In two papers I deal with Ireland and its Anglo-Norman conquest. The principal object in the first of these is to show the true character of that alleged golden age which the coming of the invaders destroyed. It is possible, however, of course, that a “vast human shambles” may be, in the eyes of some, an ideal condition for a country. Mr. Dillon, at least, has consistently described the Soudan, before our conquest, as “a comparatively peaceful country.”[1] In the second of these papers I advance a new solution of the problem raised by the alleged grant of Ireland, by the Pope, to Henry II. As to this fiercely contested point, I suggest that, on the English side, there was a conspiracy to base the title of our kings to Ireland on a Papal donation of the sovereignty of the island, itself avowedly based on the (forged) “donation of Constantine.” No such act of the Popes can, in my opinion, be proved. Even the “Bull Laudabiliter,” which, in the form we have it, is of no authority, does not go so far as this, while its confirmation by Alexander III. is nothing but a clumsy forgery. The only document sent to Ireland, to support his rights, by Henry II. was, I here contend, the letter of Alexander III. (20th September, 1172), approving of what had been done. That he sent there the alleged bull of Adrian, and that he did so in 1175, are both, I urge, although accepted, facts without foundation.[2]
The method adopted in this paper of testing the date hitherto adopted, and disproving it by the sequence of events, is one which I have also employed in “The Struggle of John and Longchamp (1191).” The interest of this latter paper consists in its bearing on the whole question of historic probability, and on the problem of harmonising narratives by four different witnesses, as discussed by Dr. Abbott in his work on St. Thomas of Canterbury. This is, perhaps, the only instance in which I have found the historic judgment and the marvellous insight of the Bishop of Oxford, if I may venture to say so, at fault; and it illustrates the importance of minute attention to the actual dates of events.
Another point that I have tried to illustrate is the tendency to erect a theory on a single initial error. In “The Marshalship of England” I have shown that the belief in the existence of two distinct Marshalseas converging on a single house rests only on a careless slip in a coronation claim (1377). A marginal note scribbled by Carew, under a misapprehension, in the days of Elizabeth, is shown (p. 149) to be the source of Professor Brewer’s theory on certain Irish MSS. Again, the accepted story of the Cnihtengild rests only on a misunderstanding of a mediæval phrase (p. 104). Stranger still, the careless reading of a marginal note found in the works of Matthew Paris has led astray the learned editors of several volumes in the Rolls Series, and has even been made, as I have shown in “the Coronation of Richard I.,” the basis of a theory that a record of that event formerly existed, though now wanting, in the Red Book of the Exchequer.
The increasing interest in our public records—due in part to the greater use of record evidence in historical research, and in part, also, to the energy with which, under the present Deputy-Keeper of the Records, their contents are being made available—leads me to speak of the contributions, in these pages, to their study.
A suggestion will be found (p. 88) as to the origin of the valuable “Cartæ Antiquæ,” of which the text too often is corrupt, but which, it may be hoped, will soon be published, as they are at present difficult to consult. In the paper on “The Inquest of Sheriffs” I have proved beyond question the identity of the lost returns discovered at the Public Record Office, and so lamentably misunderstood by their official editor. But the most important, and indeed revolutionary, theory I have here ventured to advance deals with what are known as the Red Book Inquisitions of 12 and 13 John. It is my contention that this Inquest, the existence of which has not been doubted,[3] though it rests only on the heading in the Red Book of the Exchequer, never took place at all, and that these ‘Inquisitions’ are merely abstracts, made for a special purpose, from the original returns to that great Inquest of service (as I here term it) which took place in June, 1212 (14 John). It is singular that this conclusion is precisely parallel with that which experts have now adopted on another great Inquest. “Kirkby’s Quest,” it is now admitted, having been similarly misdated in an official transcript, and again, in our own time, by an officer of the Public Record Office, was similarly shown by a private individual to consist, as a rule, “of abridgments only of original inquisitions” ... “extracts from the original inquisitions made for a special purpose.”[4] Thus, under John, as under Edward I., “the enquiry itself was a much wider one” than would be inferred from the Red Book Inquisitions and “Kirkby’s Quest” respectively. And, in both cases, its date was different from that which has been hitherto assigned.
I cannot doubt that the theory I advance will be accepted, in course of time, by the authorities of the Public Record Office. In the meanwhile, I have endeavoured to identify all the material in the ‘Testa de Nevill’ derived from the returns to this Inquest, and thus to make it available for students of local and family history.
It is needful that I should say something on the Red Book of the Exchequer. One of the most famous volumes among our public records, it has lately been edited for the Rolls Series by Mr. Hubert Hall, F.S.A., of the Public Record Office.[5] The inclusion of a work in the Rolls Series thrusts it, of necessity, upon every student of English mediæval history. It also involves an official cachet, which gives it an authority, as a work of reference, that the public, naturally, does not assign to the book of a private individual. That a certain percentage of mistakes must occur in works of this kind is, perhaps, to be expected; but when they are made the vehicle of confused and wild guesswork, and become the means of imparting wanton heresy and error, it is the duty of a scholar who can prove the fact to warn the student against their contents.[6] It is only, the reader must remember, a stern sense of duty that is likely to compel one to turn aside from one’s own historical researches and devote one’s time and toil to exposing the misleading theories set forth in an official publication issued at the national expense. A weary and a thankless task it is; but in Mr. Eyton’s admirable words: “the dispersion of error is the first step in the discovery of truth.”
In my ‘Studies on the Red Book of the Exchequer,’ issued last year for private circulation only, and in two special articles,[7] I have partially criticised Mr. Hall’s work and the misleading theories it contains. Of these criticisms it need only be said that the ‘English Historical Review,’ in a weighty editorial notice, observes that “The charges are very sweeping, but in my opinion they are made out.... I am bound to say that, in my opinion, Mr. Round has proved his case.”[8] The further exposures of this official work, contained in these pages[9]—especially in the paper on “the Inquest of Sheriffs,” which illustrates its wanton heresies—justify my demand that the authorities should withdraw it, till revised, from circulation.
The paper on “Castle-ward and Cornage” not only proves that the two were distinct, and gives the real explanation of their juxtaposition in the ‘Red Book,’ but contains novel information, to which I would invite attention, on the constableship of Dover Castle. The early history of this important office has been altogether erroneous.