Osbert of Clare and the reforging of Westminster Abbey’s past

Abstract

Twelfth-century Westminster Abbey was a centre of forgery production: its scriptorium not only produced charters claiming rights and privileges for its own house but also contributed to the production of spurious documents for other English monasteries. Among these forgeries, the distinctive draftsmanship of one monk—Osbert of Clare—has been traced in some of Westminster’s longer and more elaborate creations. But Osbert was more than a forger, he also wrote hagiographical Lives of saints, including that of Edward the Confessor, whose cult he fiercely championed. Osbert’s different identities have long been recognised, but never reconciled. This essay investigates both Osbert’s forgeries and hagiography, and in doing so reveals that it is only by considering these different genres of writing together that Osbert’s (and his abbey’s) ambitions can be fully recognised. In particular, it appears that Osbert’s forgeries sought to claim prestige for Westminster not only through their contents, but also through the memories they invoked and invented.

In 1979, through the Sotheby’s sale of Manuscripts and Miniatures, Westminster Abbey purchased a charter that had been granted to the community by King Edward the Confessor (1042–1066).¹ The charter is large (700mm x 550mm), and at the bottom about a third of the original seal is still attached by cord; both sides of the seal show the image of a seated king. The text of the charter is written in Latin and details a long list of properties that Edward gave to the abbey, as well as those made by other benefactors. It ends with a list of the thirty-four people who witnessed the charter’s production, and its final sentences declare that it was made at Westminster on December 28, 1065. In the seventeenth century, the charter came into the possession of the antiquarian Sir Christopher Hatton, and then, by inheritance, the Earls of Winchilsea. In 1979, Westminster Abbey paid £58,000 to redress this ownership (Keynes 1988, 199). The charter, however, is a twelfth-century forgery.

With the recent coronation of King Charles III (6 May 2023), we have been reminded of the central role Westminster Abbey plays in the most solemn rites of English kingship. Yet in the twelfth century this status was new. The abbey’s particular relationship with royalty was formed through Edward the Confessor, who rebuilt the church and chose it as his burial site. However, it was the circumstances at the end of Edward’s reign that propelled the abbey to a preeminent place within the realm: after the death of Harold Godwinson at the Battle of Hastings, William the Conqueror (1066–1085) was crowned in Westminster Abbey, no doubt seeking to underline his lawful succession through an inauguration in the church which housed the remains of his predecessor. The abbey has been the preferred coronation site ever since. Beyond coronations, in the pre-Conquest and early Anglo-Norman period, Westminster Abbey (along with Winchester Cathedral and Gloucester Abbey) was a site of one of the thrice-yearly crown-wearing ceremonies. On these occasions the great men of the realm gathered for the exchange of gifts and homage, but most of all to observe the king adorned with his symbols of regality.²

Despite its elevation at the end of Edward’s reign, the twelfth century was a difficult period for Westminster Abbey. The community suffered from periods of intense loss and impoverishment. Following the death of Abbot Gilbert Crispin (d. c.1117/18), the abbacy lay vacant for four years causing the alienation of a significant number of properties, and during the abbacy of Gervase of Blois (1138–c.1158) it was reported that the monks could barely afford to clothe themselves (Harvey 1967, 127–30; Mason 1996, 53). Through her analysis of the abbey’s estates, Barbara Harvey (1977, 41) argued that the abbey received minimal interest from the Anglo-Norman barony in the late eleventh and early twelfth century. In turn, Emma Mason’s assessment of Westminster’s genuine charters from this period suggests that the abbey maintained no significant relationship with the English monarchy: the community received little royal benefaction or attention and was ‘by no means the first among equals’ (1996, 287). While Westminster still served as the coronation church, these ceremonies were infrequent, and the abbey’s role in other forms of royal display was diminishing. Notably, despite a promise made on his accession in 1100, after the first ten years of his reign, King Henry I (1100–1135) allowed the rhythm of regular crown-wearing ceremonies to fall out of practice.³

It is in this same context that Westminster Abbey was producing forged charters. Generally, the eleventh and twelfth centuries have been considered high points in the production of medieval forgery, with religious institutions across Europe creating false documents to support legal claims to lands, to restore or secure vulnerable properties, and to authenticate relics.⁴ Julia Crick has argued that, on account of its productivity and the ‘dazzling effrontery’ (2005, 67) of the abbey’s creations, Westminster can be regarded as the classic example of English monastic forgery production in this period: from its scriptorium poured scores of forged charters claiming rights and privileges for its own house, as well as for other Benedictine religious communities, including those of Ramsey, Coventry, and Gloucester (Brooke 1968; Bates 1998). Westminster’s creations included long and detailed royal acta, as well as amendments to pre-existing shorter documents, like land grants.⁵ Among the abbey’s more lengthy charters, the distinctive draftsmanship of one monk, Osbert of Clare, has been identified. Osbert had a tempestuous career. Our first record of him is from the early 1120s, when he describes himself as an ‘outlaw’ from Westminster and residing in exile at the monastery in Ely (Robinson 1929, 2). It seems that after the death of Abbot Gilbert, Osbert had been elected abbot by a party within the abbey, but was expelled after Henry I appointed Abbot Herbert in 1121. By Spring 1134, Osbert appears back at Westminster and serving as prior (Robinson 1929, 3–4). It was in this period that Osbert began to foster the cult of Edward the Confessor. To support claims of Edward’s sanctity, Osbert wrote a new hagiographical Life of Edward (Vita beati Eadwardi), and in 1139 he led Westminster’s mission to Rome to seek the Confessor’s canonisation.⁶ This first canonisation attempt was unsuccessful. No doubt the politics of King Stephen’s reign affected Pope Innocent II’s decision—the king had just arrested three bishops—but it was also suggested that the canonisation required more support.⁷ Shortly after returning from Rome, Osbert was once again sent into exile. Harvey (1967) suggested that he may have fallen out with Abbot Gervase and falsified a papal bull to undermine the abbot. This time Osbert did not return to the abbey until early in the reign of Henry II (1154–1189). In 1160, Westminster Abbey sent a second mission to Rome. This time the delegation was successful, and Edward the Confessor was canonised in 1161. If Osbert was still alive by this time, his influence was over.

