Trustees

• 1. Revd William Lorimer, MA, 1715–22.

• 2. Revd Joshua Oldfield, DD, 1715–29.

• 3. Revd Edmund Calamy, DD, 1715–32.

• 4. Revd William Tong, 1715–27.

• 5. Revd Matthew Henry died, 1714.

• 6. Revd Benjamin Robinson, 1715–24.

• 7. Revd Zachary Merrell, 1715–32.

• 8. Revd John Evans, DD, 1715–30.

• 9. Revd William Harris, DD, 1715–40.

• 10. Revd Thomas Reynolds, 1715–27.

• 11. Revd Isaac Bates, MA, 1715–58.

• 12. Revd Jeremy Smith, 1715–23.

• 13. Revd James Read, 1715–55.

• 14. John Morton, 1715–46.

• 15. Edmund Farrington, 1715–23.

• 16. William Adee, 1715–23.

• 17. Jonathan Collyer, 1715–23.

• 18. Benjamin Sheppard, 1715–31.

• 19. Francis Barkstead, jun., 1715–47.

• 20. Joseph Archer, 1715–56.

• 21. Richard Watts, 1715–24.

• 22. Isaac Honeywood, 1715–23.

• 23. Revd George Smyth, 1715–46.

• 24. Sir John Fryer, Bart., 1723–6.

• 25. Joseph Williams, 1723–52.

• 26. Revd Jabez Earle, DD, 1723–68.

• 27. Revd Benjamin Grosvenor, DD, 1723–58.

• 28. Revd Joshua Bayes, 1724 – declined to serve.

• 29. John Welch, 1724–51.

• 30. Revd Daniel Mayo MA, 1724–33.

• 31. Samuel Lessingham, 1724–61.

• 32. Samuel Mayo, 1724–8.

• 33. Revd Samuel Wright, DD, 1724–46.

• 34. Revd John Barker, 1725–62.

• 35. Revd John Newman, 1728–41.

• 36. Thomas Hollis, 1728–31.

• 37. Benjamin Avery, DCL, 1728–64.

• 38. Revd Obadiah Hughes, DD, 1729–51.

• 39. Revd Jeremiah Hunt, DD, 1730–44.

• 40. Revd Thomas Leavesley, 1730–9.

• 41. John Hollis, 1731–5.

• 42. Antonio Walburgh, 1731–49.

• 43. Revd John Allen, MD, 1732–59.

• 44. Revd John Munkley, 1733–8.

• 45. James Ruck, 1735–8.

• 46. Revd Moses Lowman, 1738–52.

• 47. William Mount, 1739–68.

• 48. Revd Samuel Lawrence, DD, 1739–60.

• 49. Revd Edmund Calamy, 1740–55.

• 50. Revd Henry Read, 1744–74.

• 51. Revd Samuel Chandler, DD, FRS, FSA, 1744–66.

• 52. Josiah Chitty 1746–50.

• 53. Revd Thomas Newman, 1746–58.

• 54. Revd Edward Godwin, 1746–64.

• 55. Philip Hollingworth, 1747–61.

• 56. Thomas West, 1749–56.

• 57. Joseph Andrews, 1750–3.

• 58. James Lambe, 1751–61.

• 59. Nathaniel Neal, 1751–66.

• 60. Revd William May, 1752–5.

Pembroke possesses a remarkable collection of medieval manuscripts, 310 complete, and with many additional fragments. The first systematic attempt to catalogue them happened about a hundred years ago, thanks to the work of M. R. James; and it is fair to say that the catalogue then produced offers only a partial picture of the whole. A proper catalogue has been long overdue, and there could have been no-one better to carry out this work than Rod Thomson. Rod has approached his task with scholarly precision, devotion and energy, and this catalogue is the result of his labours. It tells the whole story for the first time.

