APPENDIX WW. Vol. ii. p. 384

The Objections to the Marriage of Henry and Matilda.

Our two fullest accounts of this matter are those of Eadmer and of Hermann of Tournay (D’Achery, ii. 894, see above, p. 600). Eadmer’s is the account, not only of a contemporary, but, we cannot doubt, of an eye-witness. Hermann wrote in another land, long afterwards, when the wars of Stephen and Matilda and the pleadings in the papal court (see N. C. vol. v. p. 857) had called men’s minds back to the story of the marriage of Matilda’s parents. His memory, as we see, failed him as to details. He did not remember either of the names of Eadgyth-Matilda; he mistakes her brother David for her father; he makes her (D’Achery, ii. 894) the mother of both the sons of Henry who were drowned in the White Ship. It is quite plain that his remembrance of what he had heard from Anselm forty or fifty years before was coloured by later ways of looking at things.

It is quite plain from Eadmer’s account that Eadgyth herself had not the slightest feeling against the marriage, but that she was eager for it; she disliked neither King Henry nor his crown. Nor has Anselm any objection, as soon as the evidence shows that no rule of the Church would be broken by the marriage. That he was strict in requiring such evidence was only natural and right; “Affirmabat nulla se unquam ratione in hoc declinandum ut suam Deo sponsam tollat et eam terreno homini in matrimonium jungat” (Eadmer, Hist. Nov. 56). But when the evidence shows that Eadgyth was not “Dei sponsa,” he makes no further objection. Nothing is proved by his use of a negative form, “judicium vestrum non abjicio” (Hist. Nov. 58). The sentimental objection which Hermann puts into his mouth seems quite out of character. Anselm takes the common-sense view; If she is a nun, she must not marry; if she is not a nun, she may. One can believe that Anselm would in his heart have preferred that any virgin should abide in the state which he deemed the higher. But he would hardly have stooped to say; “This marriage is perfectly lawful; but the veil has touched her head; so you had better marry somebody else.” In this and in the prophecy we surely see the beginning of the growth of a legend. Some legends of Anselm seem to have arisen in his life-time. This one could not, as no ill-luck happened to the children of the marriage till after Anselm was dead.

I am not sure that a very slight touch in the same direction may not be seen in the account of William of Malmesbury, v. 418; the words follow the passage quoted above, p. 603; “Cum rex suscipere vellet eam thalamo, res in disceptationem venit; nec nisi legitimis productis testibus, qui eam jurarent sine professione causa procorum velum gessisse, archiepiscopus adduci potuit ad consentiendum.”

William, it is to be noticed, does not repeat the English pedigree, on which in his former notice (v. 393) he was less emphatic than Eadmer. I do not know what can be meant by “ignobiles nuptiæ.” Hardly Count Alan; hardly Earl William of Warren or Surrey, who is also spoken of.

Thierry (ii. 152) has an elaborate romance, in which the father of Western theology comes in casually as “un moine du Bec, nommé Anselme.” Here Eadgyth dislikes the marriage, but sacrifices herself for the good of her people. All this comes from Matthew Paris, who has two amazing stories. In one (Hist. Angl. i. 188), though Malcolm and Margaret have been killed off at the proper time, they appear again in full life when King Henry seeks their daughter—“filia elegantissimæ speciei, et, quod pluris erat, vitæ sanctissimæ.” She was brought up in a monastery, perhaps as a nun (“in sanctimonialium claustro propter honestatem educata, et, ut dicitur, velo sacro Deo dicato ac jam professa”). King Henry woos her with much fervour of passion (“ipsam propter ipsius mores et faciei venustatem sitienter adoptavit, et instanter petiit in uxorem”). The parents dare not withstand such a lover; they go to ask their daughter’s own wishes. She rebukes them in fearful and mysterious words for speaking of any such matter (“increpans patrem et matrem de zelotipiæ præsumptione, nec ipsos debere de corpore suo fructum mortalitatis exposcere, vel fructum posteritatis infructuosum”). At this the father is sad; the mother is pleased by the decision of her daughter (“matri propositum puellare complacuit”). The King’s passion only waxes warmer; like Balak, he sends more honourable messengers; he commands, prays, promises, till he stumbles into a hexameter “missis sollemnioribus nuntiis, urgentius adolescentulam in reginam expostulans, imperium, promissa, preces, confudit in unum”). Malcolm, knowing that his wife will never agree to the marriage, turns, without her knowledge, to the abbess by whom his daughter had been brought up. The reverend mother is prevailed on to argue the point at length, and to set forth every possible argument, personal and political, on behalf of the marriage;

