Eadgyth-Matilda.
That the daughter of Malcolm and Margaret who afterwards became the wife of Henry the First by the well-known name of Matilda was baptized by the name of Eadgyth, rests wholly on the authority of Orderic, who mentions it twice. After recording the death of Malcolm (702 A), he gives an account of his daughters;
“Duas filias, Edith et Mariam, Christianæ, sorori suæ, quæ Rumesiensis abbatiæ sanctimonialis erat, educandas, sacrisque litteris imbuendas miserat. Illic diutius inter monachas enutritæ sunt, et tam litteratoriam artem quam bonorum observantiam morum edidicerunt, nubilemque ætatem pertingentes, solatium Dei devotæ virgines præstolatæ sunt.”
And directly after he calls her “Mathildis quæ prius dicta est Edith.” It is a point on which Orderic was likely to be well informed, as he is always careful and scrupulous in matters of nomenclature, and often helps us to double names, as we have seen in the case of Mark Bohemond. And the name Eadgyth is much more in harmony than Matilda with the other names of Margaret’s children. Orderic however does not mention the implied change of name where one might have looked for it, namely where he records her marriage in 784 A. She is there only “generosa virgo nomine Mathildis;” but in recording her death (843 B), he again says “Mathildis regina, quæ in baptismate Edit dicta fuit.” M. Francisque Michel, in his note on Benoît, iii. 344, refers also to the Waverley Annals, 1086, for the earlier name; but there is nothing of the kind there. There is Eadward and Eadgar, but not Eadgyth. Is one English name held to be as good as another, even when a confusion of sex is involved?
In Eadmer, Hist. Nov. 56, where he describes the discussions which went on before the marriage of Henry the First, we get Eadgyth’s own story. She was brought up by her aunt Christina, of whom we have already heard (see N. C. vol. iv. p. 695, where I carelessly spoke of Christina as abbess), in the abbey of Wilton—it should surely be Romsey. She was not a nun, nor designed to be one, but she was compelled by her aunt to wear the veil to shelter her from the violence of the Normans. Whenever her aunt’s back was turned, she tore it from her head, and trampled upon it, for which the stern nun gave her niece a good deal of blows and bad language;
“Cum adolescentula essem, et sub amitæ meæ Christianæ, quam tu [Anselmus sc.] bene nosti, virga paverem, illa servandi corporis mei causa contra furentem et cujusque pudori ea tempestate insidiantem Normannorum libidinem nigrum panniculum capiti meo superponere, et me illum abjicientem acris verberibus et nimis obscœnis verborum conviciis sæpe cruciare simul et dehonestare solebat. Quem pannum in ipsius quidem præsentia gemens ac tremebunda ferebam, sed mox ut me conspectui ejus subtrahere poteram, arreptum in humum jacere, pedibus proterere, et ita quo in odio fervebam, quamvis insipienter, consueveram desævire.”
Then her father comes, sees her with the veil, tears it from her head, and says that he does not mean her to be a nun, but to be the wife of Count Alan (“Pater meus cum me, quemadmodum dixi, velatam forte vidisset, furore succensus, injecta manu velum arripuit, et dissipans illud, odium Dei imprecatus est ei qui mihi illud imposuit, contestans se comiti Alano me potius in uxorem quam in contubernium sanctimonialium prædestinasse”).
Here we are not told how she came under her aunt’s care, nor what became of her after her father’s death. And there is something odd in the general reference to the “Normans,” unless it is meant as part of the outburst of special English feeling in the later months of the year 1100. Another version, instead of Normans in general, attributes the danger to a particular Norman whom we should hardly have looked for. This version is to be found in a most singular story, to which I have slightly referred in the text (see [p. 32]) and also in N. C. vol. v. p. 169, in the Narratio Restaurationis Abbatiæ S. Martini Tornacensis (D’Achery, ii. 893). The story is brought in at the same point at which it is brought in by Eadmer, at the time when Eadgyth—if that is to be her name—is sought in marriage by King Henry. The writer, Hermann, Abbot of Saint Martin’s, says that he had heard the story as a young man from Anselm himself. As Eadmer reports Eadgyth’s own statement, Hermann reports the statement of the abbess—“abbatissa in cujus monasterio puella illa fuerat nutrita.” If any trust can be put in the uncertified list of abbesses of Romsey in the Monasticon, ii. 507, the head of the sisterhood at that time would seem to have been an English Æthelflæd. The maiden herself also is without a name, and her brother is confounded with her father. She is “puella quædam, filia David regis Scotiæ.” The Abbess’s story is that the Scottish King entrusted his daughter to her care, not to become a nun, but simply for education (“Rex David pater ejus mihi eam commendavit, non ut sanctimonialis fieret, sed ut solummodo in ecclesia nostra propter cautelam cum ceteris puellis nostris coætancis suis nutriretur et literis erudiretur”). When the girl is about twelve years old (“cum jam adolevisset,” which is explained afterwards to mean “duodennis”), the Abbess hears that king William (defined as “rex Willelmus, domini mei regis Henrici germanus”) has come to see her (“propter eam videndam venisse”). In the case of any decent king such a visit would surely have been neither scandalous nor wonderful. The King is at the abbey-gate with his knights, and asks to have it opened. The Abbess fears that he may conceive some bad purpose towards the maiden, but hopes that he will respect her if she wears the monastic veil. She therefore persuades Eadgyth to wear the veil for the time;
“Hæc audiens, nimiumque perterrita, ne forte ille, ut juvenis et rex indomitus, qui omne quod animo sibi occurrisset illico facere volebat, visa pulcritudine puellæ aliquam ei illicitam violentiam faceret, qui tam improvisus et insperatus propter eam videndam advenisset, in secretius cubiculum eam introduxi, rem ei sicut erat aperui, eaque volente velum unum capiti ejus imposui, quatenus eo viso rex ab illicito complexu revocaretur.”
The King goes into the cloister, as if to look at the flowers “quasi propter inspiciendas rosas et alias florentes herbas”). He sees Eadgyth with the veil, and goes away, showing, according to the Abbess, that his visit had been on her account only (“mox ut eam vidit cum ceteris puellis nostris velum capite gestantem, claustro exivit et ab ecclesia recessit, aperte ostendens se non nisi propter eam venisse”). Within a week King David came; seeing his daughter with the veil on her head, he was very angry; he tore it from her head, trampled it under-foot, and took his daughter away.