum in eos rancorem remisit ad plenum, et singulis honores suos reddidit.” Selden also (Titles of Honour, pp. 525, 526) seems to have confounded this reconciliation between Eadward and Godwine with that imaginary reconciliation soon after Eadward’s election of which Bromton is so full. See vol. i. p. 574.

The story adopted by some writers, ancient and modern, about Godwine giving his son Wulfnoth and his grandson Hakon as hostages to the King, by whom they were immediately handed over to the keeping of Duke William, I mention here only lest I should seem to have forgotten it. It is part of the story of Harold’s oath, which I shall discuss at large in my next volume.

NOTE T. p. 338.
THE PILGRIMAGE OF SWEGEN.

I cannot help noticing the strange perversion of the story of Swegen which has been adopted by a writer generally so accurate as Dr. Lingard. “But to Sweyn,” he tells us (i. 341), “Eadward was inexorable. He had been guilty of a most inhuman and perfidious murder; and seeing himself abandoned by his family, he submitted to the discipline of the ecclesiastical canons.” This seems to come from Roger of Wendover (i. 491); “Rex ... pristinum honorem restituit Godwino et filiis ejus omnibus, præter Suanum, qui Beornum peremerat Regis [sic] consobrinum, unde, _pœnitentiam agens_, de Flandriâ nudis pedibus Hierosolymam petens, in reditu suo per viam defunctus est.” This would most naturally mean that Swegen set out on his pilgrimage after the restoration of his family, and it might also seem to imply that the pilgrimage was an imposed penance. But there is no doubt that Swegen had already set out for Jerusalem before his father left Flanders, and the expressions of the best writers seem to show that the penance was altogether self-imposed. On the former point the words of the Abingdon Chronicle (1052) are decisive; “Swegen _for æror_ to Hierusalem of Bricge.” So Florence (1052), who also gives a hint on the other point; “Ille enim _ductus pœnitentiâ_, eo quod, ut prælibavimus, consobrinum suum Beorn occiderat, de Flandriâ nudis pedibus Jerusalem _jam adierat_.” William of Malmesbury (ii. 200; see above, p. 102) does not mention the time, but says that he went “_pro conscientiâ_ Brunonis cognati interempti.” About the chronology then there is no doubt, and there is no reason to suppose that the pilgrimage was other than a self-imposed one. Swegen, in short, if a great criminal, was also a great penitent, and it is rather hard to deprive him of that character in order to exalt Saint Eadward and the ecclesiastical canons. Eadward had no opportunity of being inexorable; Swegen’s family had no opportunity of abandoning him; he probably did not need the discipline of the ecclesiastical canons; his own conscience had already pronounced sentence upon him. It was probably Florence’s expression “pœnitentiâ ductus” which suggested Roger’s “pœnitentiam agens,” and from the latter Dr. Lingard clearly got his idea of the ecclesiastical canons.

Thierry (i. 201) seems, contrary to the best accounts, but in conformity with a possible interpretation of Roger, to bring Swegen to the Gemót, and to make him banish himself there; “Tous les membres de cette famille populaire rentrèrent dans leurs honneurs, à l’exception d’un seul, de Sweyn, qui y renonça volontairement.” Out of this view Lord Lytton (Harold, i. 196 et seqq.) has made a fine scene.

The Abingdon Chronicle makes Swegen die at Constantinople; Florence places his death in Lykia. He adds that he died of the cold—“invalitudine ex nimio frigore contractâ.” Florence, writing with the Abingdon Chronicle before him, could have no motive to change the well known Constantinople into the less known Lykia, unless he had good information that Lykia really was the place. But the Chronicler might very easily put Constantinople, a thoroughly familiar name, instead of Lykia, of which he had perhaps never heard. William of Malmesbury (ii. 200) has quite another story; “A Saracenis circumventus et ad mortem cæsus est.”