Father and abbess together are too much for the “beata virgo Matilda.” She yields, but only “maledicens fructui sui ventris affuturo.” Anselm marries them, “nuptiis sollemniter, ut decuit, celebratis;” but a contemporary note in the margin is added, “Nota nuptias illicitas.” And we are told that the disturbances which presently followed, the invasion of Robert and anything else, were all judgements on this unlawful marriage;

“Ex quo sic oportet fieri, utcunque consentio, sed fructum ventris mei, quod est horribile dictu, diabolo commendo. Me enim Deo vovi, quod non sinistis, immo sponsum meum, quem elegi, ausu temerario, immemores causæ sancti Matthæi apostoli, zelotipatis.”

From this point Matthew goes on copying Roger of Wendover’s account of Robert’s invasion, but putting in bits of colouring of his own. When Henry sends his fleet to meet that of Robert, we are told that he does it “conscientiam habens multipliciter cauteriatam.” And when some of the sailors (see p. 404)—​who are enlarged by Robert of Wendover into “pars major exercitus”—​go over to Robert, the reason for their so doing is said to be “quia rex jam tyrannizaverat.”

There is something very strange in this echo at so late a time of objections which one would have thought that both common sense and the authority of Anselm would have set aside for ever. Was there any lurking wish in the thirteenth century to weaken the title of the Angevin kings, even on so stale a ground as the doubtful validity of the marriage of so distant an ancestress? We must remember that something of the kind really happened in Scotland long after. The right of the Stewarts was murmured against at a very late time on the ground of the doubtful marriage of Robert the Second. And we have seen that in an intermediate time, during the reign of Stephen, the validity of the elder Matilda’s marriage, and the consequent legitimacy of the younger Matilda, were called in question by Stephen’s supporters in arguments before the papal court. See N. C. vol. v. p. 857.

There is something singular in the way in which the marriage is entered in the Winchester Annals (1100), among a crowd of other facts not put in exact chronological order; “Matildis, Malcolmi regis filia Scotiæ, de monacha Wiltoniæ non tamen professa, regina Angliæ facta est.” One almost thinks of the wild story about Eadgyth of Wilton which I have spoken of in N. C. vol. i. p. 267. But the words have a parallel in the language of the Brut (1098, that is 1110), which, after the account of Henry’s election, adds,

“And immediately he took for his wife Mahalt, daughter of Malcolm, king of Prydyn, by Queen Margaret her mother [‘Vahalt uerch y Moel Cólóm, brenhin Prydein’—​another manuscript more reasonably has ‘y Pictieit’—​‘o Vargaret urenhines y mam’]. And she, by his marrying her, was raised to the rank of queen; for William Rufus [Gúilim Goch] his brother, in his lifetime, had consorted with concubines, and on that account had died without an heir.” Cf. p. 503.

I have said, what is perfectly true, that Orderic is the only writer who directly mentions that Matilda had once borne the name of Eadgyth. But I think that I have lighted on a most curious trace of the fact in a later writer. Peter Langtoft (i. 448) mentions the return of Robert, and adds;

The name appears in various spellings in different manuscripts, Edgith, Egdith, and what not. It was perhaps not very wonderful that, in Peter Langtoft’s day, a Count of Conversana should grow into a lord of Sicily, and that a lord of Sicily should be thought to be of necessity called Charles. But why should Sibyl be turned into Edith? I can think of no reason except that the next lines are;

Surely the poet had read somewhere that Matilda had been called Edith, and then mixed up her and Sibyl together. But why Sibyl should be in the protection of the “Count of Cornwall”—​meaning, if anybody, William of Mortain—​it is not easy to see. Had he read in Orderic (784 B, C) that Robert and Sibyl went together to “mons sancti Michaelis archangeli de periculo maris,” and took it for the Cornish mount? Robert of Brunne (i. 95, Hearne) translates;