Geoffrey de Mandeville: A study of the Anarchy

by John Horace Round

We are, therefore, left dependent on the evidence of charters alone. That is to say, we must look to the styles given to Robert the king's son, to learn when he first became Earl of Gloucester.

His earliest attestation is, to all appearance, that which occurs in a charter of 1113. This charter is printed in the appendix to the edition of Ordericus Vitalis by the Société de l'Histoire de France,[1211] and as all the circumstances connected with its grant, together with the names of the chief witnesses, are given by Ordericus in the body of his work,[1212] there cannot be the slightest doubt, or even hesitation, as to its date.[1213] In the text he is styled "Rodbertus regis filius," and in the charter "Rodbertus filius regis," his name being given, it should be noticed, last but one. The next attestation, in order, it would seem, is found in a writ of Henry I. tested at Reading, some time before Easter, 1116, to judge from the presence of "Rannulfus Meschinus."[1214] For Randulf became Earl of Chester by the death of his cousin Richard, when returning to England with the king in November, 1120.[1215]

We next find Robert in Normandy with his father. He there attests a charter to Savigny, his name ("Robertus filius regis") coming immediately after those of the earls (in this case Stephen, Count of Mortain, and Richard, Earl of Chester), that being the position in which, till his creation, it henceforth always figures. This charter passed in 1118, probably in the autumn of the year.[1216] Robert's next appearance is at the battle of Brémulé (or Noyon), August 20, 1119. Ordericus refers to his presence thus:—

"Ibi fuerunt duo filii ejus Rodbertus et Ricardus, milites egregii, et tres consules," etc., etc. (iv. 357).

This is certainly opposed to the view that Robert was already an earl, for he is carefully distinguished from the three earls ("tres consules") who were present, and is classed with his brother Richard, who never became an earl. We must assign to about the same date the confirmation charter of Colchester Abbey, which is known to us only from the unpublished cartulary now in the possession of Lord Cowper. Robert's name here comes immediately after those of the earls, and his style is "Robertus filius henrici regis Anglorum."

This charter suggests a very important question. That its form, in the cartulary, is that in which it was originally granted we may confidently deny. At the same time, the circumstances by which its grant was accompanied are told by the monks in great detail and in the form of a separate narrative. Indeed, on that narrative is based the belief, so dear to Mr. Freeman's heart, that Henry I. was, more or less, familiar with the English tongue. Moreover, it is suggested by internal evidence that the charter, as we have it, is based on an originally genuine record. Now, the accepted practice is to class charters as genuine, doubtful, or spurious, "doubtful" meaning only that they are either genuine or spurious, but that it is not quite certain to which of these classes they belong. For my part I see no reason why there should not be an indefinite number of stages between an absolutely genuine record and one that is a sheer forgery. It was often, whether truly or falsely, alleged (we may have our own suspicions) that the charter originally granted had been lost, stolen, or burnt. In the case of this particular charter, its predecessor was said to have been lost; at Leicester, a riot was made accountable; at Carlisle a fire. In these last two cases, those who were affected were allowed to depose to the tenor of the lost charter. In the case of that which we are now considering, I have recorded in another place[1217] my belief that the story was probably a plot of the monks anxious to secure an enlarged charter. Of course, where a charter was really lost, and it was thought necessary to supply its place either by a pseudo-original document, or merely in a cartulary, deliberate invention was the only resource. But, in such cases, it was almost certain that, in the days when the means of historical information were, compared with our own, non-existent, the forger would betray himself at once by the names in his list of witnesses. There was, however, as I imagine, another class of forged charters. This comprised those cases in which the original had not been lost, but in which it was desired to substitute for that original a charter with more extensive grants. Here the genuine list of witnesses might, of course, be copied, and with a little skill the interpolations or alterations might be so made as to render detection difficult, if not impossible. I speak, of course, of a cartulary transcript; in an actual charter, the document and seal would greatly assist detection. But I would suggest that there might be another class to be considered. This Colchester charter is a case in point. The impression it conveys to my mind is that of a genuine charter, adapted by a systematic process of florid and grandiloquent adornment to a depraved monkish taste. In short, I look on this charter as not, of necessity, a "forgery," that is, intended to deceive, but as possibly representing the results of a process resembling that of illumination. Such an hypothesis may appear daring, but it is based, we must remember, on a mental attitude, on, so to speak, an historic conscience, radically different from our own. After all, it is but in the present generation that the sacredness of an original record has been recognized as it should. Such a conception was wholly foreign to the men of the Middle Ages. I had occasion to allude to this essential fact in a study on "The Book of Howth," when calling attention to the strange liberties allowed themselves by the early translators of the Expugnatio Hiberniæ. Geoffrey of Monmouth illustrates the point. Looking not only at him but his contemporaries in the twelfth century, we cannot but compare the impertinent obtrusion of their pseudo-classical and, still more, their incorrigible Biblical erudition, with the same peculiar features in such charters as those of which I speak. Another remarkable parallel, I think, may be found in the Dialogus de Scaccario. Observe there the opening passage, together with the persistent obtrusion of texts, and compare them with the general type of forged, spurious, or "doctored" charters. The resemblance is very striking. It was, one might say, the systematic practice of the monkish forger or adapter to make the royal or other grantor in such charters as these indulge in a homily from the monkish standpoint on the obligation to make such grants, and to quote texts in support of that thesis. Once viewed in this light, such passages are as intelligible as they are absurd.

But, in addition to, and distinct from, these stilted moralizations, is the process which I have ventured to compare with illumination or even embroidery. This was, in most cases, so overdone, as to bury the simple phraseology of the original, if genuine, instrument beneath a pile of grandiloquence. Take for instance this clause from the Colchester charter in question:

"Data Rothomagi deo gratias solemniter et feliciter Anno ab incarn' dom' MCXIX. Quo nimirum anno prætaxatus filius regis Henrici Will's rex designatus puellam nobilissimam filiam Fulconis Andegavorum comitis Mathildam nomine Luxouii duxit uxorem."

Now, if we compare this clause with that appended to an original charter of some ten years later, we there read thus:—

"Apud Wintoniam eodem anno, inter Pascham et Pentecostem, quo Rex duxit in uxorem filiam ducis de Luvain."[1218]