Diplomatics, documents and the authority of heritage1 By Gauti Kristmannsen I When Lorenzo Valla (c. 1406-1457) invented the science of ‘diplomatics’ by proclaiming the famous ‘Donation of Constantine’ a forgery, he in a way invented the notion of empirical authenticity and documental authority. Valla was not the first one, of course, such a document that gave and took so much power, transferred from the East to the West, was of course questioned more than once. It is perhaps one of the great ironies of history that a document, purportedly presented to Pope Sylvester I in the 4th-century by the emperor Constantine the Great, was doubted by Otto III, emperor of the Holy Roman Empire 996-1003 and ‘his’ pope, Sylvester II, who on the other hand purportedly gave us such basic empirical instruments such as Arabic numbers and the pendulum clock.2 But it was not until Valla, more than four centuries later, was able to demolish the simple language of the Donation that the document lost all its authority and became a historic curiosity. It is in this respect that he may be seen as the inventor of diplomatics and even of textual criticism, two very related sciences, the latter of which needs the first, whereas the former might be used to destroy the textual critic’s product. The objective of diplomatics is to distinguish whether a document is ‘genuine or false’ whereas the objective of textual criticism is to construct a ‘genuine’ document from several ‘flawed’ if not, to a large extent, false ones.3 Both disciplines rely on basic notions of originality and authenticity and both deny them simultaneously. Diplomatics look for the flaws in the document and if they are found the document is spurious, unauthentic. Textual criticism admits that there are flaws in documents, delights in comparing them even, admits also that there are very often no originals extant, and then proceeds to ‘find’ the lost original by abstracting it from the flawed documents. For there is always an original, or if not, nothing was. And yet there could often have been something and in this area of possibility the forger, a kind of textual shaman, enters the stage and creates something out of nothing, one is lead to believe. Otherwise the product would not be counterfeit, would it? No, the assumption is wrong: the forger always needs precedence to give his product credence – without a reference to something perceived authentic a forgery is meaningless; hence forgery has the same prerequisites as textual criticism does, it is only much less diplomatic. It is in this uneasy space between diplomatics, textual criticism and indeed translation where we can or rather cannot locate James Macpherson’s Ossianic poems and his largely fictional historical paratexts. His texts were made even more complicated due to the fact that they were translations of some kind, and indeed translations from a language very few people knew at all and of them very few had detailed knowledge about the Celtic literary and historical heritage in the British Isles. Ironically, we would probably know even much less now had it not been for the Ossianic controversies; a literary uproar comparable only to the century-long raging dispute of the Ancients and Moderns. At the same time Macpherson appears to have been applying some kind of proto-textual criticism method of collating sources from manuscripts and transcripts of oral sources and in the act of translation by forming those sources to prevalent ideas about the epic as a form. Not quite, which may have been the genius’s stroke, for he did not mould the translations into rhyming couplets but used rather a kind of cadenced prose which underlined the foreignness and indeed the translated character of the text. This twin-pronged method of applying known paradigms of epic literature (and indeed biblical as well) and at the same time underlining the texts as foreign also proved to be make them vulnerable to attack. What made the Poems of Ossian explode on the British and indeed the European scene in the 1760s was, however,
83
the drouth