In reading the account of Eadward’s accession to the Crown, as told in the Chronicles and by Florence, we are at once struck by the great and unusual delay between his first election and his consecration as King. He is chosen in London in June by a popular movement which could not even wait for the burial of the deceased King; but he is not crowned till the Easter of the next year. No explanation is given of the delay, no account of the way in which the intervening months were occupied, no statement where Eadward was at the time of Harthacnut’s death. We must therefore look to other writers for the means of filling up this singular gap. I need hardly again refute the wild romance of Thierry, of which I spoke in vol. i. p. 592. I will only say that Eadward’s Westminster Charter (Cod. Dipl. iv. 173), which, doubtful as it is, is at least as good authority as Brompton or Knighton, makes him speak of himself as “eo [regno] potitus sine ullo bellorum labore.” It will be more profitable to examine the witness of those writers who wrote at all near the time, or who were at all likely to preserve contemporary traditions.
According to Eadward’s Biographer (p. 394), as soon as England was free from her Danish rulers (see vol. i. p. 592), Godwine at once proposed the election of Eadward as the natural heir (“ut Regem suum recipiant in nativi juris sui throno”). Godwine being looked on as a common father, everybody agreed to his proposal (“quoniam pro patre ab omnibus habebatur, in paterno consultu libenter audiebatur”). Earls and Bishops are sent to fetch Eadward (“mittuntur post eum”); they bring him with them; he is joyfully received, and crowned at Canterbury.
William of Poitiers (p. 85 Giles), as might be supposed, knows nothing about Godwine, or about any free election by the English people. Eadward, according to him, was chosen under a most powerful congè d’élire and letter missive from his cousin the Duke of the Normans. The English are disputing about the succession, when a Norman embassy comes, threatening a Norman invasion if Eadward is not received. The nation chooses the wiser part, and Eadward comes home, protected by a small array of Norman knights (“Disceptantes Angli deliberatione suis rationibus utilissima consenserunt, legationibus justa petentibus acquiescere, quam Normannorum vim experiri. Reducem cum non maximo præsidio militis Normannici cupidè sibi eum præstituerunt, ne manu validiore, si Comes Normannicus adveniret, subigerentur”). The same version is given in a shorter form in the Chronicle of Saint Wandrille (D’Achery, ii. 286). Eadward, already chosen and crowned King, but hitherto kept out of his Kingdom by Swend, Cnut, and others, is now restored by Norman help (“In regnum paternum adnitentibus Normannis rediit”).
Henry of Huntingdon (M. H. B. 759 A) mixes up the accession of Eadward with his version of the death of Ælfred (see vol. i. p. 543), which, it will be remembered, he places after the death of Harthacnut. Ælfred had been slain by the English, because he had brought too many Normans with him; the English then send to Normandy, offering the Crown to Eadward, on condition that he brings only a small body of Normans with him (“Miserunt ergo pro Edwardo juniore in Normanniam nuntios et obsides, mandantes ei quod paucissimos Normannorum secum adduceret, et eum in Regem fidelissimè stabilirent”). Eadward comes over with a small company (“cum paucis venit in Angliam”); he is chosen King by all folk (“electus est in Regem ab omni populo”), and is consecrated at Easter by Eadsige at Winchester.
The Winchester Annals (Luard, pp. 18–20) swell out the story into a long romance; but some points are worthy of notice. On the death of Harthacnut, Godwine is, by a decree of the Witan and with the consent of the Lady Emma (“Reginæ assensu et magnatum consilio”), appointed Regent of the Kingdom till a King can be chosen (“regni cura Comiti Godwino committitur, donec qui dignus esset eligeretur in Regem”). Eadward is in Normandy, where, since the death of Duke Robert, he has no friends; he has no hope from his mother; he determines to trust himself to the mercy of his enemy Godwine (“inter desperandum tutius credebat manifesto supplicare inimico, quam fictum amicum sine caussâ sollicitare”). He comes over to England, he lands at Southampton, he avoids his mother at Winchester, but goes to Godwine in London, and throws himself at the Earl’s feet. A long dialogue follows, the upshot of which is that Godwine swears fidelity to Eadward and promises him the Crown. Eadward is sent to Winchester in disguise, and is bidden to reveal himself to no one. Godwine meanwhile summons the Witan to Winchester for the election of a King. They meet in the Old Minster. The Lady Emma seemingly presides; the Archbishops are at her right hand, the Earl of the West-Saxons at her left. Eadward, veiled, sits at the feet of Godwine. At the proper moment Godwine unveils him; “Here,” he says, “is your King; here is Eadward, son of this Lady Emma and of Æthelred King of the English. I choose him King, and am the first to become his man” (“Huic ego omnium primus homagium facio”). A debate follows; some object to the choice, but no man dares seriously to oppose Godwine. Eadward is elected and crowned.
The Hyde writer (pp. 287, 288), like Henry of Huntingdon, connects the accession of Eadward with the death of Ælfred, and, like William of Poitiers, brings in Duke William as a prominent actor. After Ælfred’s death William meditates revenge, but an English embassy comes, praying for another son of Æthelred to be sent to them as their King (“rogant sibi alium dominum”—domini?—“sui transmitti filium”), and promising him all loyal service. William will not allow his cousin to adventure himself, unless some of the noblest of the English, and especially one of the sons of Godwine, are given him as hostages. This is done, and Eadward is brought over to England by a Norman fleet.