A third of our manuscript collection came originally from the Benedictine Abbey of Bury St Edmunds, and was gifted to Pembroke at the end of the sixteenth century by William Smart of Ipswich. It's almost an accident that it ended up here, as it seems it had not been Smart's original intention to bequeath the collection to Pembroke. Now, however, these manuscripts – including some that date back to before the Norman Conquest – are the glory of our holdings; though the most glorious of all, the volume known as the Bury Gospels, was given separately by another donor, Edmund Boldero.

Our other manuscripts came to the College from many sources, over several centuries; and Rod Thomson has unearthed some fascinating attributes that throw light on the early life of the College. The peculiar way in which the early manuscripts were chained; the doubleheight reading desks; the survival of early bindings; the wax tablets that were used to record borrowings by fellows and scholars; and the depositing of books by scholars as pledges in return for borrowed funds from the ‘chests’ of money made available by alumni of the time. Rod has illuminated all the complexities of where the manuscripts came from, how they were numbered and recorded, how they appeared in various records through the ages, and what part they play in the collection.

Up to now, we have known too little about our wonderful manuscripts. (We know even less about our early modern period books.) Rod Thomson has brought them to life for us in this catalogue, and we will be forever in his debt for doing so. Many are very beautiful; some are exceptionally well preserved; all are fascinating.

In the fourteenth century (c. 1340–44), D. Pedro, count of the city of Barcelos and son of King Dinis, wrote Livro de Linhagens in order to preserve the genealogy of certain noble Portuguese families. This book consists mainly of genealogical records containing several lists of names of the nobility and their family relations. Yet, it also includes legendary narratives associated with the origin of some of these families. In this article we are going to explore one of those narratives – the story of Dama-Pé-de-Cabra (“Goat-Foot-Lady”) – retold in the nineteenth century both by Alexandre Herculano (1810–77), in Lendas and Narrativas, and by Frederico Francisco Stuart de Figanière e Morão, first Viscount Figanière (1827–1908), in Elva: A Story of the Dark Ages.

The mythical story of Dama-Pé-de-Cabra, associated with the origins of the Haros of Biscay, has been deeply studied by Portuguese and Spanish critics as it appears in D. Pedro’s book and in Herculano’s version. Figanière’s retelling, however, remains unknown and has escaped the attention of Portuguese scholars, maybe because it was overshadowed by Herculano’s contemporary rendition. Bearing this situation in mind, this article focuses particularly on Elva, though the other two works will also be mentioned.

The legend of Dama-Pé-de-Cabra reveals how Portugal in the Middle Ages was in touch with several European traditions, namely those coming from what is today the United Kingdom, as well as Ireland and France. It shows a deep affinity both with medieval Irish and Welsh tales and with Melusinian literature, as well as with some French and English literary texts produced between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries.

That Celtic mythical narratives influenced many literary medieval texts is confirmed by their reconfiguration in such works as Marie de France’s Breton lais “Bisclavret” and “Lanval,” Chaucer’s “The Wife of Bath’s Tale,” and the anonymous poem Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (SGGK). Several of the latter poem’s central motifs originate from those Celtic narratives, as many critics have demonstrated over the years. Even though this is not the place to explore the Celtic sources of SGGK, it may be helpful to mention some brief examples of how the poem recovers certain paradigmatic aspects from Celtic mythology.

In the mid-eighteenth century, DWT was consolidating its work in an English society that had changed markedly from Williams's day, with little remaining threat from the Jacobites and from Roman Catholicism. Still the trustees, new and old, adhered scrupulously to the letter, if not the spirit, of the founder's will. On William Travers's resignation in 1755, Nathaniel Neal was appointed the secretary.

A New Receiver's Work – Mrs Roberts's Trust

Francis Barkstead had died by November 1747 when Daniel Adams was appointed receiver pro tem, although only months later he too was dead. Having planned to appoint a new trustee in Barkstead's place as well as a receiver, the trustees opted rather for two officers, namely a receiver and a secretary. The former was to receive the rents of trust property, make payments, supervise and repair trust property, and manage DWL. He was to present yearly accounts, correspond with the schoolmasters, the Irish trustees, and the Scottish bodies, and attend every trust meeting and committee. The secretary was to give notice of trust and committee meetings, record their minutes and assist the trustees and receiver. Reflecting the perceived difference in importance, the receiver was paid £60 a year and the secretary £30, subject to the Master in Chancery's approval. John Cooper junior was chosen receiver and William Travers secretary, but neither became trustees.