While the contours of Osbert’s career are intriguing in themselves, his life and work have given insight into Westminster’s forging activities. Following T.A.M. Bishop and Pierre Chaplais’ (1957; Chaplais 1961) identification of unique borrowings between the Vita beati Eadwardi and some of the abbey’s forgeries, Osbert’s draftsmanship has been traced across a wider corpus of texts.⁸ These specific borrowings include historical details related to the history of Westminster that, prior to the mid twelfth century, can only be found in a forged charter of King Edgar (959–975) and Osbert’s Vita, bringing the suspicion that the texts were written by the same person. In turn, direct textual overlaps are found in the Vita and several forgeries in the name of Edward the Confessor (as discussed below), and Osbert’s distinct, individualistic turns of phrase can be tracked widely from his hagiographical texts and letter collection into forged charters (Chaplais 1961, 92–94). General analysis of medieval forged charters has exposed that, although the production of forgeries might be part of a longer tradition, every creation was a response to a specific set of tensions experienced by a community: perhaps the threat to a piece of property, or the need to solidify a right the community professed to hold.⁹ As Osbert’s periods of activity are known, this has supported proposals for what circumstances his forgeries were responding to. For example, Frank Barlow suggested that Osbert’s forgeries in the name of Edward the Confessor were seeking to fill the lacuna in documentation that was caused by the king’s unexpected death in January 1066.¹⁰ More generally, it has been held that Westminster’s twelfth-century forgeries, and those of Osbert in particular, were simply created to defend and promote the abbey’s properties and rights during a period in which they were especially vulnerable (Morey and Brooke 1965, 139; Mason 1996, 269).

More recent scholarship, however, has reframed how we think about medieval forgeries. In particular, it has been asserted that as forgeries ultimately sought to be successful (i.e. believable), their authors reshaped the past to create a new historical record (see Hiatt 2019, 404; Berkhofer 2022, 16–47). This act of reshaping, or reforging, can bring keen insight into the most pressing concerns of a community, as well as medieval attitudes and approaches to the past. More generally, by recognising that forged charters can, and should, be regarded as active interventions into the historical record, these texts’ ambitions can be seen as equivalent to that of general historical writing in Latin, like Historia (the writing of history), Gesta (the writing of deeds), and hagiography. As a result, there are strong arguments to study forgeries alongside these more conventional examples of Latin historical writing. As argued by Robert Berkhofer III, authors of medieval forgery and historical writing both exercised the same ambition: they rewrote ‘the past to influence their present and future’ (2022, 46). Moreover, beyond Osbert, other authors are known to have breached the gap between forgery and historical writing: Adémar de Chabannes (988/989–1034) and Eadmer of Canterbury (c.1060–c.1126) are just two of the notable (and known) authors working across these genres in the eleventh and twelfth centuries.¹¹

Although Osbert of Clare’s dual identities—as author of diplomatic forgeries and hagiography—have long been recognised, they have never been fully reconciled. Instead, it has just been held that across the two writing endeavours Osbert exercised a consistent and generalised motivation to enhance the community he lived in (see Mason 1988, 9–10). These texts were certainly designed to strengthen Westminster: the central purpose of Osbert’s hagiographical Life of Edward the Confessor was to present an argument for the king’s sanctity, and thus promote the abbey as the location of his tomb and cult; in turn, the forged charters sought to secure specific rights, privileges, or lands. But what else might be discovered if these different texts are brought together more precisely? Thus, rather than simply regarding Osbert’s writings as passively and independently responding to general communal ambitions, the coming discussion will consider his texts as active literary interventions that sought to change their presents. Can common impetuses be found across Osbert’s forgeries and hagiography, and if so, what do these reveal about the needs and ambitions of his community? In turn, what might this tell us about the ways in which the past was being reforged through different types of writing during the medieval period?¹²