Lastly, charters exist which imply that Eadward was for a while in Normandy after he had acquired a right to the title of King. At an earlier time he and his brother had subscribed a charter of Duke Robert, with the form “Signum Hetwardi. Signum Helwredi.” (Delisle, Preuves, p. 11.) But the cartulary of Saint Michael’s Mount contains two Charters in which Eadward is called “Rex.” I do not rely so much on the Charter in Eadward’s own name, which is printed in Cod. Dipl. iv. 251, and Delisle, Preuves, 20. It is signed by Robert Archbishop of Rouen, who died in 1037. Now it is really inconceivable that Eadward should call himself King before 1042, unless possibly in some moment of exultation when Duke Robert’s fleet was setting forth to restore him. (See vol. i. p. 525.) The matter of the charter also is strange, and the English spelling “Eadwardus” is unusual in a document which must have been drawn up in Normandy. I have more faith in a Charter of Duke William (Delisle, Preuves, p. 19), which, among other signatures, has that of “Hatuardus Rex.” This looks to me far more likely to be genuine. It is quite conceivable that, if Eadward was asked to witness a charter of his cousin’s, just as he was leaving Normandy in 1042, he might assume the title, though not yet strictly entitled to it by English Law.
The accounts of all these different writers seem to be independent of one another, unless the Hyde version is made up by compounding the story of William of Poitiers with that which we find in Henry of Huntingdon. The mention of the hostages is one form of a story which I shall have elsewhere to discuss at length. All these accounts agree in placing Eadward in Normandy at the moment of Harthacnut’s death. William of Malmesbury (ii. 196) however supposes him to have been in England. With this difference, his story is much the same as that of the Winchester Annals stripped of its romantic details. It is probably the groundwork round which that legend has grown. Eadward, not knowing whither to turn after the death of Harthacnut, throws himself at the feet of Godwine, and craves leave to return to Normandy. The Earl raises him, and addresses him in a speech whose substance may well be historical, and to which I have not hesitated to give a place in the text. Eadward promises everything; he will be Godwine’s firm friend; he will promote his sons and marry his daughter. The Witan meet at Gillingham; Godwine speaks on behalf of Eadward, and becomes his man (“rationibus suis explicitis, Regem efficit, hominio palam omnibus dato”); the election, the coronation, the punishment of the opponents of Eadward, follow as I have told them in the text.
Now it strikes me that, in these accounts, when carefully compared together, we may find the means of filling up the gap, and of explaining the delay, between the first election and the coronation. In all the versions the time is filled up by negotiation, not by war. In most of them the negotiation is carried on between Eadward and Godwine; in all those which mention Godwine at all, he stands forth as the leading man in the business, in fact as the man who makes Eadward King. We see glimpses of two Assemblies, the former being that hasty Gemót in London which chose Eadward before the burial of Harthacnut, and a later one at Gillingham or elsewhere shortly before the coronation. Again, all the accounts, except that of William of Malmesbury, conceive Eadward as being in Normandy. The inferior writers assert it; the contemporary Biographer clearly implies it. Putting these hints together, I have ventured to construct the narrative in the text. Eadward is chosen in London immediately on the death of Harthacnut; as he is absent, an embassy, doubtless headed by Godwine, is sent to offer him the Crown. The case is thus far almost identical with the story of the first election of Eadward’s half-brother Harthacnut. Delay is in both cases caused by the election of a King who is absent. Eadward does not indeed tarry so long as Harthacnut did; but his indecision, his unwillingness to accept the Crown, the negotiations which were needed to overcome that unwillingness, caused delay, and gave time for an adverse party to form itself. A second Assembly, that recorded by William of Malmesbury, was therefore needed to overcome all objections, and to elect Eadward, now present in person, in a more formal manner. We thus get, from one quarter or another, a credible narrative, which fills up the gap in the Chronicles without contradicting their statements. A few special points must be noticed.
1. We see that most of our statements assert or imply that Eadward was in Normandy. Now it is most certain that Eadward had been recalled to England by Harthacnut (vol. i. p. 584), and that the English court was now his recognized dwelling-place. But this is quite consistent with the notion, which I have ventured to throw out in the text, that Eadward was at this moment in Normandy on some temporary visit or pilgrimage. This view explains all the statements. The fact that Eadward was in Normandy at the moment—a fact which we may surely accept on the credit of the Biographer, to say nothing of the Norman Charters quoted above—led careless writers to forget his recall by Harthacnut, and to speak as if he had never left Normandy since the accession of Cnut. On the other hand, the fact of his recall led William of Malmesbury to forget or to disbelieve that he was in Normandy at the time of Harthacnut’s death. Then the Winchester Annalist, aware of Eadward’s absence, tried to patch it in to William’s account, which was not an easy matter. That an embassy should be sent to Eadward in Normandy was credible enough. It was also credible that Eadward, if in England, might throw himself into the arms of Godwine. But no story can be more unlikely than that which represents Eadward, when safe in Normandy, as coming of his own accord to England to put himself into the hands of the man whom the same account represents as the murderer of his brother.