The brothers William and John Travers were in August 1748 the only surviving trustees of Mrs Roberts's £60, given annually from Daniel Williams's estate. They had assigned their trust to Francis Boult of Wrexham (who may by then have espoused Arian views), John Kenrick II (d.1803) of Ruabon, Richard Benjamin and John Wright (members of Boult's church), Job Orton, John Kenrick of Bron Clydwr, Messrs Key of Trelawnyd, Key of Whitchurch, Quarrell of ‘Llanwilling’, and Jennings of Newtown. Ebenezer Ke(a)y (1715–79) was minister at Dodington, Whitchurch, in Shropshire from 1739 until his death. The Travers brothers wanted the £60, formerly paid to John Kenrick I of Wrexham, now paid to one of them. The trustees agreed, but by March 1749 John Travers was dead.

Schools and Apprentices – Carmarthen Academy

DWT's secretary, William Travers, in May 1749 asked William Edwards, the Caernarfon schoolmaster, about moving his school to Anglesey, where a dissenting church existed.

This is an expansion of material which Sarah Carpenter and I treated briefly in Masks and Masking. It shows how a folk custom can be adapted, overtly as a mini-drama, and covertly as a means of political negotiation. It also shows how context, expectations, and costume can between them create a message, a message the more powerful because, according to the ‘rules’ of the game, it is delivered in complete silence. Besides this, it raises salutary caveats about our modern expectations: that the ostensible message will be the same as the underlying one.

The story has been told several times by historians of folk custom, of London, and of Richard II. Each group has their agenda and consequently their slant on what they see in it. As far as I know, no-one has attempted to put it in its wider context of the liturgical/festive season and its imaginative baggage, which provided the theme for another major performance piece in the same week, the Chancellor’s speech at the Opening of Parliament – though this also has been treated separately. The sequence and dating of these liturgical feasts and how they provided the setting for both the Parliament and the mumming, is an important part of the following discussion.

This is how it was reported. On the evening of Sunday 1 February 1377, a torch-lit cavalcade passed through the City of London via Cheapside, and crossed the river over London Bridge, making towards Kennington. There were 130 riders, dégisement arrayés (‘dressed in costume’):

GENERAL DESCRIPTION

The Catalogue is in the form of a book measuring 304 x 206 mm, vellum bound, rebacked, with paper leaves. The front cover bears the main title ‘A Catalogue of all the Benefices & Promocions Within the Diocese and Jurisdicion of Canterbury’ and ‘With the State of every Particular Parish as it stood at October 1663’ is added below. The main title is repeated over the first two pages but the left-hand page has been cut off 50 mm from the spine. Each pair of facing pages has been treated as a folio by the compiler, and has been given a single folio number which is used in the transcription from folio 1 to folio 65 without reference to rectos and versos. The folios have been vertically lined to provide columns of varying widths with headings at the top, and these column headings vary slightly between the entries for the diocese and those for the peculiars. The left-hand side of each folio has six columns: ‘Folio number’; ‘Benefices’, containing the name of the parish and whether it is a rectory, vicarage or chapel; a column without a heading, which was used to indicate which parishes were exempt from the jurisdiction of the archdeacon, designated as ‘Ex’; ‘Ks Bookes’ (‘King’s Books’ the value in the Valor Ecclesiasticus of 1535); ‘Com. Value’ (the contemporary assessment of the value of the living); ‘Patron’. In the entries for the peculiars, the first column is used for the folio number and also for the type of living and the third column is used only to indicate an alternative value for the Valor Ecclesiasticus figure for four parishes in the deanery of the Arches, London. The right-hand side of the folio has a column to list incumbents and a much broader, unheaded column to accommodate notes. Folios 1–54 have been ruled horizontally so that six parishes or headings can be entered. This gives sufficient space so that when an incumbent’s name is scored out two or three more can be entered. On folios 55 to 65 the spaces are increased to accommodate ten parishes.