The clearest starting point for this multi–genre analysis is Osbert’s forgeries and hagiography relating to Edward the Confessor. Osbert wrote his Vita beati Eadwardi in 1138–1139 and presented it to Pope Innocent II during the first canonisation attempt. In a similar period, he also forged two elaborate and lengthy charters in Edward’s name, the so-called First and Third Charters of Edward the Confessor (Sawyer 1963, nos. 1043 and 1041),¹³ the former of which was the charter purchased in 1979. Beyond this common context, there are also numerous textual overlaps between the Vita and the forgeries, the bulk of which relate to the history of Westminster. Despite the shared text and context, the charters and Vita are still two very different types of writing, with distinct forms and ambitions. To uncover common themes across the works, fresh questions must be asked. Accordingly, this analysis will start with a new assessment of the Vita beati Eadwardi, before turning to the forged charters. It will be shown that it is only by reading Osbert’s forgeries and hagiography together that the motivations of these different writings can be fully understood. In terms of Osbert’s forged charters, it will be argued that these documents sought to claim privileges and prestige for Westminster Abbey not only through their contents, but through the memories they invoked and invented. This in turn reveals an intended setting for Osbert’s forgeries far beyond the abbey’s scriptorium, and straight at the heart of English political display.

Osbert and St Edward

In the years immediately following his death, there appears to have been a short-lived attempt to promote Edward the Confessor as a saint. An anonymous Vita Ædwardi Regis had been written in 1065–67,¹⁴ but an apparent lack of enthusiasm failed to get the cult off the ground (Barlow 1992). When Osbert of Clare picked up the mantle in the 1130s, it was clearly felt that the first hagiographical Life needed to be updated to support the campaign for Edward’s sanctity. Osbert broadly followed the earlier work, but whereas in the Vita Ædwardi Regis Edward’s sanctity been ‘little more than an appendix,’ in Osbert’s Vita the king’s sanctity was central to the description of Edward and his life (Pezzini 2009, 33). Osbert also added eight new chapters related to Edward’s life, and a further five posthumous miracle accounts. The structure and contents of these additions are shown in Table 1 below.¹⁵ Osbert’s Vita was itself rewritten by Aelred of Rievaulx just over twenty years later, shortly after Edward the Confessor’s canonisation in 1161.¹⁶ While Aelred’s work followed the structure and contents of Osbert’s, as an author from outside Westminster, Aelred crafted his own exposition of Edward’s life and deeds. These multiple acts of writing and rewriting have attracted comparisons between the texts, and scholarly attention has been devoted to how Osbert specifically constructed Edward’s sanctity in comparison to the other authors.¹⁷ However, relatively less attention has been given to how Osbert constructed the relationship between St Edward and Westminster Abbey. Yet many of Osbert’s new additions to the Vita beati Eadwardi relate to Edward’s relationship with Westminster, and the king’s decision to refound the abbey. What might these additions tell us about the purpose of Osbert’s work?

Table 1 Osbert's additions in the Vita beati Eadwardi

Osbert tells the story of Edward’s refoundation of Westminster across four chapters in the Vita (chapters 6, 7, 8, and 11). Some of the narrative was taken from a history of the abbey written in the 1080s by Sulcard, a monk of the community. Sulcard describes how Edward had planned a visit to Rome, but his nobles persuaded him that restoring the abbey at Westminster would be a safer display of piety.¹⁸ Osbert greatly expands on Sulcard’s account in his recasting of this narrative. Osbert claims that while Edward was in exile in Normandy, he made a vow to St Peter to undertake a pilgrimage to Rome if he were to safely ascend the English throne. Because of this vow, a papal dispensation was required to release the king from his promised pilgrimage (Osbert 1923, 77–78). Duly, chapter 7 of Osbert’s Vita includes the full text of a letter from Pope Leo IX (1049–1054) releasing the king from his vow, ordering him to give the expenses he had gathered for his pilgrimage to the poor, and to found a monastery dedicated to St Peter, either by building a new one, or enlarging an old one. Chapter 8 then recalls how a monk named Wlsinus had a vision of St Peter in which the Apostle tells the monk that it is his will for King Edward to refound the monastery at Westminster, which Edward then does. Chapter 11, relates how, following Pope Leo’s death, Edward sought to confirm the release from his vow, as well as reaffirming and extending the gifts he had made to Westminster. Accordingly, a second delegation was sent to Rome, armed with a letter written by Edward detailing this request. The text of this letter, and the subsequent reply from Pope Nicholas II (1059–1061) are then included in full. In the letter of ‘Nicholas,’ the Pope reasserts that Edward had been released from his vow, and ‘Nicholas’ confirms several rights to Westminster, including its episcopal exemption, and its status as the site of regnal consecration and the ‘repository of the royal regalia’ (Osbert 1923, 87–90; trans. my own from Latin). Both this bull, and that of Pope Leo IX were, of course, forged by Osbert.

The expanded narrative and incorporation of the letters in the Vita has several related effects. By including the papal decrees, Osbert provided Edward’s refoundation of Westminster with additional pseudo-historical grounding, and, in turn, the rights and privileges in the charters themselves gained further (saintly) legitimacy. Osbert also uses this narrative to construct a connection not only between the abbey and the king, but also the abbey, St Peter, and the Holy See.¹⁹ This is done explicitly through the conditions of the papal dispensation (the fact that Edward had to found a monastery in order to be released from the vow he made to St Peter), and by St Peter instructing Edward to specifically refound Westminster, as conveyed by Wlsinus. Moreover, by making Westminster the fulfilment of the promise he made while in exile, the abbey then becomes bound to Edward’s very right to become King of England.