2. I accept the second Assembly as the only means of reconciling the different accounts and of meeting the probabilities of the case. And I accept Gillingham as its place, on the authority of William of Malmesbury. It is true that one of William’s manuscripts places it in London, while the Winchester Annalist transfers it to his own city and his own church. The universal law of criticism comes in here. If a thing happened either in London or at Winchester, no transcriber or copyist would be likely to remove it to Gillingham. But nothing was more natural than for a transcriber to alter Gillingham into London, if he thought he could thereby bring his text into conformity with the Chronicles. The Winchester writer would have every motive to confound the Gemót at Gillingham with the consecration which shortly followed at Winchester. The very strangeness of the choice of Gillingham for such an Assembly is the best proof that it is the right place. By Gillingham, I may add, William of Malmesbury can only have meant the West-Saxon Gillingham, already mentioned in his history (ii. 180). The Kentish Gillingham would connect itself more naturally with the Biographer’s statement of a coronation at Canterbury, but the other is the more obvious place for a Meeting which was followed by a coronation at Winchester.
3. The reader must judge for himself as to the amount of value to be attached to the statements of William of Poitiers and the Hyde writer as to the influence of the Duke of the Normans in the matter. It must not be forgotten that in 1042 William was only fourteen years old, and in the midst of the troubles of his minority. It is quite possible that William or his advisers may, perhaps even then with some vague designs on the English Crown, have pressed the acceptance of that Crown on Eadward. And, in any case, the story could hardly have arisen, unless embassies of some sort had passed between England and Normandy in the course of the business. It so far falls in with my view of Eadward’s position.
4. The statement of the Biographer that Eadward was crowned at Canterbury seems, at first sight, very strange. There can be no doubt that the final ceremony took place at Winchester. That the Biographer’s account is rhetorical and somewhat confused is no more than his usual fashion. But it would be strange if a contemporary made a mistake on a point of this kind. Is it possible that the ceremony was performed twice? Coronations were sometimes repeated in those days. If we read the Biographer’s account narrowly, it is plain that he distinguishes between the ceremony at Canterbury, which he evidently looks on as happening immediately on Eadward’s landing, and the reception of the foreign ambassadors, which takes place when the news had reached foreign courts (“exhilaratus quod eum in paternâ sede inthronizatum dedicerat”). But their reception must surely be placed at the final and solemn consecration at Winchester. A twofold coronation, as well as a twofold Gemót, will perhaps solve all difficulties.
There is one more point to be discussed. According to William of Malmesbury, there was an opposition, seemingly a rather strong one, made to Eadward’s election. He does not say on whose behalf the objection was brought. But it is hardly possible that it could have been made on behalf of any one except Swend Estrithson. The English writers indeed make no mention of Swend in the matter, but in Adam of Bremen we find what may pass as Swend’s own version. Adam knew the Danish King personally (ii. 73), and he probably put on record what Swend told him. It will be remembered that, just at the moment of Harthacnut’s death, Swend was in Denmark, carrying on the war with Magnus (see vol. i. p. 583). Adam then goes on thus;
“Suein, victus à Magno, quum in Angliam remearet, Hardechnut mortuum repperit. In cujus locum Angli priùs elegerunt fratrem ejus Eduardum, quem de priori marito Imma genuit; vir sanctus et timens Deum. Isque suspectum habens Suein, quod sceptrum sibi Anglorum reposceret, cum tyranno pacem fecit, constituens eum proximum se mortuo regni Anglorum hæredem, vel si filios susceperit. Tali pacto mitigatus Suein in Daniam remeavit.” (ii. 74.)
I may here note that the word “priùs” in this passage distinctly refers to the first election in London. And, whether we believe Swend’s story of the bargain between himself and Eadward or not, we have here quite enough to make an opposition on Swend’s behalf highly probable. “Tyrannus” is of course to be taken in the sense of “pretender.”
Another passage of Adam (iii. 13) must here be mentioned;
“Simul eo tempore separabant se Angli a regno Danorum, filiis Gudwini rebellionis auctoribus, quos amitæ Regis Danorum filios esse diximus, et quorum sororem Eduardus Rex duxit uxorem. Hi namque, factâ conspiratione, fratres Suein Regis, qui in Angliâ Duces erant, alterum Bern statim obtruncant, alterum Osbern cum suis omnibus ejecerunt à patriâ.”
This at first sight appears to be an account of the separation between Denmark and England on the death of Harthacnut. It is not however really so. It must be taken in connexion with a passage two chapters back (iii. 11), in which Adam gives a most strange version of the events which followed the death of Magnus in 1048. In the true account, Swend then asked for English help, which was refused, and a peace was concluded between England and Harold Hardrada (see above, p. 93). But Adam makes Swend possess both Denmark and Norway, and then prepare to invade England (“Suein duo regna possedit, classemque parâsse dicitur, ut Angliam suo juri subjiceret”). Eadward agrees to pay tribute, and renews the promise of the succession (“Verum sanctissimus Rex Edwardus, quum justitiâ regnum gubernaret, tunc quoque pacem eligens, victori obtulit tributum, statuens eum, ut supra dictum est, post se regni hæredem”). This must be another version of the intended expedition of Magnus (see above, p. 73). On the strength of this tribute, Adam seems to look upon Swend as at least overlord of England (“Quum Rex juvenis Suein tria pro libitu suo regna tenuerit”). He seems to look on Beorn and Osbeorn as Swend’s representatives in England, and the murder of Beorn by Swegen is made into the groundwork of a story of “rebellio,” “conspiratio,” and what not, about the sons of Godwine in general.