This greeting opens the first of a series of vivid imaginative letters initiating jousts for the 1401 New Year’s Day celebrations at Eltham Palace. The combats proposed formed part of the spectacular Christmas entertainment offered by Henry IV to the visiting Emperor of Byzantium, Manuel II Palaeologus. The thirteen letters are miniature fictions, written in the court language of Insular French, acting in some sense as a script and storybook for the performance; they not only help us to understand what was staged, but also give insight into some of the complex ways in which chivalric performance could be deployed in late medieval courtly culture. The princess to whom the letters were addressed was the King’s eight-year-old daughter Blanche, who, since Henry was at that time a widower, was acting as the lady of the jousts. In each letter, an imaginary patron – a God or Goddess, an allegorical Virtue, or mythological figure – recommends a worthy young combatant to a match in a joust with a member of Blanche’s court. As theatrical texts for the entertainment, they suggest that it combined martial arts with theatrical role-play, spectacle and celebration, political compliment and ceremonial festive gift-giving.

The Letters

The original manuscript copies of the letters themselves do not appear to have survived in court records, but it is clear that they soon attracted heraldic attention: over the next century they were copied in at least six known manuscripts, all collections of material associated with officers of arms. At least three of them are in early-fifteenth-century hands, and there are suggestions in the British Library catalogue that one of these, Additional MS 34801, may have been, as Sydney Anglo reports, ‘written in the time of, and possibly for, John Mowbray, Earl Marshal 1405’. Although the letters have been acknowledged by historians of heraldry and tournament for some time, they have had very little close attention. Anglo, however, did point out that they ‘constitute perhaps the earliest surviving fanciful challenges for an English tournament and suggest a fourteenth-century allegorical tradition of which practically all traces have disappeared’.

After the launch of my catalogue of Peterhouse MSS in 2016, Emeritus Fellow and College Archivist Roger Lovatt asked me ‘What next?’ On my answering that I wasn't sure, he suggested ‘What about Pembroke? You already know some of their manuscripts. If you’re interested, I’ll write for you.’ And I was, he did, and the reaction was quick, enthusiastic and affirmative.

For the initial invitation to undertake this work, and for their interest and good fellowship since, I thank the Master of Pembroke College, Lord Christopher Smith, its Library Committee, and its Fellows, the College Librarian Pat Aske and Honorary Archivist Jayne Ringrose, both until the course of 2018, then Librarian Genny Grim and Archivist Lizzy Ennion-Smith, for innumerable tasks and support. Much of my time was spent in the Manuscript Reading Room of Cambridge University Library, where most of the manuscripts are kept. All their staff was helpful, but in particular I wish to thank James Freeman and Frank Bowles for much labour above and beyond the call of normal duty. I owe much to Michael Reeve, Emeritus Fellow of Pembroke, for discussion and information en passant but above all for reading a draft of the whole and checking it against the manuscripts; information on particular manuscripts, or groups of them, was cheerfully supplied by Sir John Baker, Margaret Bent, Gabriele Bonomelli, Martin Brett, Charles Burnett, Paul Cavill, Sean Curran, Christopher de Hamel, Ralph Hanna, Sylvia Huot, David Juste, Roger Lovatt, Constant Mews, Linne Mooney, Nigel Morgan, Anne Nichols, Samu Niskanen, Stephen Oakley, Kari Anne Rand, Michael Robson, David Rundle, Ian Short, Siegfried Wenzel and Nigel Wilson. For remaining errors and shortcomings, I alone am responsible.