A similar emphasis can be traced in the additional miracles that Osbert introduced into the Vita. The story of the refoundation is interspersed with three accounts of miracles performed by the king in the abbey (chapters 5, 9, and 12). The first described how Edward, while celebrating Pentecost in the abbey, had a vision of King Swein of Denmark, on the eve of his planned invasion of England, slipping from his ship and drowning. The second recounts how a certain Gillomichael, who suffered from leg infirmities, received a vision from St Peter who told him to travel to the royal court to seek Edward’s healing powers. Edward duly carried Gillomichael to the abbey, where he was healed. The third miracle account is of how Edward and Earl Leofric of Mercia together shared a vision of Christ while celebrating mass at the altar of the Holy Trinity in the abbey. The positioning of the miracles amongst the narrative of the abbey’s refoundation served to directly tie Westminster into Edward’s saintly rule. Joanna Huntington (2007, 337) argued that the placement of the cure of Gillomichael after Pope Leo’s acceptance of Edward’s accession and Wlsinus’ vision underlined the connection between St Peter and the abbey. This is clearly the case, but it is part of a larger picture. Edward’s vision of King Swein’s death (the first miracle in the Vita) struck when he was in the abbey attending mass; steeped in the liturgy and ceremony of the Pentecost service, Edward foresaw the end of the imminent threat to his kingdom. Immediately after this, Osbert imagined Edward’s refoundation of Westminster as the fulfilment of the vow the king made in exile. Consequently, the abbey became a manifestation of Edward’s right to rule and the enduring safety of his kingdom. Osbert’s reworking made the story of St Peter’s original sixth-century foundation (chapter 10) subservient to a bigger narrative. Recounted directly before the second envoy to Rome, the early foundation serves to further underline the link between Westminster, St Peter, and Edward. By interspersing the story of Edward’s refoundation of the abbey with details of the king’s miracles performed in that same church, Osbert bound Westminster to both Edward’s kingship and his sanctity.

While this emphasis can be found in the very structure of the text, the way Osbert constructed Edward’s miraculous deeds also served to specifically root the king’s sanctity in his royalty as expressed in the abbey. This is seen clearly in the account of Edward’s vision of Swein, which occurred during the Pentecost festival at the abbey. As discussed above, during Edward’s reign, and those of the early Norman kings, Pentecost was traditionally celebrated at Westminster as one of the thrice-yearly crown-wearing ceremonies. Before recounting Edward’s vision of Swein, Osbert described the grand setting:

On the day of the glorious festival […] the distinguished King Edward took up the sceptre at Westminster, in the church of the blessed Peter [i.e. Westminster Abbey] […] and the leaders of the whole of England and the prelates flocked to him, gracing the royal feast with the ornaments of their riches, many coloured in their golden fringes. (Osbert 1923, 75; trans. my own from Latin)

Osbert’s description of Edward’s court certainly recalled the pomp and ceremony of the occasion, and as a result, the king’s subsequent miraculous vision is embedded within the open celebration of his regality at the festival. Through this miracle, Osbert bound together the political security of the realm (as facilitated by Swein’s death), Edward’s sanctity, and royal ceremony, and made them all reliant on Westminster Abbey. Moreover, the link between this festival and King Swein’s death cannot have been based in any historical reality: Swein died in 1074, eight years after Edward. Osbert thus appears to have deliberately invoked the memory of grand royal displays at the abbey during Edward’s reign to use as the invented setting for the king’s miraculous vision.

A similar emphasis is found in the healing of Gillomichael. Osbert recounts that Gillomichael received a vision from St Peter who told him to travel to the royal court at Westminster Palace to seek Edward’s healing powers. Upon hearing his plea, Edward agreed to fulfil Gillomichael’s request, and so set off from the palace carrying Gillomichael on his back:

And hurrying to the church, [the king] put down his burden before the altar of the blessed prince of the apostles, and urged God in his grace for a miracle. (Osbert 1923, 83; trans. my own from Latin)

There at the abbey’s altar, Gillomichael is cured, after which he was tended to by the sacristan. The route which Edward followed from palace to abbey was presumably that taken during ceremonial processions on feast days and coronations.²⁰ This miracle linked the holy space of the abbey to the secular site of royal rule, as literally enacted in Edward’s walk. In turn, Edward’s saintly powers were only expressed and experienced when he was in the abbey itself—his sanctity seemingly reliant on this setting.

Osbert’s emphasis on Edward’s saintly regality continued even after the king’s death. In the last chapter of the Vita, Osbert relates how Abbot Gilbert invited ‘many respectable persons’ to the abbey in 1102 for the translation of Edward’s corpse (Osbert 1923, 121; trans. my own from Latin). On inspection, it was revealed that Edward’s body was miraculously whole, and bore no signs of decay:

So the upper stone is lifted from the sarcophagus, and his glorious body is found wrapped in a costly robe: slender hands and flexible joints, the finger with its royal ring, the sandals – all are plainly seen to show no sign of corruption: the sceptre at his side, the crown upon his head, all the regal ornaments of his noble burial are shown uninjured by the touch of time. (Osbert 1923, 121–22)²¹

A central part of Osbert’s description of Edward’s body is how the king is still wearing his accessories of royalty. In turn, it is not just Edward’s body that is unchanged by time, but also his regalia. In this miraculous revelation, Edward’s regality is thus inseparable from his sanctity. In turn, both are implicitly sited in the abbey, as the location of his tomb.