The only historical value of this very confused account is that it helps us to the very probable fact of the banishment of Osbeorn, of whom we do not hear in the English writers till 1069. But the story is very curious, as it is the evident groundwork of the wonderful tale in Saxo (p. 202). Saxo looks on Swend as the natural sovereign of England after the death of Harthacnut. Going to Denmark to assert his rights there, he left his interests in England in the hands of his cousins the sons of Godwine. From Eadward himself he feared nothing, unlike Harthacnut, who (see vol. i. p. 583, n. 4) had dreaded his ambition, and who therefore made him his colleague in the Kingdom, lest he should attempt to gain the whole (“Retinendæ insulæ spem non solùm in Godovini filiis, quibus sanguine admodùm conjunctus fuerat, reponens, sed etiam ex ipsâ consortis sui”—Eadwardi sc.—“stoliditate desidiâque præsumens”). But Harold the son of Godwine betrays Swend’s trust, makes Eadward King, and massacres the Danes, according to the story in vol. i. p. 592.
I do not profess to harmonize every detail of the conflicting stories about Eadward, Magnus, and Swend. But I think that there is enough evidence to lead us to believe that Eadward’s election was opposed by a Danish party in Swend’s interest, and that these were the persons who were marked at the time and gradually punished afterwards. See pp. 9, 63, 72, 90.
There is something very remarkable in that gradual developement of popular reverence for King Eadward, which at last issued in his being acknowledged as the Patron Saint of England. I have endeavoured in the text to point out the chief causes from which this feeling arose; how Eadward was, in different ways, the one person whom Normans and Englishmen could unite in honouring. I will now attempt to trace out the growth of the feeling itself, and to point out some of the ways in which Eadward’s true character and history have been clouded over by legendary and miraculous tales.
Every English writer, as I shall presently show, speaks of Eadward with marked respect, with a degree of respect, in most cases, which their own narratives of his actions hardly account for. Yet, alongside of this, we find indications of a counter feeling, as if there were all along some who thought of him pretty much as the modern historian is driven to think of him. The Scandinavian writers, placed beyond the influences which had effect upon both English and Norman writers, seem to have all along estimated him nearly at his true value. Saxo, though writing long after Eadward had become a recognized saint, treats him with great irreverence, and speaks openly of his “stoliditas et desidia.” The biographer of Olaf Tryggwesson, according to whom Eadward was a special admirer of his own hero, gives him only the rather faint praise of being “princeps optimus in multis” (“oc var agetur Kongr i mórgum lutum.” p. 262). In Snorro’s time he had advanced somewhat; “Hann var kalladr Játvardr inn Gódi, hann var sva” (Ant. Celt. Scand. 189. Laing, iii. 75). But his sanctity still seems only local; Snorro says emphatically that “Englishmen call him a saint” (“oc kalla Enskir menn hann Helgan.” Ant. Celt. Scand. 191. Laing, iii. 77). Adam of Bremen, who, as regards English matters, may almost pass for a Scandinavian writer, is Eadward’s warmest admirer in that part of the world. He gives him perhaps the only unreserved praise which he gets in Northern Europe. With Adam he is not only “vir bonus et timens Deum” (ii. 74), but he rises to the dignity of “sanctissimus Rex Edwardus” (iii. 11). William of Malmesbury, in his accustomed way of letting us see both sides of a question, shows us that in his day there were still people in England by whom the royal saint was lightly esteemed, and he himself seems now and then to halt between two opinions. He gives him (iii. 259) no higher surname than “Edwardus Simplex,” and over and over again, as if of set purpose, he speaks of his “simplicitas” as his chief characteristic. The utmost that he can say for him is that his simplicity won for him favour and protection both with God and man. He was (ii. 196) “vir propter morum simplicitatem parum imperio idoneus, sed Deo devotus, ideoque ab eo directus.” “Fovebat profecto ejus simplicitatem Deus.” (Ib.) “Quamvis vel deses vel simplex putaretur, habebat Comites qui eum ex humili in altum conantem erigerent.” William believes in his holiness, and even in his miraculous powers, but he has not wholly given up the right of criticism upon his character and actions.
The English Chroniclers, and their harmonizer Florence, record Eadward’s actions with perfect impartiality. Nowhere in their narratives do they display towards him any of that affection which they do display towards Harold and other actors in the story. Nor do they ever speak of him with bated breath, as of an acknowledged saint. But the Abingdon and Worcester Chroniclers, and Florence also, all send him out of the world with a panegyric. The unbending Godwinist at Peterborough alone makes no sign. But Florence’s panegyric is of the most general kind. He is (A. 1066) “Anglorum decus, pacificus Rex Eadwardus.” And the elaborate poem in the two Chronicles attributes to the “baleless King” only the mildest and most monastic virtues. One can hardly keep from a smile, till we reach the genuine tribute of admiration with which the poet winds up. He speaks at last from the heart when he makes it Eadward’s highest praise to have “made fast his realm” to “Harold the noble Earl.”