In 2020, the third year of this project, the Covid-19 pandemic hit the world. At the time, I had seen all of the MSS at least twice, except for 235–309 and the fragments, some of which I had not seen at all. I was unable to leave my country in 2020 and 2021, but work on the MSS continued, thanks to the willing and expert help provided in particular by Genny Grim, Michael Reeve and James Freeman. Some of this, and not the least helpful, was in the form of photographs. I am aware of the perils of describing books that one has only seen once, and acknowledge that there will be errors and omissions that would have been remedied by further examination.

If one searches the internet trying to find information about Finland in the Viking Age and Middle Ages, sooner or later one is bound to encounter stories about the forgotten history of an ancient, pagan Finnish kingdom. The story of the Ancient Finnish Kings is a persistent counter-narrative to academic research that has its roots in seventeenth-century historiography, romantic nationalism, and works published by independent alternative historians. Nowadays, the story is kept alive through blogs, online discussion forums, YouTube videos, and social media. Details vary, but the core narrative remains: before the annexation of southern Finland by the Kingdom of Sweden, which occurred between the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, Finland had mighty and powerful kingdoms of its own. Respected and held in awe by their neighbors, these Finnish kings were the forefathers of the royal houses of Northern Europe, including that of William the Conqueror. According to the supporters of these theories, there is a reason why people today are ignorant of the glorious ancient history of Finland: a centuries-old conspiracy perpetuated by the Swedish-speaking minority, who deliberately destroyed all evidence of the Finnish kings to suppress national consciousness and Finnish pride. Moreover, this conspiracy theory also has its modern villains: academic researchers, heritage institutions, mainstream media, and other multicultural or Swedish-minded elites.

This pseudohistory has little to do with the prevailing view about the Viking Age in Finland. Scholars have refuted arguments about the Ancient Finnish Kings since the late eighteenth century, and theories of a pre-Christian Finnish kingdom are regarded as pseudohistory and pseudoarchaeology by the contemporary academic community. The Viking Age society was divided into local autonomous groups with a loose system of leadership headed by elite families. There is no convincing evidence of more regional leaders or proto-states, even in the more densely populated southern Finland, which was inhabited by Finnic-speaking settled farming communities. Speakers of different Sámi – and possibly other – languages lived in central, eastern, and northern Finland, combining hunting and fishing with sporadic farming in a semi-nomadic lifestyle. In line with this academic consensus, we classify the discussion about the Ancient Finnish Kings as medievalist pseudohistory. Pseudohistory, like other forms of pseudoscience, presents misleading information, violates the methods of the discipline in question, and bypasses and disdains scholarly discussion.

In the summer of 1815, former president John Adams mused in a letter to Thomas Jefferson:

Adams raised the same rhetorical question to other correspondents that same summer, in one case explicitly identifying the recipient of the mystical ordination: the Merovingian king Clovis I (d. 511). Clovis, for Adams, was far from an epitome of enlightened rule: in a letter written that same summer to Dutch émigré François Adriaan Van der Kemp, the former president characterized the king as “a more cruel tyrant than Frederick or Napoleon.”

Adams had referred in print to the general incompetency of the Merovingians as early as 1790. For support, he needed only to consult his personal library, which contained a number of learned volumes detailing the early history of the regnum Francorum: François-Eudes de Mézeray’s Abrégé chronologique de l’histoire de France (1676), Henri, Comte de Boulainvilliers’s État de la France (1727–28), Montesquieu’s De l’esprit des loix (1748), Gabriel Bonnot de Mably’s Observations sur l’histoire de France (1765), and Edward Gibbon’s History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (1776–88). These writers were by no means unified in their interpretations of early medieval history, including in their relative positions on the question of whether the authority of the Frankish monarchy was constitutionally limited by an equality ostensibly enjoyed by all Franks. Nevertheless, Adams would have found more than a few disapproving, even contemptuous, assessments of Clovis and his successors in those volumes contained within his library. In Boulainvilliers, for instance, Adams would have read of a Clovis who was “a heroic figure, though not a particularly likeable one.” While, in Montesquieu’s words, “Those princes were murderous, unjust and cruel because the whole nation was. If Christianity sometimes seemed to soften them, it was only through the terror that Christianity gives the guilty.”