The central purpose of the Vita beati Eadwardi was to make an argument for Edward the Confessor’s sanctity, so to support the cult being fostered at Westminster Abbey and to provide evidence for the canonisation campaign. Within this construction, Osbert made both royal display and Westminster central to Edward’s sanctity. While it is not surprising that Osbert would use the Vita to enhance Westminster, the relationship that he constructs between king and abbey is not simply by association: it is an essential part of the hagiographical exposition. This is seen in the new historical record Osbert created for Edward’s decision to refound the abbey, through which the king’s accession to the English throne is bound to his commitment to Westminster. In turn, royal ceremonial practices and display in the abbey provide the essential context to Edward’s miracles: the vision of Swein occurred during a moment of grand royal display at Westminster, and Gillomichael was cured at the abbey only after the re-enactment of a ceremonial procession. In Osbert’s Vita, the abbey was therefore central to every aspect of Edward’s saintly rule. It was the symbol for his successful accession to the throne, and his holy sanctity, even in death, was inseparable and reliant on his regality as expressed through the abbey.

Osbert and King Edward

It has been estimated that only 39% of the extant charters in the name of Edward the Confessor can be regarded as genuine documents, with the remainder either of dubious authenticity, or obvious medieval forgeries (Clanchy 2013, Table 4 on 319). M.T. Clanchy argued that documents in King Edward’s name were especially valuable to monastic houses because—as William the Conqueror claimed to be his lawful successor—charters in Edward’s name could help secure rights and privileges across the changes wrought by the Norman Conquest (2013, 319). Like other monasteries, Westminster Abbey looked to Edward’s reign to seek to secure their rights: at least thirty-three charters in King Edward’s name were forged at the abbey in the post-Conquest period (England 2019, 85–86). Among these, two of Osbert’s forgeries in the Confessor’s name stand out as particularly ‘audacious and outrageous’ fabrications (Keynes 1988, 199).²²

The so-called First and Third Charters of Edward the Confessor are both large and lengthy documents bearing (spurious) seals.²³ The charters seem to have been produced by Osbert at a similar time as he was writing the Vita beati Eadwardi, and share heavy overlaps with sections of the hagiographical work, specifically in relation to the Confessor’s refoundation of Westminster (Chaplais 1961). The First Charter starts with ‘Edward’ providing a narrative introduction describing his ascent to the throne, his vow to go on pilgrimage to Rome as thanks, and the ambassadors sent to Pope Leo seeking to release the king from this promise. This narrative is then broken up by the inclusion of the full text of Pope Leo IX’s letter (as described above). Following this, the narrative picks up again to describe Wlsinus’s vision of St Peter, and Edward’s decision to rebuild the abbey, which he then dedicated on December 28—the day of the abbey’s reconsecration.²⁴ According to the charter, on that day Edward gave to the abbey a series of relics (which are listed), renewed privileges given by his royal predecessors (which are not listed), the abbey’s freedom from secular servitude, and its right to elect its own abbot. After, ‘Edward’ confirms a series of donations of lands he gave, and then those made by his nobles. The lands are given in precise detail; for example, ‘seven [hides] at Sunbury’ (Middlesex) and Maplestead (Essex), which was claimed to have been granted by a certain Wulfwine. Finally, for the benefit of his soul and those of his relatives, ‘Edward’ described how he placed upon the altar various liturgical ornaments and gave further (listed) lands to support the monks. ‘Edward’ then releases the abbey from a series of exactions and grants it further privileges. The closing clauses impose an anathema on any who would go against the terms of the document, and ‘Edward’ says that he has ordered the charter to be drawn up and sealed. He declared that he has signed it with his hand, and that other ‘suitable witnesses’ have been noted. Accordingly, in addition to the king, thirty-three names are recorded, among whom are the most important people in the realm.²⁵ Finally, the charter is recorded as having been produced at Westminster on December 28, 1065.

The Third Charter continues the story of Edward’s refoundation. It again starts with a narrative provided by ‘Edward,’ in which he tells how he renewed and improved Westminster under the direction of Pope Leo. It continues with the account (also found in the Vita) that at the beginning of Pope Nicholas II’s papacy, Edward sent envoys to Rome to confirm that he had been excused from his vow, and to reaffirm and extend his gifts to Westminster. The letters of Edward and Pope Nicholas II are again included in full. Following this, ‘Edward’ then gives an exhaustive list of rights and privileges to the abbey. Just before recounting the threat of anathema for any who violates the charter, he states that:

[…] I ordered this charter of my donation and freedom to be read aloud on the day of the dedication of the aforesaid church in the presence of the bishops, abbots, earls, and all the nobles of England. (Birch 1885, 188; trans. my own from Latin)

It ends with a list of forty-one people who witnessed the document—many of the names are the same as those who witnessed the First Charter, and it is likewise stated as being made at Westminster on December 28, 1065.²⁶