The Chroniclers and Florence imply nothing as to any extraordinary powers possessed by Eadward. Of these powers we get the first glimpses in the contemporary Biographer. Already, within eight years after his death, Eadward was held, at least by those who sought to win favour with his widow, to have wrought miracles, to have seen visions, to have been the subject of the visions of others. When Eadward was taken over as a boy to Normandy, Brihtwold, Bishop of Ramsbury, had a vision in which he saw Saint Peter consecrating Eadward as King (Vita Eadw. 394). The Biographer also (pp. 430, 1) records the unintelligible talk of Eadward on his death-bed, in which he already discerns a prophecy, and he severely rebukes Archbishop Stigand, whose practical mind set small store by the babble of the sick man. Eadward also appears in his pages as the first of the long line of English Kings who undertook to cure the evil by the royal touch. By washing and touching he healed (428) a scrofulous woman, and, what one would hardly have expected, whereas she had hitherto been barren, the touch of Eadward changed her into a joyful mother of children. But here William of Malmesbury again helps us. He is a full believer in Eadward’s miraculous power, but he again (ii. 222) lets us see that there were two opinions on the subject. Some people affirmed that Eadward cured the evil, not by virtue of his holiness, but by virtue of his royal descent (“Nostro tempore quidam falsam insumunt operam, qui asseverant istius morbi curationem non ex sanctitate, sed ex regalis prosapiæ hæreditate fluxisse”). So others at a later time, as Peter of Blois (ep. 150, vol. ii. p. 82 Giles), held that the Kings of England possessed the gift by virtue of their royal unction. William argues against such views, but by so doing he proves that Eadward’s claims to holiness and miraculous power were still a moot point in his time.
Besides this official kind of miracle, Eadward, according to his Biographer, wrought other wonderful works. A blind man was cured by the water in which the King had washed (429), and several cures were wrought at his tomb (435). One is almost tempted to suspect that these stories are interpolations, but there is no need for the supposition. An interpolator would surely have taken care to insert the more famous stories of the ring and of the Seven Sleepers, of which the Biographer tells us nothing. We must remember how men then, and for ages afterwards, instead of being surprised at miracles, looked for them. We must not forget that Queen Anne touched for the evil as well as King Eadward; we must remember that alleged miracles were wrought by the blood, not only of Thomas of London and Simon of Montfort, but also of Charles the First.
William of Malmesbury, clearly with the Biographer before him, enlarges greatly on Eadward’s miraculous and prophetic powers (ii. 220–227), adding to the stories in the Life the vision of the Seven Sleepers (see above, p. 511). But the main disseminator of legendary lore about Eadward was Osbern or Osbert of Clare, Prior of Westminster, who had a hand in procuring his formal canonization, and who wrote a book on his life and miracles (Introduction to M. H. B. 16. Luard, Preface xxv. Hardy’s Catalogue of British History, i. 637, 642). His work has never been printed, but it is the groundwork of the well known Life by Æthelred of Rievaux, printed in the Decem Scriptores. On this again is founded the French Life printed by Mr. Luard, which however adds many particulars which are not to be found in Æthelred. Both of these are truly wonderful productions. Of the French writer I have already given a specimen in vol. i. p. 592. Perhaps his grandest achievement is to make Godwine kill Eadmund Ironside (p. 47. V. 775). Both he and the Abbot of Rievaux agree in describing King Æthelred as a mighty warrior, fighting manfully against the Danes. He is “Rex strenuissimus,” “gloriosus Rex” (X Scriptt. 372. Cf. the Abbot’s Genealogia Regum, 362, 363), and in the French Life (v. 131) we read—
In short, for historical purposes, the French Life is absolutely worthless, and Æthelred himself, though often preserving little authentic touches, must be used with the greatest caution. But he, or rather Osbert whom he follows, evidently drew largely from the Biographer. In some cases rhetorical expressions in the authentic Life seem, in the hands of the professed hagiographers, to have grown into legendary facts. Thus the Biographer tells us (393, 394) that, when Emma was with child of Eadward, popular expectation looked forward to the birth of a future King, and that, when the child was born, he was at once seen to be worthy to reign (“Antiqui Regis Æthelredi regiâ conjuge utero gravidâ, in ejus partûs sobole si masculus prodiret, omnis conjurat patria, in eo se dominum exspectare et Regem.... Natus ergo puer dignus præmonstratur patriæ sacramento, qui quandoque paterni sullimaretur solio”). This, in another and more rhetorical passage (428), swells into “Felicissimæ mentionis Rex Ædwardus ante natalis sui diem Deo est electus, unde ad regnum non tam ab hominibus quam, ut supra diximus, divinitùs est consecratus.” All this is quite possible in a sense. That is to say, men may have speculated on the possibility of a son of Emma supplanting the children of the first Ælfgifu, just as Æthelred himself had supplanted his brother Eadward. In Æthelred of Rievaux (X Scriptt. 372) the rhetoric of the Biographer grows into a regular election of the unborn babe. He is, after much deliberation, chosen by all the people (“magnus episcoporum procerumque conventus, magnus plebisque vulgique concursus”), in preference alike to his half-brother Eadmund Ironside and to his own brother Ælfred, who is erroneously supposed to be the elder of the two. A Norman Chronicler goes a step further. The historian of Saint Wandrille (Chron. Fontanellense, ap. D’Achery, ii. 286) describes Eadward as being not only elected but crowned in his childhood (“Eguvardus, qui prior natu erat, tener admodum et in puerilibus adhuc annis constitutus Rex, jubente patre et favente populo terræ unctus est et consecratus”). Here the command of Æthelred comes first; the will of the people is something quite secondary. In the time of the French biographer, popular election of Kings was a thing which had altogether gone out of date, and which was not likely to be acceptable at the Court of Henry the Third. The story is left out accordingly.