A close parallel to the pilgrimage of Swegen is found in that of Lagman (on the name see vol. i. p. 510) King of Man, 1075–1093 (Munch, p. 4); “Rebellavit autem contra eum Haraldus frater ejus multo tempore. Sed tandem captus a Lagmanno, genitalibus et oculis privatus est. Post hæc Lagmannus, pœnitens quod fratris sui oculos eruisset, sponte regnum suum dimisit, et signo crucis dominicæ insignitus, iter Jerosolimitanum arripuit, quo et mortuus est.”

NOTE U. p. 342.
THE ECCLESIASTICAL POSITION OF STIGAND.

Stigand, as might have been expected, is as favourite an object of Norman abuse as Godwine himself. And abuse of Stigand is one degree more reasonable than abuse of Godwine. For, though Stigand’s conduct seems to have in no way infringed the laws of England, and though it might easily have been justified by abundance of English precedents, there can be no doubt that it offended against the strict laws of the Church as understood by continental canonists. Of the mingled state of English feeling with regard to him I have spoken in several passages of the text (see above, pp. 343, 432, 446); I will here bring together some of the chief authorities on the subject.

The offences of Stigand, as seen in the eye of the Canon Law, are thus stated by Florence, when recording his degradation in 1070;

“Stigandus Doruberniæ archiepiscopus degradatur tribus ex caussis, scilicet, quia episcopatum Wintoniæ cum archiepiscopatu injustè possidebat; et quia, vivente archiepiscopo Roberto, non solum archiepiscopatum sumpsit, sed etiam ejus pallium, quod Cantwariæ remansit, dum vi injustè ab Angliâ pulsus est, in missarum celebratione aliquamdiu usus est; et post à Benedicto, quem sancta Romana ecclesia excommunicavit, eo quod pecuniis sedem apostolicam invasit, pallium accepit.”

On Stigand’s plurality of Bishopricks, an offence in which he was far from standing alone, William of Malmesbury, as might be expected, gets more rhetorical, and yet, after all, he seems to see that, as things went, there was nothing so very monstrous in it. He mentions the matter in the Gesta Regum, ii. 199;

“Invasit continuò, illo [Roberto] vivente, Stigandus, qui erat episcopus Wintoniæ, archiepiscopatum Cantuariensem; infamis ambitûs pontifex, et honorum ultra debitum appetitor, qui, spe throni excelsioris, episcopatum Saxonum Australium deserens, Wintoniam insederit, illam quoque cum archiepiscopatu tenuerit.”

But in the Gesta Pontificum (116 _b_), after a good deal of abuse, he gets somewhat mollified;

“Nonne illud belluinæ rapacitatis dices, quod Wintoniæ episcopatum et Cantuariæ archiepiscopatum, præterea multas abbatias [see Hist. Eliens. ii. 41] solus ipse possidebat, quæ singula satis superque sufficerent alicui probo viro? Sed ego conjicio illum non judicio sed errore peccâsse, quod homo illiteratus (sicuti plerique et penè omnes tunc temporis Angliæ Episcopi) nesciret quantùm delinqueret, rem ecclesiasticorum negotiorum sicut publicorum actitari existimans.”

The feeling on the subject among strict churchmen comes out very forcibly in the words of the Abingdon Chronicler in 1053, when he records the foreign consecration of Wulfwig and Leofwine; “On ðisson geare næs ná arcebisceop on ðissan lande, butan Stigand bisceop heold þæt bisceoprice on Cantwarabyrig on Christes cyrcean, and Kynsige on Eoforwic; and Leofwine and Wulfwi foran ofer sæ and leton hig hadian hær to bisceopum.” I suppose all that is meant about Cynesige is that he had not yet received the pallium, as I do not know of any objection having been made to his appointment. The Waltham writer (De Inventione, c. 16) has an expression which in a contemporary writer would be still more forcible. He tells us that Harold had his minster consecrated by Cynesige, “quia tunc vacabat sedes Cantuariæ.” But, a hundred years later, the words may simply imply an imperfect understanding of the facts.