The overlapping text between the Vita and these forgeries serve some of the same purposes. Primarily, the repetition of the narrative around Edward’s refoundation of the abbey in the charters reaffirms this version of history.²⁷ This includes the implication that Westminster was tied to Edward’s successful accession to the throne, as also argued in the Vita. Despite the overlaps, the First and Third Charters are distinct creations from the Vita: they are in their own separate format, with their own agendas. One of these purposes is typical of forged documents in this period: by crafting royal confirmation charters, Osbert sought to provide evidence for the abbey’s right to the lands and privileges listed in the documents. In doing so, it is likely that Osbert was responding to the loss of lands caused by the mismanagement of the abbey’s estates in the first half of the twelfth century, as argued (among others) by Simon Keynes (1988, 198). Osbert seem to have been somewhat successful in this pursuit. Chaplais (1961) suggested that Osbert may have taken these charters to Rome in 1139 to obtain papal confirmations for the rights included in the forgeries. In April of that year, Pope Innocent II issued a bull confirming the abbey’s possessions and privileges (including episcopal exemption), and taking it under his protection, as he claimed his predecessors Nicholas II and Leo IX had done.²⁸

In the context of the above analysis of the Vita, a further purpose for the charters is evident. This is suggested by the format of the texts. Primarily, by including the narrative to the refoundation within the forged charters, Osbert creates a prestigious historical setting for Edward’s relationship with, and gifts to, the abbey. Further, while some of the lands and rights listed in these charters can be found in other charters of Edward (forged and otherwise),²⁹ between the First and Third Charters, the abbey’s endowment from various separate charters are grouped together within two documents. In this sense Osbert created pancartes: that is, a single composite charter that contains the substance of several gifts made at different times.³⁰ Moreover, the date provided for these charters is significant: by dating both forgeries to December 28, 1065—the day of the abbey’s reconsecration—Osbert is essentially creating foundation charters for the new abbey. Pancartes were not unusual at this time,³¹ and, likewise, it was common for monastic foundation charters in this period to include a narrative section describing the circumstances surrounding a monastery’s foundation (Chibnall 1988), as done in the First and Third Charters of Edward. Marjorie Chibnall argued that narrative sections in foundation charters, although perhaps based on a combination of genuine charters or the recollections of a community, can read ‘like a slightly imaginative dramatization and telescoping of more than one event’ (1988, 338). This telescoping or flattening of time is certainly visible in the forgeries of Edward. Even though the First and Third Charters tell distinct, and chronological accounts of the phases to Edward’s refoundation of Westminster and his patronage to the community, by being inscribed within dated charters, these interactions are all bound together into one moment. And this moment was one of huge pomp and ceremony. The forgeries explicitly reconstruct the occasion: in the Third Charter, it is claimed that the bishops, abbots, earls and all the nobles of the realm are gathered for the rededication; and, in turn, the extensive and prestigious witness lists of both charters are essentially a roll call of those present. Thus, when crafting these forged pancartes, Osbert not only commemorated the abbey’s refoundation, but also rooted all Westminster’s properties and rights, and even its relationship with Edward, in a grand royal occasion.

Despite the similarities apparent between Osbert’s forgeries in Edward’s name and his Vita beati Eadwardi, it is essential to recall that these are distinct creations. The forgeries are hugely different in form and nature to the Vita, and even though they share content and narrative, they were designed to operate separately. A key element of this is suggested by their physical form. If Osbert had simply wanted charters to support the contents of the hagiography, then he could have written their text into the Vita (as he did the papal letters), seeking to pass them off as copies of lost originals. But instead, he created separate items to be looked at and experienced. Clanchy argued that in post-Conquest England, charters could hold significant symbolic power as the physical objects that represented and memorialised the occasion in which they were promulgated (Clanchy 2013, 256–58). By extension, Osbert’s forged charters can be regarded not only as documents seeking to communicate the specific rights and privileges they conveyed, but also as objects with symbolic significance, serving as pseudo-relics of the reconsecration ceremony at Westminster Abbey in December 1065.

Reforging the past

By considering Osbert's forgeries alongside his Vita Eadwardi it is apparent that the two types of writing reflect similar concerns: as well as sharing a narrative, they both explicitly emphasised royal display at the abbey. In the Vita this is seen through the importance placed on Westminster within the exercise of Edward’s distinctly royal sanctity; and in the forged charters, the entire history of the relationship between the founder and his abbey is compressed into one ceremonial event at Westminster. Across these genres, Osbert recreated the abbey’s relationship with Edward the Confessor—as king and saint—to recast the community’s recent past. Given their shared contents, contexts, and subject, we might expect a certain consistency across Osbert’s creations related to Edward. However, a similar emphasis on royal ceremonies can also be traced in another forged charter created by Osbert, this time in the name of William the Conqueror.