No feature in the legendary history of Eadward fills a more prominent position in hagiography, none has won him more admiration from hagiographers, than the terms on which he is said to have lived with his wife. It is certain that, at a time when it was especially needful to provide direct heirs to the Crown, the marriage of Eadward and Eadgyth was childless. Eadward’s monastic admirers attribute this fact to the resolution of Eadward, shared, according to some writers, by Eadgyth also, to devote himself to a life of perpetual virginity. When we come to examine the evidence, we shall find that this is one of those cases in which each later writer knows more than the writers before him. The earliest statements which have any bearing on the subject, though consistent with the monastic theory, do not necessarily imply it, and there are indications which look the other way. The tale grows as it is handed down from one panegyrist to another, in a way which naturally awakens suspicion. And when we consider the portrait of Eadward which is given us, his personal appearance, his personal temperament, and most of his tastes, we shall perhaps be led to guess that the unfruitfulness of Eadward’s marriage was owing neither to any religious impediment nor yet to barrenness on the part of a daughter of Godwine. The story is probably due to a very natural process. The fact of Eadgyth’s childlessness was explained by her husband’s admirers in the way which, to their monastic imaginations, seemed most honourable to him, and details of course grew in the usual fashion.
Let us now look through the evidence.
Florence and the prose text of the Chronicles are silent on the subject. The poem in the Abingdon and Worcester Chronicles says that Eadward was
But surely this is no more than might be said of any man who was chaste before marriage and faithful to his wife afterwards. The Biographer has several passages which may be thought to bear on the subject. He says (428) that Eadward “consecrationis dignitatem sanctam conservans castimoniâ, omnem vitam agebat Deo dicatam in verâ innocentiâ.” This again need not mean anything more than the words of the poem. In the account of Bishop Brihtwold’s vision (394), Saint Peter is seen to crown Eadward and “cœlibem ei vitam designare.” One might say that this is vision and not history, but the vision would of course be devised so as to fit in with what was held to be the history. But, strange as it may seem, the word cœlebs, as used by the Biographer, does not imply either virginity or single life. He uses it (409. See above, P. 383) to express the conjugal fidelity of Tostig, who was undoubtedly the father of children. Elsewhere (p. 429) Eadward is called “columbinæ puritatis Rex,” a phrase which may mean anything, but in the passage in which it occurs there is no special mention of chastity. Lastly, Eadward (433) on his death-bed is made to say of Eadgyth, “Obsequuta est mihi devotè, et lateri meo semper propiùs adstitit in loco carissimæ filiæ.” But this is surely no more than might be said by any maundering old man of a wife much younger than himself. In none of these passages is there any direct assertion of any vow or of any practice of virginity on the part of Eadward. His chastity is undoubtedly praised. But the language in which it is praised does not necessarily imply anything more than might be said with equal truth of any faithful husband. If the Biographer had any idea of the religious virginity of his hero and heroine, he would surely have expressed himself more distinctly. He would hardly have called Eadgyth “tori ejus consocia” (418), without some sort of qualification. If any one should say that the Biographer’s work is dedicated to Eadgyth herself, and that he would not enlarge to her on such a subject, he is looking at the matter with the feelings of our own age. The age of Eadward felt quite differently on such points. The panegyrists of Queens like Pulcheria and Æthelthryth took care that the light of those saintly ladies should in no case be bidden under a bushel. On the whole, I am inclined to think that the expressions of the Biographer, looked at critically, rather tell against the monastic theory. But such ambiguous expressions may well contain the germ of the legend.
One or two other points may be mentioned. Eadward is said (see above, p. 524) to have made an agreement with Swend Estrithson, by which the Danish prince was to succeed to the English Crown, “vel si filios susceperit.” Such an agreement, or even any general belief in the existence of such an agreement, is inconsistent with such a vow on Eadward’s part as the monastic writers pretend. William of Malmesbury again (ii. 228), in an unguarded moment, when he is discussing the policy of the King and not the merits of the saint, says that Eadward sent for the Ætheling from Hungary, “quod ipse non susceperat liberos.” And Eadward himself, if it be Eadward who speaks in the Westminster charters, gives as his reason for not going in person to Rome, that the royal race would be jeoparded in his person, “maxime quod nullum habebam filium” (Cod. Dipl. iv. 174). Such language would hardly be used if the possibility of children had been cut off by any religious vow, formally made and generally known. Again, if Eadward had been known to be under such a vow, it is much less clear why Godwine should be anxious for the marriage of Eadward and Eadgyth. The sacrifice of his daughter would be much less intelligible, if there was no chance of its being rewarded by the succession of a grandson of Godwine to the Crown.
We will now look to the accounts which tell the other way. As might be expected, the earlier statements are very much less full and positive than the later. As long as Eadward, however deeply reverenced, was still not a canonized saint, the subject was one which might be discussed, and different opinions might be put forth about it. After the canonization, the slightest doubt would of course have passed for blasphemy.
Thus William of Jumièges (vii. 9) asserts the fact, but somewhat doubtfully; “Ut inter eos [Eadward and Godwine] firmus amor jugiter maneret, Editham filiam ejus uxorem nomine tenus duxit. Nam reverà, ut dicunt, ambo perpetuam virginitatem conservaverunt.” William of Malmesbury, who, as we have seen, elsewhere forgets the story altogether, also asserts the fact, but he is in doubt as to the motive, and he seems certainly to know of no vow on the part of Eadgyth. He most likely had the words of the Biographer, “tori ejus consocia,” before him when he wrote (ii. 197); “Nuptam sibi Rex hâc arte tractabat, ut nec toro amoveret nec virili more cognosceret; quod an familiæ illius odio, quod prudenter dissimulabat pro tempore, an amore castitatis fecerit, compertum non habeo. Illud celeberrimè fertur, numquam illum cujusquam mulieris contubernio pudicitiam læsisse.” His account of Eadgyth is singular. She was suspected of unchastity, both during Eadward’s lifetime and after his death; but on her death-bed she cleared herself by a solemn and voluntary oath, seemingly without calling in the help of compurgators. Wace again, in the Roman de Rou (9883), gives the report, but does not seem very certain or emphatic about it;
Wace, as Prevost remarks in his note, seems hardly to have known of Eadgyth’s disgrace, if not divorce, in 1051. The Hyde writer again, who, whoever he was and whenever he wrote, often preserved independent traditions, and who clearly exercised a sort of judgement of his own, knows the tale only as a report (288); “Fertur tamen Regem Edwardum numquam cum eâdem carnis habuisse consortium, sed mundissimæ vitæ semper dilexisse cœlibatum.”
Here we get the story in its second stage. Eadward’s reputation for sanctity is advancing: the fact of Eadgyth’s childlessness, and the ambiguous expressions of the contemporary writers, are now commonly interpreted in a particular way. Still this interpretation has not yet become an article of faith. For the fully developed legend, setting forth the saint in all his glory, we must go to Æthelred of Rievaux and his followers. They of course know everything, down to the minutest details of everybody’s thoughts and prayers. The story will be found in Æthelred (X Scriptt. 377, 378), and it is versified at great length in the French Life (p. 55 et seqq.). As soon as Eadward is established on the throne, his Witan, anxious about the succession, urge him to marry. The vow seems to be assumed. On the mention of marriage, Eadward is in a great strait; he is afraid to refuse; at the same time he is anxious not to violate his chastity. His prayers and meditations are given at great length, including much talk about the not exactly apposite examples of Joseph and Susanna. At last the difficulty is escaped by his marrying the daughter of Godwine, of whose piety as well as beauty a wonderful description is given. There is of course not a word about the suspicions spoken of by William of Malmesbury, any more than there is about the murder of Gospatric. Eadgyth happily chances to be of the same peculiar turn as Eadward himself; so they exactly suit one another. They marry; but they agree to live, and do live, in great mutual affection, but only as brother and sister. A new scriptural allusion happily presents itself, and Eadgyth is promoted to the rank of a “nova Abisac.” The unlucky expression of the Biographer about “locus carissimæ filiæ” is of course seized up and amplified. Eadward, on his death-bed, addresses Eadgyth as “filia mea” (X Scriptt. 402). The Biographer (433) had made Eadward commend Eadgyth to the care of her brother Harold, “ut pro dominâ [hlæfdige] et sorore, ut est, fideli serves et honores obsequio.” Æthelred either misunderstood the passage, or else flew off at the word “soror.” He tells us (402), “Reginam deinde fratri proceribusque commendans, ejus plurimùm laudabat obsequium, et pudicitiam prædicabat, quæ se quidem uxorem gerebat in publico, sed sororem vel filiam in occulto.”
It will be remembered that William of Jumièges, Wace, and the Hyde writer, mention the story only as a report; William of Malmesbury seems to accept the fact as undoubted, and is uncertain only as to the motive. According to Æthelred (378), the public mind in Eadward’s own time was in the same state as the mind of William of Malmesbury a generation or two later. No one doubted the fact; “Ne aliquis huic Regis virtuti fidem deroget, sciat hoc tempore illius per totam Angliam sic divulgatum et creditum, ut de facto certi plerique de intentione certarent.” People who—like William of Malmesbury—failed to rise to the full appreciation of Eadward’s saintship, thought it might be because Eadward was unwilling to raise up grandsons to the traitor Godwine. Such rationalizing doubts are indignantly dismissed; “Quidam nihil nisi carnem et sanguinem sapientes, simplicitati regiæ [a clear hit at William] hoc imponebat, quod compulsus generi se miscuerit proditorum, et ne proditores procrearet, operi supersederet conjugali. Sed si consideretur amor quo se complectebantur, facilè contemnitur talis opinio. Hoc idcirco inserendum putavi, ut sciatur neminem tunc de Regis continentiâ dubitâsse, quum de caussâ taliter disputaverint.” So it is that men get better informed, the further removed they are from personal knowledge of the events.
Having reached the perfect story in Æthelred, it is needless to carry on the examination any further. I will only add that some specially eloquent talk on the subject will be found in the Ramsey History, cap. cxx. (p. 461), and that in Æthelred (377) we first find the line which has become more famous through the false Ingulf, “Sicut spina rosam genuit Godwinus Edivam.”