This forgery is known as the First Charter of William I and, like the First and Third Charters of Edward, is a large pancarte (665mm x 530mm) that bore a red wax seal.³² The charter starts with a short narrative in which ‘William’ reports that after defeating Harold Godwinson and his allies, and becoming King of England, he became aware that Edward the Confessor had left his crown and other items of regalia to Westminster Abbey. Therefore, wishing to honour the church where his predecessor was buried, and where he himself was crowned, he had visited the abbey, and laid fifty marks and a precious pall on the altar of St Peter, two equally expensive palls on Edward’s tomb, and then two marks of gold and two palls on the abbey’s High Altar. This was all done in the presence of bishops, abbots, and the rest of William’s French and English nobles. ‘William’ then states that he confirmed the abbey’s possessions as set out in the charter. The rest of the text lists the grants ‘William’ and the citizens of London made to the abbey. The charter is dated to 1067 and ends with a lengthy witness list containing the country’s leading secular and ecclesiastical figures. Its contents are clearly spurious: it contains the details of much later grants to the abbey, and the rather obvious error by describing the tomb of Queen Edith, Edward the Confessor’s wife, in a charter claiming to be issued a full eight years before her death. There is also no evidence to suggest that such a gathering ever occurred at the abbey in 1067.³³

Throughout the First Charter of William I, there is a reoccurring emphasis on royal ceremonies at Westminster Abbey. All the rights and privileges confirmed in the forgery are directly linked to royal occasions at the abbey: the opening narrative sites William’s benefaction in the context of Edward the Confessor’s burial and William’s own coronation in the abbey, and the charter’s very production is at a grand gift-giving ceremony. In turn, by explicitly describing the abbey’s role in the events of 1066, Osbert appears to be directly constructing a link between benefaction to Westminster and the successful accession to the English throne. The forgery also contains a stress on future royal ceremonies in the abbey. At two separate places in the charter, ‘William’ confirms the gifts he would grant to the abbey at the Pentecost crown-wearing ceremonies at Westminster. He also states that whenever he would return from expeditions beyond England’s border he would visit Westminster, because ‘it is my first and foremost royal seat’ (Bates 1998, 880; trans. my own from Latin). Thus, William’s promise of future royal patronage is rooted in the enduring identity of the abbey as the foremost royal seat, as well as the site for the most solemn annual ritual of kingship.

The First Charter of William I echoes many of the same emphases found in the First and Third Charters of Edward. Again, benefaction to Westminster is explicitly tied to the accession to the English throne, and its status as the preeminent site for royal display is reaffirmed. In turn, Osbert stages ceremony in the abbey as an essential background for both the reception of these confirmations, and Westminster’s relationship with English monarchy. Crucially, that these similarities can be traced in a forgery in the name of William I suggests that Osbert’s emphases were not limited to Westminster’s relationship with Edward the Confessor. However, in the First Charter of William, Osbert appears to be taking his act of fabrication a step further. Unlike the setting for the Edward charters, Osbert invents an occasion for the 1067 ceremony. Thus, the great gifts bestowed in this charter are confirmed through an imagined occasion: a gift of thanks, and a moment of pomp and regality at the abbey at the start of a new reign. In this way, Osbert appears to be not solely creating confirmations for his community but crafting a memory of a ceremonial tradition at Westminster.

The context in which this forgery was produced may shed further light on Osbert’s construction. The claim in the First Charter of William that Edward left his regalia to Westminster is only mentioned in one other surviving charter from the abbey at this time: a forged papal bull of Innocent II, also written by Osbert.³⁴ This specific shared emphasis suggest that the two forgeries are products of the same concern, and perhaps the same moment. Mason (1998, 90) argued that the papal bull was forged by Osbert in the summer of 1141, when the Empress Matilda was in London awaiting her coronation following the capture of her rival—King Stephen—at the Battle of Lincoln earlier that year. A similar date for the First Charter of William is possible. Indeed, the link Osbert makes in the First Charter of William between a relationship with Westminster and the successful accession to the English throne seems to be speaking directly to this moment. In turn, during Stephen’s reign, even though his illegitimate son Gervase was abbot 1138–c.1157, the king maintained no significant relationship with the abbey.³⁵ What better time to push for a fresh relationship with monarchy, and a confirmation of the abbey’s rights and preeminent role in the ceremonies of the realm, than at the supposed beginning of a new reign in 1141. This context may also shed light on what has been regarded as the charter’s ‘most astonishing chronological contradiction’ (Bates 1998, 873)—the description of Queen Edith’s tomb. Edith died in 1075, and there was not another royal internment in the abbey until Edith-Matilda (wife of Henry I and mother of the Empress Matilda) was buried near Edward the Confessor in 1118. Given the potential intended audience of the First Charter of William, it may be that the mention of Queen Edith’s tomb was not actually an error, but instead intended to serve as an implicit reminder to the Empress Matilda that her own mother lay in the abbey. Thus, in the production of this charter, Osbert melded real past precedent with invented memories, in an attempt to forge a new relationship between Westminster Abbey and the English monarchy.

Conclusion

Across his different writings, Osbert invoked ceremony at Westminster. This was acutely visible in how Edward’s sanctity in the Vita beati Eadwardi was manifested in royal display at the abbey, and in turn how Osbert rooted the fake promulgations of his forgeries within grand royal occasions, both real and invented. Moreover, it appears that in the forgeries discussed here, the setting Osbert supplied for them were as fundamental to their purposes as the specific items they listed.³⁶ In the First and Third Charters of Edward, and the First Charter of William, Osbert sought not just to establish rights and lands, but also a tradition of ceremonial display at the abbey. Each forgery is essentially professing to be the historical record of a grand royal occasion at Westminster. This observation may have implications beyond texts specifically composed by Osbert: by considering what occasions are being recalled and invented in forgeries, we may be provided with an additional framework through which to consider other charters forged in this period. Although this discussion has approached forgeries and hagiography as discrete genres of writing, it is apparent that across the different texts Osbert was equally inventive in the ways he reforged the abbey’s past through the forms and conventions of each genre. In turn, this discussion has shown that it is only by considering these different types of writing together that their common ambitions are exposed.

Apart from his periods of exile, Osbert lived within the community at Westminster. And although his draftsmanship is distinct, he clearly did not work alone; Chaplais (1961, 91–92; 97) traced the hands of two scribes who worked with Osbert to produce forged charters. In turn, evidence from beyond the scriptorium suggests that Osbert’s texts were reflecting more general, communal concerns. In the early nineteenth century, the damaged remains of a figurative capital from Westminster Abbey were discovered. The carving’s imagery seems to record a donation or confirmation: on one side is King William II sitting uncrowned on an X-shaped throne, holding a lengthy charter (perhaps a pancarte) and flanked by Abbot Gilbert Crispin and another monk; the figures are identified by an inscription at the top of the capital. The original capital is now lost, and images of it only survive as a woodcut. This presents difficulty for precise dating, but on stylistic grounds it seems to be of the second quarter of the twelfth century (Harrison and McNeill 2015). There is no evidence that the occasion shown on the capital happened, or that any such charter from William II was ever issued to Westminster; the king was not especially generous in his benefaction to the community (Harrison and McNeill 2015, 90). Stuart Harrison and John McNeill thus suggested that the woodcut is a ‘visual equivalent’ (2015, 90) to Osbert’s forgeries. However, this argument was advanced in the context of the earlier historiography, that is the assumption that Osbert’s forgeries were solely seeking to secure general royal benefaction. In light of the above analysis, the capital clearly has a more specific purpose—it is depicting precisely the same kind of imagined ceremonial presentation of a pancarte that was manufactured in the First Charter of William I. Like Osbert’s forgeries and hagiography, the capital is thus seeking to recast recent history to present Westminster’s relationship with English monarchy as enacted and confirmed through royal occasions at the abbey. In turn, the capital—again, perhaps just like the forged charters—sought through its very physical form to intervene into its present to promulgate and display an invented past.

Why was Westminster using ceremony to advance its position in the first half of the twelfth century? As discussed above, this was a barren period for the abbey, in which it received very little royal attention or benefaction. Moreover, no King of England had been buried in the abbey since Edward the Confessor: William I was buried at his foundation of Saint–Étienne at Caen; William II died in the New Forest and was hastily buried in Winchester Cathedral; and Henry I was buried at his foundation at Reading Abbey, even though he died in Normandy. This thus denied Westminster the chance to build a dynastic relationship with English monarchy, unlike, for example, what the Abbey of Saint–Denis was achieving with the Capetian Kings in the same period (Spiegel 1975). Westminster’s historic significance was reliant on the ceremonies it hosted in 1066. In turn, coronations were the only consistent occasion in which monarchy interacted with the abbey during the first half of the twelfth century. Westminster’s identity was thus rooted in its historic and (albeit intermittent) contemporary roles in the grandest occasions of the realm. In seeking to change its present circumstances, the abbey’s ceremonial significance would have been regarded as the clearest route to future relevance. The fact that the abbey appears to have been actively pursuing this endeavour across multiple mediums in the first half of the twelfth century, not only speaks to the struggles the community was facing at that time, but also to the depth of its concern.

So where does this leave Osbert of Clare? Osbert has been described as many things: Osbert the champion of St Edward, Osbert the rebel, Osbert the forger. By considering these masks together a new identity for Osbert has been found. Thus far, Osbert has only been considered within his ecclesiastical context, but his literary products show that his ambitions were larger. Through his invention of Westminster’s role within the ceremonies of the realm, Osbert emerges as a political actor. In turn, by tracing similar emphases across his different writings, elements of Osbert’s identities have been reconciled with more precision, and the language used to describe his activities can be advanced. Osbert clearly created forgeries. His charters discussed here pretended to have been made by someone else, from a different, earlier time, and sought to be imbued with the authority of the person they were ascribed to. Osbert must have desired his forgeries to be successful, and thus, implicitly, he could be described as seeking to deceive those who engaged with his texts. Indeed, it may be held that in some respects he was successful in this deception: the purchase of the First Charter of Edward by Westminster Abbey in 1977 could be regarded as Osbert’s work still misleading readers over eight hundred years after its creation (Keynes 1988, 199). But, as shown in this discussion, flattening Osbert’s actions to solely seeking to deceive fails to fully appreciate the scope of these texts’ purposes and ambitions. Instead, forging, in the sense of making and crafting, is a more apt term to categorise Osbert of Clare’s activities on behalf of his community. Across his charters, Osbert sought to create a new historical record, using the recent past and memories of Westminster’s interactions with English monarchy (both real and manufactured) to craft a new story for his abbey. In this act of reforging, Osbert hoped to establish the relationship between Westminster and the English monarchy that had failed to manifest in the years following the death of Edward the Confessor. Although he did not live long enough to see his mission fulfilled, through his writings Osbert sought to craft a new era of royal ceremony in which Westminster Abbey would hold pride of place.