I may here quote a curious story about the relations between Eadward and Eadgyth and a foreign Abbot, which I cannot do better than give in the original Latin. The hero of the tale was Abbot of the famous monastery of Saint Riquier in Picardy. The church is a splendid one, but of late date; not far off is the municipal beffroi, to which the inhabitants still point with pride as the memorial of struggles waged with, and victories gained over, their ecclesiastical lords.
“Regi Anglorum Hetguardo Gervinus semper carus et venerabilis fuit, et ab illo, si ejus fines intrâsset, mirâ honorificentia attollebatur. Quique Rex, si eum in aliquâ vel pro aliquâ loci nostri necessitate angustiari comperisset, munificus valdè in succurrendo, remotâ omni excusatione, exsistebat. Regina etiam conjux ejusdem, nomine Edith, satis superque Gervinum pro suæ merito sanctitatis diligebat et venerabatur, et juxta mariti exemplum admodùm liberalis, si aliqua petiisset, libens conferebat. Quâdam vero vice accidit ut Abbati nuperrimè terram illam ingresso osculum salutationis et pacis Regina porrigeret, quod ille gratiâ conservandæ sinceritatis abhorrens excipere noluit. At illa ferox, videns se Reginam spretam à monacho, nimis molestè tulit, et quædam quæ, ut pro se orâsset, illi donare statuerat, irata retraxit. Verûm, marito id ipsum increpante, quod Abbatem tam religiosum pro non infracto rigore odio insequi voluisset, et aliis honestis viris suggerentibus non esse odiendum hominem qui sic Deo se mancipâsset, ut ne Reginæ quidem osculo se pateretur contra ordinem mulceri, placata est Regina, et hujusmodi factum non solum in illo non vituperavit, sed magnæ laudis attollens præconio, in sui regni Episcopis vel Abbatibus talem manere consuetudinem deinceps conquesta est. Multis ergo honoribus et donis eum fulciens remittebat onustum, hoc solum ab eo reposcens ut tempore orationis inter benefactores computari mereretur. Uxor etiam ipsius Regis donavit ei amictum valdè pretiosum, auro et lapide pretioso mirificè decoratum, quem Abbas detulit in nostræ ecclesiæ thesaurum.” Chron. Centulense, iv. 22. ap. D’Achery, ii. 345.
This story is referred to, but inaccurately, in Mr. Thorpe’s Lappenberg, ii. 244. There is no mention of it in the original, p. 504.
Saint Riquier however does not appear to have held lands in England in Eadward’s time, but this was not the last begging expedition of Gervinus to our shores. On the gifts of Eadward and Eadgyth to Saint Denis, Fécamp, and other monasteries, see Ellis, i. 304, 307, 324. Cod. Dipl. iv. 229. cf. 251.
Another reference to Eadward’s lavishness in this way is found in the Chronicle of Saint Wandrille in the same volume of D’Achery (ii. 286); “Uxorem quoque filiam Hotuvini [sic] magni illius terræ principis, qui fratrem suum Alureth jampridem cum multis crudeliter atque dolo peremerat, accepit, eosque quos secum de Nortmannis duxerat utriusque ordinis amplis honoribus extulit, auro et argento ditavit.”
There is a remarkable passage of William of Malmesbury, in which, as his manner often is, he sets before his readers two different accounts or opinions of the same thing. He there contrasts the Norman and English accounts of Godwine and his sons, in words which seem, like several other passages, to show that he had the contemporary Biographer before him. His words (ii. 197) are;
“Hunc [Archbishop Robert] cum reliquis Angli moderni vituperant delatorem Godwini et filiorum ejus, hunc discordiæ seminatorem, hunc archiepiscopii emptorem; Godwinum et natos magnanimos viros, et industrios auctores et tutores regni Edwardi; non mirum si succensuerint quod novos homines et advenas sibi præferri viderent; numquam tamen contra Regem, quem semel fastigaverint, asperum etiam verbum loquutos. Contra, Normanni sic se defensitant, ut dicant et cum et filios magnâ arrogantiâ et infidelitate in Regem et in familiares ejus egisse, æquas sibi partes in imperio vindicantes; sæpe de ejus simplicitate solitos nugari, sæpe insignes facetias in illum jaculari: id Normannos perpeti nequivisse, quin illorum potentiam quantùm possent enervarent.”
In this passage William very fairly carries out his promise of letting each side tell its own story. Which of the two pictures is borne out by particular facts, we shall see at the proper stages of the history; it may not be amiss to collect here a few of the more general pictures of Godwine and Harold drawn according to the two models. In the case of Harold, I confine myself to those passages, whether panegyrics or invectives, which concern his general character and his administration as Earl. Those which concern either his relations to William or his character as King I reserve for notice at a later stage.
Of Godwine personally none of the Chronicles give any formal character, but the Worcester Chronicler (1052) gives a picture of the power of himself and house, setting forth their influence as strongly as any of the Norman writers, but with an exactly opposite colouring. “Forðam þe he [Godwine] wæs ær to þam swyðe up ahafen, swyce he weolde þæs Cynges and ealles Englalandes, and his sunan wæron Eorlas and þæs Cynges dyrlingas, and his dohtor þæm Cynge bewedden and beæwnod.” Of Harold both the Abingdon and the Worcester Chroniclers give a panegyric in the poem on Eadward which they insert in the year 1065. He is there, as if in direct answer to the Norman account, warmly praised for his strict loyalty to the King.